Public Address - Club Politique (Home)

Metics Ten | Dec 13, 2005 19:15

There's been a little agitation about the lack of continuation of the Metics series, so I thought I had better get cracking and continue the story. After all, I'm sure there's a world of people out there waiting to hear about this one.

Ok, so I lied. Mostly you'd like to hear me ranting about race relations. But we can't have rants every day of week without appearing slightly unbalanced, so back to the rationalisation of this problem we go.

Why I named this series 'Metics' is because I'm certain that there exists within almost any nation-state a society that is the 'real' nationals. The specific dimensions of that society are more often the not the subject of a domestic debate (i.e. what does it mean to be a 'real' New Zealander), but that a national group exists is not up for debate. All you have to do is ask someone "what's an American?", "what's an Australian?", or "what's a Italian?" to get an opinion about what that group is.

You might note of course that this is can easily be an outside perception of that a nation is. But outside perceptions are as important as the inside ones. As with many things, what you say you are and what others see you as are two very different, though interrelated, viewpoints.

I've come to the conclusion that one angle into the problem is this: people can say whatever the heck they want about New Zealanders for example, but unless you are a genuine member of the nation your opinion counts for naught. The next question then becomes, "but who's a genuine member?" And that's where the equation begins to loop back around. Someone can feel completely at home in a country, but have their opinion denied validity in political and social circumstances.

More often than not, "genuine" belonging is determined through one of two mechanisms, undeniable verification, or subjective agreement. The former is something like being born into a citizenship. If you're born and raised in New Zealand, you're a New Zealander even though you might not actually like rugby or eat meat pies. The latter is a little more difficult, but is true if you can pass one particular test. Try saying to someone you think is an actual New Zealander, "I'm a Kiwi". If they laugh, smirk, look baffled, or patronise you, you're not.

It's the latter test that many fail. And there is a philosophical basis to it, as you might guess. A famous French guy called Pierre Bourdieu wrote a lot about what he called 'social capital', which is (in a nutshell) the idea that we each accumulate a lot of kudos around the things we either do, or are. Good education, big kudos, high social capital. Inheriting old money, big kudos, high social capital. Get busted for something shifty, low/no kudos, low to negative social capital. You get the idea.

I took a shine to Bourdieu's idea because it goes long way to explaining why it is that someone is automatically excluded from any particular society, and suggests a lot about nation-building as a form of socialisation. Even when they might have high social capital that is. The example that is often used is of Black people in France. They may well have a great education, a perfect French accent, have been brought up in a good family with heaps of cash, and be highly cosmopolitan in approach and outlook, but their skin and hair colour automatically places them outside the boundaries of that it is to be "French".

Problematically this undermines my previous point about undeniable verification, but that's more a commentary on the realities of racism than nationalism. The fact of the matter is that being Black isn't always going to prevent an individual from being regarded as "French". Should a Black individual accumulate just the right kind of social capital, then they're likely to overcome barriers like racism, and maybe even damage the barrier itself (witness the adulation of Aboriginal AFL players in Victoria).

Social capital is important for any member of a nation though, because it contributes a great deal to the amount of governmental belonging the individual has. Even though you might fit all the external indicators of national membership, i.e. right colour, right accent, unless you can apply a little of that social capital you'll never be in a position to speak for the nation.

And that's what it often boils down to, in my humble opinion, is the ability to speak and be both heard and recognised. It's natural for groups to not listen to people who are not members. And if you are a metic, according to the definition I've spaced out over these ten blogs, then what hope do you have of having your opinion heard? Very little, I will continue to argue.

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Dearly Departed | Dec 08, 2005 18:02

I think quite a bit about what it's like to grow up in a small place. The expectations people you know place on you, and the way in which all your actions have these unforeseen consequences.

It's a bit like a weird cross between the butterfly effect and Chinese whispers. Every time you bump into someone in the street it can lead to another person you know repeating the things you've said, or done, back to you through the filter of half a dozen conversations.

To be completely honest I got the hell away from that kind of place pretty much as soon as I was able, but the memory of being an unwitting part of a larger whole, an inseparable part, remains acute. And it's a strange memory because while I'd like to think that I was at the centre of that community, the truth is that circumstances left us at the periphery.

Regardless, if you've ever been really close to a group of people, you'll know what I mean when I say that angst of separation from a community abides. Whether that community is an extended family, formerly unknown kith you tie yourself to in a big city, or as simple as the guys you regularly have a beer with, losing that tether to a wider group is never a gentle transition.

The difference between my situation and that of someone who is forced into separation is that I chose to walk away from my hometown. And we all own our choices, right?

I suppose the answer to that one is, 'usually'.

What makes me think about the need to leave though is that my gut told me I had no other real choice. If I was to ever achieve any kind of happiness, then escape was the only other option. It was a simple as stay and never grow, or leave always wondering about what could have been.

And wonder I do.

I wonder mostly about the people I've left behind over the fifteen years of wandering, and if they really understand why it was that I was driven to keep moving. I wonder if they truly understand what it was I was doing 'out there'. Hell, I wonder if I knew exactly what it was I looked for.

But in a way, that's the part of the human psyche we all struggle with, the uncertainty that our actions are taking us away from the comfortable and known into territory dangerous and disconcerting. There's times though when change is the only thing we want to embrace, times when the stupor of day to day life threatens to collapse you beneath it's weight. Times when just the act of acting out a life you feel you've never wanted stands astride of you, pushes down on your chest, suffocating.

I saw that fate waiting for me at nineteen, bailed, and never looked back. Or never until very recently I suppose. Why in the heck else would I leave the much bigger city for Wellington?

Even then, it's choice I made of my own volition, because my need to return to New Zealand finally far outweighed the desire to stay away.

And that's the core of the issue I suppose, the way in which so many opposing forces pull us to and from the places we see ourselves in, and the repercussions that follow. I've seen times when others I know have had to make that decision in circumstances far more fraught than 'moving out of home', times when the separation is more agony than angst.

Surely they make these decisions for reasons their own though? It doesn't make the space they leave behind in the community they've separated themselves from any less tangible, be that community kith or kin, but it says something about the gravity that has drawn them away from that place.

It also doesn't make the Chinese-butterfly-whispers-effect any easier for the departed, but reasoned understanding of what it was that drew people out of your circle, or more precisely what it was that prevented them from staying, would provide comfort to both you and them?

Because maybe, just maybe, a reason can fill the space they left. A reason that can in time squeezed out when you welcome them back. Because if an empty space is there, then surely it means the community you both know all too well is surely missing them, and wants them back?

And because if you know they belong where an emptiness crouches, then perhaps you should let their place itself travel with them, because to do otherwise would be to lie to both yourself, and them.

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