Social Capital

“Using the festival as a starting point, I address, in this chapter, the social isolation  of the residents, their inability to generate ties to the middle class and to further their external social capital” (92). This sentence caught my attention for a couple of reasons. First, I’ve heard of cultural capital and economic capital, but I don’t think I’ve had much exposure to social capital. Second, I was intrigued that Small was drawing attention to the exclusivity of a neighborhood—the “social isolation” of people rather than their factors for inclusion.  I found both of these concepts to be noteworthy since my recent community engagement projects have focused on those who have been excluded from the dominant (or often privileged) discourse: those outside of academia, those who may not speak Standard Written English, women, the homeless, and domestic abuse victims. These are large categories, to be sure, but in some way or another, they are all marginalized categories. And they have all suffered—or continue to do so—from a form of isolation.

Small uses the concept of social isolation to describe what is, at least to me, a very perplexing—though not unusual trend—when a group of people (with a seemingly strong sense of community)are excluded from the surroundings with less identifiable characteristics. For instance, while there is a strong sense of pride within the Villa, described through Small’s festival experience, this community stays secluded and seemingly overpowered by the other—though often less community-oriented—group. Indeed, as Small writes, this process of making differences known between groups of people incites a type of “boundary work” where “symbolic lines” come between these people (103). These symbolic lines though are often met with physical boundaries caused by spatial configuration. It’s easier for me to understand physical boundaries: a gate or fence to connote exclusion; a wall to force separation. It’s when we get to the symbolic boundaries that I start to have questions. It’s easy to knock down a wall or fence, but how do you break down barriers that you can’t even see—or that people choose not to see?

Small’s chapter made me think about my own neighborhood in Jamaica Plain. Just a few months ago, the largely Latin-based area of Hyde Square became the new home to a Whole Foods. Being fairly new to the area, I didn’t pay much attention when I found out the small, but popular, Hi-Lo foods was closing; however, I soon realized that the community was in an uproar about an affordable grocer, with ties to the Latin community, being closed for the popular and pricey Whole Foods. Gentrification came up a time or two. And while I didn’t think about it a couple months ago, I realize that the people I saw at Hi-Lo foods are not shopping at Whole Foods. Hell, I’ve only been there a couple times since I can barely afford it! But, even in the few times I have been, it’s easy to see who’s shopping there…and who is not. The outside of the store remained uniquely cultured—with murals on the outside walls rather than the typical Whole Foods branding. Whole foods did not create a physical boundary, but there surely is a symbolic one.  I don’t want to speak for the Latin community around me, but I sense a bit of social isolation going on…maybe even toward the poor college kids that I live with/near. This got me thinking: what is the point being made about the social capital right here in my own neighborhood?

Gleaning Boston

 As I said the first day of class, I don’t have much of a connection to Boston. I came to Northeastern after visiting Boston just for a few days, and, even now, I’m not too aware of my surroundings (though I am trying to get better). With this in mind, de Certeau’s chapter made me think about how I interact, with my walking, to the city around me.  It also made me think back to a French film by Agnes Varda called Les glaneurs et la glaneuse (The Gleaners and I).  In this documentary, Varda films people in France who are “gleaners”—she looks to the people around her and films them on everyday activities that most people never really notice. For instance, one main part of the film is after a market wraps up and the vendors are closing down. A group of people come into the space and “glean” whatever they can from the leftover produce. Fruit is often dropped or left because there is a bad spot on it or doesn’t look as perfect as most people want it. However, for the “gleaners”—who range in age, gender, race, etc.—it is wasted food that could be easily enjoyed for free. What Varda’s film points out is that we often see what we want to see. And we ignore what we don’t want to. As de Certeau writes, “the ordinary practitioners of the city live ‘down below’, below the thresholds at which visibility begins” (128).  Many of these people look odd; the stigma of picking up “trash” follows them, even though they live their lives, saving money on food, feeling better about not wasting good resources, and also experiencing the city in a way that is unlike anyone else.   

So, the reason I mention Varda’s film is because I have been trying to be a gleaner of sorts myself lately, when I walk around the city. I am trying to see what I usually miss, what de Certeau calls the “everyday” experiences and those same experiences that are usually rendered invisible in a way. For instance, it’s easy to be walking among many people and pass by the person with a Dunkin Donuts cup, asking for money. It’s quite easy to pass by the man sifting through the garbage, though he neither looks as if he is in need of anything nor frantically searching for a lost item. I think that all of this will be important for picking a space for project 2. And just as Varda considers herself the filmmaker, she, too, is someone to be observed, someone whose actions change the city around her. Her film asks us to notice them, and I think that de Certeau is making that argument in many ways: that we should take note of our place in the structure of the city. In any case, I have a lot to think about for the next couple weeks, and now I just need to focus on the double sided way of gleaning: first, as looking at others around me and, second, as a way of looking at myself. It is in this type of activity that I think my own interest in community engagement comes in, as we seek to understand our own place within the world around us—whether that is in Boston in general or the immediacy of the coffee shop I do homework in each week.