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(cfp) ‘Doing Sex: Men, Masculinity and Sexual Practices’ Janeiro 25, 2017

Posted by paulo jorge vieira in academia, geografias das sexualidades, geographies of sexualities, queer theory, sexualidades e géneros, Uncategorized.
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Call for Papers
Doing Sex: Men, Masculinity and Sexual Practices’ Conference
Newcastle University, United Kingdom
July 14-15, 2017
Submission Deadline: February 6th 2017

 

This colloquium aims to bring together the study of sexual practices and desires and critical studies of men and masculinities. We are explicitly interested in returning to some of the provocations of sexology in the twentieth century to think through men’s sexuality today. For Kinsey there is an inherent paradox in “man’s absorbing interest in sex and his astounding ignorance of it; his desire to know and his unwillingness to face the facts.” Whilst we can see some of the failings and problematics in Kinsey, Masters & Johnson, and other Sexologists, it is critical to reflect not simply as criticism of these, but also of what they are suggestive and enlightening.

 

Today, nearly seventy years after the publication of Kinsey’s Sexual Behavior in the Human Male, after the sexual revolution, after the censorship trials, after the rise of feminism, queer theory, increased visibility of trans* and genderqueer identities, and LGBT activism, we wish to ask: what are men doing sexually? Men’s sexual practices, more often than not, are pathologized, diagnosed, managed, treated. Whilst productive and valuable work has been undertaken in the areas of rape culture and sexual violence, this symposium aims to explore the diversity and scope of male sexual practices. More specifically, current discussions on masculinity and sexuality tend to marginalize the fear, the excitement, the shame, the pleasure and the embarrassment that men experience when doing sex. This symposium addresses this by focusing on men doing sex.

 

For more information see: https://doingsexconference.wordpress.com/

FIFTY-YEARS ON: The Right to the City Janeiro 24, 2017

Posted by paulo jorge vieira in academia, activismo, cidades, geografias, teoria e epistemologia da geografia, teoria social, Uncategorized.
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FIFTY-YEARS ON: The Right to the City

Andy Merrifield

2017 marks the Golden Jubilee of Henri Lefebvre’s Right to the City, his “cry and demand” for a more participatory and democratic city life. It’s a cause both to celebrate and commiserate. But celebration and commiseration have typically been part and parcel of the Left’s dialectic, a dialectic that cuts inside us as people as well as political subjects. For everyone concerned about the fate of our cities, before us now lies a massive expansion of urban life across the planet, an opening up of urban horizons and frontiers, matched by a closing of the political mind, a withering of the established political will.

Ours is an urban society, set to be evermore so during the decades to come; yet political leaders almost everywhere are putting up walls, cowering before provincial smallness rather than embracing cosmopolitan vastness. When Lefebvre long ago spoke of “planetary urbanisation,” he did so because he thought the scope and possibility for the right to the city might enlarge, that our narrative about cities might become bigger and more inclusive. The right to the city needed to flourish within this immensity, he said, had to understand it, keep its frame of reference and plane of immanence open.

Lefebvre announced the right to the city at the centenary of Marx’s Capital, doing so with a self-avowed “cavalier intention.” Urbanisation, for him, was and still is a “revolutionary” process in which assorted ruling classes played and continue to play the dominant role. It’s they who initiate the drive to totalise the productive forces, to colonise and commodify land, to valorise people and nature. Just as they’ve fracked deep into the earth and power-drilled monetised value from nature, ruling classes now frack into human nature as well, power-drilling value from different aspects of everyday life, from land and housing, from the entire public realm.

Lefebvre, though, never imagined that urbanisation would be everywhere, that bricks and mortar, freeways and highways would predominate every which way, that all green space would turn grey; neither was he saying that cities would quantitatively overwhelm the planet. (That’s why he would have been radically at odds with the empirics of UN-Habitat’s “Urban Age” thesis.) Rather, as his commemoration of Marx’s Capital implies, he was warning of the closing of the circle of a particular form of post-war capitalism, one that defines itself less through a model of industrial or agricultural production and more and more through an actual production of space.

This system produces planetary geography as a commodity, as a pure financial asset, using and abusing people and places as strategies to accumulate capital. The process embroils everybody, no matter where; even when it doesn’t embroil, when it abandons people and places, it embroils. Urban society today is tantamount to the progressive production of evermore frackable spatial units. In a way, I like to think Lefebvre was hoping his thesis would become untrue, that the circle can never be complete, that it has to stop, or else be diverted, even if there’s no going back, that urban society, like it or not, is here to stay.

Urban society is thus the battle ground for new forms of radical and progressive politics: it has to be. Lefebvre affirmed this not out of personal whim: capitalism affirmed it out of historical necessity, as our “objective” reality, as an arena in which we all must now engage, willy-nilly. His most explicit reference to planetary urbanisation came later in life, in a valedictory essay from 1989, “Quand la ville se perd dans une métamorphose planétaire,” published two years before his death.

His precise language here is worth pondering on for a moment. Menace stalks us, Lefebvre says; not so much of “planetary urbanisation” but of “the planetarisation of the urban” (“la planétarisation de l’urbain”). The ordering is telling. For the urban doesn’t so much spread as it becomes the vortex for sucking in everything the planet offers: its land and wealth, its capital and power, its culture and people—its dispensable labour-power. It’s this sucking in of people and goods, of capital and information that fuels the urban machine, that makes it so dynamic as well as so destabilising, because its energising and totalising force “expulses” (expels) people, “secretes” what Lefebvre calls a “residue.” This expulsion process makes urban space expand, lets it push itself out, has it further entangle rural space, and disentangle rural life.

Lefebvre says every big system leaves a residue that escapes it, that is chewed up and spat out by it. Every whole leaves a remainder. It’s an idea most forcefully articulated in Metaphilosophy, Lefebvre’s dense takedown of traditional philosophy, published a couple of years prior to The Right to the City. In Metaphilosophy, Lefebvre says that totalisations like global capitalism always exhibit leakiness, have internal contradictions that both structure and de-structure. Totalisation can never be total; it always secretes and expels a “residual element,” its Other. There’ll always be people who don’t fit into any whole, who don’t want to fit in, who aren’t allowed to fit in. They’re the stuff left over after all the metrics are totted up, after everything has seemingly been accounted for: le reste after la somme. They’re the philosophical anti-concepts, an affirmation of remainders, of marginal dregs, a growing planetary constituency.

Residues are people who feel the periphery inside them, who identify with the periphery, even if sometimes they’re located in the core. Residues exist in the world of work: precarious and downsized workers, informal and gig economy workers, petty service sector and agricultural workers—residues are workers without regularity, without salaries and security, without benefits and pensions; they’re workers without any real stake in the future of work.

Residues are refugees rejected and rebuked, profiled and patrolled no matter where they wander. They’re displacees, people forced off the land, thrown out of their housing (by impersonal property markets and violent eviction), whose homes have been repossessed, whose living space teeters on the geographical and economic edge. Residues come from the city as well as the countryside and congregate in a space that’s often somewhere in-between, neither traditional city nor traditional countryside. I call this somewhere in-between the global banlieue; I mean it literally and metaphorically, as a concrete and potential space, as a place of political encounter, one not yet fully glimpsed.

Resides are the NINJA (No Income, No Job, No Asset) generation; Greeks who feel the brunt of the Troika austerity initiatives; dispossessed Arab and African youth in French suburbs; Detroiters beholden to “Emergency Managers”; Palestinians lobbing rocks at Israeli tanks; Rojava Kurds in northern Syria; Indignados on the streets of Spain; “June Days” Brazilians protesting public transport hikes; occupiers in Istanbul’s Gezi Park; Umbrella kids in Hong Kong’s Occupy Central; Nuitards staked out around Paris’s Place de la République. The list goes on, and on.

The spirit of Metaphilosophy gets worked through The Right to the City. Planetary urbanisation is itself a metaphilosophical category, a will to totalise, a discontinuity within continuity, a difference in repetition, a breakdown of old industrial society, and its supersession—its overcoming—by a new spatial form: diffusive, unbound and apparently planetary in its reach, beyond any city-rural breach. Thus a profound existential problem is displaced onto the plane of urban society where it now transpires as a complex political dilemma, an attempt to forge a new humanitarianism out of the “bad side” of capitalist development. Capitalism’s cutting edge is a bleeding edge for ordinary people.

While planetary urbanisation has to be a theory trying to figure out totalisation under contemporary capitalism, it shouldn’t itself be a totalising theory. Instead, it’s a theory of residues within a vortex, an attempt to piece together a politics of residues, a politics of remainders in the whole. Lefebvre even suggests that the political ante here is to formulate a new “revolutionary conception of citizenship.” Indeed, he says this is really what he meant by “the right to the city” all along. And this is the working hypothesis he’s bequeathed us fifty-years down the line, left us to figure out practically. The right to the city is about residues reclaiming (or claiming for the first time) their rights to a collective urban life, to an urban society they’re actively making yet are hitherto disenfranchised from: “the right to the city implies nothing less than a revolutionary conception of citizenship.”

So many people have been pushed off-limits these days that it’s extended the limit of limits, created a more expansive social space for a new conception of citizenship, for a citizenship still to be invented. In this guise, citizenship lies inside and beyond a passport, inside and beyond any official documentation. It doesn’t express a legal right bestowed by any institution of the bourgeois nation-state. What we’re talking about is a citizenship without a flag, without a country, without borders. At this point I can only label it a “shadow citizenship,” something phantom-like.

Still, many residues in America’s deindustrialised heartlands aren’t interested in expansive conceptions of citizenship. Nobody has ever shown them any, of course, offered them any. Meantime, these residues seem content with more reactionary kinds of enfranchisement; and when somebody promises it them, they jump, they vote Right. Now, there’s a common theme uniting the whole world: People recognising their own disenfranchisement. It has reached desperate depths. But frustration matched with vulnerability has enabled assorted demagogues (religious as well as political) to step in. Some have voiced populist ragings against the machine, created scapegoats galore, any old or new straw target, anything to further their vested interests and political ambitions. And many residues, for want of an alternative, have believed them.

But parochial nest-building is doomed over the longer term, retrogressive in our age where human interconnectivity has broadened and deepened. To see the world through the lens of planetary urbanisation thus has certain distinct advantages. After all, it’s a viewpoint expressive of commonality rather than difference, a mutually shared planet in which people who look different, who talk different from one another, who don’t know one another, who may even hate one another, have more in common than they might think.

That shared experience is an ever-growing mutuality of disadvantage and despair, of suffering and perhaps hope. There’s affinity even if it’s rarely acknowledged. The right to the city has to help us identify how this affinity gets recognised, how it gets mediated, undermined, upended by forces upending the planet, forces that work together, that throw everybody into a scary mix. The right to the city has to help us create new forms of organisation, new institutions that leap across the nationalist divide. How to invent a new, more “hospitable” form of citizenship that nourishes people’s sense of identity without crushing other people’s identity? How can people—residues—express and become themselves through their connection to urban society?

Jacques Derrida once wondered whether it was possible to define a modern cosmopolitanism that bypassed the nation-state. His response is uncannily similar to Lefebvre’s. Yes, Derrida said, it was and still is possible: through relatively-autonomous cities, independent from any state, separate nodes allied to one another through “forms of solidarity to be invented.” We’re still trying to invent this solidarity; so far it has alluded the Left. But Derrida urges us to make “yet another effort.” He uses an intriguing phase to describe the nemesis of disenfranchisement and dispossession: “villes-refuges”—“cities of refuge” (or sanctuary cities)—crucibles for a new kind of unconditional citizenship.

This ideal actually prevailed in 5th-Century Greece, voiced by Pericles, Athens’ first citizen, in his famous “Funeral Oration,” recounted by Thucydides in Peloponnesian War. Pericles commemorated Athenian war dead and wanted its citizens to remember how their system of government had “a different attitude than its neighbours towards military security.” Theirs was based on openness not closure, discussion not denial. “Our city is open to the world,” Pericles proclaimed, and Athenians should have “a confidence of liberality.” “We have no periodical deportations,” he said. “The greatness of our city brings it about that all good things from all over the world flow into us.” Athens was a paragon of urban citizenship everywhere, “a city that’s the school of all Greece.”

Five centuries on, the Old Testament spoke of cities of refuge set aside as sanctuaries for people, spaces of asylum to protect innocents—and sometimes the guilty: “These towns will be cities of refuge,” The Book of Numbers said (35: 15-17), “for the sons of Israel as well as for the stranger and the settler amongst you.” The Hebraic tradition recognises the right to an urban immunity and hospitality that goes way beyond mere particularism, a simple search for unique refuge: it’s a divine hope for a form of urban sovereignty where people could become wholly human.

What Derrida has in mind are cities of sanctuary for writers who undergo persecution because of their art and political views; but he hints, too, that the concept might apply to all displacees and emigres, to all asylum seekers and refugees—writers or otherwise. Might we broaden this notion even more to include residues in general, safeguarding all the rootless and landless effected by everyday trauma, by the ordinary madness of our political-economic system? A place of asylum where people can become wholly human?

“A new sovereignty of cities,” says Derrida, “would open up a novel space for rights which inter-state national rights have failed to open up.” “We dream of another concept,” he says, “of another right, of a potential right of the city” (emphasis added). Derrida knows this is “an experimentation of a right and a democracy to come.” He knows, like Lefebvre, it’s wishful-thinking, utopian, especially since he gives us little sense of what a “ville-refuge” might look like, let alone how it might be achieved.

Yet the concept might be closer to home than he thought. A number of US cities—Los Angeles, New York, Chicago, Oakland, San Francisco, Boston, Philadelphia and Providence—all recently pledged not to cooperate with Donald Trump’s promise to deport millions of illegal immigrants. Across the US, “sanctuary cities” are gearing up to oppose federal government and its immigration agents. Liberal urban bastions reaffirm their intention to defy the Trump administration. At the risk of losing millions dollars in federal support, they’ll act as bulwarks against mass deportation. These cities have no power to bestow “official” rights to people; but they have the power to resist, putting a new twist on struggles against federal government: this time it’s liberal cities not conservative states who counter what they see as unjust federal intervention.

In response to a crisis of political legitimation, the “spectre” of urban solidarity looms; minorities in cities recognise that national and international rights are “out of joint.” In a way, we now need to read Derrida’s idea of “villes-refuges” in conjunction not only with Lefebvre’s right to the city, but also with the former’s earlier Spectres of Marx, where he spoke of a “New International”; “a profound transformation,” Derrida called it, “projected over the long term, of international law, of its concepts and field of intervention.” This New International is “a link,” Derrida said, an affinity, a suffering and hope, still discreet, almost secret, without status or title, contract or coordination, party or country, national community or common belonging to a class.

We’re not yet sure what this International really is; we can’t name it anything positive. But it’s there nonetheless, we know it’s there, hope it’s there, out on the horizon, if we can look that far. We know it’s more needed than ever before, needed everywhere. It’s a ghostly dream-thought of a new status for the city, a right to and of the city, a will to belong to a democratic urban webbing, a solidarity of confederated assemblies interrogating the essence of politics and the role of the nation-state: just what is a citizen of the urban, a citadin(e) of the twenty-first century? Progressives will have their work cut out in this challenging year ahead. Meantime, à la tienne, Henri!…

In Defense of Cosmopolitanism Janeiro 22, 2017

Posted by paulo jorge vieira in academia, activismo, teoria social.
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These are dark times for cosmopolitans. Discontent with globalization and resentment towards minorities, immigrants, and intellectuals have fueled the rise of nationalism in Europe and the United States. Dressed in faux-neutral neologisms like “post-truth” and “alt-right,” propaganda, racism, and xenophobia have elbowed their way back into the mainstream. And cosmopolitans are being portrayed as a detached and indulgent elite.

Cosmopolitanism—the aspiration to become a citizen of the world—has become a tainted luxury good.

It might seem prudent, in this climate, to take distance from cosmopolitanism. That choice, however, leaves a distorted image of cosmopolitanism unchallenged and lets it become a casualty in the clash between nationalism and globalization. We must do better than that. If we want to fend off the globalization of ultra-nationalism, now is the time to take a stand for cosmopolitanism—extricating its broadminded attitude from its elitist parody, and putting it to work to temper nationalism and humanize globalization.

Taking such stand begins with remembering where contemporary cosmopolitanism came from and acknowledging how it lost its way.

How We Became Cosmopolitans

I became a cosmopolitan on August 5th, 1943, three decades before I was born. That afternoon, the Allies entered my hometown in southern Italy. The city was on its knees, but the children were jubilant. The war was beginning to end, and freedom had the taste of American chocolate bars. Soldiers threw them to the kids on the roadside as they rode their jeeps through town. My mother never forgot the one she caught.

Wartime stories like that were common when I was growing up, but they felt distant from my world and my life. It took me decades to realize how much they shaped both. Like many middle-class Europeans of their generation, my parents—who had both been first in their families to go to high school, who spent their whole adult lives in the same place, who never spoke a foreign language—insisted that I learn English and travel.

My parents embodied a distinction that the sociologist Robert Merton made in the 1950s  studying a small American town. The town’s influential members, he found, were either “locals” or “cosmopolitans.” The locals’ influence rested on strong ties to the town and relationships within it. The cosmopolitans’ rested on their knowledge and expertise. If locals could not imagine a life elsewhere, cosmopolitans seemed to be always preparing for it. Neither, however, left much and the town benefited from the contribution of both. That was back then. My generation’s cosmopolitans were urged to be more mobile.

So, at age 14, I found myself living and studying for a month with a small crowd of Spanish, French, and Germans in a small town in the north of England. It was the first time I felt at home in a place where I did not belong—or more precisely, that I felt like I belonged in a place I had not come from. That is how I began becoming a European. A few years later, when the Berlin Wall fell, it was glorious to be coming of age as one. The promise of cosmopolitanism as a way to a better life might have been at its zenith, but it seemed only dawn. For a moment, it really felt as if we were ending history, in Francis Fukuyama’s famous words, ushering the triumph of liberal democracy worldwide.

Big cities all over the world were swelling up with first-generation cosmopolitans like me, fleeing provincial worldviews. We flocked to places that promised not to put us in our place. We were curious invaders of each other’s countries. A peaceful army sent to dismantle nationalism by elders who’d been hurt by it.

My parents’ generation blessed, if ambivalently, our cosmopolitanism because it was an insurance policy as much as an aspiration. Born out of the rubble of nationalism, it was primarily a humanistic project—not an economic one. It emphasized commonality of experience and tolerance of differences. It should make us realize people unlike us were humans just like us, and replace superstition and suspicion—the pillars of tribalism—with curiosity and compassion. If we would study, dine, and make out with peers from other countries, we would be less likely to bomb each other in the future. When the European Union received the Nobel Peace Prize in 2012, I felt that my mum and dad should get a piece of it—and keep it next to the chip of Berlin Wall I had brought home two decades before.

By then, I was married to a woman born 15 miles from that first English town I lived in. Our parents did not share a language but had similar values. We taught in an academic institution that helps people live working lives across borders. Our children gave complicated answers to the simple question, “Where are you from?” and felt at home in a country that neither of us grew up in. And we had become alert to the skepticism about, and hostility towards, our way of life. Over the past few years, those have only grown. Having spent my life trying to become an educated cosmopolitan, I now fear that my generation has failed at cosmopolitanism, or worse, that we have failed cosmopolitanism.

Foot Soldiers of Globalization

The animosity between locals and cosmopolitans is nothing new. It has shaped Western civilization since Ancient Greece. Up to Merton’s time, however, locals and cosmopolitans, remained strange bedfellows. Now, it seems, they have split up, amplifying their differences and becoming locals in different tribes—a nationalist and a globalist one. Cosmopolitans have built their own tribe. A tribe of people unfit for tribalism, I once wrote. An inclusive, dispersed tribe—if such a thing exists—connected by unlimited international data plans and cheap airfare. But a tribe nonetheless. We commandeered big cities and settled tolerant enclaves like coffee shops, universities, and most of all, multinational corporations that let us make a living as we moved around.

While its origin was political, cosmopolitanism made us unfit for national government. Our lives were too mobile, our allegiances too unclear, our relationship to the state too ambivalent for us to be its trustworthy standard bearers. A cosmopolitan attitude comes with suspicion of people and politicians too tied to nation states, and makes us look suspicious to them in turn. But if politics could not pin us down, business set us up.

When globalization took off, we were ready. We had the mindset and skills needed to deal with and, let us face it, profit from the opening up of global markets. Cosmopolitan enthusiasm was redirected from a humanistic project to an economic one. We stopped taking marching orders from John Lennon and started taking them from Jack Welch. If most political leaders found imagining no countries very hard to do, it seemed almost too easy for corporate leaders to do so. Thus we became foot soldiers of globalization, setting out to turn the world into one of our cities. In hindsight, that was not just overreach. It was a betrayal of the very essence of cosmopolitanism: being a citizen of a varied world.

The wave of nationalism sweeping through the globe has been framed as a rejection of and a reaction to globalization. Some analysts focus on the economic devastation that globalization has brought to Western middle classes. Others focus on the threat that it poses to local social hierarchies and worldviews. Seen that way, nationalism is a blunt tool for those hurt by the cultural and economic blows of globalization to strike back. A blunt old tool, it must be noted, familiar to the kind of provincial masculinity that has held power for centuries, and resents how a changing world imperils its local status.

What Is To Be Done?

Where does that leave cosmopolitans? Caught between the exhortation to empathize with nationalists, out of guilt for having left them behind, and the temptation to double down on globalization and build up de facto city-states out of comfort and fear.

Personally, I don’t lack empathy for angry nationalists. I count many among my family and friends. What I lack is sympathy for their prejudices and faith in the economic benefits of isolationism. Similarly, I have little sympathy for the evangelism and isolationism of worried globalists, many of whom I also count as family and friends.

Given where I come from and where I have got to, however, it is hard for me to choose a side. And I believe that choosing one, if one can choose at all, will not do anyone much good. Tribes seldom coexist peacefully and never for long—and picking a tribe gives cosmopolitanism away just when we need it most.

While they might sound similar, cosmopolitanism is not the same as globalization. One is a fragile personal attitude, the other is a relentless socio-economic force. One strives to humanize the different, the other to homogenize it. One celebrates curiosity, the other convenience. (Curiosity is often inconvenient.) One is embracing, the other expansive. One is easy to lose, the other hard to stop. Nationalism and globalization are more similar to each other than to cosmopolitanism, that way. And cosmopolitanism is what might help us counter nationalism and humanize globalization, pushing it to be a vehicle of freedom and opportunity for most, not just a privileged few.

A cosmopolitan tribe, however, preoccupied with protecting hard-earned cultural advances and economic advantages, will only make things worse. There is neither an undo button for globalization, nor a wall high enough to keep it at bay. But the challenge to humanize globalization is more urgent than ever—and it is both cultural and economic.  Doing so requires doubling down on cosmopolitanism, reclaiming its humanistic roots and acknowledging that its promise is far from fulfilled. There is more work to do.

Make Cosmopolitanism Good Again

One November morning last year, I found myself asking my mum about her childhood in the war. The night before, a terrorist attack had devastated a cosmopolitan neighborhood in Paris, not far from where I live. Watching the news, I learned that the German football team had not been able to leave the stadium where they were playing France when the terrorists hit. The French team had spent the night in the locker room too, in solidarity.

For some reason, that image stayed with me. When she called to ask if we were safe, I asked my mother if she could have ever imagined such camaraderie between French and German athletes when she was a child. “Of course I couldn’t have,” she replied. “Neither could I have imagined the freedoms you have enjoyed for decades, nor your way of life.”

I seldom think of my mother as daring, but I did then. Her generation dared to dream the unimaginable for mine and set us on a path to make it real.

It also struck me that, in many ways, our cosmopolitan enclaves are like that locker room in Paris. It took good people the best part of a century to build them. We will lose them if we just guard them. If we regard them as safe bubbles and do not have the courage to venture out and work on building many more—easier to get into, fairer, and roomier too.

In short, instead of just being welcoming, cosmopolitans must keep reaching out. Welcoming without reaching out, or expecting to be always welcome, is what cosmopolitans do when they get lazy or entitled. It’s time to stop being either.

Cosmopolitanism thrives outside bubbles. Inside any bubble, it soon dies. And if we let cosmopolitanism become a casualty of the conflict between nationalism and globalization, we will have betrayed the dreams and wasted the work of two generations. Our humanity, if not humanity—our worlds, if not the world—are at stake.


Gianpiero Petriglieri is Associate Professor of Organisational Behaviour at INSEAD, where he directs the Management Acceleration Programme, the school’s flagship executive program for emerging leaders. A medical doctor and psychiatrist by training, Gianpiero researches and practices leadership development. You can follow him on Twitter @gpetriglieri.

(cfp) Que(e)rying Gender and Tourism Research Janeiro 5, 2017

Posted by paulo jorge vieira in academia, geografias, geografias das sexualidades, geographies of sexualities, Uncategorized.
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Que(e)rying Gender and Tourism Research

Call For Papers: RGS-IBG Annual Conference, London, 29th August -1st September 2017.

Eveleigh Buck-Matthews, Coventry University
Dr Jaeyon Choe, Bournemouth University
Dr Claudia Eger, University of Warwick
Heather Jeffrey, University of Bedfordshire
Dr Caroline Scarles, University of Surrey

Sponsored by the Geographies of Leisure and Tourism Research Group (GLTRG) and the Gender and Feminist Geographies Research Group (GFGRG)

There is a growing body of knowledge concerned with gender and tourism, but still many voices remain unheard. Feminists are as varied as the subjectivities they so often research, but are joined together within a common emancipatory project. Queer theory can aid in an emancipatory project by destabilising foundational assumptions of normality (de Souza, Brewis & Rumens, 2016; Rumens & Tyler, 2016), and yet it has received little attention from tourism scholars. This session is designed to engage participants in a critical conversation on gender and feminism within tourism, hospitality and events research, to explore contentious issues among feminists and pave the way for collaboration. Papers concerning any aspect of gender within tourism, hospitality and events research are invited, as well as papers investigating multiple voices and perspectives within gender and tourism, which may relate to but not be confined by the following areas:

* Female hosts as guests and the reification of roles
* Masculinities in tourism, hospitality, and events
* LGBTQ voices in tourism, hospitality, and events
* Casual/precarious gendered workers
* Postcolonial feminism and subaltern studies in tourism
* Insights from queer theory for gender and tourism
* Feminist theory and practice

We are currently seeking contributions for a paper presentation session involving five presentations each lasting around 15 minutes with time for questions. The presentation may be executed in a traditional or innovative style, and we actively encourage a wide range of styles; including snapshots and pechakucha.
Please send abstracts (approx. 250 words) with author contact details to Heather Jeffrey (heather.jeffrey@beds.ac.uk) by the 1st February 2017.

(pmr30) “Escrevo” Janeiro 2, 2017

Posted by paulo jorge vieira in poemas, poesia, Uncategorized.
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1460383584391971
Escrevo já com a noite
em casa. Escrevo
sobre a manhã em que escutava
o rumor da cal ou do lume,
e eras tu somente
a dizer o meu nome.
Escrevo para levar à boca
o sabor da primeira
boca que beijei a tremer.
Escrevo para subir
às fontes.
E voltar a nascer.
Eugénio de Andrade in “Os Sulcos da Sede”

Spaces of Depoliticisation, Spectres of Radical Politics Dezembro 28, 2016

Posted by paulo jorge vieira in academia, activismo, geografias, Uncategorized.
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The Post-Political and Its Discontents

Spaces of Depoliticisation, Spectres of Radical Politics

edited by Japhy Wilson and Erik Swyngedouw

livro

Through a multi-dimensional and fiercely contested assessment of contemporary depoliticisation, The Post-Political and Its Discontents urges us to confront the closure of our political horizons and re-imagine the possibility of emancipatory change.

Our age is celebrated as the triumph of liberal democracy. Old ideological battles have been decisively resolved in favour of freedom and the market. We are told that we have moved ‘beyond left and right’; that we are ‘all in this together’. Any remaining differences are to be addressed through expert knowledge, consensual deliberation and participatory governance. Yet the ‘end of history’ has also been marked by widespread disillusion with mainstream politics and a rise in nationalist and religious fundamentalisms. And now an explosion of popular protests is challenging technocratic regulation and the power of markets in the name of democracy itself.


This collection makes sense of this situation by critically engaging with the influential theory of ‘the post-political’ developed by Chantal Mouffe, Jacques Rancière, Slavoj Zizek and others. Through a multi-dimensional and fiercely contested assessment of contemporary depoliticisation, The Post-Political and Its Discontents urges us to confront the closure of our political horizons and re-imagine the possibility of emancipatory change.

***

Western democracies are only the political facade of economic power. A facade with colours, banners, and endless debates about sacrosanct democracy. We live in an era where we can discuss everything. With one exception: Democracy. She is there, an acquired dogma. Don’t touch, like a museum display. Elections have become an absurd comedy, shameful, in which the participation of the citizen is very weak, and governments represent the political commissionaires of economic power. There isn’t democracy, only the appearance of democracy. We live in a simulation. If we want real democracy, we will have to create it ourselves. José Saramago (2006)

In Seeing, the final installment of his magisterial urban trilogy, José Saramago offers an incisive dissection of our current political predicament. A few years after a strange episode of collective blindness, city administrators are preparing for a general election. The great day for the democratic festival is a miserably rainy Sunday, and once all the ballots are counted, it turns out that a large percentage of people have spoiled their votes. The city elites of the Party of the Left, the Party of the Middle, and the Party of the Right are disquieted, if not alarmed. Something must have gone wrong, these surmise, probably the bad weather . . . A week later, the elections are repeated. This time the weather is better, but the electoral outcome is even worse: 83 per cent of the citizens vote blank. What Saramago calls ‘the simple right not to follow any consensually established opinion’ deeply troubles the city government. One minister refers to it as a conspiracy against the democratic system itself. In its desperate attempt to understand what is going on, and to root out what must be an organised subversion against the sacrosanct democratic principle, the government declares ‘a state of emergency’, unleashing all manner of repressive tactics to uncover the masterminding source of the anti-democratic plot. But none can be found. In a final desperate attempt to make the city and its citizens come to their senses, the government decides to decamp to another place, leaving the residents to their own devices and anticipating a descent into anarchic catastrophe. However, nothing of the sort happens. Everyone goes about his or her daily life, and the city continues as normal.

In this allegory, first published in 2004, Saramago ruthlessly satirises the disaffection of a growing number of people with the instituted rituals of representative democracy. Thousands of passive rebels refuse to do what is expected of them. They reject the ballot box, and just go on with life as if nothing has happened. With chilling precision, Saramago diagnoses the deadlock of contemporary ‘democratic’ governance. We live in times both haunted and paradoxical. Instituted representational democracy is more widespread than ever; identitarian concerns and all manner of issues and problems are made visible and politicised; ‘participatory’ and ‘inclusive’ forms of governance are nurtured and fostered on a range of geographical scales; and lifestyle preferences, the unsustainable re-engineering of our climate, the sexual escapades of the former IMF chairman, the heroic resistances of indigenous peoples, fracking, the repression of gay people in Russia, the garbage left on the sidewalk, the plight of the whale, the governments’ austerity agendas to get the economy out of the doldrums – all these issues and an infinity of others are politicised in certain ways. That is, they are discussed, dissected, evaluated, raised as issues of public concern and debated at length in a variety of public and political arenas. Everything, so it seems, can be aired, made visible, discussed, and rendered contentious.

(in Seeds of Dystopia: Post-Politics and the Return of the Political, Japhy Wilson and Erik Swyngedouw, pp. 1-2)

Thank you, George Michael: an LGBTQ+ tribute Dezembro 26, 2016

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The LGBTQ community does indeed owe George Michael a debt of gratitude. Alongside the rest of the world, we thank him for his amazing musical legacy, for his ability to make us sing, dance and cry. However, we in the LGBTQ community should also be thankful to have had George Michael as one of ‘our own’. A trailblazer, something of a rebel, a social non-conformist who said ‘fuck you’ to the moralisers and bigots, both queer and not, George, we salute you.

Fonte: Thank you, George Michael: an LGBTQ+ tribute

(rip) George Michael Dezembro 26, 2016

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Hoje para relembrar George Michael poderia escolher inúmeras músicas. Escolhi “one more try”. Nem sei quais serão as razões mas esta balada faz parte dos momentos eternos da minha vidinha de adolescente nos perdidos anos 80/90.

 

I’ve had enough of danger
And people on the streets
I’m looking out for angels
Just trying to find some peace
Now I think it’s time
That you let me know
So if you love me
Say you love me
But if you don’t
Just let me go

Cause teacher
There are things that I don’t want to learn
And the last one I had
Made me cry
So I don’t want to learn to
Hold you, touch you
Think that you’re mine
Because there ain’t no joy
For an uptown boy
Whose teacher has told him goodbye
Goodbye
Goodbye

When you were just a stranger
And I was at your feet
I didn’t feel the danger
Now I feel the heat
That look in your eyes
Telling me no
So you think that you love me
Know that you need me
I wrote the song, I know it’s wrong
Just let me go

And teacher
There are things
That I don’t want to learn
Oh the last one I had
Made me cry
So I don’t want to learn to
Hold you, touch you
Think that you’re mine
Because there ain’t no joy
For an uptown boy
Whose teacher has told him goodbye
Goodbye
Goodbye

So when you say that you need me
That you’ll never leave me
I know you’re wrong, you’re not that strong
Let me go

And teacher
There are things
That I still have to learn
But the one thing I have is my pride
Oh so I don’t want to learn to
Hold you, touch you
Think that you’re mine
Because there ain’t no joy
For an uptown boy
Who just isn’t willing to try
I’m so cold
Inside
Maybe just one more try

(CFP) III Seminário Latino-Americano de Geografia, Gênero e Sexualidades Dezembro 13, 2016

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screen-shot-2014-07-02-at-12-14-15-pm

III Seminário Latino-Americano de Geografia, Gênero e Sexualidades

CHAMADA DE TRABALHOS
UNIVERSIDAD AUTÓNOMA METROPOLITANA
Unidades Iztapalapa y Azcapotzalco

Convidam especialistas e pessoas interessadas na reflexão sobre gênero, espaço e sexualidades a participar com trabalhos no II Congresso Internacional sobre Gênero e Espaço que se celebrará em conjunto com o III Seminário Latino-Americano de Geografia, Gênero e Sexualidades entre 16 e 19 de maio de 2017 no Centro Histórico de la Ciudad de México (Ciudad de México)

Formato
Conferencias magistrais
Mesas redondas palestras individuis
Apresentação de outros documentos: vídeos, fotografias, maquetes, testemunhos, performances.

Formas de participacição
As pessoas que desejem participar deverão enviar o trabalho para o seguinte endereço: segundocige@gmail.com com um resumo do trabalho, ou uma proposta de material documental com 400 palavras, antes de 30 de dezembro de 2016.

Tanto o resumo como a proposta de apresentação de outros documentos podem ser escritos em inglês, espanhol ou português. O título deve ser centralizado (em negrito, escrito com iniciais maiúsculas e o restante minúsculas, Arial 12). O texto do resumo deve ser letra normal (Arial 12 com espaçamento simples).

O resumo deve vir com uma folha com os seguintes dados:
Nome:
Grau acadêmico:
Especialidade:
Afiliação Institucional:
Cidade e País de residência:
Endereço eletrônico:
Resumo do currículo: (máximo 300 palavras)
Indicação do tema abordado no resumo

O Comitê Acadêmico do Congresso realizará a avaliação das propostas. Os proponentes receberão aviso sobre o aceite entre  29 de janeiro e 3 de fevereiro de 2017, junto com a programação completa do evento.

As pessoas com resumo aceito deverão enviar os textos completos até 01 de março de 2017 para serem incluídos nos Anais do Seminário. A próxima circular informará sobre as normas para os trabalhos completos e os procedimentos para as inscrições.

Temas
– A problemática do espaço e o gênero: aproximações epistemológicas e conceituais.
– Produção do espaço generificado, poder, reprodução social e conflitos: experiências, práticas, representações textuais e visuais, imaginários, discursos e instituições
– Espaço doméstico e novas formas de configurar e habitar no âmbito da domesticidade
– Espaços urbanos e rurais
– Geografías feministas
– Sexualidades e espaço: heteronormatividade, diversidade sexual,dissidência sexual, sexualidades queer
– Dimensões espaciais da violência e insegurança além da visão policial na produção generificada dos corpos
– A imaginação literária, fílmica e artística
– Gênero, identidades étnicas e raciais
– Espaço, gênero e vida cotidiana
– Gênero, espaço e exclusão
– Corpo, gênero e espaço
– Gênero, espaço e movimentos sociais
– Gênero e lugares de memória
– Corpo, espaço, emoções e afetos
– Dimensões espaciais dos processos migratórios
– Espaços virtuais e ciberespaços
– Mobilidade cotidiana e gênero

 

Inscrições
Até 15 de março de 2017 – $ 100,00 USD
De 16 de março de 2017 até 16 de maio de 2017 – $ 125,00 USD
Estudantes de licenciatura o pós-graduação devidamente matriculado
pagarão 50% do valor da inscrição.

Love of my life, can’t you see? Novembro 24, 2016

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Hoje relembro Freddie Mercury que nos “abandonou” faz hoje 25 anos. O mundo perdeu imenso e o adolescente que cresceu com a sua música, e aqueles transgressores videos onde tantas vezes se reconhecia, ficou mais só.

Todos nós temos uma música preferida dos Queen? Eu gosto tanto deles que tenho sempre dificuldade nas escolhas. Mas quando, uns tempos antes da morte de Freddie Mercury, eu próprio perdi “um dos amores da minha vida” (ai os amores adolescentes) esta música perseguia-me nos momentos de maior tristeza e lembrança.

Aqui fica a memória de Freddie e desse amor adolescente que a morte afastou de mim.

Love of my life, you’ve hurt me
You’ve broken my heart and, now, you leave me
Love of my life, can’t you see?
Bring it back, bring it back, don’t take it away from me
Because you don’t know what it means to me…

Love of my life don’t leave me
You’ve stolen my love and now desert me
Love of my life, can’t you see?
Bring it back, bring it back, don’t take it away from me
Because you don’t know what it means to me…

You’ll remember when this is blown over,
And everything’s all by the way
When I grow older, I will be there at your side to remind you
How I still love you, I still love you…

Hurry back, hurry back, don’t take it away from me, because
You don’t know what it means to me

Love of my life,
Love of my life…
Uhhh… Yeah….