a shorter version of this appears on the WHY WE POST blog at University College London

On 5 December 2013, Nelson Mandela died. At the time, I was reviewing about 50 different Facebook accounts of people living in my Northern Chile fieldsite to see in a systematic way, what exactly they posted about on Facebook. I noted that only a few posted about Nelson Mandela. Those that did made funny ironic references to actor Morgan Freeman, who portrayed the South African politician in a film biography, while more politically socialist users posted old photos of the politician alongside their hero Fidel Castro. Yet these posts represented only 6 of the 50 users I was concentrating on, or 12%.

That same week Paul Walker, a film actor of The Fast and the Furious fame, also died. More than 20 of the users whose activity I was observing posted about his death on Facebook. As with Mandela’s death, no one linked to obituaries or news articles, but instead posted photos of the actor, or at times posted photos of their own cars with quotes from The Fast and the Furious or other commentary suggesting that the films had inspired their love of automobiles.

From this, along with Presidential elections which had just taken place in Chile, I got a sense that people were much more likely to post something on Facebook when they felt personally affected by it. While people recognized the significant contributions of Mandela to peace and humanitarian efforts, he had not affected Chileans’ daily lives, while Walker had been an important hero for many people. One young man posted about both. On the day of Mandela’s death he simply wrote “QDEP Morgan Freeman” [Rest in Peace Morgan Freeman] in an ironic and humorous attempt to conflate the politician with the actor who had portrayed him. A few days later, when news of Walker broke, he wrote, “I’m watching The Fast and the Furious on TNT (television channel)…in honor of the movies that inspired my Honda, and more importantly in memory of Paul Walker.” Clearly this user had reserved the more sincere and personal message for Walker who he characterized as an inspiration.

My insight that personal connection was more important than world impact has been put to the test again with the unfortunate death of a local celebrity. Arturo Mejía Koo, the son of Chinese immigrants to the region, was locally known as the authority on chembeques—a kind of pastry made of corn flour and honey. Though chembeques can be found in almost any outdoor market in the region, Koo’s shop was something of a pilgrimage point for those who love the dessert. Perhaps then, it’s not surprising that Facebook has been littered with homages to Koo. At the time of this writing, about 1/5 of the posts that appear on my Facebook timeline are related to Koo’s death. People post links to the local paper’s story with a simple comment of a frowning face, or no comment at all. Others post links with the comment “Noooooooooooooooo!!!” Responses are lacking in eloquence, but the sheer number of them is impressive.

Among my highly educated, urban, middle-class friends in the United States, posting about the death of a highly iconic politician such as Mandela was an act of both proclaiming political stance and being “in the know.” Yet in Chile, it is much more important to be “in the know” about local events. While in both places I see memes that circulate with text such as “If you didn’t eat/watch/play [insert local favorite], you didn’t grow up in [insert local area],” Northern Chileans take to heart this mentality. They experience the death of world icons with a grain of irony, likely owing to the distance they perceive between that person’s life and their own. Yet a local hero’s death is experienced as a personal heartfelt loss.

This makes clear that for most Northern Chileans, Facebook is an outlet for performing personal and local affiliations, rather than a platform for interacting with global discourses. Mandela’s death was noteworthy for a few because he was a world figure. Yet lacking in a personal connection, emotions were expressed through irony or affiliations with other more regionally relevant politicians. Walker’s death was important for some because he had been a Hollywood hero, yet was still expressed at a distance through reference to his film roles. But in the instance of Koo’s death huge numbers of people in the region feel personally affected because eating his pastries had been an important part of local belonging. Facebook then was an appropriate place to express the very simple emotions of sadness and disbelief that emerged from the loss that felt so personal. The outpouring of public response to Koo’s death then demonstrates the ways that Facebook may reflect local affiliations much more strongly than global awareness.

A lot of my friends in North America were rooting for Brazil in the World Cup. As a newly adopted Chilena, it annoyed me a bit. But I also never had anything against Brazil, except that they are far from an underdog, and I generally root for teams like Ghana and Costa Rica. I think for anthropologists in particular Brazil is the land of Nancy Scheper-Hughes’s Death Without Weeping, and Donna Goldstein’s “Interracial” Sex and Racial Democracy: Twin Concepts? Though we know a true post-racial state doesn’t exist, Brazil captures our imaginations: beautiful beaches, beautiful people who at least marginally have attempted to overcome the institutionalized forms of racism we in the northern half of America are still struggling with. It is developed enough to be enticing, yet still retains a sense of chaotic charms that makes it seem like a place that is ethnographically enticing. For non-anthropologists from North America, it’s all about beaches, brothels, carnival, samba, and futball*.

An anthropologist friend commented on the Brazil v The Netherlands game for third place via Facebook: “Why is everybody hating on Brazil so bad? A colonizing nation kicked a neo-colonized nation's ass. And got most of Latin America, aka the neo-colonized neighbors, to cheer about this. Helloooo, false consciousness????”

This confusion I think is reasonable and common for people in North America. And I am no expert on futball fandom in South America, but I’ve now seen two separate World Cup cycles from this half of America (one from Lima, Peru and one from here in Northern Chile) Being an anthropologist, I’ve noted certain things. Also, I’m going on three years around these parts and I know some things about international relations. So here goes…

First, at least in the Andes, Brazil retains it’s “far away paradise” image. People with money go to Rio for vacation, spend their time on the beach, eating tasty things, staring at hot people, dancing Samba, possibly partying at Carnival, and maybe even going to a brothel. For others who are not as well off, it is a mystical land that is close enough to dream about but not quite reach (at least for now).

Yet, part of that partially obtainable dream is Brazil’s economy. Brazil’s economy ranks seventh in the world by both Gross Domestic Product and by Purchasing Power Parity. They fall behind the United States, China, Japan, Germany, France, and the United Kingdom. The next Latin American country on the (GDP) list is Mexico, which ranks 14th, and the next South American country is Argentina which ranks 26 (and then Chile at 36). In essence, for my friends in Northen Chile, Brazil might as well be Miami—in fact Chileans don’t even need a visa to enter the US). For others, like Bolivians, Brazil may technically be far easier to enter than the United States, but exchange rates are so unfavorable to the boliviano that it would be difficult for a middle class family to afford vacationing there. Essentially, Brazil is closer, but their economic position is much closer to North America and Europe than their South American neighbors. 

But even if we believe Lukács that all relations are structured by the condition of capitalism (and I’ll leave that up to you to decide), these relations run much deeper than simple exchange rates. Brazil for reasons economic and otherwise often has an excellent national team. This is partially why North Americans even notice that they exist. When’s the last time any North American tuned into a Bolivian game? Or can even find Bolivia on a map for that matter? But the fact that Brazil consistently fields a good team means they get international attention. These economic and futball success factors are indeed a large part of why Brazil was chosen to host the World Cup.

But this futball success also means that they usually beat their neighbors at the game that is most important to most fans. Chile, in particular, has been eliminated from the World Cup by Brazil in 2014, 2010, 1998, and 1962. That is every single time they have ever made it out of the group stage. Just (literally) bringing the Brazilian team to it’s knees this time around was a source of national pride. Brazil has also won 4 of the last 6 Copa America championships. In high school sports, they would be the fancy private school that hires university coaches and always makes it to the State Final.

I think it’s also worth mentioning that this phenomenon extends to Argentina as well. Though unstable, their economy (currently ranked 26th in GDP) is still above Chile’s and Peru’s, and certainly Bolivia’s. Two Chilean friends who recently traveled to Buenos Aires for vacation recounted to me how their expectations of destitution and poverty were entirely blown away. “The people are still partying. And the drinks weren’t that cheap!” they told me.

Again, similar to Brazil, Argentina is a futball powerhouse. They have qualified in every World Cup for the last 40 years, and only once have not made it out of the group stage. They have played in the final game in four of the last 10 Copa America tournaments. They are also home to the most visible and recognizable South American futball club, the Boca Jrs. And they have Messi (who is often considered arrogant and dismissive of fans). In fact, one Bolivian fan told me “The Argentinos are individualistic. They don’t work as a team, but try to be the star like Messi, the worst arrogant one.” Again, we’re talking private school here.

But possibly more importantly, Argentina is a “natural rival” of Chile (and Brazil too). They have had territory disputes. And according to at least one Chilean, “they laughed at our loss [to Brazil].” A Bolivian woman reflected general South American stereotypes of the country: “Argentines are snooty. They think they’re gods. Go ahead and cry Argentinos!” These feelings are obviously not homogenous. One miner who watched the game while at work told me that bets among coworkers were even for Germany and for Argentina. And there are plenty of fans who think that “If you’re from South America you should always support our neighboring country, just as Europeans support Germany. It’s a shame.” But the point here is that while people may have personal reasons to support Argentina or Brazil, or may feel a sense of South American unity, there are also many structural reasons South Americans do not support these teams. 

In relation to my friend’s Facebook question, I think it’s important to realize that while colonialism certainly shaped the form of today’s nation-states and alliances to a great extent, this is not the full story. Just as assumptions that South Americans were less civilized than their European colonizers, it would be incredibly Eurocentric to believe that some sense of historical unity against Europe would trump the present day tensions between South American citizens. History is important to them, but so are their  present relationships to their material conditions of existence. From a global perspective, South America might not be the most sought after school district, but there are still a few kids who always have the latest Air Jordans.

 *Yes, I know this is more commonly spelled football, fútbol, or soccer. But a Spanish-speaking friend recently misspelled the word this way, and I think it's useful for North American Spanglish speakers like myself, who need to avoid confusion with "American Football" and not alienate non-North-Americans (or Aussies or Kiwis) who might not be keen on the word soccer. So there you have it. Spread the word!

See my other blogs on the World Cup:
The World Cup on Social Media Worldwide
Seeing Red: Watching the World Cup in Northern Chile
Part of the Red Sea: Watching the World Cup in Northern Chile
Tears for the Red Sea: Watching Chile Lose in the World Cup

Goldstein, Donna
1999  “Interracial” Sex and Racial Democracy in Brazil: Twin Concepts? American Anthropologist 101(3):563-578.

 Scheper-Hughes, Nancy1992  Death Without Weeping : the Violence of Everyday Life in Brazil. Berkeley: University of California Press.

I wrote recently about the ways Chileans were watching and reacting to their team in the World Cup (both here and here). Essentially I described the way their behaviors, both on the street and on social networking sites violated the norms I have observed for nine months. While people are often ambivalent about citizenship—including both politics and belonging (see various definitions of “citizenship” including Goldberg 2002:271, Hansen and Stepputat 2006:296, Moodie 2006, Ong 2004, Richardson 1998, Stychin 1998)—when it comes to the national fútbol team, people very visually support them, decorating their homes, donning red clothing or Chilean flags, and posting wildly on Facebook, even the people who usually post very little content online.

Yet, a winning national team can easily produce such a response. The 2014 Olympics, in which the Chileans fielded only two athletes—both skiers—provide an excellent counter example. Coverage of the games was hard to find, even on the nightly news, and I didn’t know a single person who knew when the Olympic games were scheduled, let alone planned to watch. On the other hand, the national fútbol team was impossible to ignore. The supermarkets and home improvement store were covered in promotional products. Corner tiendas were suddenly filled with flag themed hats, banners, and noisemakers, and on game day, at least half of the people I passed on the street were clad in red, after the team’s uniforms. Facebook was filled with funny memes relating to the team before the game, during play with nervous statements and goal celebrations, and after with photos of people celebrating in the street. There was clearly excitement about the team’s chances. Excitement over the World Cup was not at all about being part of a world event, but was an expression of national pride and focused on the Marea Roja’s potential to come out on top.

So, then, I wondered what would happen when the team lost. I hoped, of course, that wouldn’t actually happen. That they would fulfill that potential and defeat every opponent they encountered. Unfortunately, last Saturday in a nail-biting game against Brazil, in which the home team was literally brought to their knees, the Chilean team lost. As the game ended with Gary Medel crying on screen, I expected complaints from fans. Perhaps they would blame the referees. Perhaps particular Brazilian players would be singled out for exaggerated trips or other unfair play. Maybe the coach, Jorge Sampaoli would be chastised. Or possibly, even, certain Chilean players would be blamed for mistakes.

But what I found was a great outpouring of pride. “They left everything on the field,” countless memes proclaimed. Other variations included 

“Proud to be Chilean”

“They gave everything. Thank you men. Chile is grand!”

“Thanks Chilean [team] for leaving Chileans with a proud name.”

“We lost but I’m happy about the last match. Chile gave everything that they could. They beat Australia, the put the fear in Holland, they put Spain on the airplane home, and they had Brazil on their knees. I love you Chile. Conchatumareeeeee”

Gary Medel, who cried, was hailed as a “great great warrior.” Though I expected the typically machista northern Chileans would poke fun at his emotional outpouring, I saw no joking about him crying. Plenty of memes included pictures of his face distorted and moist with tears, but the accompanying texts were ones of pride. He posted one such picture on his own Facebook page with the text “The tears are for all of you.” This photo was shared without negative comment by six of my Facebook friends. One popular meme even depicted him with the presidential sash. Another photo shared by a neighbor depicted the whole team walking off the field with Medel shedding tears in the center. “Seeing this photo gives me great pain. Chile is grand!”

Drawing on Bernett (1966) and Riordan (1977), Joseph Alter observes that athletes are often “made into a symbol who unambiguously stands for his or her country” (1994:557) in a way that is divorced from Politics with a capital P and works at the popular political level (Rowe 1999). Athletes easily become national icons because they occupy the position of fantasy figures and are divorced from the economic infrastructure (Alter 1994). Sports can ideologically reach communities in ways that politicians and government agencies cannot (Levermore 2008:184). Cho calls the “nationalist sentiment or ideology” created and perpetuated through sport, “sporting nationalism,” and suggests that unlike hegemonic forms of nationalism such as government propaganda, this form fosters “an emotional, expressive attachment…[which] often elicits voluntary patriotism” (2009:349). Gary Medel indeed is an excellent example of the ways an athlete may become even more iconic in their moments of defeat, when their emotions both reflect those of their fans, and are reproduced on television and social media in a way that I would describe as simulacramous (see Deleuze and Guattari 1987—and yes, I did just invent the world “simulacra-mous”).

Northern Chileans still maintain that they are forgotten by national politics and leaders. Their “national pride” is not one of blind adherence to national logics, agendas, or belonging. Rather the underdog status of the Marea Roja worked in parallel with Hospiceños underdog status within the nation. Just as they proclaimed during the recent earthquake that “Hospicio is Chile too,” with the national team’s successes and even close loss, it was as if they claimed “Chile is a formidable fútbol nation too!”

Here is  a slide show of the "best" memes about Chile's performance in the World Cup

See my other blogs on the World Cup:
The World Cup on Social Media Worldwide
Seeing Red: Watching the World Cup in Northern Chile
Part of the Red Sea: Watching the World Cup in Northern Chile
Where is the South American Futball Unity?


Alter, Joseph
1994 Somatic Nationalism: Indian Wrestling and Militant Hinduism. Modern Asian Studies 28(3):557-588.

Bernett, H.
1966 Nationalsozalistische Leibserziehung Schorndorf bei Stuttgart: Verlag Karl Hofmann.

Cho, Younghan
2009 Unfolding Sporting Nationalism in South Korean Media Representations of the 1968, 1984 and 2000 Olympics. Media, Culture, and Society 31(3): 347–364.

Deleuze, Gilles, and Felix Guattari
1987  A Thousand Plateaus: Capitalism and Schizophrenia. Brian Massumi, trans. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press.Dibbits 1986

Goldberg, David Theo
2002  The Racial State. Malden: Blackwell Publishers.

Hansen, Thomas Blom and Finn Stepputat
2006  Sovereignty Revisited.  Annual Review of Anthropology 35:295-315.

Levermore, R.
2004  Sport’s Role in Constructing the “Inter-state” Worldview.  In Sport and International Relations: An Emerging Relationship. R. Levermore and A. Budd, eds. pp. 16–30 London and New York: Routledge.

Moodie, Ellen
2005  Microbus Crashes and Coca-Cola Cash: The Value of Death in “Free-Market” El Salvador. American Ethnologist 33(1):63-80.

Ong, Aihwa
2004  Cultural Citizenship as Subject Making: Immigrants Negotiate Racial and Cultural Boundaries in the United States. In Life in America: Identity and Everyday Experience. Lee D. Baker, ed. Pp.156-178. Malden, CT:Blackwell.

Richardson, Diane
1998  Sexuality and Citizenship. Sociology 32:83-100.

Riordan, J.
1977  Sport and Soviet Society. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Rowe, David
1999  Sport, Culture, and the Media: The Unruly Trinity. Buckingham: Open Univeristy Press.

Stychin, Carl Frederick
1998 A Nation By Rights: National Cultures, Sexual Identity Politics, and the Discourse of Rights. Philadelphia: Temple University Press.

The very first night I spent in my field site in North Chile, the national team qualified for the World Cup. I had no television, no radio, and internet only through my smartphone. But I knew every time the team scored. Horns honked, dogs barked, whistles cut through the evening air, a dull roar of shouts bouncing off one another between the small homes, and six floor apartment buildings hung around the city like the fog that rolls in every afternoon from the Pacific Ocean. When the opposing team scored, you could hear the low rumble of grumbling viewers. By the game’s end, the horns were honking again, fireworks were being set off, and I ventured to my balcony to see people waving large flags in the street. 

On this first night it was very clear that the national fútbol team was important in this site. But I didn’t realize I would eventually see a contradiction in this. The widespread support and excitement about the team is very surprising given that most people in Northern Chile feel about they are often forgotten by the wealthier or more cosmopolitan people in the central region of the country, and are disenfranchised from national politics. My fieldsite is a working-class marginal city just seven kilometers up a steep hill from the region’s major port city, and those perched on the hill feel they have been politically discarded even within the region. It was recently voted the least liveable urban area in Chile, in part because, as I’ve written before, there is very little that is pleasing about the aesthetics of the place. Yet when it comes to fútbol, their very visible practices—wearing red fútbol jerseys, setting off fireworks, and posting a great deal on social networking sites—stand in stark contrast to their usually minimal visual expression.   

A week before Chile’s first game, Facebook was filled with humorous memes related to the world cup, from comparing the team’s bald coach, to bald reggaetón singer Pitbull. Others, in anticipation of a match against the Australian team, featured pictures of kangaroos in compromising positions. On game day, the city becomes a sea of red. At the local informal market, I noticed Chilea fútbol jerseys being sold at the beginning of June. The five supermarkets in town also offer jerseys for both the national team, as well as select others, including Brazil, Argentina, and Spain. Hours before an afternoon game begins, the sounds of plastic trumpets and car horns fill the air. The smell of meat being cooked on grills makes my stomach growl. Children, wearing pint-sized jerseys, and with faces painted like the flag, ride their bikes around the neighborhood. Seemingly every middle-aged man walking down the street carries a flag and a case of Cristal or Escudo beer, either on his way home from the corner store or to his friend’s house. Young men, and middle-aged mothers alike invite friends over to their homes to watch via Facebook post, often enticing them with photos of beer cans or food accompanied by a Chilean flag or pelota. 

When the game starts, the whole family, and maybe some friends or neighbors gather around the flat screen television that’s positioned in the living room, or more often in the kitchen. Younger brothers are forced to wear silly wigs of hats that look like pelotas. The streets become quiet for a few minutes, until the first big play. During the first game, Chile scored after 12 minutes and during the second, Chile barely missed a goal about five minutes into the game. Once viewers have something to cheer about, the world erupts with trumpets and yells of “conchetumare” (a somewhat all-purpose expletive). After every score or close save, my Facebook feed instantly fills with simple statements such as “weon” (somewhat equivalent to ‘dude’), “vamos chile mierda” [let’s go chile. shit!], and “goooollllll”. After a victory, of which I was fortunate enough to see two, whole families exit to the street to “see what’s going on.” Fireworks are lit, people walk to the nearest plaza or to the downtown area, singing the national anthem or simply changing “Chi Chi Chi Le Le Le. Viva Chile!” Instagram is filled with photos of the crowd, selfies while wrapped in the flag, and screen captures of the television displaying the national team. A few hours later, after they’ve finished their twelve hour shift, workers in the nearby copper mines post their cell phone videos of hundreds of their coworkers erupting as they watch a goal being scored from the dining hall of the mining operation. 

These practices are much like they would be in countless other neighborhoods around the world. Except that these practices defy two of the major factors I see defining daily life in this place: an absence of attention to aesthetics, and a feeling of disenfranchisement from the nation. So what is it about sport, or perhaps the World Cup specifically, that inspires this transformation? Most people have told me they are particularly excited by the World Cup this year because Chile’s team is good, and because it is a nice reason to share time with family. Others suggest Chileans have a “spirit of clawing fanaticism…to fight and overcome hardships.” This explanation makes more sense of course in the specific context of my fieldsite where being an underdog is a way of life. Chile is a team that usually qualifies about once a decade. They often find themselves in the second round (of 16) in the tournament, but have not placed since 1962. Among the world’s best 32 fútbol teams, they are not a total long-shot, but neither are they a sure thing. And this year, being placed in what some call a “group of death,” makes that fight to overcome hardship even more exhilarating.

Yet Chileans have had reasons to hope. Rachel Riley of Countdown statistically determined that based on characteristics of past World Cup champions, Chile was most likely to win. Northern Chileans also took it as a good omen that their first game was to be played in Cuiabá which according to reports holds 33,000, inspiring allusions to the 33 miners that were trapped underground in the region just after the World Cup of 2010. Though the stadium actually holds over 39,000, Chilean sports journalists repeatedly began reports form the stadium with “Estamos bien en el estadio los 33 mil” [We are well in the stadium, the 33 thousand of us], echoing the miners’ first communication with surface search parties “Estamos bien en el refugion, los 33” [We are well in the shelter, the 33 of us]. The 33 miners even made a video in the weeks leading up to the World Cup kickoff, widely shared on social media, in which they declare, “Spain is tough? Holland is tough? We don’t fear the ‘death group’! We don’t care about death because we defeated death before!”

For more English language info on the commercial, see José Manuel Simian's writing on the NPR blog.

The Chilean national team now prepares to face home team Brazil in the second round, sure to be a tough match. Northern Chileans prepare with their red t-shirts, silly hats, 6-packs of beer, and meat to be grilled. Fútbol might just be an excuse to enjoy a rousing afternoon or evening with friends and family for some, but for others, the national team embodies the struggles and hopes of daily life. Links circulate now, about strategies Chile could use to defeat favorite, Brazil, and people are already making plans for a Saturday afternoon game. While the outcome remains unsure, it is certain that the city will be awash in red, and if by change the Chileans manage to win, I’ll join the crowd in fireworks, singing, and general merriment in the small plaza near my house. Of course, for once I’ll have to worry about my clothing. I have make sure my red t-shirt is clean for Saturday. 

a shorter version of this post appears on the WHY WE POST blog at University College London

Sometimes, leaving “the field” and returning can be incredibly productive. Sometimes it is because it gives you time to think and plan, while in a different mindset. Other times, it is because the return throws differences into stark relief with the life one leads in other places.

Both have been true for me in the last three days. After spending a month at University College London with my colleagues, I have a much better grasp on where The Global Social Media Impact Study is going, where my part fits in, and how it relates to the other eight fieldsites involved.

But what is even more impressionable, possibly even phenomenologically so, is the sense of aesthetics that I immediately notice upon returning. In London I lived in a quaint house with IKEA furniture, on a quiet little lane in a central suburb with plenty of independently owned shops on the high street. I wore my favorite uniform—1960s style shift dresses, leggings, and mid-calf height boots—almost every day. I got a haircut, and bought new mascara, and an old guilty pleasure of Body Shop tea tree oil face wash (fully acknowledging the problematic politics of the Body Shop).

In essence I lived, looked, and thus felt, a little more like myself. The nine of us on the project collectively wrote a blog on “real methods in anthropology” wherein we describe the ways we are a bit like chameleons, and do certain things to more closely fit in as we live in our fieldsites. While this may appear as “inauthentic” to some people, we know that the self in everyday life is always a performance (see Goffman 1959), and that people are always a different version of themselves in different contexts. Yet, returning to Alto Hospicio has reminded me just how different this self is from the selves I perform in Chicago, Washington DC, La Paz, and London.

Being away has also helped me to pinpoint what it is about this place that makes me so different, and perhaps fortunately, I think what I’ve realized has quite extensive impacts for my research as well. Put simply, the aesthetics of Alto Hospicio are incredibly different from those in the other cities where I like to spend time. 

At first glance, I think to myself ‘This place has no sense of aesthetics.’ But obviously this is not true. Plenty of people tell me that they have personal styles and tastes. Houses are often painted bright colors on the outside and decorated with plenty of artificial flowers on the inside. The new municipal building in the city is architecturally pleasing. Cars are clearly modified with exterior lights, and decals. Clothing ranges from black tshirts displaying heavy metal band names to sunny beach attire. These are styles, not just reflections of function.

Indeed, to me, these styles appear as an absence. This has caused me to ruminate on what makes “middle class North Atlantic” style so different. And my initial supposition, is that it has something to do with nostalgia. My parents live in an Arts and Crafts era bungalow and have thus decorated the place in furniture reflecting that era. My best friend is slightly obsessed with Danish Mid-Century Modern design, which has influenced his furniture, clothing, and even the brand of headphones he owns. As a child, my favorite book--Anne of Green Gables—created a desire for my bedroom to have a certain country Victorian feel to it. And since my early teens I’ve enjoyed sifting through second hand shops for vintage clothing (often influenced by tv shows, from the Brady Bunch, to the Mary Tyler Moore Show, and most recently Mad Men). 

In many ways we (in the cosmopolitan centers I know well) live in an age of nostalgia, however convoluted this form of nostalgia may be. We live in the age of Steampunk and Hipsters. A recent trip with my sister to the H&M clothing store in her Madrid neighborhood revealed hundreds of square feet of fashion that reminded me of my high school closet (the mid-late 1990s, for anyone who’s counting). Instagram, which appears in the square format reminiscent of now-defunct Polaroid photos, offers a plethora of filters with names like, Lo Fi and 1977 that presumably (and in my opinion, often successfully) give photos an aesthetic quality similar to those home photos of the 1960s-80s. Films like Wes Anderson's and Spike Jonze's (aside from his frequent forays into Jackass-ery) trade in nostalgic art design, and even more mainstream movies like American Hustle and The Great Gatsby use their historical settings to forefront nostalgic aesthetics. Similarly, music-of which I represent possibly the least qualified person in the world to analyze-as of late (or maybe for much longer?) has seen plenty of popular acts that pull from eras gone by (ie Sharon Van Etten, , or that damn Pharmakon remake of Nancy Sinatra/Sonny & Cher's 'Bang Bang' that no one else seems to be getting tired of). Of course, these examples are not coincidental. Indeed, nostalgia is a calculated art produced in mass by Ad executives. 

This is not to say that all aesthetics in the North Atlantic are a product of nostalgia. There are others that reflect “foreign influence” such as Japanese inspired home interiors, or Ikea minimalism. Plenty of clothing in the “latest style” is made from new synthetic fabrics in styles that have not been broached in previous eras. And much recent architecture and car design has reflected 'green' or 'eco aesthetics,' that combines cuteness (pastel colors), efficiency (small=more fuel efficient), aerodynamics, functionality (hatchbacks carry more in a smaller space), and a sense of futurism. Yet, often, to me these types of style also appear as a sort of nostalgia for former visions of the future, as they appear in representations such as The Jetsons or 2001: A Space Odyssey (but maybe that’s just me?).

In sum, these forms of nostalgia appear as absent in Alto Hospicio. Instagram photos present uninspired subjects in mundane settings without much attention to the filters or other enhancements available in the application. Facebook posts—both photos and text—appear to lack curation. One person’s clothing style is indistinguishable from the next (at least to my eyes). Houses each equally resemble lego blocks (as Daniel Miller commented to me). And even the city’s parks and plazas do very little to appear as natural refuges from city life.

The challenge however, is to first, find a way of describing this form of aesthetics without implicitly privileging the forms of North Atlantic aesthetics I described earlier, both in language and ideology. And second, to find what are the underlying currents that define these forms of aesthetics that are present. I certainly would not characterize the aesthetics of Alto Hospicio as a form of Protestant asceticism (see Weber 1958). But it is a new city, so perhaps it would be naïve to think that nostalgia would be an important structure of feeling there. Most families in Alto Hospicio are working-class so frugality and functionality may be an important part of aesthetics.

I am more than welcome to comments that might propose different forms of aesthetics, whether they be possibilities for Alto Hospicio, or presented in contrast to what I have outlined here!

This weekend I presented a paper at the Royal Anthropological Institute's conference on Anthropology and Photography, titled #Instaterremoto: Tracing Crisis through Instagram Photography. As part of the conference I was given the opportunity to showcase my own photography, and exhibited twelve photos under the same title. Here I reproduce that exhibit, which can also be found at the RAI's Flickr feed here. 

On the night of 1 April 2014, Alto Hospicio suffered an 8.2 earthquake. The city was without power and water for several days and many were left homeless. Because I am researching social media usage in the city, I have paid particular attention to the photos that (usually young) residents have uploaded to Facebook and Instagram. I began adding my own images to these websites with similar hashtags to contribute to the body of imagery by residents who were were many times calling for more attention and help from the Chilean national government. In many ways, the people of Alto Hospicio felt forgotten, and were using social media to speak to whoever would listen. I took these photographs, featured here, in solidarity with others who were using their smartphone cameras to claim visibility and call for attention to the disaster.

The text of my paper presentation at RAI will be posted soon. Until then, here is the narrative of my experience of the earthquake. 
part one
part two
part three
part four
part five

On April 3rd, I was awoken by the heat of direct sunlight in my tent. For the second night I had barely slept, with tremors reminding me that the earth was still moving it's plates every few hours. Though it certainly felt less scary to be close to the ground and with nothing but a thin layer of fabric capable of falling on me, the tremors were still startling enough to cause momentary heart racing. 

I opened up the tent door, hoping to let in some cooler air, and was greeted by Nicole's father. A few others were already up and about, and Nicole's mother had just returned to the camp with all the bread she could find. She handed out pieces and started the camp stove to make coffee. 

As I was sipping some black coffee for which I desperately wanted sugar, Alex stumbled out of his tent, also expelled by the heat. As he ate bread and drank coffee he spoke to his mother on the phone, who was urging him to come to her house in Arica, where less destruction had occurred. But radio reports the day before had declared the road between Arica and Alto Hospicio closed. Alex called his uncle to find out more. His uncle informed him that the roads had been reopened for non-commercial traffic. Alex was convinced. 

However, there was still the question of getting enough gas to make the four hour drive. The Copec station along route 16 in Alto Hospicio was only dispensing gas by 1 liter increments to people on foot. So we drove further up the road to the edge of the city where another Copec station was closed to all but emergency vehicles. Alex decided he would try the station on the other side of town, but it was closed completely. 

Another call to Alex's uncle, and his report was that the gas station in Pozo Almonte, 40 miles to the East, was open as normal. How the uncle was an expert on transportation, I didn't know, but when Alex decided he was at least going to drive to Pozo to see the situation, and invited me along, I realized there wasn't much reason to stay in a precarious apartment in a city with no electricity or water. So I packed a bag quickly, getting out of the apartment before another aftershock and we set off.

Indeed, gas was being sold normally in Pozo Almonte, and we filled up the tank, then took a 6 hour drive to Arica. It is normally much quicker, but there was indeed quite a bit of fallen rock along the road. For much of the drive, the road is bordered on the East with high hills. During the earthquake, much of the rock that makes up these hills had come loose and fallen, in both big bolder sized pieces and smaller, but equally as unnavigatable basketball sized pieces.

As the sun was setting at 8pm, we finally arrived to Arica, a town flickering with light, and people living normally. We went to a pizza place and ordered a pie, then to a botilleria where we bought a 6 pack of beer. Alex paid for both using his debit card, which had been impossible in Alto Hospicio for the last two days. His mother's house did not have electricity restored yet, nor water, but it was nice enough just being able to buy takeout dinner as if things were normal. Indeed, the people of Arica didn't seem phased at all. The chaos of Alto Hospicio never ensued, and they were practically living life as if the earthquake had been a minor hiccup. 

After 4 hours of sleep I awoke to people rustling around the house. Plenty of the family members were up and about, preparing a cold breakfast for the children, and Alex had left to take an uncle to visit on some older relatives. I felt in the way and groggy, so I made my way over to an armchair that sat in the kitchen corner. I drifted in and out of sleep there for 20 minutes before Alex returned with his Jeep.

When he did, his aunt collected everyone’s cellphones, including mine, and hooked them up to the car battery. I sat in the Jeep and typed out the first installment of this blog series, then posted it using the internet connection on my phone. I watched as families waited in line for the water truck then carried large jugs back to their homes. Alex played catch with his niece. Other children played baseball in the empty lot across the street. There were bits of completely normal activity amidst chaos.

After all the cell phones were charged, Alex and I drove off to go back to our respective apartments. Of course, as I entered mine, another 4.2 aftershock hit and I almost left again immediately, but instead I organized things as best I could, fed the fish, and cleaned up most of what had spilled on the kitchen floor. I took the stuffed foldable mattress and my sleeping bag. My friend Nicole offered to lend me a tent. I met Alex downstairs, and we dumped our important things in the Jeep. We then walked 2 blocks with our camping equipment to an empty lot where Nicole’s family and several neighbors from her apartment building had set up a camp the night before. We cooked chorizo and chicken on a grill one of Nicole’s neighbors had carried to the lot. As it became evening we drank warm rum and coke because there was no ice to be bought or borrowed. We played Uno, and then one of Nicole’s older neighbors started a conversation with me about Chicago, in which he played the part of expert. 

Eventually I climbed into the tent that was mine for the night with my flippable mattress and thin blanket, and fell asleep to the sounds of more chatter and someone in a nearby tent snoring loudly. 

After leaving our apartment complex, my friend Alex and I set out driving around a city that felt entirely foreign in the almost-complete dark. The only points of light were car headlights and occasional bonfires neighbors had built to stay warm in the windy night air while wearing the shorts and tshirts they had been wearing when they ran out of their homes. 

We first slowly drove past an apartment building near ours’, where my friend Nicole lives with her family. Yelling “Nicole!” out the window proved useless, as the group of people that had gathered outside was in the hundreds, but we did manage to spot her father and a smile and wave from him assured us things were alright. 

We left there to check on a different uncle and his family, arriving on a side street, I met the whole family, hanging out on an empty concrete futbol cancha. While Alex went across the street to the family’s house, his young cousin told me that an internal wall had fallen and her mother’s foot had been hurt. “But we’re alright. It was exciting!” She commented. I could tell she was anxious. She seemed happy, but just wouldn’t stop talking. Asking me all sorts of questions, telling me all sorts of details from her day before the earthquake happened. It was as if, if she could just keep talking she wouldn’t pay attention to the more recent events and her fears would subside. 

I felt bad, I was only half paying attention. It was about this time, 45 minutes more or less after the quake had happened, that my friends in La Paz, Bolivia started sending facebook messages that popped up on my phone. They had felt tremors as well, even 750 kilometers away, and immediately turned on the television news. Hearing the earthquake’s epicenter was near me in Iquique, they wrote to see if I was ok. Most told me there were likely to be aftershocks and I should get on a bus to La Paz as soon as I could. And though I would have really loved to have done that immediately, I knew it would be impossible. With no power, and many highways likely blocked by falling rock, travel between cities wasn’t likely to happen any time soon. 

Next we passed by Alex’s cousin’s house, where we parked the jeep, barely missing a fallen electric cable. After navigating the electric situation, we confirmed the family was ok, but without cigarettes. Alex too was craving one but everyone seemed to be out. By the time walked back to the jeep, I had received at least 10 facebook messages from my friend Andrea, who was vacationing in a region further south. She was worried about a mutual friend and when I told her I was with Alex she asked us to drive over and check on her. And from there we started making rounds checking on friends. First, we went to Alex’s old neighborhood, where he had lived for 10 years. Essentially going door to door, he made sure everyone was accounted for. It was fairly easy, because most people were sitting on their stoops or had gathered on the sidewalk just outside their homes. We stopped and talked, drinking coffee with our friend Samanta and her family, who also lived in the neighborhood. Like Alex and his cousin, everyone was craving a smoke, and after finishing our coffee we set out again to find tobacco. Along the way we stopped by our friend Martin’s house, where he lives with his parents. He had been at work in Iquique, his mother informed us, but had texted to say he was alright. Then off to check on Leo, who we found safe at home, though he had been on a bus the steep highway between Iquique and Alto Hospicio when the earthquake hit, cracking the pavement several feet deep. He had to walk the rest of the way home, which took about an hour. “My mother assaulted me with hugs when I walked it he door” he told us as he took a long drag from a cigarette he had offered to share with Alex. I even took a drag, feeling shaken because my mother still had not responded to my Whatsapp message. 

Leo also gave us a hint on a place that might be open selling cigarettes, it turned out to not be true, but as we drove down the one of the main streets of the city, about 2 hours after the quake had hit, there were occasional corner stores that were dimly lit with flashlights, and long lines waiting on the sidewalk. People were buying water, as the news had already spread that there would be no running water for at least two days. I was thankful for 5 liter bottle I had been told to buy. Though the first three shops had already sold out of cigarettes, the fourth was well stocked, and Alex pooled all the cash we had between the two of us and bought 6 packs.

He took long drags as we sat in the jeep outside the bodega. I even smoked half a cigarette. My mother still hadn’t responded to my Whatsapp message 3 hours later, and though I was sure she was fine, after feeling a bit traumatized, all I really wanted, was to hear that my mother loves me. The cigarette helped. I wasn’t sure if it was really the nicotine that had a calming effect, but it did somehow make me feel better. Maybe it was just a moment of stillness, deep breathing, and knowing that I was still alive after what felt like extreme airplane turbulence in my apartment.