From Revolution to Fashion Trend

A funny thing happened on a recent trip to Spain with friends. As we wandered around some of the towns and villages, we kept seeing people wearing keffiyahs, the wrap/headscarf traditionally associated with Palestinian nationalism. These were people from all walks of life, from hip young kids to professionals to even kindly looking pensioners.

In the US, people I know who might wear keffiyahs would do so as an overt political statement-- to express solidarity with Palestinians. But as we noticed this overflowing sea of keffiyahs all over the place, something seemed off. Had the whole nation of Spain suddenly discovered its heartfelt loyalty to the Palestinian cause? Or was something else going on?

We decided to ask. Here are some of the responses we got, in rough translation from Spanish.

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Setting One: A Massive New Years Eve Party in the Town of Gandia, Valencia Province. A huge outdoor tent, with mud floors, loud music, and lots of young people.


Emma: Out of curiosity, why are you wearing that scarf? In the US, it would be a political statement. Is that why you are wearing it?

Guy #1: No. Well my mom went to Turkey on holiday and she got one for me. And it's really warm. Cold tonight, isn't it?

Emma: Cool, can we take a photo with you?

Guy #1: Um. Sure.

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Paula: Hi, mind if I ask you a question? Was wondering about the keffiyah you're wearing. Do you call it a keffiyah?

Guy #2: Oh, this palestino?

Paula: Right. The palestino...I was curious as to why you're wearing it. Palestino- that means its about the Palestinians?

Guy #2: (Shrugs). It's fashion, I think. It's trendy.

Paula: Okay. Interesting. Could we possibly take your picture? (Guy shrugs indicating mild unenthusiastic consent)
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Setting #2 - Valencia Town

A bougie couple chooses from many different colored variations of the keffiyah, some even with gold or silver decorative thread.

Emma later asked the shopkeeper later whether there was any politics involved at all with this item. He said no, it was just a fashion trend.




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Setting #3 - Barcelona

Two Australian tourists in a cafe wearing keffiyahs. And lots of gold and pearls. And headbands. Eating delicate pastries. An interesting combination.

Emma: Hi there, out of curiosity, where did you get those scarves?

Taller girl: Oh these, don't remember.

Emma: Is it a political statement about Palestinians?

Taller girl: Oh, no, not at all. They're nice looking. They're warm.

Emma: Yeah, they are nice. Would you mind if we took your photo?

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(Two Taiwanese tourists looking around Gaudi's La Sagrada Familia.)

Me: Hi there, just out of curiosity, I was wondering about your scarf. Did you get it here in Spain?

Girl with Scarf: Um, I think so. Where are you from?

Me: California.

Girl with Scarf: Oh. I'm going to be a student in the U.S. I'm from Taiwan.

Me: That's great. (Some small talk.) So, do you know where the scarf comes from?

Girl with Scarf: I don't know. I just liked the way it looks.

Me: Do you mind if we take your picture?

Girl with Scarf: (Hesistates.) Um. Um, yeah I guess. If you take one of me with my friend.

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And the grand finale:

Dog with keffiyah! Bright and orange, no less.











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Dry, academic commentary:

Wikipedia actually has a fabulous entry on this topic: how keffiyahs came to the west first as statement of lefty/radical politics and gradually just became a fashion item as they got more trendy. I gather that in Spain, the importation of the keffiyah happened first amongst separatist nationalist movements-- in Catalonia and Valencia for example (which happened to be where we were traveling). These were people who, rightly or wrongly, associated the plight of the Palestinians with their own plight in Spain.

In the beginning it was probably somewhat of an overt political statement. Then it became more just a hip thing to wear in left-leaning circles, acquiring general overtones of liberal/radical politics, but losing its literal association with Palestinian nationalism. And finally, shopkeepers realized they could make some money by selling them cheaply, so now they are in every street corner shop, at about 4 Euros each or even cheaper.

The story of the keffiyah trajectory- from revolutionary garb to fashion trend-- actually is extremely relevant to my current project about how social causes go mainstream. One thing that always happens as a political idea or symbol reaches mass popularity is that it loses some part of its original meaning. In this case, it lost almost all of it.

I'm sure the people who originally brought keffiyahs to Spain probably now look with disdain at the masses who wear them. This is another thing that usually happens. The original proponents of an idea or cause-- the purists-- tend to walk away when they see their cause diluted by popular participation. It's quite ironic, as the whole point of advocating on a social issue is to change everyone's minds and behaviors about that issue. But there is always a tension between depth of understanding and breadth of public reach. It's usually nearly impossible to get mass 'consumption' (not sure if that word choice was intentional or subconscious) of a social cause without diluting it to some degree.

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(Many thanks to Emma and Adrianne, my co-conspirators on these photos)

A Multi-Polar World

Amazing article just published today in NYT on America's decline and the rise of Europe and China.

I have to say, it's hard to disagree with. When I read these articles, I get a pit-in-my-stomach feeling, wondering what life will be like for my (as of yet non-existent) children and grandchildren and their generations. Indeed, I wonder what life will be like for *myself* in twenty years, and how the US's shifting place in the world will change and constrain my own choices and opportunities.

But I have to think that a bit of competition in the world is a good thing at the end of the day.

Indeed, for the past few years, I've been noticing how lazy we in America have gotten as a country. I think we face a severe crisis of leadership-- a vacuum of morality in which the original ideals upon which the country was built have gotten lost in the games that people play to advance their own private gains. Winning has become more important than doing what's right. And in the process, we've come to simply expect certain privileges as a country (and as individual citizens), forgetting that those privileges were hard-earned by previous generations and easily susceptible to loss.

Maybe a little competition will remind us what we have to lose. Maybe it will flatten out a bit of the arrogance that is slowly eating away at the substance of the country I was raised to be proud of.

Such competition, by the way, was inevitable. Americans have no monopoly on talent and innovation. And thank goodness.

But we have a choice about how we react to the competition. It can do us in, or it can be an immense opportunity for regeneration.

Post-Capitalism. Really?

The other day I was having dinner with an old friend of mine in London, someone I' d gone to high school with in California, and who has been living and working in Europe for the past 9 years in a corporate analyst type gig. As we reminisced and talked about future plans, she began to muse:

"You know, Paula, I've been starting to think about a post-capitalist era. I've been starting to think a lot about what it's going to be like to run businesses in that era."

There must be something in the air. Especially here in England. Because she's not the only one who has said this to me. In the last two weeks, at least five people have said to me something along those same lines--people from all walks of life, from a pastor in the midlands to a manager at a big supermarket chain. If it had just been my dear friend from high school, I might have written it off. We both studied political economy, so would be prone to these types of discussions. But it's coming at me, this question of "post-capitalism," in all directions.

And the thing is-- I don't think I agree. What on earth does post-capitalism *mean* anyway?

Yes, we've got serious environmental problems, and yes we will need to move to a post-carbon economy. But a post-capitalist economy? Yes, globalization has exacerbated inequalities, and that also needs to be addressed. But does that mean by an entirely new kind of system? If so, what kind?

The answer is always sort of fuzzy. It involves buzz-words like: Local. Less Inequality. Sustainable.

Perhaps I lack imagination. When I think of alternatives to capitalism and democracy, I think of failed Marxist experiments, which scare me, or thousands of years of feudalism, which also scares me. I'm also not particularly prone to romanticize notions of local indigenous culture as being the answer to all of our woes.

Which all leads me to think that what we need is some serious, gut-wrenching reform to our global system. Reforms in the direction of sustainability, and all of the buzzwords floating about these days. Reform that will take tremendous effort, courage, and yes, time.

But a whole new system?

I'm willing to listen on this one. I really am. I just haven't heard anything yet that makes a whole lot of sense to me.

Overheard in...: The Tube

The "Overheard In..." category for the blog recalls snippets of conversation I happened to stumble across that for some reason stand out as indicative of cultural differences, or cultural issues I'm trying to understand. (And all subtly prove that reality is stranger than fiction.)
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The Setting: A quiet Saturday morning, around 9am, on the Jubilee line tube between Finchley Road and Bond Street.

The Characters (4): (1 and 2) A couple in their sixties, presumably English-- neatly dressed-- him in trousers and a button down shirt and sweater, she with died brown hair and well-applied makeup; (3) a man in his forties, also presumably English, thickish glasses, straight gray hair, casually dressed; (4) me.

The Scene:
The 60-something man and woman are reading a newspaper, which they’ve split between them. The woman has a facial twitch of some sort. Every so often, her face and neck just out oddly and then go back to normal for about ten to fifteen seconds.

The woman has a nice leather bag with different colors of leather diamond shaped patches sewn together. She rifles through the bag fumbling for something and her hand shakes a bit. Every so often she also asks a question to her husband, analyzing something concerning going in the news, that I can’t quite hear.

The train stops at Bond Street and the couple fold up their newspapers and get up to leave. They don’t move quickly but get off the train. The 40-something aged man who was sitting across from them notices they’ve left their umbrella.

40-something man: (shouting to outside the train) Your umbrella!

60-something woman: (shouting in) What?

40-something man: Your umbrella.

He stands up and realizes quickly that he can’t get off the train or it will leave without him. So he grabs it and throws it to her right before the door begins to close. It lands on the floor on the platform outside the train.

60-something woman: Thank you. Thank you very much, indeed!

(Door closes).

40-something man nods and smiles. But the smile, the smile… the smile is one of the loveliest I have seen in a long time. It is broad but not self-satisfied. Genuine. He holds it on his face for a few seconds after the door closes. Such a beautiful, beautiful smile. An expression on his face as if to say, “Yes, of course. That’s what we’re all really for here at the end of the day, isn’t it?”

And the fourth character, me… I found myself smiling also, on the other end of the train carriage. Because—basically—that is what we’re here for, right?

Overheard in...: A Cafe

The "Overheard In..." category for the blog recalls snippets of conversation I happened to stumble across that for some reason stand out as indicative of cultural differences, or cultural issues I'm trying to understand. (And all subtly prove that reality is stranger than fiction.)

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The Setting:
Costa Coffee (a decently sized chain in London-- also decent coffee, as it happens) a few blocks from my house, on the high street. The scene took place while waiting in line to place an order, around 2pm on a weekday.

The Characters:
(1) A 60-something posh English woman, very well-put together and proper looking, dyed blondish hair, an insanely huge diamond ring on her finger, a face perfectly done up and which looks like it may have had a facelift... She is first in line to order (2) a young American woman in front of me (behind the English woman), in gym clothing-- oversized t-shirt and sweats, no makeup, hair in a pony tail, a bit flushed from her workout; (3) A North African (I think?) employee of Costa Coffee, tallish, short curly dark hair, wearing a Costa Coffee Uniform. (4) me.

The Scene :

North African Coffee Guy: (to the English woman who is first in line)
Hi yuh. (thick foreign accent.)

Posh woman: (clipped accent)
Yes, I'd like a hot chocolate please.

Coffee Guy:
Sorry? (Pause) Sorry, could you...

Posh woman: (Annoyed tone. But she also appears to be slightly hard of hearing)
Wh... What? I said a hot chocolate please.

Coffee Guy:
Meee- dium? Meee-dium, yes, it's okay? (He proceeds to take quite some time to try to input this order into the computer. He's fiddling with different keys on the keypad.)
Sorry. I... (mumbles something indecipherable. I gather he's just started to work there. Finally he succeeds in punching the right button.)
...Dats Two-fouh-ey. (or similar sum, I don't remember exactly.)

Posh woman:
What?

Coffee Guy:
Two-fouh-ey.

Posh woman:
That's ridiculous.

(She fumbles through her[nice, expensive, designer] purse to get change. The huge rock on her finger is flagrantly noticeable, unable to be ignored. She reluctantly puts the money on the counter-- but does so with a bit too much force. I hadn't really been paying attention, but now I do. While the coffee guy is making her drink, the posh woman turns to the young American woman in front of me.)

Posh woman:
They're all coming here, people like him. And they don't even know what they're doing. They can't even communicate properly. They don't speak our language.

American woman:
Oh, he' s just started. Give him a few weeks and come back and I'm sure he'll be perfect.

Posh woman:
They shouldn't allow people like that to work here.

American woman: (polite, measured tone)
Well, maybe you should talk to your government because they won't let *me* work here. And I do speak your language. We're all strangers at some point. It's not easy.

(Coffee guy is getting change for Posh woman. The American woman turns to me.)

American woman: (softly, incredulous.)
Did you hear all of that conversation?

Me: (nodding, also incredulous)
Yes. Unbelievable.

(The posh woman walks over to the other side of the counter where the coffee guy is finishing the hot chocolate.)

Posh woman: (agressively.)
It needs to be hot. You need to make it hot. (Pause.) Did you hear me?

(He nods. He sets the drink on a tray for her.)

Posh woman:
Is it hot? Did you make it hot?

(He nods, again. If it had been me I would have wanted to punch her in the face, but he simply demurred. She takes the mug away, shaking her head in disgust.)

Pro/Con #1: Socialized Medicine

When I first got to London, completely abuzz and overwhelmed by the size of the city and the unexpected culture shock, I sent an email to one of my dearest friends in SF, summarizing my early assessment of London. It went something like this:

Pro: It's a huge city with tons going on.
Con: It's a huge city with tons going on.

Pro: There are lots of Europeans here.
Con: There are lots of Europeans here.

Con: It's really expensive.
Pro: ... um...

(etc. The list continued for several pages)

In the same vein, I'm going to keep an ongoing pro/con list and actually elaborate on some of these subjects. They're interesting. And if I sound a bit sarcastic at times, I'll fill you in on a little secret. I actually really like it here. Maybe not quite as much as SF, but I like it. Even when I complain and tell you that I'm homesick and hate the weather and don't like it here. It's all true, but I still like it.

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Pro/Con #1

Pro: There's socialized medicine here.
Con: There's socialized medicine here.


On the pro side...
It's not quite the miracle that Michael Moore makes it out to be, but it is a miracle.

When I first signed up for my GP, as all users of the National Health Service are required to do, the nurse in the 'surgery' (surgery in British English just means a doctor's office) took me through my medical history. She then warned me about my doctor. "She's perhaps the best and most attentive GP in all of London," she said, "but she has no sense of time management. Expect to wait. Hours. For any of your appointments." Fair enough, I thought. Honestly, I was simply grateful to have free health insurance. I'm dirt poor trying to make it here on a US research grant (basically double the cost at half the wages)-- so this generosity is a godsend.

I went to see Dr. Berger (not her real name) two days ago and fell in love with her and her quirky, heartfelt style. I did, of course, wait about 45 minutes in the waiting room, even though mine was the first appointment of the day. When she called me in, she apologized profusely, about a million times. "I'm really sorry," she said-- and then again, with her charming accent, "really terribly sorry." I'd already said it was okay a few times, but she continued. "So sorry. Sorry to keep you waiting. Sorry."

She was probably in her fifties and probably Jewish and had ever-so-slightly frazzled brown longish hair and a long stylish skirt and sweater. She moved around her office with frenetic energy. Every time she needed me to do something so she could examine me (like roll up my sleeve for a blood pressure test, or lift my shirt so she could see the skin on my back), she'd also thank my profusely. "Thank you," she'd say, "Thank you very much, thank you."

She cared. She asked me about my research. And my family. And my impressions of the country. And we got into a long discussion about how she'd been tempted to go to the US -- doctors there make much more money. But she couldn't. She never could, she said, because in her eyes, everyone is equal and everyone deserves to be seen by a doctor. She couldn't live with a completely privatized system.

It wasn't hard to see why she keeps her patients waiting hours to get seen on any given day. But that was just her style. Her absolute commitment was that patients should get care, regardless of their background, regardless of the bureaucracy. And there is plenty of bureaucracy, as I will get to shortly. But all in all, I left getting what I needed. And I honestly couldn't have afforded it without the good graces of the socialized system-- as presumably was the case for many people in that waiting room. Pensioners, single mothers, people of all ages, races, and sizes, all entitled to healthcare. I would call that a miracle. Or maybe not. Maybe it's just a travesty that it doesn't exist more broadly, especially in societies as wealthy as the US.

On the con side...
I wrote that I left getting what I needed. That isn't the complete truth. The complete truth is that I left with referrals to go through ridiculous bureaucratic hoops to eventually get what I needed.

For example: My GP in the US, many years back, had noted that I have some moles on my back and I might want to get them looked at every once in a while just to make sure they're not growing or changing shape. It had been a while so I asked Dr. Berger to take a look. "Why?" she asked, furrowing her brow. "Why are you concerned? What's your specific reason for being concerned?"

I explained what my earlier GP had said-- he'd always managed to just look quickly and assure me things looked fine. But Dr. Berger asked me a million detailed questions and finally said she wasn't qualified to take a look, even casually. Instead, she had to refer me to a dermatologist. And I'd have to wait- months and months- to get seen. Unless she stretched my explanation a bit and said instead that I had good reason to think they were cancerous, in which case I could get them seen in a few weeks.

Similarly--(apologies in advance if this is too much information.) I'd injured a toe earlier this year and the toenail was growing back oddly, with a strange color, making me think it was infected. "I need a toenail clipping to test it," Dr. Berger said, "but we're not allowed to do that for you anymore. You'll have to take this specimen folder home and do it yourself, then bring it back. Then call us in two or three weeks to get the results."

Now, I'm a student, and my time is flexible, so it's wasn't a big deal for me to walk back the next day, toe nail specimen in hand. But if I'd had a 9-5 office job, I'd have had to come in late on not one, but two mornings-- first for the appointment, and second to drop off the specimen (since the surgery doesn't open until 9:30 am.) Not exactly ideal for running efficient businesses.

Survey says:
Warts and all, it's a still a miracle, as I said before.
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On a tangential note, Michael Moore makes the UK and French systems out to be angelic and the US system to be demonic. I actually liked the film, but as I watched it last year, I couldn't help but wonder if US citizens (by virtue of our fully privatized system) were funding medical innovation from which the whole world benefited, thereby allowing countries like the UK the luxury of not needing to go the private route themselves. The truth is, the profit motive in pharmaceutical research has saved lives. And without it, we wouldn't have the kinds of medicines we have today. It's also developed wasteful medicines and drugs are shamefully maldistributed... but if all rich country govts had socialized medicine, what would that mean for slowing down innovation in the medical industry? Is there some middle ground?