Digital resources in the Social Sciences and Humanities OpenEdition Our platforms OpenEdition Books OpenEdition Journals Hypotheses Calenda Libraries OpenEdition Freemium Follow us

Complicating Questions for the Two-Version Exercise

What If Version 2 Is More Violent?

You removed the category and described only “concrete details.”

But what did you describe? Physical appearance? Skin color? Clothing? Accent?

Question: Is describing someone as “a person with dark skin wearing a hijab speaking Arabic” less othering than saying “a Middle Eastern student”? Or is it actually MORE violent because now you’re forcing hyper-visibility of physical difference?

When you removed the category, did you just replace one kind of marking with another – trading political/regional categories for racial/physical ones?

Sit with this: Maybe the category “Middle Eastern” was doing some protective work – allowing identity without forcing physical description. Maybe removing it makes difference MORE visible, not less.

What if your “concrete description” is just as much about marking otherness – but now you’re doing it through bodies instead of geography?


What If You Can’t Write Version 2?

Some groups might have discovered: without the category, you can’t actually say what you saw.

If you observed e.g. “Middle Eastern students gathering in the cafeteria”:

  • Version 2: “Students gathering in the cafeteria”
  • But then… what were you even observing? What made it notable?

If you observed “Arabic books in the library”:

  • Version 2: “Books in a script I recognized but can’t read, organized under classification system XYZ”
  • But does that actually capture what you were seeing? Or are you just performing ignorance?

Question: If you can’t articulate your observation without the category, what does that reveal?

Does it mean:

  • The category was doing ALL the work (organizing your entire perception)?
  • Your observation was never really about what you saw but about what you already believed?
  • There WAS nothing there to observe except your own categorizing gaze?

Maybe you weren’t observing “Middle Eastern presence” at all. Maybe you were observing your own need to identify difference.


What If the People You’re Observing Want the Category?

You removed “Middle Eastern” from your description to avoid othering.

But what if the person you observed identifies strongly as Palestinian, Egyptian, Syrian – and considers “Middle Eastern” an important part of their identity?

Question: By refusing to use the category, are you:

  • Respecting their complexity and refusing reductive labels?
  • OR erasing their identity and the political/historical significance they attach to it?

When you wrote Version 2 with “only concrete details,” did you just describe a generic student/person/space – effectively whitewashing them into neutral “German campus” space?

The tension: The category can be simultaneously:

  • A colonial imposition that others
  • A source of solidarity and political identity
  • A framework people in diaspora use to find each other
  • A way institutions manage and contain

You can’t escape this contradiction. Any move you make – using the category, refusing it, problematizing it – has costs.

What if there IS no ethical position here? What if every choice is compromised?


Provocation 4: What If Version 1 Reveals More?

You’re supposed to see that Version 2 is “better” – more specific, less reductive, more concrete.

But what if Version 1 (with the category) actually reveals MORE about how power works?

Example:

  • Version 1: “The Middle Eastern Studies Institute is located in the basement of Building X”
  • Version 2: “An institute focused on languages and histories of West Asia and North Africa is located in the basement of Building X”

Question: Which version actually shows you the power dynamics?

Version 1 immediately reveals: there IS a category called “Middle East,” the university HAS organized knowledge around it, and it’s literally BELOW ground level.

Version 2 sounds more sophisticated but might hide the fact that the reductive category EXISTS and HAS MATERIAL EFFECTS.

The problem: Sometimes using problematic categories is the only way to make their violence visible.

If you refuse to say “Middle Eastern Studies,” how do you critique how “Middle Eastern Studies” operates as an institutional structure?


What If You’re Just Performing Academic Virtue?

You removed the category. You wrote concrete descriptions. You avoided essentializing.

Congratulations. You’ve done the academic performance of anti-essentialism.

But ask yourself:

  • Did anything actually change?
  • Does writing Version 2 mean you’ve stopped categorizing people?
  • Or have you just gotten better at hiding the fact that you’re still doing it?

Are you genuinely trying to see people differently, or are you trying to prove you’re the kind of person who knows better than to use reductive categories?

When you wrote Version 2, were you thinking about the person you observed – or were you thinking about how sophisticated your description sounded?

Even more: This entire exercise might be training you to perform complexity while leaving your actual perceptions unchanged.

What if the “good” version (without categories) just teaches you to hide your categorizing while still doing it?


What If There’s No Version Without Categories?

Here’s the possibility nobody wants to face: maybe Version 2 doesn’t exist.

You think you removed the category. But did you?

Every description creates boundaries. Every observation requires some framework for deciding what’s worth noticing.

Can you observe ANYTHING without organizing it through categories?

Maybe the problem isn’t the specific category “Middle East.” Maybe the problem is that human perception itself works through categorization. (Surprise, it does!)

If that’s true, then what? Do you just give up? Accept that all observation is compromised? Resign yourself to using problematic categories because there’s no alternative?

Or: Do you stay in the discomfort of knowing every description is imperfect, every category is violent, every observation is complicit – and do it anyway, as carefully as you can, acknowledging the damage?


What If the Category Is Doing Multiple Things Simultaneously?

You examined what the category was doing in Version 1. You probably identified one main function: organizing foreignness, or managing difference, or creating institutional structure.

But what if it’s doing ALL of these at once:

  • Recognizing identity (some people DO identify as Middle Eastern and want recognition)
  • Creating otherness (marking people as perpetually foreign)
  • Organizing knowledge (structuring how the university produces scholarship)
  • Enabling solidarity (giving people in diaspora a framework to find each other)
  • Containing threat (making the region legible for security purposes)
  • Distributing resources (determining who gets funding, jobs, institutional support)
  • Facilitating erasure (lumping distinct peoples/histories together)

The category is SIMULTANEOUSLY doing harm and doing necessary work.

It’s othering people AND giving them institutional visibility. It’s erasing specificity AND creating space for community. It’s organizing domination AND enabling resistance.

You cannot solve this. You cannot find the “right” way to use or not use the category because it’s fundamentally doing contradictory work.

So what do you do when every option is compromised and the category is both violent and necessary?

That’s the discomfort you take with you.

Explorative Field Instructions

Use the comment sections to post your field instructions.

[Title of Your Instructions]
Focus: [which literacy – spatial politics, material traces, etc.]
Location: [where exactly]
Time needed: [how long]
What to do: [step by step]
What to notice: [specific things to pay attention to]
Question to carry: [your provocative question]

Create Instructions for Seeing

Session Preparation for February 10, 2026

Last week you walked the campus. You looked at how “the Middle East” appears at FU – in departments, on bulletin boards, in the library, in conversations, in spaces.

And then we asked: What if the category itself is the problem?

You were assigned to take one observation and write it two ways – with the category and without it. Bring both versions to this session. We’ll start there.

But here’s what I want us to do with the rest of our time together:

You’ve spent four months developing a way of seeing. Now teach someone else how to see what you see.


The Task: Create Field Instructions

You’ve learned to notice things that most people walk right past. You’ve developed literacies – ways of reading the city, recognizing patterns, seeing how things work that aren’t supposed to work together.

That knowledge exists in your body, in your attention, in the routes you take and the things you stop to look at.

Your task in preparation of the next session: Distill that embodied knowledge into instructions that someone else could follow.

Not an essay analyzing what you learned. Not a report on what you saw.

Actual instructions. A field guide. A set of directions for a walk or an observation exercise that would teach someone else to see what you’ve learned to see.


What Makes Good Instructions?

Specific enough that someone could actually follow them:

❌ “Go to Neukölln and notice how cultures mix”

✅ “Stand at the corner of Sonnenallee and Weserstraße for 15 minutes. Count how many languages you hear or see, e.g. on shop signs within eyesight. Then walk into the closest grocery store and count again – how many languages on products, on price signs, spoken by customers and staff? What’s the relationship between outside visibility and inside operation?”

Open enough that the person discovers something rather than just confirming what you tell them:

❌ “You’ll see that Turkish and Arabic businesses coexist”

✅ “Notice which shops have signs in multiple languages and which have signs in only one. What patterns emerge? Who’s the assumed audience?”

Concrete in location, action, and observation:

  • WHERE exactly should they go?
  • WHAT exactly should they do when they get there?
  • WHAT specifically should they pay attention to?

Provocative in what it makes visible:

Your instructions should make someone see something they wouldn’t have noticed on their own. They should create a kind of attention that reveals patterns, contradictions, systems, silences.


Some Possible Forms

Your field instructions could take various forms:

A timed observation: “Sit on this bench for 20 minutes. Every 5 minutes, write down one thing you notice that you didn’t notice before. By minute 20, you should be seeing the space completely differently than at minute 5.”

A specific route with stopping points: “Start at X. Walk to Y. At Y, stop and [specific observation task]. Then walk to Z without stopping. At Z, compare what you see now with what you saw at Y. What changed?”

A question-driven walk: “Walk any route through Kreuzberg asking this question: [provocative question]. Stop whenever something interrupts your ability to answer. Document what interrupted you and why.”

A comparative observation: “Find two [similar things – two restaurants, two shops, two streets]. Spend 10 minutes observing each. Document every difference, no matter how small. What do the differences reveal?”

A material trace: “Pick one object you can buy in both a German supermarket and a Middle Eastern grocery. Trace backwards: where does each version come from? What route did it take? What does its presence in each store reveal?”

A conversation-based investigation: “Go to [specific location]. Ask [specific question] to three different people. Don’t analyze their answers. Document exactly what they said and how they said it. What does the range of answers reveal?”

An archival task: “Go to the library. Look up [specific topic] in the catalogue. Notice how it’s classified. What’s nearby? What’s far away? What does the organizational system reveal about how knowledge is structured?”


What You’re Teaching

Think about what you’ve actually learned to see over these months. Not just “Middle Eastern presence” but:

  • How to read spatial politics (who’s visible where, who’s been displaced, what’s marked as foreign vs. normal)
  • How to see economic systems (supply chains, informal economies, labor that’s invisible)
  • How to recognize temporal layers (what remains, what’s been erased, what’s emerging)
  • How to notice material traces (objects that carry histories, translations, transformations)
  • How to see contradictions (things that shouldn’t coexist but do)
  • How to read institutional power (who defines categories, who decides what counts)
  • How to spot erasures (what’s absent, what’s been made invisible, what resists visibility)

Your field instructions should teach one of these literacies.

Not all of them. Pick one. Make it specific. Make it doable.


What to Bring to the Session

1. Your two-version observation (with category / without category) – printed or on a device

2. Draft field instructions – doesn’t have to be perfect, but have something written down:

  • Where should someone go?
  • What should they do there?
  • What specifically should they notice?
  • What question or provocation frames the observation?

We’ll spend the session testing these instructions on each other, revising them based on feedback, and then compiling them into a collection that future students can actually use.


The Goal

By the end of this session, we’ll have created a field guide – a collection of instructions for seeing that encodes what this group learned over four months of walking.

Not an archive of your observations. Not a catalogue of what you found.

An archive of practices. A toolkit of attention. Instructions that future students can follow to develop the same kinds of literacy you’ve developed.

This is what survives the course: not your individual insights but the transferable practices that made those insights possible.


See you on Tuesday (Feb 10).

What Work is “The Middle East” Doing Here?

Provocations from the January 20 Campus Walk

You walked the campus. You found the Middle East – in department names, on bulletin boards, in conversations, in the library classification system, in course catalogues.

Good. Now let’s think about what you actually found.


Provocation 1: What Work is “The Middle East” Doing as a Category?

You identified something as “Middle Eastern” on campus. A department. An institute. A poster. A person. A language. A book classification.

But what is that category organizing?

Think carefully about this. When an institution creates a department called “Institute for Middle Eastern Studies” or shelves books under “Middle East – Politics,” it’s not just describing reality. It’s organizing reality.

So what’s being organized?

Is it organizing knowledge? (This is what we know about this region)

Is it organizing people? (These are the people who study/come from this region)

Is it organizing funding? (This is where research money for this region goes)

Is it organizing expertise? (These are the people authorized to speak about this region)

Is it organizing danger? (This is the region we need to understand for security purposes)

Is it organizing otherness? (This is what’s different from us)

Here’s the uncomfortable part: All of these are happening simultaneously. The category does multiple kinds of work, often contradictory work.

Questions to sit with:

  • When you saw “Middle East” on a department sign, what did that sign authorize? Who gets to speak? Who gets listened to? Who gets funding? Who gets jobs?
  • When you saw books classified under “Middle East,” what was being produced? Regional knowledge? Strategic intelligence? Academic careers? Or the region itself as an object that can be known?
  • When you identified a student as “Middle Eastern,” what were you organizing? Their identity? Your attention? The diversity statistics of the university? Their foreignness?

What if the category “Middle East” at this university exists primarily to manage – to contain, to study, to make legible, to control – rather than to understand?

What if “Middle Eastern Studies” is less about taking the region seriously and more about producing the kind of knowledge that makes the region knowable to Western institutions?

How would you tell the difference?


Provocation 2: Who Decided What Counts as “Middle Eastern”?

You found Arabic script. You heard languages. You saw posters for events. You identified people. You located institutes.

But who created the boundary that says “this is Middle Eastern” and “this is not”?

Let’s get specific:

On language:

  • You heard someone speaking Arabic in the cafeteria. Did they identify themselves as “Middle Eastern” or did you assign that category to them?
  • If you heard someone speaking German with an accent, did you classify that as “Middle Eastern presence”? Why or why not?
  • What about Turkish? Is Turkey in “the Middle East” or not? Who decided?

On geography:

  • The library has a “Middle East” section. Does it include North Africa? Turkey? Afghanistan? Iran? Central Asia? Who decided where the boundaries are?
  • Are there books about Egypt in both “Middle East” and “Africa” sections? What does that reveal about how regions get constructed?

On identity:

  • You saw someone you identified as Middle Eastern. What visual markers did you use? Skin color? Clothing? Language? How do you know you were right?
  • What if that person identifies primarily as German? As Berliner? As a student at FU? What makes “Middle Eastern” the salient category for you?

On knowledge:

  • The university has institutes that study “the Middle East.” Do those institutes include scholars who are from the region? Or is “the Middle East” something that gets studied about rather than studied from?
  • Whose knowledge counts as knowledge about the Middle East? Academic knowledge? Embodied knowledge? Lived experience?

Even more:

  • Is “the Middle East” a category that people from the region use to describe themselves? Or is it a category imposed from outside?
  • When you use “Middle Eastern” as a descriptor, are you recognizing someone’s identity or are you creating their identity as foreign, as other, as from-elsewhere?
  • What if the people you’re identifying as “Middle Eastern” don’t use that category for themselves at all? What if they’re Moroccan, Egyptian, Lebanese, Palestinian, Syrian – and lumping them all together as “Middle Eastern” erases the specificity of their actual locations, histories, languages?
  • What happens when a category designed by colonial powers (yes, “Middle East” is a British imperial invention) becomes the organizing principle for how a German university structures knowledge?

Who benefits from “the Middle East” existing as a coherent category?

Is it the people from those regions – or is it the institutions that fund research, departments, area studies programs, security studies, strategic intelligence?


Provocation 3: What’s the Difference Between Studying and Containing?

FU has multiple institutes, departments, and programs focused on the Middle East. That’s significant institutional resources. That could mean:

Possibility 1: This university takes the region seriously as a site of knowledge production, history, culture, and thought worthy of sustained scholarly attention.

Possibility 2: This university needs to understand the region for strategic, political, or security purposes – to manage it, to predict it, to contain potential threats.

How do you tell the difference?

Look at what you found today:

Funding sources:

  • Where does the money come from for Middle Eastern studies at FU?
  • Are there connections to foreign policy institutes? Security studies? Government funding tied to “understanding the region”?
  • Or is it primarily humanities-based, focused on languages, literatures, histories for their own sake?

What gets studied:

  • When you looked at course offerings, what kinds of courses exist?
  • Are they primarily about conflict, terrorism, political instability, migration “problems”?
  • Or are they about poetry, philosophy, art, everyday life, intellectual history?
  • What does the balance reveal about what the university thinks is important to know about the region?

Who studies what:

  • Are Middle Eastern languages taught primarily to students interested in the region’s culture and history?
  • Or are they taught to students in political science, security studies, international relations who need to “understand the region” for policy purposes?
  • Who’s in those classrooms? What are they planning to do with that knowledge?

Where it’s located:

  • Are Middle Eastern studies programs integrated into the main campus or isolated?
  • Are they well-funded or scraping by?
  • Do they have institutional prestige or are they marginalized?

Even more:

  • Can you study a region without participating in its domination?
  • Is all knowledge production about the Middle East implicated in geopolitical power, or can scholarship be genuinely separate from policy interests?
  • When FU trains students in Arabic, Persian, Turkish – are they training cultural mediators or are they training future diplomats, intelligence analysts, NGO workers who will “manage” the region?

Edward Said wrote about Orientalism – the way Western scholarship created “the Orient” as an object of knowledge that could be studied, known, managed, controlled. The “Middle East” is Orientalism’s successor category.

So: Is Middle Eastern Studies at FU continuing that tradition, or breaking from it?

How would you know? What evidence did you see today? What evidence would you need to see?


Provocation 4: What If You Stopped Looking for “The Middle East” Altogether?

You’ve spent months walking Berlin looking for Middle Eastern presence. You’ve gotten good at recognizing it in a way – the signs, the languages, the shops, the restaurants, the people.

But what if that very skill – the ability to identify something as “Middle Eastern” – is a problem?

Think about what happens when you categorize:

On people:

  • You saw someone in the library and thought “that’s a Middle Eastern student.”
  • What made you think that? Their appearance? Their language? Their name?
  • But what if that person is just… a student at FU? What if they were born in Berlin, speak German as a first language, identify primarily as German?
  • By categorizing them as “Middle Eastern,” are you recognizing their identity – or are you refusing to let them be German? Are you marking them as perpetually foreign?

On spaces:

  • You identified certain campus spaces as “Middle Eastern spaces” – where Arabic is spoken, where certain student groups meet.
  • But what if those are just… campus spaces? Places where students gather, study, eat, talk?
  • By marking them as “Middle Eastern,” are you describing neutral fact – or are you othering those spaces, marking them as different from “normal” campus spaces?

On knowledge:

  • You found books classified as “Middle East – History” or “Middle East – Politics.”
  • But those books are about specific places (if you accept national or cultural borders) – Egypt, Lebanon, Palestine, Iran. Why are they all grouped under one regional category?
  • What gets lost when Egyptian history gets classified as “Middle Eastern history” instead of just “history”?
  • Why is there a “Middle East” section but no “Western Europe” section? Why is one region marked and the other unmarked as universal?

The uncomfortable questions:

  • Every time you identify something as “Middle Eastern,” you’re drawing a boundary between “Middle Eastern” and “not Middle Eastern” (which usually means “German” or “European” or “Western” or just unmarked as normal).
  • What if drawing that boundary – even with good intentions, even to recognize diversity, even to celebrate presence – is what keeps “Middle Eastern” as a category of otherness?
  • What if every time you say “I saw Middle Eastern presence at FU,” you’re actually saying “I saw something that doesn’t belong to the normal category of FU”?

Could this entire course be reproducing the problem it’s trying to examine?

You’ve been trained all semester to see “the Middle East in Berlin.” You’ve gotten very good at it. You can identify Middle Eastern restaurants, Middle Eastern neighborhoods, Middle Eastern cultural practices.

But what if that entire project – looking for the Middle East as if it’s a distinct, identifiable thing – is exactly what keeps people, languages, practices marked as foreign, as other, as not-quite-German?

What if the moment you stop looking for “Middle Eastern presence” and just start seeing people living in Berlin, students studying at FU, languages spoken in the city, shops selling things – that’s the moment the category loses its power?

But then what happens to your research? What happens to this course? What happens to Middle Eastern Studies as a field?

If the category is the problem, what’s the alternative?


Provocation 5: So What Now?

These provocations are deliberately uncomfortable. They’re designed to make you question the entire premise of what you’ve been doing.

But discomfort without direction is just paralysis. So: what now?

Some possibilities to consider:

Option 1: Reject the category entirely Stop using “Middle East” as a descriptor. Talk about specific places, specific languages, specific histories. Don’t lump Morocco and Iran together just because Western institutions decided they belong to the same region.

But: Does this erase the real connections, histories, and solidarities that exist across those regions? Does it ignore how people from those regions do sometimes organize collectively in diaspora?

Option 2: Use the category strategically Recognize that “Middle East” is a constructed, problematic category – but also recognize that it has material effects. Departments exist. Funding exists. Communities organize around it.

Maybe the point isn’t to reject the category but to be conscious of what work it’s doing and when it’s useful vs. when it’s harmful.

But: Can you use an oppressive category strategically without reinforcing it? Or does every use of the category, even critical use, make it stronger?

Option 3: Complicate the category constantly Every time you use “Middle Eastern,” immediately problematize it. Ask: whose Middle East? which parts? defined by whom? for what purposes?

Make the category unstable. Refuse to let it settle into common sense.

But: Does constant problematization become its own kind of academic performance? Does it actually change anything or just make you feel better about using a bad category?

Option 4: Focus on power, not categories Stop asking “what is Middle Eastern” and start asking “who has power to define, to include, to exclude, to represent?”

Make the analysis about institutional power, not about whether categories are accurate.

But: Can you analyze power without using any categories at all? Don’t you need some language to describe who’s being marginalized and who’s doing the marginalizing?


There are no clean answers here.

Every option has problems. Every position is compromised.

That’s the point.

The question isn’t “what’s the right answer” but “what are you going to do with the discomfort?”

Are you going to:

  • Keep using the category unconsciously?
  • Refuse the category entirely?
  • Use it strategically while acknowledging its problems?
  • Spend all your time problematizing it?
  • Find a different framework altogether?

TASK: What you do next week:

Take one observation from today’s campus walk.

Write it two ways:

Version 1: Using the category “Middle East” / “Middle Eastern” / “Arab” / regional or ethnic labels

Version 2: Without using any of those categories – describe what you saw using only specific, concrete details

Bring both versions to the next session on Feb 10. We’ll see what changes.

We’ll see what becomes visible when you remove the category.

We’ll see what gets lost.

We’ll see what the category was actually doing.

And then we’ll decide what to do with that knowledge.

Walk the Campus: Looking for the Middle East at FU

January 20, 2026

You’ve been walking Berlin’s neighborhoods for months – commercial spaces, residential streets, restaurants, shops. You’ve learned to notice how “the Middle East” appears in the city.

But what about here? What about this campus?

Today, walk Freie Universität Berlin for about 90 minutes with this question: How does the Middle East appear at FU, and how is it framed?


What to Look For

Don’t just look for “where is the Middle East” – look for how it appears as a category in this institutional space.

Buildings, institutes, departments, programs:

  • Which ones deal with the Middle East?
  • How are they named?
  • Where are they located on campus – central or peripheral?
  • What does the architecture communicate?

Bulletin boards and posters:

  • What events are advertised?
  • Whose events get space?
  • What languages appear?
  • How is content categorized or framed?

The library:

  • How are Middle East materials organized?
  • What classification systems are used?
  • Which floor? What’s shelved nearby?
  • What does the organization reveal about how knowledge is structured?

Student spaces:

  • Which languages do you hear?
  • Which groups meet where?
  • Who’s visible? Who’s invisible?
  • What spaces feel marked as “Middle Eastern” vs. unmarked as “German” or “international”?

Campus maps and signage:

  • How is the Middle East represented, if at all?
  • What gets labeled? What doesn’t?
  • What languages are used?

Memorials, plaques, building names:

  • Who gets remembered?
  • What histories are marked on this campus?
  • What connections to the Middle East are commemorated (or absent)?

Classrooms:

  • Where do Middle East courses happen?
  • What do these spaces look like?
  • Are they in specific buildings or scattered?

Your Task

Document 3-5 specific moments/places/things where you notice something about how the Middle East appears (or doesn’t) in this institutional space.

Be specific:

❌ Not just: “I saw Arabic”

✅ But: WHERE did you see it, in what CONTEXT, how was it FRAMED, what was NOTABLE about it?

Example of specificity:

  • “In the lobby of Building X, there’s a bulletin board. Left side: German student group posters. Right side: International student posters, including one in Arabic for a Palestinian solidarity event. The Arabic poster is smaller and in the corner. Next to it: a university regulation, in German only.”

Take photos. Take notes. Notice details.


The Question to Carry With You

Is FU Berlin a space where the Middle East is:

  • Studied?
  • Present?
  • Absent?
  • Produced?

Or maybe: What work is “the Middle East” doing as a category in this institutional space?


Walk alone or with one other person. Meet back at 2.2058 at 12:15 (take 11:45-12:15 as a break).

Map a supply chain backwards

You’ve been walking, documenting contamination, looking at what emerges from disturbance. Now I want you to do something different: trace value backwards through a chain of translation.

Imagine this idea from Tsing’s book: Matsutake mushrooms move from Oregon forests → Japanese wholesalers → Tokyo restaurants. At each point, the mushroom is re-valued. What it “is” changes. A picker sees food/money. A wholesaler sees inventory/risk. A chef sees tradition/season. The mushroom is the same object, but its meaning gets translated at each node.

She calls this “salvage accumulation”—capitalism extracting value from non-capitalist spaces by translating across incommensurable systems. The matsutake has value because it connects worlds that don’t speak the same language.

Your task:

Pick ONE object you can buy in Berlin that connects to the Middle East. Not “Middle Eastern food” (too general, too obvious). Something weirder: a cheap plastic toy, a specific spice, a building material, fabric, a phone card, a remittance service, knock-off electronics, cooking oil, cement, …

Then trace it backwards:

  1. Where/how did you encounter it? (Which shop, which neighbourhood, what context?)
  2. Who sold it to you? What did they say about it/price it as?
  3. Where did THEY get it? (Ask them. Actually ask. Document the conversation.)
  4. Keep going back: distributor → importer → manufacturer → materials

At each translation point, document:

  • How is value measured here? (price? weight? authenticity? legality? convenience?)
  • What does the object “mean” at this node? (What category does it belong to?)
  • What knowledge is required to make this translation work? (Whose metis?)
  • What gets lost/transformed in the translation?

The challenge: You probably can’t trace the whole chain. You’ll hit a wall—someone who won’t tell you, records that don’t exist, a border where information stops. Document where the chain becomes opaque and why.

What could be worth to bring to the next sessions:

  • Your map/diagram of the chain (visual, not just text)
  • One paragraph: What does this object’s journey teach you about how value crosses incommensurable worlds?
  • One question: Where in this chain does Scott’s “legibility” break down—and who benefits from that opacity?

What thrives in disturbance?

Tsing writes about matsutake mushrooms. They don’t grow in pristine forests. They grow in forests that have been disturbed—logged, burned, disrupted. The mushroom needs the disturbance. It’s not “surviving despite” damage. It’s thriving because of it.

She calls this “salvage accumulation”—the way capitalism extracts value from ruins, but also the way life finds possibility in damaged landscapes. Not resilience. Not resistance. Something else: emergence from disturbance.

Scott writes about how “improvements” destroy the complex ecologies that actually work. Planned cities eliminate the informal knowledge that made old cities function. Scientific forestry kills the forest.

Macfarlane asks: what if we recognized rivers as legal persons, with rights and representation? Not metaphorically. Actually. With lawyers.

The provocation:

Berlin is a disturbed landscape. Bombed, divided, rebuilt, divided again, reunified, gentrified, contested. It’s not pristine. It’s not stable. The ground is literally unstable—full of unexploded bombs, forgotten tunnels, layers of different cities.

Your task: Find something that exists in Berlin BECAUSE of disturbance, not despite it. Something that couldn’t exist if Berlin had been left alone. Something that needs the gaps, the ruins, the failures of planning, the incompleteness.

Not immigrants adapting (too easy). Not informal economies (we’ve done that).

Look for:

  • Ecologies that require abandonment
  • Practices that need the gaps between jurisdictions
  • Spaces that exist because someone forgot to plan them
  • Knowledge that accumulates in ruins
  • Communities that form in places that “failed”

Bring to session:

  1. Documentation of what you found
  2. An argument: This thing/practice/ecology is not resilient (bouncing back) or resistant (fighting back) but emergent—it couldn’t exist without the specific disturbances that produced it
  3. A legal provocation: If Macfarlane’s rivers can have lawyers, should this thing you found have legal standing? Who would represent it? What would its rights be?

Connect this to your Middle East research: What emerges from war, displacement, colonial violence that couldn’t have existed otherwise? Not “silver linings” (offensive) but genuine new formations that previous conditions couldn’t produce?

Document a contamination

You’ve been walking. Observing. Noticing tensions. Now I want you to document something different: a specific moment of contamination.

Tsing writes: “We are contaminated by our encounters; they change who we are as we make way for others… Contamination makes diversity.”

Scott writes about metis—practical knowledge that develops through encounter, that cannot be codified into rules, that emerges from “knowing this river” not “rivers in general.”

Macfarlane writes about rivers as persons, as beings with rights, asking: “Ko wai koe?” (Who are your waters?)

Your task (do this, don’t just think about it):

Find ONE specific place in Berlin where something that “shouldn’t” be mixing IS mixing. Not metaphorically. Actually.

But here’s the warning: Don’t look for “Turkish” meeting “German” or “Syrian” meeting “European.” Those categories are already contaminated. Someone who grew up in Berlin speaking Turkish and German isn’t “mixing” two pure things—they’re already the contamination as much as everyone and everything is.

Instead, look for:

  • A building material from elsewhere patching a local structure in a way that changes both
  • A word borrowed into local German that now means something slightly different than in its origin language
  • A tree species introduced decades ago that now hosts insects that weren’t “supposed” to be its partners—or maybe an invasive plant
  • A Cold War structure being used for something it was never designed for, changing what that structure means
  • Children playing a game that’s neither “from here” nor “from there” but something new entirely
  • A business practice that works only because it’s adapted to this specific street, this specific mix of people

Document it:

  1. Take a photo or draw it
  2. Describe SPECIFICALLY what’s mixing (not cultural categories but actual practices, materials, languages, uses)
  3. What has been CHANGED by this contamination? (Not what’s been added—what’s been transformed? What can’t go back?)
  4. Whose metis made this mixing work? (Someone had to figure out HOW to make incompatible things coexist—what did they have to know?)
  5. If this place/moment had personhood (like Macfarlane’s rivers), what would its rights be?

What to think about for the next session: How did looking for contamination risk reifying the very categories (German/foreign, local/immigrant, authentic/adapted) that contamination is supposed to dissolve?

The point: Tsing says contamination makes diversity but also: “The diversity that allows us to enter collaborations emerges from histories of extermination, imperialism, and all the rest.” So contamination isn’t innocent. What you’re documenting isn’t “cultural mixing” (too clean). It’s something messier, more historically loaded, less celebratory.

Walk backwards

Not literally. But: retrace a walk you’ve already done.

Go back to a neighbourhood you visited in October or November. Walk the same streets. See what’s changed and what hasn’t.

The question: What did you miss the first time?

First time, you were scanning. Looking for “Middle Eastern presence,” for tensions, for things to notice. You were a tourist of your own attention.

Now go back. You know this place slightly. What do you see differently?

Tsing: What survival strategies did you miss when you were looking for the obvious ones? Scott: What was resisting legibility that you didn’t notice because you were looking at what was visible? Macfarlane: What relations existed that you walked right past?

One specific thing to notice: Look for something ordinary that you ignored before. A shop that’s been there forever. A tree. A bench where the same people sit. Something unremarkable.

Spend time with it. Why is it still there? What does its ordinariness tell you?

The interesting thing isn’t always the thing that catches your eye. Sometimes it’s the thing that doesn’t.

Walk backwards. See what you missed.

Stop walking

You’ve been walking for weeks now. Noticing. Observing. Moving through neighbourhoods as an outsider looking in.

Stop.

Pick one place—a street corner, a shop, a park bench, anywhere—and stay there for an hour. Don’t move. Just sit. Watch what happens when you’re not moving through.

Here’s what I want you to notice:

Who belongs there and who doesn’t? How do you know? What makes someone look like they belong versus someone passing through?

Now the harder question: Do you belong there?

If someone watched YOU sitting there for an hour, what would they see? A student? A researcher? A foreigner? Someone with time to waste? Someone who doesn’t need to be anywhere?

Your stillness changes what you see. It also changes what you are.

Tsing would ask: what assemblages form when you stop moving? Scott would ask: what becomes legible when you stay still? Macfarlane would ask: what relations emerge when you stop being a passerby?

One hour. One place. Stop walking.