| Ethel Baraona Pohl shares in this text, initially delivered as a lecture, her thoughts on how we need to constantly contest and question how we share knowledge to imagine other possible worlds and which are the sources of those imaginations.
Some Notes invites guest contributors to write additional texts to be part of the Urgent Pedagogies (UP) archive, or to contribute with brief responses consisting of notes and reflections to already existing pieces in the archive or to the project itself.
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| Nina Jäger, for Dear Reader, Dear Friend. A Continent. special edition. London, 2018.
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| Brief Wandering From the Politics of Citation to Other Matters of Care
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| Ethel Baraona Pohl
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FILED AS Theory (Text Contribution)
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| I want this brief text to be an assemblage of thoughts and words, a sort of cadavre exquis where words that are not mine are intertwined with a few of my own thoughts, because it’s the only possible way to really represent how we learn and how we teach.
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| In addition to natural hazard vulnerability, the lack of access to basic infrastructure and financial services imposes restricted production and consumption conditions for this population, as well as limits technological innovations that for some privileged experts, would be promising for reducing our environmental degradation [2]. Hence, when thinking along the United Nation’s promise of “leaving no one behind” for a sustainable future, one must think – What is really possible in marginalized, peripheral, poor contexts?
In my diverse experiences in social projects in Brazil, I came to face situations where from the lack of options, these populations have been actively resisting their existence through informal and creative ways of production, consumption and education. Ways that have been excluded from the respect of government officials and policymakers, but that we can learn from to ressignify our modus operandis that have overpassed the bearable impact on the planet.
I bring to the discussion the practice of mutirão, a word with indigenous roots from Tupi-Guarani mutyrõ (within many other variations), freely translated to English as “common work”. The practice, with debated origin [3], has been present in diverse cultural contexts and geographical regions, suggesting a common intrinsic human trace of solidarity [3], but that aggregates different layers of political and social challenges. Deteriorated by the growing individualization of work configuration, some practices of mutual help survive their remote past’s heritage [3], yet incorporating new complexities of contemporary urban configuration.
In Brazilian cities, despite the legal effort to make cities accessible [4], these challenges include housing deficit, lack of basic services such as sanitation and electricity, and restricted land access [5]. In the overall neglect of this urban ill by some government officials, it creates a condition that obliges people to find informal ways of occupying the city – usually in configurations such as favelas, and ocupações. In these scenarios of poor infrastructure assistance, climate vulnerability is enhanced, being common phenomena of landslides, extreme rainfall and floods that cause significant dwelling damage and human loss. Yet invisibilized by officials, the segregated people find political and social strength by unification of their voices, knowledge and workforce abilities in a territory that is not assisted by formal governance. They collectively construct housing, infrastructure, and collective spaces in labor that are generally non-remunerated, non-hierarchical, and do not aim for a financial profit. Therefore, the mutirão incorporates a political view of anti-hegemonic activity that is contrary to capitalist work relations [6].
To bring this into practical terms, I share a practice of an informal occupation located in Santa Maria, a city in south of Brazil, that is in a current legislative process for the State to formally allow 53 families to live where they have been for the past seven years – “Vila Resistência” – in direct translation – “Villa of Resistance”. The name coherently suggests their will of power, as 15 of the pioneer families came from a situation of eviction from a past land they occupied, and in the current site, they have already been through at least three direct threats of removal [7]. The disputatious situation introduces other various conflicts these organizations encounter, and their need to urgently resist to be able to live.
In addition to natural hazard vulnerability, the lack of access to basic infrastructure and financial services imposes restricted production and consumption conditions for this population, as well as limits technological innovations that for some privileged experts, would be promising for reducing our environmental degradation [2]. Hence, when thinking along the United Nation’s promise of “leaving no one behind” for a sustainable future, one must think – What is really possible in marginalized, peripheral, poor contexts?In my diverse experiences in social projects in Brazil, I came to face situations where from the lack of options, these populations have been actively resisting their existence through informal and creative ways of production, consumption and education. Ways that have been excluded from the respect of government officials and policymakers, but that we can learn from to ressignify our modus operandis that have overpassed the bearable impact on the planet.
I bring to the discussion the practice of mutirão, a word with indigenous roots from Tupi-Guarani mutyrõ (within many other variations), freely translated to English as “common work”. The practice, with debated origin [3], has been present in diverse cultural contexts and geographical regions, suggesting a common intrinsic human trace of solidarity [3], but that aggregates different layers of political and social challenges. Deteriorated by the growing individualization of work configuration, some practices of mutual help survive their remote past’s heritage [3], yet incorporating new complexities of contemporary urban configuration.
In Brazilian cities, despite the legal effort to make cities accessible [4], these challenges include housing deficit, lack of basic services such as sanitation and electricity, and restricted land access [5]. In the overall neglect of this urban ill by some government officials, it creates a condition that obliges people to find informal ways of occupying the city – usually in configurations such as favelas, and ocupações. In these scenarios of poor infrastructure assistance, climate vulnerability is enhanced, being common phenomena of landslides, extreme rainfall and floods that cause significant dwelling damage and human loss. Yet invisibilized by officials, the segregated people find political and social strength by unification of their voices, knowledge and workforce abilities in a territory that is not assisted by formal governance. They collectively construct housing, infrastructure, and collective spaces in labor that are generally non-remunerated, non-hierarchical, and do not aim for a financial profit. Therefore, the mutirão incorporates a political view of anti-hegemonic activity that is contrary to capitalist work relations [6].
To bring this into practical terms, I share a practice of an informal occupation located in Santa Maria, a city in south of Brazil, that is in a current legislative process for the State to formally allow 53 families to live where they have been for the past seven years – “Vila Resistência” – in direct translation – “Villa of Resistance”. The name coherently suggests their will of power, as 15 of the pioneer families came from a situation of eviction from a past land they occupied, and in the current site, they have already been through at least three direct threats of removal [7]. The disputatious situation introduces other various conflicts these organizations encounter, and their need to urgently resist to be able to live.
In addition to natural hazard vulnerability, the lack of access to basic infrastructure and financial services imposes restricted production and consumption conditions for this population, as well as limits technological innovations that for some privileged experts, would be promising for reducing our environmental degradation [2]. Hence, when thinking along the United Nation’s promise of “leaving no one behind” for a sustainable future, one must think – What is really possible in marginalized, peripheral, poor contexts?
In my diverse experiences in social projects in Brazil, I came to face situations where from the lack of options, these populations have been actively resisting their existence through informal and creative ways of production, consumption and education. Ways that have been excluded from the respect of government officials and policymakers, but that we can learn from to ressignify our modus operandis that have overpassed the bearable impact on the planet.
I bring to the discussion the practice of mutirão, a word with indigenous roots from Tupi-Guarani mutyrõ (within many other variations), freely translated to English as “common work”. The practice, with debated origin [3], has been present in diverse cultural contexts and geographical regions, suggesting a common intrinsic human trace of solidarity [3], but that aggregates different layers of political and social challenges. Deteriorated by the growing individualization of work configuration, some practices of mutual help survive their remote past’s heritage [3], yet incorporating new complexities of contemporary urban configuration.
In Brazilian cities, despite the legal effort to make cities accessible [4], these challenges include housing deficit, lack of basic services such as sanitation and electricity, and restricted land access [5]. In the overall neglect of this urban ill by some government officials, it creates a condition that obliges people to find informal ways of occupying the city – usually in configurations such as favelas, and ocupações. In these scenarios of poor infrastructure assistance, climate vulnerability is enhanced, being common phenomena of landslides, extreme rainfall and floods that cause significant dwelling damage and human loss. Yet invisibilized by officials, the segregated people find political and social strength by unification of their voices, knowledge and workforce abilities in a territory that is not assisted by formal governance. They collectively construct housing, infrastructure, and collective spaces in labor that are generally non-remunerated, non-hierarchical, and do not aim for a financial profit. Therefore, the mutirão incorporates a political view of anti-hegemonic activity that is contrary to capitalist work relations [6].
To bring this into practical terms, I share a practice of an informal occupation located in Santa Maria, a city in south of Brazil, that is in a current legislative process for the State to formally allow 53 families to live where they have been for the past seven years – “Vila Resistência” – in direct translation – “Villa of Resistance”. The name coherently suggests their will of power, as 15 of the pioneer families came from a situation of eviction from a past land they occupied, and in the current site, they have already been through at least three direct threats of removal [7]. The disputatious situation introduces other various conflicts these organizations encounter, and their need to urgently resist to be able to live.
In that sense, I want to emphasise how the politics of citation are clearly related with Boaventura de Sousa Santos’ concept ‘las ecologías de los saberes,’ where inclusion of diverse knowledges and the ways in which we refer to them are also a matter of care. The title of this text and some of my ramblings about the topic come from a diverse set of references, from books and research projects to dreams and conversations with friends.
In other words, we need to constantly contest and question how we share knowledge to imagine other possible worlds and which are the sources of those imaginations, because as my dear friend Francisco Díaz once said,[1] the blank page is always full of previous inscriptions.
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—Can we talk about the politics of citation as a matter of care?
If we consider the relationship between the act of referencing, the politics of citation, and footnotes as a form of care and affection, it would be possible to understand these practices not only as recognition and respect for those —architects, writers, poets, critical thinkers— from whom one learns, but also as a form of collective care in relation to how knowledge is created and distributed. In her book Living a Feminist Life,[2] feminist writer and researcher Sara Ahmed points “Citation is how we acknowledge our debt to those who came before; those who helped us find our way when the way was obscured because we deviated from the paths we were told to follow. In this book, I cite feminists of color who have contributed to the project of naming and dismantling the institutions of patriarchal whiteness” Laurent Berlant and Kathleen Stuart affirms that “the performance called format can hold the things we think with: encounters, a word, a world, a wrinkle in the neighborhood of what happened. Even if some cites look like direct sources, all things are indirect sources, in truth.”[3]
Similar ideas were mentioned decades earlier by Ivan Illich on his book Deschooling Society,[4] where he stated “the current search for new educational funnels must be reversed into the search for their institutional inverse: educational webs which heighten the opportunity for each one to transform each moment of his living into one of learning, sharing, and caring.” And bell hooks follows up this line of thinking by saying that “learning must be understood as an experience that enriches life in its entirety.”[5] But we are now witnessing what can be described as ‘the academization of care,’ and with that, new models of exploitation and competitiveness emerge from the commodification and loss of meaning of this concept, as most necessary concepts with potential often start to fall from overuse. Mika Hannula beautifully relates to this with his words “The double act of digging deeper into the nuances of how to give content to a concept (or image, sign, act, symbol, etc.) and the aim of creating productive clashes of situated interactions is not so much about producing more talk as about generating sites and situations for learning again how to listen—and to listen carefully.”[6]
Then the big challenge ahead is how to demand openness and generosity and acknowledge that no learning can happen without a practice of care to sustain it.
—How to resist the asymmetries of access to knowledge?
To understand education as a matter of care, is relevant to question who controls the networks of production and distribution of knowledge, and how they do it, recalling what Dubravka Sekulić pointed out when she wrote “the people building alternative networks of distribution [of knowledge] also build networks of support and solidarity.”[7]
Even though there are many attempts to further advance in the field of the conventional citational structures, in academic circles the tendency of disciplines to be self referential is still common, and consequently it affects the way we research, select, and disseminate knowledge. In the past decades we have witnessed a growing monopoly of academic journals with an economic system based on the privatization and commodification of knowledge via paywalls and expensive subscription fees, which provokes what Franco ‘Bifo’ Berardi describes[8] as “the subjugation of research to the narrow interest of profit and economic competition.” Professor Kecia Ali suggests “I want [my colleagues] to look at their research bibliographies and note who is missing from the list and why. And because citation is only one element in a scholarly ecosystem, I want them to look at who they invite to present in speaker series and on panels and who they ask to contribute to journal special issues and edited volumes and festschrifts. I want us to read differently and write differently.”[9] When we decide to mention certain bodies of work, we’re giving visibility to some ideas, while at the same time, we are excluding other voices, therefore some of the most important questions to ask ourselves are: who appears and who doesn’t? and, why?
—Are you ready to abandon competition?
“Competition is stupid in the age of the general intellect,” argues Berardi[10] and I must add that the way we reference the work of others is not innocent. The act of acknowledging is an act of responsibility and it can be a useful tool for...
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| This text is a kind contribution to Urgent Pedagogies by Ethel Baraona Pohl. The text was initially delivered as a lecture in the framework of the lecture series Seven Questions Curatorial,[22] by ETH Studio Jan De Vylder. Curated by Tatiana Bilbao in May 2022, the fourteen lectures of the cycle responded to the main theme ‘The City of Care.’
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| Notes
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| 1.
Francisco Díaz, Patologías Contemporáneas. Ensayos de arquitectura tras la crisis de 2008, dpr-barcelona and Uqbar Editores, 2020.
2.
Sara Ahmed, Living a Feminist Life, Duke University Press, 2017.
3.
Lauren Berlant, Kathleen Stewart, The Hundreds, Duke University Press, 2019.
4. Ivan Illich, Deschooling Society, Harper & Row, 1972.
5. bell hooks, Teaching Community: A Pedagogy of Hope, Routledge, 2003.
6. Mika Hannula, Politics, Identity, and Public Space, Utrecht Consortium (Expodium and MaHKU), 2009.
7. Dubravka Sekulić, “On Knowledge and ‘Stealing’,” The Funambulist #17 Weaponized Infrastructure, 2018.
8. Franco "Bifo" Berardi, The Uprising. On Poetry and Finance, Semiotext(e), MIT Press, 2012.
9. www.bu.edu/articles/2020/kecia-ali-examines-gender-bias-in-academia/
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| Ethel Baraona Pohl (they/them) is a critic, writer and curator, as well as a co-founder of the independent research studio and publishing house dpr-barcelona, which operates in the fields of architecture, political theory, and the social milieu. Their curatorial practice includes, among others, “Twelve Cautionary Urban Tales” (Matadero Madrid, 2020–21); and more recently, “Llibres Model” a curated book collection and open library (Model, Barcelona Architectures Festival 2022, 2023). Ethel is Senior Researcher at the Chair of Architecture and Care (Care.) in the Department of Architecture ETH Zürich. Their writing has been widely published, both in academic and independent publications. Ethel believes that publishing is a political act, and reading, a form of resistance.
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Urgent Pedagogies is an IASPIS project.
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