Note: Between 1999-2004 I traveled around Rwanda during research. Many things happened on my trips and it is only now that I start to share them.


Karinne (as usual not her real name) appeared to be into everything.  She was in three educational programs in five different countries.  She was co-Director of two centers.  She was writing several articles for journals and generals alike on women, democracy, civil society, new media, public spheres, genocide, women and genocide, democracy and women, civil society and genocide, truth and reconciliation, reconciliation and genocide – you get the point.  Unfortunately for Karinne, she did all this poorly.  Stretched too thin, all efforts seemed to be half-hearted. 

Now, this is not to say that Karinne was incapable of learning or alternatively teaching.  Rather, she had no interest in learning how to do anything correctly because that would just slow her down and cut into her profit margin.  All Karinne had to do was a little of everything regardless of quality because in Rwanda at the time there was a lot of nothing - not nothing nothing for there were a great number of initiatives underway; just nothing completed or completely working.  In addition to this, there was a lot of people, sympathy as well as money coming to the country in order to help get something, anything started.  And it came from all corners of the globe, it came – almost daily via envelopes, packages, Western Union, UPS, Fedex, Horses and Buggies. 

The desire to send was clear.  Individuals felt guilty about not doing anything. Collectively we had failed to do anything about the violence. We could not sit back and not do anything about the aftermath. Individuals also wanted to be part of the redevelopment.  But where should their support go - I mean where exactly do you send the check?  Rwanda was still a mystery to most of the world.  They knew killing fields but nothing about survivors and their institutions.  As a result, two areas became focal points of attention: governments and universities.  The reason was simple: both had webpages and could easily be found.  In a vacuum of misunderstanding, guilt and ignorance, those with these resources COULD clean up.  Karinne was one of them.  

Hers was a no limited enterprise.  Indeed, her reach was global.  She pimped all masterfully and in the most fabulously adorned outfits imaginable – day in and day out.  “Need an interpreter for your survey?”  “No problem,” in Yellow.  “Need some researchers to do some archival work?”  “No problem,” in Green.  “Need a little essay on women?”  “No Problem,” in Purple and Red.  “Need a little lecture to be given in Norway or Belgium or Toronto?”  “No Problem,” in Pink.  It just kept coming. I have seen some deep closets in my day.  My childhood friend Kadeem Hardison's mom ran a modeling agency so you got to see all types of clothes - on models, in designer's studios, in draft form, on the floor - everywhere.

Now, this all stood out prominently for slowly emerging from the ravages of civil war, genocide, regime change and chronic underdevelopment, Rwandans were generally broke.  Actually "dead broke" would be the more appropriate but less sensitive phrase.  The average Rwandan was partially clothed, shoeless and struggling to survive.  If they did not have clothes, they were either obtained from the local market which carried a limited assortment of designs, materials and colors or from a group swap-meet which offered a slightly greater variety.  In context, the clothing and general attitude made sense and it was also quite reasonable that folks kinda did what they had to do in order to do what they had to do.  Much respect.

Karinne was one of the better-off returnees however – representing a completely different Rwandan entirely.  She had some education, some life experience outside the country, some travel, some languages (more than the two or three that indigenous Rwandans had).  She also came with a West African sensibility: loud, colorful, boisterous, energetic and busy.  In contrast, indigenous Rwandans were generally mellow, subdued, noble, quiet – traumatized a little or just shy (not many have come this far into the continent).  It was almost my sixth trip to Rwanda before I heard a loud noise (that is the source of another story).  

Now the disjuncture between Rwandans did not go unnoticed. Because of the obvious gaming (playing all against all) and general inefficiency of Karinne, she developed quite an international reputation.  In airports in Amsterdam, cafes in Belgium and conferences in Maryland, stories abound about the colorful woman running the center and a private fiefdom at the University.  To the new and the men, she was inept but charming.  To the women, she was aggressive, dismissive but with flawless skin.  I heard of grant projects that were simultaneously being submitted to and funded by different organizations.  The same work with different funds.  We all just shook it off, acknowledging our naiveté, the price of doing business and figuring that sooner or later she would get hers.  She did this, consistently however – that is get hers.  There were no come-uppins though just go-downins to the endless pit that was her perfectly matching purse.  

In post-genocide Rwanda, there was always another NGO, another aid agency, another academic ready to pay for some information, another journalist wanting to do an expose on the striving Rwandan, another student, another intrepid soul seeking forgiveness for having stood by when the horror struck this little country. Karinne was able to suck all of them up like some empathetic vortex.  Out of the other end, we came out simultaneously warmed that we had attempted something, pissed that we did not achieve what we wanted, confused at where all the money went, relaxed that more time, resources as well as energy was not spent and frustrated that we were not able to complain to any one – accept those at the bar in Kenya who recently escaped Karinne’s grasp. 

All this for me was very familiar.  Karinne reminded me of every kid back on the block in New York city in the 1980s.  Afrika Bambatta said it best: 

• Looking for the perfect beat (Searching for the perfect beat)
  
• Looking for the perfect beat (Seeking for the perfect beat)
  
• I must get mine (I'm out to get it)
  
• I must get mine (I'm out to get it)
  

Or, you could go the New Jack City route.  Same vibe.  Different medium.

It was all home to me though.  As one looked out into the city - a fierce creature that waited either to reveal some wondrous vision and/or to rob you blind, one got very adept at looking for the vulnerable, the confused, the lost.  This made "transactions" a little easier.  I recalled one of my cousins rolling up on me at one point in the Bowery where I was not used to hanging out (I went for a pair of jeans around Canal Street but ventured to far in).  He stepped in front of me while two of his "associates" pulled up on the side and back of me. Given my height, I was completely hidden.  He looked me up and down and asked me for my watch.  I thought that I would get my ass handed to me by my father if I gave it up, as it had just been given to me and although scared to death, I would rather take the ass whipping from them. While they searched for their next move, I looked up and thought that the person looked familiar.  I then said his name and the two associates immediately walked away.  I was like, it's me, your cousin - your mom's sister's son.  

After that, it was as if the weather changed.  His face turned into a bright smile of acknowledgment and then he told me to watch out because there were folks who would take advantage.  He then pulled me over to the side of the street just in time to observe his associates helping a lost soul return their wallet to the "rightful owner".  For the next few hours, he schooled me on why he chose me and how I was walking through the street.

Karinne must have had the same sensibility of my cousin.  She smelled us coming off the plane, walking into the cafe and popping up at the University.  Fresh meat.  Mark.  You had to admire her though.  Game respects game as it were and she had plenty.  Of course after a long day of coding something or having an interview with someone that massacred their family, I wondered who would have come out victorious if Karinne were to meet my cousin, kind of like some non-celebrity death match show.  An international Hustlers ball.  I think she would take him.  H-U-S-T-L-E-R…..

Note: Between 1999-2004 I traveled around Rwanda during research. Many things happened on my trips and it is only now that I start to share them.

The hotel in Butare (the college town of Rwanda and second largest city) was sparkling white and it seemed the staff was bent on keeping it that way – literally.  They seemed to constantly be on their knees.  Every day they washed the floors, the walls and windows. As I walked down the hallway, porters and cleaners busily went about their business.  One needed sunglasses to walk by so as not to be blinded.

Breakfast was always the same.  Upon reaching the dining room, I made eye contact with the host, found a seat and within seconds was brought a pot of tea, milk as well as a bowl of white and brown sugar on a tray.  Now, interestingly, in this hotel you could never just get a cup with no milk and no sugar.  This was how they served it and there was no deviation.  If there were two of you, then you would each receive the same tray: a pot of tea, milk as well as a bowl of white and brown sugar.  There was no sharing: one pot, two cups.  I tried several times to modify the practice: identifying that the two different people could share the milk, the sugar and even the pot; noting that they could save their resources.  All this was to no avail, however; the exact same trays kept on coming.

The breakfast itself was pretty simple.  Pretty bland as well: white bread, jam, sweet bananas and some kind of peach-like fruit were available on a table in the center.  One could also order some pancake-like substance or some eggs – as long as they were boiled, you were ok.

The other guests seemed to arrive in shifts.  If you were an early bird you caught the older crowd: businessmen, military personnel and seasoned travelers getting a jump on the day.  The Rwandan work day is pretty short.  Also, if one wanted to get anywhere in Rwanda (avoiding the perilous high-speed journeys by moonlight), then they had to get started as soon as possible.  Later birds caught the younger crowd: tourists, idealistic anglo do-gooders from the far corners of the Western world.  After a relatively late night with some bizarre drink from Uganda, this morning I was sitting with the latter.  Alas, I have identified a third group: those who are recovering.

This day, I immediately noticed a new group of young people – they sat at a table in the middle of the room.  I sat at my usual corner table, started to pour my tea before getting some bananas.  Several glared in my direction – trying to ascertain my background but they were thrown off by my Kinyarwandan greeting to the host.

At that moment, Prof. Robert Bates (from Harvard) entered the room.  Now, in many respects Bob defines the stereotypical Africanist scholar to a tee: white hat, white suit, white person, upright, astonishingly aware of history – specific parts of it, people – certain classes and policies – most of them.  In other respects, he was about as different as it comes: he was kind, engaging, personable and interested in understanding the world around him.  Despite sticking out like a single grain of rice on a sea of black beans, it was clear that he was comfortable here.  It was also clear he was totally different from everything I had seen in Rwanda up to that time. 

Indeed, after leaving Kigali one rarely saw the color white at all – in any of its forms: skin or clothing.  At the Milles Collines (the hotel in the Hotel Rwanda and main spot in the capital), it was almost as if a white suit was the official costume (as if communicating that regardless of location, I will still be unsullied/untouched by the dirtiness of the place).  Bob seemed very untouched, floating into the room and toward his group of students.  We caught a glimpse of each other quickly and immediately he gave me the warmest of greetings.  He then turned, introduced me to the students and we all sat down.

The group was nothing short of amazing.  Evidently, Bob had been talking to his class about the Rwandan truth and reconciliation effort – Gacaca.  The students had decided that they wanted to help, they had contacted Rwandan authorities, generated some cash, got Bob’s assistance (who admitted to doing very little) and they traveled to Rwanda to assist in the process.  The group was diverse – I mean, they were all white and seemingly with means but there was some diversity among them (kinda).  One had lived in numerous African countries, another had never been to Africa before.  Most spoke English, French and a few other languages.  All had engaged in some kind of activism/advocacy before.  Compared to most of the kids I taught at the University of Maryland - where I has a Professor at the time (many of whom had never been out of the country and who engaged in little to no activism), I could hardly believe my ears.  The upper-crust arranged field trips to Africa.  The working-class slept in my political film class and haggled about when assignments were due. 

Now, clearly this is a simplification: I think all students haggle and I know for a fact that many of my students at Maryland upon hearing about Rwanda wanted to do something, anything.  They just did not take it to the level that these students did to find out what could be done and then make it happen.  They also did not/could not tap the resources of the school, parents, friends, multinational corporations in their family/circle or the Harvard alums to bank roll it.

I just sat there hating and admiring Bob's students while at the same time hating as well as loving my students.  As they rattled on about what they were doing and what they saw, I could only see and hear my kids – wondering how they would respond if they had the same opportunity, what they would see, what they would tell the others at home.

Now, exactly what the Harvard group would do to be helpful was unclear.  Hell, at that point, the Rwandans themselves were still trying to figure out what they were doing with Gacaca.  But all the students believed in it (some intensely), and their attitude was at once refreshing and alarming; Refreshing because the exuberance they showed made me happy to be alive and an American, which was rare; Alarming because, despite seeing many flaws, no guarantees of honesty or protection of witnesses, no investigation into anyone’s testimony, no coordination between sessions, the lack of evidence necessary to bring someone to court, their optimism seemed unqualified. 

I then thought that my students would not have been duped like this.  Their conception of the world was somehow more realistic about such matters.  Perhaps the water is clearer from the bottom of the pool. 

So, Dan Drezner put forward a cogent overview of the recent networking debate about whether or not as well as how political scientists should net work (in his Foreign Policy blog) and he made a few references to some things that merited some comment.  Here are the others in this series:
Posts: Dan Drezner, Dan Nexon, Erik Voeten
Counter-Posts: Laura Sjoberg, Me, Will Moore
Counter-Counter-Posts: Bear Braumoeller

I would argue that there is clearly a "good" approach to networking. I grew up around artists and entertainers. While this has not assisted me in many aspects of my academic career, I believe that it has assisted me with being comfortable talking with people and additionally being able to figure out what I should wear for the day. Dan (Drezner), who I was colleagues with and consider a friend, clearly has this ability as well (both meeting people and sartorialism).  Not everyone feels comfortable talking to strangers or even talking for that matter. Many in our profession also have some problems dressing themselves but that is the subject of another blog - the Academic Sartorialist?  

Despair not however. Individuals like Rom Harre have maintained that we each learn and communicate in slightly different ways. Some are best able to communicate/learn through words, some images, some equations, some sound. We now are beginning to live in an age where you can find your thing and use that as you exchange with others. In short, "everybody's got a little light under the sun".  You just need to find your spot. I do not envision an APSA or a political science where we just have small conversations going on in a large, poorly lit and frequently poorly designed room. This pushes and privileges a certain type of communication/interaction. Rather, I envision an APSA and political science where we have some conversation going on over there, some DJ over here, some 3D projection over here, some film over there, some performance art over here and some large lecture over there. 

Riffing off of Mos Def, people often speak of political science as if it some giant in the hillside or something, where we are just subject to what it does when it decides to come down from it's cave. But, we are political science! We can create what we want for/with this thing. Actually, Dan is a perfect example of this with blogging and Zombified-IR. I'm now working on/pushing for interactive data, film, archiving and animation work. What you wanna do? I think that many of us face a crisis of imagination regarding things like APSA and then get blocked on things like networking.  We don't send ourselves to professional meetings.  We send our representatives (props to [Erving] Goffman and [Chris] Rock). I think we need to start attending - if you get my meaning. Things need to be done to "feed the beast" as it were but we need to start making it our own and taking it where we want to go.

The idea I was trying to communicate in my initial blog is that our discipline is too internalized. We live largely in our heads and publishing venues but if we are to survive, thrive and indeed have any impact at all on our world (which I think we should), then we will need to change this. We begin by meeting and interacting with one another at places like APSA. Awkward it might be but we are much better off from the sense of community and contact that arises from this. For example, has anyone been to a Peace Science meeting? Anyone who has gone will attest to the fact that this is a much smaller meeting than APSA as well as one where you feel immediately accepted, appreciated and very much part of a family. APSA might be too big for this but we never interact with the whole meeting anyway. We stick to our primary interests, panels and people. Well, imagine the meeting in this way: APSA is simply an opportunity for communication, community and fellowship. We can shape it as we see fit.  We need to stop looking for this to emerge from the panels, workshops, business meetings and receptions put forward. There are an awful lot of hours in the day and many places in the cities that we are going to year after year. 

So, you might not be able to chat up the leading political scientists on the fly in some elevator for 30 seconds, but perhaps you have a short film in you that you place as your poster, in the hallway to catch people walking by, on your webpage or in a local bar - ever heard of Pechakucha presentations?  Perhaps you have a cool graphic that you can sport on your t-shirt or a musical composition that you play during your presentation or somewhere in the city where the conference is taking place - folks would come if you told them. Who wants to hang out in the lobby not knowing anyone when they could have some place to do.  Perhaps we should create a multi-media room: something like the old "paper rooms" where everyone deposited their papers for conferences but more allowing for creative diversity as well as more permanence than posters. 

Now, I am not just some extrovert who strangely became a political science or even an optimist - anyone who knows, meets and/or talks with me will readily communicate this to you. Rather, I believe that we have something to gain from interacting with one another at moments when "our people" congregate. Some of these things we have to gain are professional. Many, however, are not and this tends to get lost sometimes in our conversations. 

Note: Between 1999-2004 I traveled around Rwanda during research. Many things happened on my trips and it is only now that I start to share them.