I've been following Drew Austin's newsletter for a bit now, and he has written pointedly and regularly (unlike me!) on the mutations in urbanism and population dynamics we are starting to see in 2020.
So many of his posts are great points from which to start conversation, but his notes on how people navigate "where to live" as escapism or genuine need to relocate or some other complex of motivation particularly resonated. As people move, the condition of participating in multiple concurrent realities hit me as poignant, because an increasing portion of my presentation of self is happening through multiple concurrent videoconference and chat windows, and I know I'm not alone in that. Splitting our selves into various worlds—digital, physical, or ones that are both or in-between—adds new layers of consideration to the necessity of place. (I also loved the delicious paragraph on Los Angeles' unique urban condition, of course.)
Mohsin Hamid's _Exit West_ is Berkeley's "On The Same Page" program book this Fall, meaning that 8000 Cal-bound undergrads (plus me) all read the book this Summer. (I can share the audiobook if you want it, email me.) I wonder exactly when the administration made the pick, but it's well-timed for the rapidly fading-from-view Summer 2020, as a reflection on migration (blurred between forced and discretionary) and the idea of escape through black rectangles. Technology plays a meaningful but ultimately small role in the book, giving us little to work with in how Hamid thinks about how to build and maintain relationships _through_ the black rectangles, rather than through the meatspace on either side.
I found the book refreshing in its plain language and straightforward relationships between how the characters felt and how they acted. (I admit to not reading enough novels!) As the protagonists move through various worlds, they navigate interpersonal change, material chaos, and desperation with a clear-headed approach that comes only with self-reflecting honesty and thought, work that goes unmentioned in the book. Anyone navigating the beasts of 2020: economic and health devastation, deceit (political and public), rapid changes in information, or just lack of ability to read their colleagues' body language via Zoom, can probably attest to needing clarity of a similar sort, whenever possible.
Helen recommended this podcast, which helps get me closer to my point: as we all navigate the COVID fugue (layered with other more regional disasters, e.g. the fires in the American West), our personal and communal trauma follows us. We can't escape ourselves, but we often use places as placeholders for life phases, and we can return to a phase of comfort, or throw ourselves into something new, or some more nuanced in-between (nothing is mutually exclusive), in our search for clarity. Most everyone I know who has moved since March has done so to be close to loved ones and communities, or to be in a place that feels like home. A few brave souls made solo moves into the unknown. We're seeking clarity and direction and groundedness, and surefire ways of doing so are by connecting with communities and places we trust.
"Places we trust" as actual geographic locations have only increased in their ability to cut through the (often disorienting, but not altogether negative) plurality of simultaneous digital spaces. Cities remain the sites of cultural action, virtually by definition, and the clarity of mass-scale direct action (direct democracy?)—which manifests in the largest scales in cities—seems to be resonating with many. Physical reality can cut through the political information war raging on our black mirrors, if not our back yards.
Inherent in the ability to up-and-move to greener pastures (or even to be a tourist), is an extractivism that is complicated to work against. (I touched on this earlier in the newsletter.) I personally have a little forest of trees that I am lucky enough to have continued relationships with, places I can keep returning to, places to keep going home again. But, as my brother has advised me, there are depths of relationships that are only gleaned through ongoing commitments rather than a passing saccade. I wonder what kind of depths and balances can be struck, or if being "cosmopolitan" in the 21st century is reserved only for the shameless and out-of-touch.
I'm about to head back to LA for a while, my favorite city in the United States, despite its farcical denial of the liberally-minded urbanism that produces the kind of city Tyler Brûlé enjoys. Something about "both the region and the state of mind" of Los Angeles seem to sit right with me; we'll see if that is still the case. Idealism abounds. I hope you are making what you're looking for.
In three worlds, maybe four,
Lukas
So many of his posts are great points from which to start conversation, but his notes on how people navigate "where to live" as escapism or genuine need to relocate or some other complex of motivation particularly resonated. As people move, the condition of participating in multiple concurrent realities hit me as poignant, because an increasing portion of my presentation of self is happening through multiple concurrent videoconference and chat windows, and I know I'm not alone in that. Splitting our selves into various worlds—digital, physical, or ones that are both or in-between—adds new layers of consideration to the necessity of place. (I also loved the delicious paragraph on Los Angeles' unique urban condition, of course.)
Mohsin Hamid's _Exit West_ is Berkeley's "On The Same Page" program book this Fall, meaning that 8000 Cal-bound undergrads (plus me) all read the book this Summer. (I can share the audiobook if you want it, email me.) I wonder exactly when the administration made the pick, but it's well-timed for the rapidly fading-from-view Summer 2020, as a reflection on migration (blurred between forced and discretionary) and the idea of escape through black rectangles. Technology plays a meaningful but ultimately small role in the book, giving us little to work with in how Hamid thinks about how to build and maintain relationships _through_ the black rectangles, rather than through the meatspace on either side.
I found the book refreshing in its plain language and straightforward relationships between how the characters felt and how they acted. (I admit to not reading enough novels!) As the protagonists move through various worlds, they navigate interpersonal change, material chaos, and desperation with a clear-headed approach that comes only with self-reflecting honesty and thought, work that goes unmentioned in the book. Anyone navigating the beasts of 2020: economic and health devastation, deceit (political and public), rapid changes in information, or just lack of ability to read their colleagues' body language via Zoom, can probably attest to needing clarity of a similar sort, whenever possible.
Helen recommended this podcast, which helps get me closer to my point: as we all navigate the COVID fugue (layered with other more regional disasters, e.g. the fires in the American West), our personal and communal trauma follows us. We can't escape ourselves, but we often use places as placeholders for life phases, and we can return to a phase of comfort, or throw ourselves into something new, or some more nuanced in-between (nothing is mutually exclusive), in our search for clarity. Most everyone I know who has moved since March has done so to be close to loved ones and communities, or to be in a place that feels like home. A few brave souls made solo moves into the unknown. We're seeking clarity and direction and groundedness, and surefire ways of doing so are by connecting with communities and places we trust.
"Places we trust" as actual geographic locations have only increased in their ability to cut through the (often disorienting, but not altogether negative) plurality of simultaneous digital spaces. Cities remain the sites of cultural action, virtually by definition, and the clarity of mass-scale direct action (direct democracy?)—which manifests in the largest scales in cities—seems to be resonating with many. Physical reality can cut through the political information war raging on our black mirrors, if not our back yards.
Inherent in the ability to up-and-move to greener pastures (or even to be a tourist), is an extractivism that is complicated to work against. (I touched on this earlier in the newsletter.) I personally have a little forest of trees that I am lucky enough to have continued relationships with, places I can keep returning to, places to keep going home again. But, as my brother has advised me, there are depths of relationships that are only gleaned through ongoing commitments rather than a passing saccade. I wonder what kind of depths and balances can be struck, or if being "cosmopolitan" in the 21st century is reserved only for the shameless and out-of-touch.
I'm about to head back to LA for a while, my favorite city in the United States, despite its farcical denial of the liberally-minded urbanism that produces the kind of city Tyler Brûlé enjoys. Something about "both the region and the state of mind" of Los Angeles seem to sit right with me; we'll see if that is still the case. Idealism abounds. I hope you are making what you're looking for.
In three worlds, maybe four,
Lukas