A contrast in life’s inconveniences: Hangover vs. Sin Nombre
Somewhere between Rome’s train station and JFK airport my wallet was lost/stolen. This is a problem when plastic is the sole means of transaction inside nonplaces like airports, where only multinational corporations are granted the right to do business. So without cash or credit cards, I was unable to eat or stay in a hotel, minor problems compared to transient migrants around the world who’d love to have such a temporary inconvenience versus a lifetime of disenfranchisement.
In his book Earth Pilgrim Satish Kumar talks about experiences on various pilgrimages when he traveled around the world with no money. He experienced some lonely moments while on the road, sometimes finding himself cold and hungry because no one would offer him food or shelter. Though initially resentful, he also learned about his attachments and gratitude for when he was taken care of. I had similar moments when I walked across Spain, and feel this small misadventure was one of those learnable moments that can defamiliarize the normal routines of life.
It wasn’t until I finally got access to a public internet portal at my final destination that I was able to negotiate what I needed for personal security. My inability to eat or secure a safe place to sleep was ultimately solved by my Mac, Skype and the Internet, which enabled me to pay for services online. This one connection was a vital link to an abstraction that ultimately triumphed over the human trust I failed to garner in person, despite having a passport, personal checks and a valid credit card number(sans physical plastic card). It enabled me to call Italy to get vital information that I could then use to book a hotel room that a clerk would not do in person. The difference between a warm bed and street was a laptop and the technical skill to navigate the system.
Throughout this process I kept in mind the perspective of the majority of the world’s population who are disenfranchised from the symbolic order and who don’t have the resources I have to solve my “problem.” Thus I began to meditate on what it meant for me to be a “franchised” human:
1 : freedom or immunity from some burden or restriction vested in a person or group
2 a : a special privilege granted to an individual or group; especially : the right to be and exercise the powers of a corporation b : a constitutional or statutory right or privilege; especially : the right to vote c (1) : the right or license granted to an individual or group to market a company’s goods or services in a particular territory; also : a business granted such a right or license (2) : the territory involved in such a right (from Merriam-Webster)
Within the terminal zone of air travel (I write more extensively about this kind of “splace” in my book chapter about the TV show Lost), one is indexed by abstract documentation which marks citizenship, but that is only one part of the equation. The other is being a franchised human, one that is legitimated by the financial and technical apparatus that enables access to the privilege of food and shelter (among other things). This was brought into stark relief by one of the twists of this misadventure: my airline accidentally put my in first class, which offered a glimpse into a highly seductive realm of privilege and service.
This being the first time I’ve ever flown first class, it was a small window into the reality bubble of the global business person. For the privileged few that pay for this special treatment, it’s not hard to see how addictive it is to be so spoiled: a cornocopia of drinks and snacks, a quality meal, free movies and entertainment, champaign before take off… everything short of a foot rub and blow job.
The young man sitting next to me was an executive for a multinational pet supply company. When I told him I’m working on a PhD in sustainability, he told me that his company now has a sustainablity consultant. When our discussion leads to other countries outside the US (he had just done whilwind biz trip from Toronto, Tokyo, Sidney and New York), he complained that his company’s biggest obsticle is that so many other coutnries have too many family owned businesses that prevents his mega-corp from dumping box stores into their communities. He complained that the rest of the world lacked the American go-get-em acumen, and by inference the rest were not as wise or clever as “us.” He was a nice guy, but the entire time we talked he played a video game on his iPhone. I regret not asking what he thought sustainability means.
I watched two films on the flight: Hangover and Sin Nombre. Both are about misfortune, but each offer completely different visions of reality, though strangely complimentary. In the former case, the film is about four guys who go to Las Vegas for a bachelor party, but it goes horrible wrong. The film is very funny and entertaining, but the ultimate lesson is that good credit and gaming the system can solve all problems (which entails a level of privilege, education and franchisement). In typical bourgeoisie fashion, the temporary crisis is life altering to a minor degree– in the end the upside down world returns to normal. The system triumphs.
Sin Nombre, on the other hand is about an upside-down world that never gets corrected. In it the lives of two characters intersect: a Honduran teen seeking a better life in El Norte encounters a Mexican gang member on the lamb from his former homies. Much of the narrative features nonprofessional actors and takes place on freight trains and slums, harking to Italian neo-realism. Unlike Hangover, here the characters are the opposite of tourists who sample and dabble the fantasies of the consumer world. In Sin Nombre, as the film title suggests (“Without Name”), the characters are not quite pilgrims either. They are refugees from a greater historical drama that remains outside the purview of people sitting in first class on an international flight.
Oh, the irony.
Consider the settings of the two films: Las Vegas versus the transnational migration route from Honduras to the US-Mexico frontier. In both cases the trope, “What happens in _____, stays in _____,” applies, but in the former the protagonists are just tourists who can sample in fantasy worlds as a way to blow off steam from repressive techocratic normalcy; they are assured of a return to the mechanical womb of civilization after being purified of unnecessary angst. In the latter case, the migrant and gang banger reality are to stay “down there” so that we can maintain the illusion of the Las Vegas world without its socio-ecolgoical consequences interfering with all the fun.
The roots of the crisis that push people into the dark journey of Sin Nombre have their origin in our freedom– though “freedom,” as my little venture shows, is quite a limited illusion. The Mara Salvatrucha gang, of which one of the protagonists belongs, has its origins in the Salvadoran refugee communities that fled the US backed civil war of the 1980s. And the plight of many displaced Central Americans and Mexicans has been impacted by the transnational control of local resources and displacement caused by US-sponsored war and “free trade” agreements. Transnational immigrants are the negative side of the balance sheet whose reality doesn’t fit into the level of abstraction needed to keep the global economy moving, or to put a meal on the table for someone such as myself.
After watching the films I was confronted with another minor crisis: I discovered that my medicine bag full of prescription meds was missing too, without which I could die (due to severe bouts of asthma). It was at this point I became acutely aware of how dependent I am on the civilization that I criticize: my meds, caffeine, food energy and mobility are only made possible through my interaction with the apparatus of the global network of symbols that I can navigate and ply. Without access I would die. OK, maybe that’s a little overly dramatic, but the fear is the same as an addict: without my fix the world shrinks to a quivering hole. I am addicted to civilization, and to quote another film, I can’t quit you. I have franchised my humanity to the global system.
Postscript
Just in case it seems like I’m whining way too much, follow this last thread. In Italy I can walk into any pharmacy and pay 50 euros for my inhaler, or go see my doctor (for free) and get a prescription that makes the medication cost only eight euros. Today I had to go the emergency room to get a prescription (the urgent care clinic wouldn’t accept me because I have no American health care or money because of my lost credit and ATM cards). At the hospital it took five different people to interview me before I got the script. I have no idea how much they will bill me, but I’m sure it won’t be less then a few hundred bucks. Than I discovered that the inhaler I need costs $256 at Walgreens! Now, who are the real criminals, the petty thieves who nicked my wallet and meds, or the insane architects of this inhumane “health” system?
