A delightful African American woman with a sly smile and twinkling eyes, Prof. Ebron shared all sorts of insights, particularly when it comes to writing ethnographic studies.

I’ll mention a few highlights of the talk — from memory. This may be a little telegraphic, but at least some interesting points should come through.

She first became interested in writing when she saw an ad on the back of a magazine for a correspondence course on writing when she was a little girl. She sent in the coupon, but since she was very young, they wrote back to wait until she grew up a bit.

Her book Performing Africa investigates the “griots” or “jolies” of the Gambia and Senegal regions of Western Africa. These people are stroytellers, historians, singers, songwriters, gossips, matchmakers, community leaders . . . In short, very powerful, dynamic people who are very concerned about their reputations and power. Consequently, she was very concerned about what they would think about what she was saying about them. She wrote, as she put it, with all of these people in her head, with their voices constantly in her ears. She felt watched — which made the writing a slow process. Writers who feel responsible to communities often feel this — especially ethnographers who intend to show their work to the communities they investigate. This could be tough, and it could even cause a writer to get paralyzed. Still, Prof. Ebron slugged through it, slowly working out each section.

When I mentioned that she wrote with style — her writing was vivid, her descriptions palpable, and there was often a narrative flow — she shared a secret: “I went to some creative writing workshops. ” Academic writers are not supposed to be “ creative, ” at least not in the sense that they are writing fiction. But ethnography calls for description and narrative and characters — many of the elements of fiction. So, the skills involved in “creative” writing are very much a part of what is supposed to be “social science. ” This was a great relief: finally, academic writing (or at least some of it) can involve style and grace.

I also mentioned that her ending or conclusion to Performing Africa seemed unusual. In the conclusion she outlined the book and described what she did, the sort of thing that’s often done in an introduction. She said she was just following the old injunction of “tell people what you’re going to say, say it, and then tell them what you’ve just said.”

Part of her creative writing bent was a practice that she’s engaged in over many years. She gets up in the morning and writes three or so pages of “Morning Writing.” This consists of anything that comes to mind, written by hand, sometimes illegible or garbled, other times caustic or angry or mournful — whatever. The point is that she clears her “system” every morning and she’s constantly putting herself in the writing mode. She has stacks of notebooks of these “Morning Writings.” She has them in storage. One of these days they may be useful for something — but for now they are useful for keeping her writing chops in shape.

Whenever Prof. Ebron writes a draft of an essay or book she does the first draft by hand. Like many others, she likes the way her writing (and thinking) slows down when hand-writing. But she also knows that when she sees it on the computer screen the text looks too perfect, too published-like, and that induces bouts of perfectionism. And, as we all know, perfectionism leads to paralysis.

When she does get stuck, she practices the cello. She’s just learning, so it’s much harder than writing. So, after hacking away at the strings for a while she returns to writing — and at that point it all seems much easier!

When she gets overwhelmed with many other writing assignments, such as writing letters of recommendations, and fears that she will abandon her own work, she sets an eggtimer for, say, 45 minutes to force herself to write — or even just to sit and stare at her manuscript — until the bell goes off. Bing! Time’s up, and she’s free to move on to the mundane things of life.

Hilton Obenzinger

I would consider the preparation for the honors thesis presentations a true breakthrough in the writing process. Having completed a draft and feeling less than satisfied with the way my ideas had found their way into Microsoft Word, my next step was to prepare my thesis presentation slides, which required me to return to the text and distill the most important ideas into something that I could communicate in 10 minutes. It also reminded me of the importance of catering to your audience, something that I always knew that I should be doing but a priority that became occluded by the urgency of actually needing to finish the draft. The presentation was a chance to pay particular attention to how you are going to convey and persuade an audience to at least respect the value of your research if they do not agree with your argument. Constructing the presentation made the writing visual, it made it oral, and it made the typed words seem more malleable than they were before, allowing me to go back and put down my thoughts how they should be.

With its tropical climate and strong African cultural influences, many imagine Brazil to be a ‘racial paradise ’ — a nation that has extinguished racial and ethnic tensions by successfully fusing diverse racial and ethnic identities.
Brazil is not the racial democracy. Disparities in educational attainment rates among whites and nonwhites are overwhelming. Educational opportunity constitutes a means of social advancement and means of capital; to address these inequities the global community must support Afro-Brazilians in their efforts to gain more adequate educational resources.

In 2004, I traveled to Rio de Janeiro as a Stanford Haas Center Urban Summer Fellow. Working with Mediadors da Paz (Mediators of Peace), a government conflict-resolution program, I visited public schools in the North, East, and West regions of the city — far from the white homes, and tourist-ridden beaches and boutiques of Copacabana and Ipanema.

Teachers were overworked and under-compensated. The parents I met had little education; yet, their graciousness revealed wisdom gained from struggle. The students were bright and perceptive to the shortcomings of their school facilities. Most, if not all, of the parents and students I met were Black.

I was overwhelmed by the inadequacies of the majority Afro-Brazilian schools. I had awakened to the myth of the Brazilian ‘racial democracy, ’ and it resonated deeply. How many of the students I met in Brazil would graduate from college and become professionals? When I returned to the United States, I found an answer – though Black Brazilians constitute 45 percent of the population, only two percent would receive university degrees.

The status of Afro-Latinos is often overlooked. Like the United States, Latin America used the labor of thousands of slaves. Their histories and run parallel to African descendents in North America; unfortunately, their gains in terms of civil rights still are still disparaging. The UN Conference in Durban, South Africa was a great effort to address racial discrimination in our global community. We must continue to address racial and ethnic inequalities by lending our support to the efforts of Afro-Brazilian activists in leaders.

Given Brazil ‘s interest in solidifying their image and role as a regional and international power, they are in tune and susceptible to the critique of their international partners. International government bodies must pressure and challenge Brazil to delve into the fallacies of its racial democracy, and find truth. We must support Afro-Brazilians in their efforts to secure increased diversity programming and educational resources, and affirm the voices of those struggling to address what is a major civil rights crisis.

When people ask us why we spend so much time and effort working in, thinking about, and advocating for Honduras, the answer seems obvious. We remember the smiling eyes of a Honduran toddler first visiting a doctor, the happiness and celebration of a village after the construction of a potable water system, looks of relief on the faces of family members surrounding a cured patient, and the personal bonds among new friends, standing out on the canvas of hardship that permeates Honduras. One memory, like millions of other factors, can easily justify our involvement in everything from volunteer clinics in Honduras to showing up to the office on Monday mornings, excited to begin another week. In non-profit organizations, as in all assembled groups working toward a common goal, individual motivation is essential to overall success. By understanding why people choose to immerse themselves in Honduras working toward particular humanitarian goals, group leaders can more effectively recruit and retain volunteers, which is essential for organizations to help more people in greater ways across further areas of Honduras.

According to the Harvard Business Review, workforce motivation is key to the success of all groups, whether a corporate office or a non-profit clinic. “Only through [understanding] motivation can managers help their employees generate the excellent performance that enables companies to boost profitability.” While organizations working toward health goals in Honduras are not looking to bolster their quarterly profit, they are striving to implement as broadly as possible highly effective programs that will create the most positive impact. As the key to achieving their lofty goals, organizations must recruit and retain an effective, well-trained corps of volunteers, which is possible only through the effective motivation of such people.

Those who choose to spend their time in Honduras are motivated by distinct factors, which can be categorized. For some, the promise of developing and honing new skills serves as the driving force for involvement, while for others, religious reasons prompt dedication of personal time and resources. Others are inspired by the bonds that form between themselves and the clients served by organizations, while another group attributes their involvement to personal appeals from friends that are already involved in such organizations. A few recognize the opportunities that organizations present to travel to remote areas and experience a foreign lifestyle, with still others pointing to more obvious benefits, such as compensation or recognition by a university admissions committee. Regardless of the factors, motivation plays a key role in staffing non-profit organizations and achieving group goals.

Directors must remember that their organizations not only contribute to the world by providing a service to those in need, but they also provide an irreplaceable environment to those that spend their time volunteering. They provide factors, from religious experiences to a glimpse into the eyes of a Honduran child, which motivate, drive, and provide meaning to the lives of countless volunteers around the world. Understanding these desires, an essential task for directors, can enable the organization to better highlight their unique service niche, inspire new volunteers to participate, and stimulate existing volunteers, thereby striving toward the goal of painting over the blank canvas of hardship in Honduras.

by Naree Chan

I am guilty. I am guilty of taking time from Cambodian women, health care workers, program managers, NGO workers, and many others to ask them never ending questions. Now that I am writing a thesis, I am now possibly guilty of excluding the very voices I traveled so far to include in my research. I am guilty because I received money to a faraway place not to donate money but spend money — money for gas, phone cards, and drivers — all to simply witness poverty in the rural countryside. Yes, I was able to observe the corruption rampant in the public health system and to discover if my parents’ aversion to preventive care originated in this Cambodia, but at what cost? The money I spent to further pollute the environment and could have been spent to feed the people I met.

So when I saw a young pregnant woman with a foot swollen with infection, what was I supposed to do? She could not afford the $2 moto to the nearest health center. Should I give her money, a ride, or some other type of assistance? But my academic voice and training came through and asked, “How are my actions setting a precedent for future researchers? Would the locals simply think I was taking and not giving? After me, would they always expect outsiders to help?” Yet simultaneously, I wanted to partially absolve my guilt by driving her to the nearest clinic and paying the medical fees. So that’s what I did.

But the guilt did not go away. Instead, I watched as the health care workers in the small clinic clean and bandage her foot, asked her to return within two weeks for another cleaning, and gave her antibiotics to help the healing. She informed us she had gone to a private clinic and spent money on treatment, but she continued to work in the rice fields so she could provide for her four other children at home. How could we ask her to come back in two weeks when her situation required her to work even while seven months pregnant? It took us almost half an hour to drive from her village to the health clinic in a sturdy four wheel drive vehicle. It would probably take almost as long, if not longer, on a moto, but she would have to deal with the rough terrain and driving conditions in her condition.

Cambodia is not a country lacking assistance. Everyone wants to help, just look at the hundreds of NGOs from various countries welcomed by the government. It’s a country with the potential for economical, political, and social change, and there are tons of outside organizations purportedly there to help Cambodians rise out of its developing world status. But when I see non-Cambodians riding in SUVs and dining along the Mekong riverside in Phnom Penh, I seriously wonder if these outsiders are effectively helping the country or simply enjoying a lavish lifestyle on a western salary in a poor country. How is it that the Cambodian government embraces NGOs and appears to cooperate with international assistance but continues to be corrupt – delaying government salaries for up to half a year. Yes, the impossible will take a little while, but with this much assistance pouring into such a small country, how much longer will it take?

Reflection
I still do not feel like “The Burden” is an op-ed. It is more like my reflections on my experiences doing field research in a country that is undeveloped yet contains my heritage. If it is classified as an op-ed, I would say it reflects my poor opinion of the Cambodian government and expresses my skepticism of the altruism behind NGO workers and international development. Though I may distrust these foreigners, should I simply be grateful for their presence and attempts to make change in “my” country?

My background as a public policy major makes me realize that foreign aid is difficult to measure and observe, especially since it is heavily dependent on institutional environments that are difficult to control. In many ways, the success of a private corporation that develops a product or offers a service is much easier to implement, manage, and improve because it exists independently from other agencies. Distributing basic health care services like immunizations, however, is a logistical nightmare that depends not only on money for supplies and training but also on successful implementation in a country with few roads, unreliable electricity, and corrupt officials.

This first one is called 10 Years Later, A Look at the Effects of Welfare Reform for Alaska Natives, and it's by Neepa Acharya.

by Neepa Acharya

As we near the tenth anniversary of Bill Clinton’s Personal Responsibility and Work Reconciliation Act, known as Welfare Reform, we look over that last decade of programming meant to “increase the flexibility of states” in operating a program to remove people from poverty to work. Within the state of Alaska, individuals in need confront a complex process of meetings with government contracted case managers, social workers, means-test and fee agents, and job councilors that serve the holistic needs of the individual in order to get them into the working world. The quality of life in the Native villages is impoverished, with some village homes lacking in electricity, running water, sewage, and heating. Though the system for receiving aid seems an attempt to best serve the needs of Natives, residents living in these homes qualify for aid but still do not take on the programs. Within Alaska, though almost 80 percent of Alaska Natives qualify for public assistance aid, only 18 percent actually participate in any federal or state assistance programs. 10 years after the creation of Temporary Assistance to Needy Families (TANF) it is time to examine how effectively public assistance and welfare programs support qualified Alaska Natives to determine if government initiatives on Alaska Native part government initiatives can help create a system that more adequately serves the indigenous communities across the nation.

In 1996, the welfare reform act aimed to radically restructure the system of welfare at the state level. The law expands the role of non-cash incentive programs such a Food stamps and Energy assistance. TANF replaced the existing system for aid to families as a state-specific block grant program where participants have a 60-month benefit limit. The mission of this program has been to give individuals their own network of state-contracted case managers and work counselors to help them find jobs as fast as possible. Through all of these programs, TANF becomes a holistic program supplemented with aid for childcare, food, housing, and social services—eliminating as many barriers as possible for impoverished families to improve their socioeconomic state of life.

In 2000, through the construction of Tribal TANF, Alaska Native families now face an even more seemingly-idyllic case management system designed and managed by local non-profits that fall under one of twelve regional Native corporations—creating Native run programs for Natives. Programs case managed by Native non-profits have allowed for Native clients to receive help in applying for federal Welfare-to-Work and TANF, state Alaska Temporary Assistance Programs (ATAP), General Relief Assistance, non-cash incentive programs such as Food stamps and Energy Assistance, in addition to local and tribally-sponsored aid initiatives. Still, while a system has been etched out to help the Native community, no one is taking on the programs, and a closer examination of the basic philosophy of welfare reform and the way in which program have been re-organized reveals a bit about why the takeup rates are so low.

In my investigations of the reasons for low take-up rates around Alaska, I have pinpointed four main reasons why the participation in both rural and urban areas is so low. The reasons range from cultural, psychological and physical barriers to participation, to institutional design problems where a mess of agencies that are supposed to work hand in had create such a bureaucracy that no one receives aid. The Alaska Native community has been plagued by alcoholism—a problem that has led to almost 96 percent of all cases of sexual abuse and domestic violence. Furthermore, 68 percent of children are most likely to be born with Fetal Alcohol Syndrome and other complications due to alcohol consumption. These physical problems create a large handicap for people who are expected to receive aid through holding down a 40-hour per week job. Furthermore, in rural communities, Natives still subsist off of traditional hunting and gathering practices and culturally focus on their devotion to the community rather than acquiring individual wealth. Asking these individuals to work for themselves to receive aid goes against their own values and system of worth. For those seeking to better themselves, there are very few jobs in a community. A given village of 600 families may have 1-2 jobs at the supermarket and post office. If these positions are even open, welfare participants with problems of alcoholism that are known within the community will not be taken seriously and will not get a job.

In these same villages, there exist a city, village, regional corporation, and tribal government office to administer services to the community. When I asked where I could get energy assistance, I was promptly told that Suzy in the tribal office. Suzy referred me to the city office, who then referred me to a woman named Nette that used to work in the village office but now manages the grocery store. Of course, Nette told me that she used to take care of it, but pointed me right back to the tribal government office. In this shuffle of government offices, the disbursement of aid applications gets lost in the process. Furthermore, the aid is disbursed, not from most regional corporations, but from the state government, so Natives taking on the programs from a rural village will have case managers in their city, and will then have to contact agents from their non-profit agency as well as state level eligibility technicians and vocational counselors located in Anchorage or Fairbanks. For a person who may have family problems and no prospect of jobs, trying to weave through an incredibly complex system of aid disbursement makes the process impossible. Finally, there are economic disincentives for many of these Natives to participate in these programs. While the 1996 reforms created a scaled benefits payout whereby people still had an incentive to get jobs, these scales do not take into account that people receiving welfare take on 4-5 different programs. When the total income increases across programs, aid taxed by 100 percent and there is no incentive to leave the system. Each of these issues ultimately demonstrates that the current system of welfare reform, while even tailored to fit the needs of the State of Alaska, does not suit a community with a differing set of cultural practices that live in a harsh climate with no employment. We could then ask if the government should really be responsible for those individuals that do not want aid and willingly choose not to relocate to cities where the jobs are. But at the same time, there is an entire subpopulation of individuals living without heating and proper sewage in the year 2006, and the children don’t have much say into their lives in these situations.

While visiting the island of St. Paul, I met a man named Jacob Merculief who went out of his way to bring me a portion of his catch of halibut. I had met Jacob exactly once, and I heard that he was unemployed and slept with electric blankets and heated stones because he could not afford heating—yet he went out of his way to give me a bag of fish. It was at this point that I realized that life in a village like St. Paul was not based upon the individuals trying to gain the most wealth possible and it important to create a program that promotes the Native way of life rather than imposing an assistance program that is meant to push individuals into a competetive labor market to survive on their own.

While there has been a lot of research by social policy institutes on the issue of welfare reform, there are very few studies that have been able to understand the effects of these assistance programs on the Alaska Native community and this study functions to raise awareness on this issue and hopefully promote greater collaboration between the think tanks, research institutes, and Native agencies, in the hopes that they can create programs that will better serve the Alaska Native community. Through collaboration, it is possible to someday create systemic changes so that individuals like Jacob can share their fish, but when they sleep at night, the heating will be on.

Reflection

This op-ed will, like any piece of writing, continue to be a work-in-progress. The target audience for this piece is the general public in the lower 48 states who may not be familiar with the current systems of welfare and public assistance, in addition to comprehending the very different lives of Natives in Alaska. As a result, a unique challenge in this op-ed has been trying to understand how much depth and detail I should try to give about the system in Alaska for individuals to understand the level of injustice occurring, while trying to implement several anecdotes that will help clarify the Alaska Native experience and give the reader something to relate to…and all of this has to be completed in the smallest number of words possible! The purpose of this essay was to familiarize the reader with the fact that in the 10th anniversary of Welfare Reform, maybe the new system is not working as well as we had envisioned by examining a specific subset of the population that is often overlooked and ignored. As I continue my project relating to Alaska Natives and public assistance takeup rates, I will hopefully have a stronger set of solutions to offer that could help remedy the problem. Thus, the op-ed will take several forms and I plan to reshape it to fit specific audiences in the Native community, in Alaska, as well as in newspapers throughout the country.

She writes on contemporary and avant-garde poetry and poetics, as well as on intermedia and the visual arts. Her many books include The Poetics of Indeterminacy: Rimbaud to Cage, The Futurist Moment: Avant-Garde, Avant-Guerre, and the Language of Rupture, and Wittgenstein’s Ladder. One of her most recent books is her cultural memoir The Vienna Paradox, and she spoke about how she wrote it during out talk.

We spoke about a lot of different aspects of writing – and if you were at the talk and want to add something, please send it. But I was intrigued with The Vienna Paradox in particular.

Marjorie was born in Vienna in 1931, and she recounts her life before fleeing the Nazis and coming to America, as well as her early life in the Bronx. But the book is not only the story of her life, it’s a cultural history of pre-War Vienna, of the society of High Culture, especially the assimilated Jews, who made the city a Mecca for intellectuals and artists — and many of whom were related to Marjorie or had some connection to her family. Freud, Wittgenstein, her grandfather Richard Schuller, a high government official throughout successive Austrian governments until forced to flee. And she speaks of the exile community revolving around The Ethical Culture Society and other sites in New York. This is a story of people who lived a life intoxicated with High Culture.

It’s a fascinating memoir. But when she was first asked to write a memoir she was reluctant. She wrote literary criticism and not narrative. But then it dawned on her that she could write a memoir as a collage. “I always write about collage in poetry, ” she said. “So why don’t I do one mysel? ” And what an interesting technique she devises.

The basic chronological line remains — her birth, early schooling, coming to America, adjustments in the Bronx — but she weaves in observations and stories about the intellectual life swirling on around her or before she was born. The fate of Arnold Schoenberg and his papers and scores — in exile in Los Angeles and then returned to Austria — appears, for example, alongside items of her own life.

The style is not disjointed, the way one might expect a collage. But it is somewhat dreamlike, alternating between the personal and the historical. Any reader can see this when reading the book, how it moves back and forth between different realms. But hearing Marjorie describe this process as collage was enlightening. How many other accounts can be done piecing together the small and the large, the personal and the public, the sensual and the intellectual, all circling around each other?

Hilton Obenzinger

My relationship with micro-reels began during my Sophomore year. A young and naïve history major, I worked for a professor in UCLA who needed a Stanford undergraduate to browse reels of nineteenth century Brazilian economic journals on campus. He sent me lists of specific tables and charts he needed from the journals, and I was super duper excited to begin my research. Well, let’s just say the fun only last so long. . .

When I began my own research, I was more prepared, and re-invigorated. I was looking for cool stuf — neat journals and newspapers from the Afro-Brazilian movement. I had learned the quirks of the machines. I had mastered the set-up, zoom, and scrolling features . . . Well, not entirely.

With micro-reels there are always unforeseen excitements and follies — losing yourself in the reel, changing lenses because the print is too small, and realizing — once you found the perfect article — that you do not have money on your Stanford ID card to scan and print the damn image. And, no matter how exciting your project, micro-reels can become tedious and boring. Plus, it just gets dizzying.

Don’t get me wrong, I love it. I mean browsing materials from hundreds of years ago is exciting. All facetiousness aside, it’s awesome. And, just today, I realized that you can scan the images to a computer and save them as tif or jpg. files. I know — amazing.

But, at the end of the day, no matter how cool you feel scrolling those reels, your eyes will get tired, your reel may get stuck, and you may just get damn bored. So, create a cool Real Reel Re-Mix. Grab that music player, and plug in those headphones. You will thank me for it.

Steven Tagle attended the event and sent in these observations and comments. Steven is a film-maker and writer, majoring in English and Psychology, and he’s planning to do an honors project in Feminist Studies.

Kealey writes on the Caltrain everyday. He finds himself writing 2-3 pg scenes. It’s an hour of writing time back and forth. After he gets back to the city, he usually goes to a coffee house and puts in another hour of writing so that he can ride out his creative energy. Saturday is his big writing day. He goes to the UCSF library, spending 3 hours in morning and 2 hours in afternoon. He’s a very flexible writer. He sees writing as a marathon, not a sprint.

McNeely finds it hard to write without a large block of time. He can fiddle around at his computer for an hour.

For Watrous, it depends on her stage in the writing process. She works subtly, a little bit each day. During the rough draft stage, she works a steady 3-5 hours each day. The first draft is hard. She doesn’t write that linearly. She keeps going back to scenes. She has header and footer notes on her computer that say, “Move forward, ” and “If you’re not having fun, why are you doing this? ” She keeps many versions of her scenes. After writing, she goes through and highlights what she likes and what’s wrong. Once she sees the ending, she really wants to get there. In a 2-month period, she has written 200 pages. She just waits for that time when she sees the ending and works off of her excitement and fear.

Kealey writes on the train, commuting to Stanford. A lot of his sections are about the same length — whatever he can write during the commute. Hilton Obenzinger commented that he once spoke with a graduate student who wrote her whole dissertation on the train. She just bought a Caltrain pass and rode up and down the line between San Francisco and San Jose.

Kealey keeps a sheet of paper with his ideas. He has a plot point or two in mind to give him direction.

Watrous works with causality, fueled by a “deluded optimism. ” McNeeley has note cards that he moves around on a table, revising. There is a temptation to start from page 1 and revise. However, when revising on the draft itself, it is hard to delete things. It is much easier to put things on a page than to take them out. Therefore, Kealey suggests that you print out a draft. Open a new blank doc and insert what you like from the old draft into it. You can’t do a revision within a draft.

Watrous believes that real writing comes in the revision. For her, it is the funnest part. On a computer, she believes that you miss the proportion of each scene by scrolling.

When these writers get stuck, they read things, try to get away from their work, try not being so inside the problem. Watrous does a fun repetitive task. She believes that you’re working even when you’re not at the computer writing. Kealey works on multiple projects and enjoys declaring a “winner of the day. ” He suggests having 2 people to listen to you, 2 safe listeners. They can read your piece and tell you what they find interesting, what they’d like more of.

The element of the novel that Kealey tries to focus on is narration (what’s going on inside the heads of characters). We need to know what the characters are thinking, especially when it’s not what they say. McNeely and Watrous try to focus on description, dialogue, and plot. McNeely is uncomfortable with omniscience and the camera POV. He views the title as the first line lyric.

Kealey: Find a novel you admire and read it 3 times for structure. Piggyback that model for a while. Pick 4 times every week to write for 2 hours. Really hold on to that time and make the most of it. Write 7 pages or 3 sentences. At least you can say, “I wrote something last time, I can write something again. ” Always get words on the page. It’s a marathon, not a sprint. You need to like your characters, like interacting with them. Make sure it’s fun. Maintain a sense of play. Be excited about it! You’re your first reader. For example, add a tiger just because you want to have a tiger.

Kealey suggests finishing a scene before jumping in to revise it. He also says to read your work to someone and to write a scene for a specific person. Watrous says to write your novel for yourself. Write the book that’s missing, that you would like to see on the shelf.

Response:

I found this installment of How I Write extremely valuable, especially since I am about to embark on writing a novel of my own. Each of the panelists had very distinct, quirky methods of writing, and I’m glad that they so freely shared the methods of their madness with us. Three main points that stuck with me were Kealey’s discipline in creating a writing routine, Watrous’ reminder to herself, “If you’re not having fun, then why are you doing this? ” and Kealey’s suggestion to always revise onto a new document. My writing style is a lot like McNeely’s. I require large amounts of time to write, and I often find myself wasting the small pockets of time that I do have. However, I would like to become a more disciplined, flexible writer like Kealey. I liked his idea of writing on the train because it gives you the illusion of productivity, being in constant motion. Watrous’ headers really stuck with me because writing should be fun, something you choose to do. However, there are many times that I make it a chore in my mind, and I should revise that way of thinking. Finally, Kealey’s suggestion to always revise onto a new document shows how much writing is about psychology, tricking yourself in that “deluded optimism” that Watrous mentioned.

I want to give myself the best possible opportunities to work on the thesis between now and May, to feel that I put my best effort in. With my new being-revised-in-progress calendar, I plan to have an entire rough draft by April 15, so that I can spend a full month revising. This quarter has given me some confidence that all of that will be possible. After pounds of paper in Xeroxes, many books bought with my summer stipend and more checked out from the library, I feel both armed and prepared to finish this task. Although I am still struggling through the end of Chapter 2, I know that I have written a lot.

And it has been a really formative, intimate experience — I have learned to depend on myself, and to allow myself the indulgence of time to really explore the options about why I’m writing. A project of this scope gives a very deep view of a personal academic project that I never could have gotten from classes. And now, classes offer me a chance to reflect on how far I’ve come. I remember when a 5-page or 10-page paper for a class was a very big deal.

It’s funny — I look up from my futon and see my Beckett bookshelf — I’ve been looking at my shelf of Beckett books every day for probably about six months. It’s funny for me to think about the thesis ending. It’s funny to think of all the things I’ve read, of all the things I always meant to read, and of all the things I’ll never touch, and how this research has changed me. How I’ve changed myself through the process of research, and of writing. It’s been like aerobics for the brain. It’s so hard for me to adequately express what this thesis represents for me. While I was uncertain about my plans for next fall, it represented any and all of my projects for the future over which I had some control — but the pressure quickly got too intense. A friend of mine said the other day, “It’s just a paper. ” And while he was right, and when I work myself into a frenzy over it, I should remember that, but when I sit back and reflect on the progress I’ve made, and what I want to do next, it is so much more than a paper. It is an experiment, the biggest challenge to me as a thinker and as a writer at this moment in time. It is a capstone experience that I can really feel I have spent my undergraduate career working towards. Now I just need to get a bit more sleep and calm the anxiety, and I’ll be all set.

With this gradual sobering of my buoyant and prismatic intellectual enthusiasm I have come to appreciate a subtler source of nourishment — the satisfaction of focused and prolonged study in one area. Though I was always attuned to the idea that such in depth study was beneficial, it has taken a real reckoning to bring myself to turn away from my prior more fanciful, fragmented exploration into the darker, more tortuous realm of the honors thesis. There I found myself adrift, captain of the biggest boat I’d ever seen with no knowledge of how to steer. The thesis is spoken of as a culminating academic experience, yet it felt like a brand new endeavor, of a very different nature than anything I had embarked on before. I felt completely unprepared. Yet with each stroke of my paddle, I saw that I had the power to carve out the river around me. And, as I began to focus my research, the boat shrank to a more maneuverable size. The waters still rock me and the journey ahead is long, but I have my sea legs now.

Though my study list for my major in Interdisciplinary Studies has changed considerably since I constructed it at the end of sophomore year, one sentence from my statement of purpose still rings true: “Secondly, I am interested in the human need for meaning and how this is manifest in the search for and creation of meaning. ” Though I did not see how the work of John Dewey connected to my original study plan when I chose to study his philosophy of education, I have arrived in my thesis at the very questions I proposed a few years ago. I have had to turn away from many tempting paths of inquiry and activity, but I have gained access to new windows for looking at the world. Dewey has shaped how I see my own experiences (I am studying his philosophy of experience) and my current and future work as an educator. Several times a week I introduce a thought in a conversation with, “As Dewey would say... ” My thesis companions — studying Beckett, Steiner, and the mikvah (Jewish ritual baths) — and I tease each other and ourselves for the way we inevitably veer towards our theses in thought and conversation. Yet it is no laughing matter. For another couple months, Dewey will permeate my experience on many levels. His words sift through my mind and I build bridges of meaning, scribbling and typing, declaring with each word my acceptance of this worthy ordeal.

Kendra Joy Berenson

Get started early

By the beginning of my junior year I knew that I wanted to do an honors thesis. Nevertheless, since studying Samaritans seemed to be a little out of the realm of International Relations research, I focused on other topics. After completing some cursory research, I realized that not only did my original topic lack focus, it also lacked passion. So I again returned to the Samaritan community, realizing that due to the broad scope of International Relations, I could in fact study this topic which so fascinated me. Unfortunately by the time I realized this, I was already in Chile for winter quarter and was set to continue on to Stanford in Washington. I mentally kicked myself for procrastinating on really determining a research topic before I left campus, knowing that it would be difficult to find and coordinate with an advisor from off-campus in general, let alone another continent. The beginning of junior year seems so early to have determined the topic of an honors thesis. Yet due to the quarter of study abroad that all IR majors are required to complete (and the extra time that many students spend away from campus once they realize how enjoyable it is to be abroad) it is best to at least have met with or secured an advisor before leaving campus. I only wish that I had known sooner just how important it is to start seriously considering topics and talking to professors early on.

Be prepared for the unexpected

Unlike finding an advisor however, it is the often overlooked, last minute preparations that can come back to haunt you at the worst times. Upon arriving in New York for my flight to Tel Aviv, I asked the gate attendant if there was anything else I needed to do before boarding. Sadly for me, he thought that I had already passed through the hours and hours of required questioning before you board any El-Al flight to Israel. When I went to board the plane hours later, the attendants were alarmed to know that I had not passed their inquisition and that my bags had not been specially checked. With less than thirty minutes before the plane was scheduled to depart, I was wisked off to some back room usually reserved for luggage awaiting its ride to the plane. They had me sit while they searched my bags and asked me a few questions. Given the amount of luggage that these employees had to search (they actually search everyone’s luggage by hand again, just in case), I was surprised that they finished so quickly and that this apparent crisis had been averted.
Reaching the gate literally minutes before the departure, they informed me that my laptop had not passed security and that it would have to stay at JFK. After it passed security, it would be shipped to me at my hostel in Israel. Too bad for me that my hostel information — along with everything else I needed for my research — was on the laptop. I tried frantically to boot it up, to pull the information I desperately needed to at least survive when I arrived in Tel Aviv. I cursed my computer’s ridiculously slow boot-up while one of the attendants informed me that it was now or never. Either go now or stay with the laptop. There are really no words that can adequately express how I felt — or at least, not any that can be written here. Receiving nothing more than an absurdly tiny receipt and leaving them with no information other than what I believed to be my cell phone number in Israel, I boarded the plane, leaving behind my laptop, all my personally important files and photos, and basically everything I needed to actually do my research. I think now about how easily this whole problem could have been averted or at least mitigated. If I had only taken the time to print out my hostel information and the surveys I needed for my research, leaving the laptop wouldn’t have been such a big deal. Never expecting that they would confiscate my laptop, I was caught unprepared.

Expect the expected

In a region like the Middle East where the unexpected often becomes reality, it is especially important to know what you can expect and to be prepared. I digress for a moment from the story to share an important point that I have learned, not specifically from this trip or any one instance, but rather from the time I have spent in Middle Eastern countries in general. As an outsider, you are expected to know and respect basic local customs, often more so than locals. Furthermore, locals can easily spot foreigners and pay special attention to the “ajanib. ” For women, wearing a tank top in Beirut is perfectly acceptable. However, wear that same top in Syria or even in more conservative parts of Lebanon and lets just say that, well, the least you will receive will be unhappy glares. This is not to say that this attention necessarily stems from any ill-will, but rather the fact that us humans are by nature curious beings. Discussing some of these issues with someone from your country of interest or even searching online will help ensure that you are safe, comfortable, and respected in a region with diverse social standards like the Middle East.
In addition to preparing for operating within a different social context, logistic concerns such as border crossings must be more carefully thought out when researching in the Middle East, especially since so many countries in the region are enemies. Knowing that the Syrian and Lebanese stamps on my passport always aroused suspicion with the Israeli Border Police, I had been advised that I should print out a letter from my Samaritan contact and also from my honors thesis colloquium professor. Several Middle Eastern nations will not allow anyone with an Israeli stamp in their passports to cross their borders and the Israelis themselves are suspicious of anyone who travels from these countries to Israel. I thought that surely, having these letters would be sufficient proof that I was doing research. Of course, since I was in a hurry to leave, my plans to print these letters dissolved right along with my plans to print out my hostel information.
When I told the security officer that I was doing research on the Samaritans, she looked confused. Thankfully, I knew how to say Samaritans in Hebrew. I told her, in my horrible American accented Hebrew, that I would be doing research on “Ha-Shomronim. ” A large smile appeared on her face, “Aaaah, ha Shomronim! ” After this, our conversation lightened up considerably. I attribute this thawing of relations at least partially to my ridiculous accent when I speak Hebrew, which would convince anyone that I pose no major national security threat. I’ve always believed that learning at least basic greetings in other languages demonstrates respect for other countries and usually ingratiates you with those with whom you are trying to speak, no matter how stupid you may sound. This time however, it became evident that in cases where you are researching abroad, learning key phrases related to your research is more than just a matter of respect, it is a matter of necessity. Many things will be out of your control and emerge unexpectedly during travel. Yet by taking the initiative to briefly introduce yourself to the language, customs, and expectations of the region, you will at least be able to take control of how well you transition into your research environment.

Count on nothing

Regardless of how well you acquaint yourself with the customs and locale, it is important to remember that you are in a foreign country and can count on nothing. Recalling that the hostel was on Ben Yehuda street and that I had chosen a name which made me laugh because it was a doubling of my best friend’s nickname, Mo, I arrived at Momo’s hostel in Tel Aviv without much trouble. I was able to find some of my materials on my gmail account, since web based browsers often save copies of all sent emails. The fact that these documents were in a place that could be accessed from anywhere that I could find internet access saved me, really. The problem was that, although I’m sure they exist in some form, I could not find the Israeli version of a Kinko’s. The one place that I found had an antiquated, dilapidated photocopier and charged about eleven cents per copy. This was horrible since I needed fifty copies of my eight page survey! It began to get even more awkward when other customers began to line up behind me while I attempted to make my four hundred copies. Being in a first-world, westernized country like Israel and unable to find a cheap copy place really highlights a key point, you can’t count on anything when you’re abroad. There are few places in the world that match the United States in terms of comfort and accessible services. Furthermore, when you are in a foreign country, even if these services exist and are readily available, you may just not know where to find them. I counted on there being some sort of easy copy center and when I could not find one, I was left with far fewer copies than I actually needed, limiting the amount of surveys distributed. Being abroad takes us out of our comfort zones and puts us into an environment with which we are usually unfamiliar. Counting on being able to find any of the services or resources you need in a foreign country will place a glass ceiling on the success of your project.

The Key to Research Success in the Middle East: Find a contact

Though so many of the suggested preparations come during the period immediately preceding departure, the one step you can take to truly facilitate your research requires some research in advance, but will more than pay off when you arrive “in country. ”
So far, it seemed like I had done everything wrong. Thankfully my luck was about to change. When I first began researching the Samaritan community, I frequently came across the name Bejamin Tsedaka. He was very active in promoting the issues of the Samaritan community abroad and was thanked by almost every researcher I found that had written on the Samaritans. With my mom’s encouragement, I contacted Mr. Tsedaka via email and explained my research interests in his community. A few days before I came, he informed me that he would be attending a wedding on Mt. Gerizim, near Nablus, when I arrived. He invited me to the wedding, explaining that it would be much easier to speak with people at the wedding since the whole community would be gathered for the event. Benny, as he preferred to be called, was invaluable to my research. He escorted me around the community, both in Israel and the West Bank, explaining history and answering any of my questions that came to mind. His eagerness to assist was clear from our original email correspondence, but I never realized that having someone from within the community, who was also fluent in both Hebrew and Arabic (the Samaritans in Israel speak Hebrew, the Samaritans in the West Bank, mainly Arabic), would be such a help. It would not be excessive to say that I owe much of the success of my research to his assistance. Generally speaking, in every community in the Middle East, this type of kind person exists. While they may not always help to the great extent that Benny did, if you are able to find someone who knows the community and loves to share their history and culture with others (local politicians and community leaders especially), completing research will be substantially easier.

Looking back and looking forward

Looking back on my research, I see so many ways in which I could have better prepared. At the end of the day, what affected me most were the last minute preparations which I neglected because as always, when we are rushing to pack, a trivial thing like printing out letters is last on our minds. It seems like such a waste of time to sit down and print a physical copy of everything when it seems to be guaranteed that you’ll have your laptop with you to show security officials these letters, to consult for your hostel information. The problem is that you may not have your laptop with you. Expecting the unexpected and counting on nothing are crucial to surviving research in the Middle East. However, if you really want to succeed in the close-knit communities of the Middle East, the key is to find someone who really knows the community to help you. When I first arrived to Tel Aviv for my research, I worried that I wouldn’t be able complete my research successfully on my own. To an extent, I was right. Without the help of a local who understood the community, my research would have been much more difficult. Ultimately however, everyone will face their own unique challenges during research. Although some of the advice offered here was given more weight than others, I truly believe that if you allow each of these recommendations to inform your preparations for research in the Middle East, you will feel and be much safer, comfortable, and successful during your time in the region.

As someone accustomed to writing position papers for professors, I have adopted a tried-and-true method of writing that has served me rather well. This method lets the evidence speak for itself, minimizing the presence of my own voice. However, now that I am writing an honors thesis, I find myself wanting to speak more.

Professor Karl and Professor McLennan’s writing rules touch upon aspects of writing that I almost never think about. This is probably because their rules pertain to how they write rather than how they present. The writing rule that I adhere to is distinct from theirs, largely in that mine is procedural. Let me call it the Diver’s Method. When it comes to writing a research paper, I plunge right into the material, hoping to swim back up into rational coherent thought. These steps are designed to escape writer’s block, that hesitation a diver feels right before she springs into the air. I am never at a lack of words because I am literally flailing in a sea of them. Having conducted my research, with only a general topic area in mind, I usually write down all the significant arguments that various authors have made (in sentence form), separate them into various themes, and further separate them into arguments. Then, I bring order to the incoherent mess that will form the meat of my paper. By first ordering sentences within arguments into logical progression, arguments within themes, and then themes within the topic, I have written the bulk of a paper without using any of my own thoughts.

At this point in time, I have largely weakened the prospects of writer’s block because I merely have to make sense of the information that I have assembled. Only at the end, when I include a unifying thesis and cognitive transitions do I insert my own voice into the original mess. How can I increasingly incorporate my own voice into analytical writing? Will I have to abandon my favorite rule for a more top-down approach that involves establishing my thesis and then establishing the facts? If that is the case, will I be able to speak as effectively as the scholars that I so often cite? These are all questions that I am in the midst of tackling.

Faculty are experienced researchers and writers, and they share their attitudes and techniques during “How I Write” conversations with Hilton Obenzinger. Here are two sets of rules or guidelines drawn from conversations that students may find useful in their own work.

Prof Terry Karl, Political Science

Gildred Professor in Latin American Studies and Senior Fellow at the Institute for International Studies

My first rule I call the Fidel Castro rule, and the reason I call it that is because I learned it watching him give a speech on a very, very complicated political issue. There were thousands and thousands of people listening to him, and I realized there were all sorts of people—people from the University of Havana who I happened to be with and a peasant who had looked like he came from a rural area just outside of Havana, an elderly man who had not been educated prior to the Cuban Revolution. I was looking at this wide range of people and I realized that Fidel Castro was able somehow to explain extremely complicated political phenomena that we teach courses on, and everybody in that particular space, from this range of people, understood. I never forgot that lesson, and I say to myself that it’s the “Fidel Castro How I Write” rule. And that means that we ought to be able to take in our writing and talking the most complicated things and make them understandable to all kinds of people. . . So if my writing is too complicated or I’m not expressing myself as clearly as possible, I actually think that’s my problem and not my reader’s problem . . .

My second rule is what I call the “Murder She Wrote How I Write” rule, it could be the “Law and Order How I Write” rule too, and that is, at least academic writing is not a mystery, the people who are reading what you’re saying are not supposed to wait until the end to get the surprise ending. In fact, you’re supposed to be telling them what you’re going to tell them and then giving them all kinds of signposts along the way, to say “Please come with me. I want to take you with me on this journey which happens to be whatever it is I am writing. That is actually a very difficult task, and that means I struggle most with the introductions. That is to me the roadmap of what’s coming, and once I understand the roadmap it’s easier for me to take pieces of the road. I tend to figure out the roadmap as I’m halfway down the road, which means I have to go back and change the roadmap.

Rev. Scotty McLennan, Dean for Religious Life

Up in front of me is a sheet that I put together for myself on writer’s attitude, with little personal inspirational quips, and a picture next to it—this first book I wrote which had a metaphor of climbing the spiritual mountain—of this gorgeous Himalayan mountain. So I needed those to inspire me. . . .

So they’re probably rather platitudinous, but the first one is “Live and breathe my passion.”

And the second is “Imagine I am talking to someone in my office” (because I do a lot of counseling and one-to-one work with people in my office). And I always, although I probably should be listening to the people as they speak to me, it seems I always have plenty to say in that context, so say it now on paper!

Third, I say, “Write poetry: make every word count.” And for me one of the greatest authors in terms of beauty of his writing is F. Scott Fitzgerald, and I think of The Great Gatsby, for example. It’s just this beautifully constructed piece of work. So I say here to myself “Think Fitzgerald. ”

Fourth is “Get out on the edge: take risks as you write. ”

Fifth, for me, I say, “This is the life of the spirit we are talking about here, ” and therefore I feel I need to stay in touch with that spirit and hopefully be inspiring to others.

Sixth, “Think about the audience: students and other searchers”—this was for this book Finding Your Religion— “students and other searchers on retreat, trying to change their lives. ” So, to fix the audience in mind as I’m writing.

Seventh, “Sing God’s Glory.”

Eighth, “You bore, you die.” [laughter]

And ninth, “Write from the top of my head, and the bottom of my heart.”

"People will claim that what I am saying smacks of tall tales. Well, I assure you that these are not tall tales! There is much more than meets the eye. Dark-haired Odessans simply bring with them a little lightness and sunshine…Well, fine. So I am biased, I admit it. Maybe I am extremely biased, but parole d’honneur, there is something to this place!"
--Isaac Babel

Background:

Amidst the oppressive shroud of anti-Semitism, the crowded, gritty bustle of Jewish shtetl neighborhoods, and the comfortless reality of deficits and crime, Odessa emerged as the proverbial "pearl of the Black Sea." This southern hub of commerce, unimpressive in its size and political stature, became the unlikely wellspring of the thinkers and writers who defined a generation of Russian Jews and bequeathed the rich intellectual and cultural legacy of the Diaspora.

The chaotic jumble of diverse voices and foreign tongues that resonated in the streets of this cosmopolitan port city made Odessa an incarnation of the biblical Tower of Babel. In the Odessan tradition of felicitous irony it is perhaps fitting, then, that the singular figure who ascended to embody and immortalize the legendary wit of Odessa was none other than Isaac Babel. Building on the homespun satires of Sholem Aleichem, Babel both distilled and disseminated the consciously wry and self-deprecating wit that typified the celebrated Odessan sensibility.

A noteworthy peculiarity of this sensibility lies in the extent to which it was informed by the worldview of a minority—a Jewish author writing about Jewish culture from the disenfranchised margins of Odessan society. Sardonic, bantam humor was inadvertently fostered by the undertow of political and religious repression during the tumultuous transition of the '920s from tsarist to soviet rule, and proved pivotal in sustaining the psychological and cultural vitality of Jewish Odessans. Quips like "if you want to eat, know how to sell the sleeves of a vest" allowed Jews to momentarily slip out of their blighted existence, to defiantly wink at the "tsuris" (troubles) that should have made them weep. Babel's stories so faithfully apprehended this distinctively Jewish-Odessan humor and bristled with such irresistible verve that even Russian gentiles came to deploy Babelian witticisms and, to this day, can recite whole passages from the "Odessa Stories."

Though the wit of Babel and his contemporaries is now a relic from a bygone era—when anxieties inherent to the "civilizing process" ['] and confrontations with modernity produced a unique comedic ethos—humor continues to permeate and reinforce the identity of modern Odessa. This persistent cultural identification with Odessa's comedic heritage, and the fierce pride that revolves around it, is the focus of our intended research. We are fascinated by Odessan humor and how it exists as a living concept in the imaginations of different social groups today. In our explorations of the Jewish underpinning of Odessan culture, we hypothesize to find that the once authentic and bold humor subsists today largely as a vestige of the past golden age of literature and intellect.

Review of Literature:

In the early '970s, Slavic studies scholar Maurice Friedberg conducted interviews with Odessan émigrés and produced what remains the only sociological study of Odessans [2]. Friedberg's intent was to paint a portrait of life in the city and though he was conscious of the "genuine affection and nostalgia so often found in the accounts" [3] he heard, he did not attempt to probe the role of myth as a confounding variable in assessing the Odessan memory. Though Friedberg titled his book after Babel's renowned short story, "How Things Were Done In Odessa," he acknowledges but does not investigate humor as a foundational component of Odessan identity. In the past thirty years the city's cultural landscape has experienced drastic alterations: the mass exodus of Jews and the abrupt dissolution of communism. The resulting political relaxation has opened up new possibilities for studying within the actual borders of the once-restricted eastern bloc, and for filling the gap in scholarship since the demographic shift of a diminished Jewish presence.

Historians Steven Zipperstein and Patricia Herlihy have written detailed accounts of Odessan Jewry and Odessan general history, respectively. While both scholars mention the sunny image of Odessa that persisted even after the golden age of the early '900's, their major works extend no further than the Russian Revolution of '9'7 [4], and therefore cannot shed light on how Odessa's past continues to be refracted through the present imagination. As historians of Odessa it is inevitable that Herlihy and Zipperstein encounter the vital cultural aspect of Odessan wit, but they use the writings of literary humorists as a historical source, a kind of textual snapshot of a bygone era. Rather than analyzing how writers such as Babel and Aleichem perceived the people of Odessa, we propose to capture the crux of Odessan identity by exploring how the people of Odessa perceived their literary humorists. By inverting traditional historical methodology and by focusing on Odessans' connection to humor, we face the prospect of understanding in a modern context how "the more [Odessa] deteriorated, the more she adorned and embellished herself" [5] with fantasies of her own uniqueness and grandeur. We are interested in studying Odessan humor not as a historically interred artifact but as a breathing entity that intimately informs Jewish and Russian identity today. To do so requires not only an objective, scholarly knowledge of the city's past, but also familiarity with the wistful, folkloric impressions and ornate memories of Odessa that individuals continue to cultivate and harbor.

Theorizing the commodification of culture, performance and Hebrew studies scholar Barbara Kirschenblatt-Gimblett describes issues surrounding the "agency of display" in museums, fairs, and tourist attractions [6]. For Kirschenblatt-Gimblett, "heritage is not lost and found, stolen and reclaimed…Rather, the heritage industry is a new mode of cultural production and it produces something new" [7]. Her conception of heritage as an "industry" will be a useful to our analysis of the tangible exponents of Odessan humor in monuments, souvenirs, museums, plaques, and billboards. However, the scope of our research requires a move beyond the formal production of cultural legacy through artifacts and pandering to tourism, and necessitates an interpretation of heritage as it exists informally in the minds of native Odessans.

In his book "Comic Effects: Interdisciplinary Approaches to Humor in Literature," Paul Lewis says that the contemporary "study of humor in literature continues to be shaped by two dated and, therefore, limiting methodologies" [8]. The first methodology is widely advocated by literary critics, who use universalist theories of humor—Freud’s psychoanalytic explanation of jokes as escaped expressions of unconscious impulses [9], Bergson's notion of the mechanical as humorous and laughter as the corrective force ['0], Schopenhauer's and Kant's incongruity theories in which the violation of perception or expectation is funny [''], Hobbes's premise of sudden glory where laughter is a function of superiority ['2], and Bakhtin's idea that hegemony is subverted by the comedy of carnival and chaos ['3]—to analyze comedic instances within literature. The second methodology, espoused by social scientists and psychologists, rejects the belief that derivations of humor are universal and focuses on empirical research and case studies to understand humor in a specific, individual context. Because of the scholarly chasm between these two research methods, Lewis claims that humor research today is fundamentally flawed and calls for a comprehensive approach that incorporates both literary criticism and social science. In our research we plan to bridge the gap between these two opposing disciplines, comparing literary criticism of Jewish-Odessan humor with our own data collected from fieldwork and interviews to arrive at a more complete understanding of the social function of Odessan humor.

Criticism of Odessan literary humorists abounds, with the majority capitalizing on the rich theories of Jewish wit ['4]. Odessa has historically been a haven for Russian Jews and thus many scholars perceive Jewish identity as a latent force at the origin of Odessan humor. Many academics find an avowal of the framework of Jewish wit in Odessan fictional heroes, particularly in Sholem Aleichem's milkman Tevye, a wry self-deprecating protagonist who sardonically shrugs his shoulders at his blighted existence and life's cruel twists of fate ['5]. It is paradoxical that out of the dismal circumstances of economic depression, pogroms, and political disenfranchisement emerged a "most richly distinctive humor" in Jewish Eastern Europe ['6]. Two different theoretical principles offer explanations for the creation and proliferation of the comedic Jewish sensibility fathered by Aleichem: Norbert Elias's civilizing process and the general theory of subculture. Elias's description of civilization and the development of the modern bourgeois world ['7] can be used to supply an understanding of Jewish humor—as Jews assimilated into the dominant Western culture, laughter soothed the embarrassment of missteps and the trials of cultural transition. At the same time that the marginalized community was learning to make light of the adversity of attempting to enter a governing culture, they nevertheless reveled in their distance as a subculture by ridiculing the values of the majority ethos. Though these theories are helpful in understanding the wellspring of Jewish wit, we are in search of cultural significance of humor for Jews and non-Jews in contemporary Odessa. In analyzing the humor of today's Odessa it would be facile to apply these theories, which are more appropriate to describe the pre-modern era, to the vastly changed landscape of the city. Despite drastic political and cultural shifts such as the mass departure of Jewish intellectuals, the political upheavals of a sloppy democratic election, and large-scale and zealous privatization, Odessans' pride in and identification with the humorists of the early twentieth century remain steadfastly unchanged. We propose to perform an inquiry into Odessan humor that will delve beyond theories of its creation and explore the reasons behind its perpetuation and its inflated vision as a primary cultural cachet of Odessa.

Of the theories of Russian humor that do not concentrate on the Jewish aspect, Slavic studies scholar Lesley Milne's interpretation is the most substantial and provocative. Contrasting Gogolian tradition of "laughter through tears" with Rabelaisian variety of hearty belly laughter, Milne argues that "Ilf and Petrov created a new category of literary laughter for the Russian tradition," one that cherished humor for humor's sake and valued an "active, uncomplacent, youthful spirit" ['8]. Although her book was published just in 2003, Milne adamantly maintains an almost purely formalist treatment, a kind of pedantic approach that does not allow for common perspectives of how individuals, past or present, find meaning in humorists such as Ilf and Petrov in their daily lives.

In a paper presented at Harvard in March of 2005, Patricia Herlihy and Russian journalist Oleg Gubar discuss the modern state of Odessa as teetering on the brink of transformation. They discuss with considerable urgency that "steps must be taken for a makeover" ['9], and express concern that the Odessan myth stands as an obstacle to the city's regeneration. They write, "Odessits have become accustomed to the fact that nothing depends on them; they take no initiative, but treasure paperweights of mementoes and picturesque ruins" [20]. Professor of Russian and Jewish studies Alice Nakhimovsky proclaims a parallel moment of change in her 2003 essay on Mikhail Zhvanetskii, the prominent contemporary descendant of the long lineage Odessan humorists. Nakhimovsky boldly asserts that the unique cultural expression of Russian Jewry "may have reached a historical end…along with it goes an important source of Jewish ironic humor" [2']. In light of this possibility for change, now is a critical time to understand the nature of the Odessan myth as it is manifested through a comedic sensibility and preserved as an evolving reality in the minds of Odessans today. Through our project we hope to contribute to the incipient field of humor research, to converge interdisciplinary methodology in novel ways, and to identify the issues that are pertinent and significant to the present condition of Odessa.