Haunting, Displacement
As a pedagogical tool, a unit trip enables an immediate and collective displacement to an “elsewhere,” asking us to readjust to new codes of space and place through an immersion. In the displacement of the field trip to an online marathon, Dialogues with Dust acted as a momentary gathering of far-flung fragments, held for an instant in an entangled web of places, scales, words, images, and sounds. Through the marathon, we asked: “How might we be able to understand a sense of place from a distance, without being able to travel?” And: “How might we continue to develop forms of solidarity, connection, and collaboration across time and place from our respective locations?”
As particles which travel through the air often unseen, both dust and the virus sweep into our immediate ether fragmented derivations from far off territories that make visible latent inequalities, the impact of history, and our environmental vulnerability. Aya Nassar, a researcher working on the post-independence history of Cairo, led us on a journey with dust through that city’s fragmented urban histories. For Nassar, dust is an essential part of Cairo, from seasonally enveloping the city during the spring khamasin, to the dust clouds created from the rubble of buildings being demolished. Dust marks the postcolonial city’s sense of disappointment and failure. In telling stories with dust, Nassar suggested that we might be able to write more complex histories of emotion and affect that begin to capture the history and presence of place and time, recognizing the fragmentary nature of postcolonial urban space. Similarly, Sara Salem took us through ghost stories found in the afterlives of Nasserist Egypt, exploring the liberatory potential of haunting in an anticolonial moment that encompasses both promise and failure. Drawing from the work of sociologist Avery Gordon, Salem argued that perhaps haunting enables a new way of seeing, bringing to the surface the turmoil and trouble of that which has happened in the past and present. Haunting brings to the fore those things not in their place. As we listened to these histories of Cairo, with us, too, were the wider hauntings of structural and racial violences being rendered starkly visible in our immediate vicinity through Covid-19. For as Bongani Kona reminded us, “you cannot walk away from history.”
The term quarantine generally refers to a period of isolation, imposed in order to limit the spread of an epidemic. Most of us on this twelve-hour marathon joined from some version of isolation around the world due to Covid-19. Yet, cognizant of our location in Johannesburg, we were particularly attendant to the term being used interchangeably in relation to “cordon sanitaires”—zones of confinement and spaces of exception for demarking and limiting the movement of bodies deemed “other,” used strategically to racially segregate cities into townships and suburbs under Apartheid. As practices of coloniality, spatial segregation gained particular speed with the formation of the Union of South Africa, cemented in 1910, and the implementation of Apartheid as a governing system in 1948. (1) Cordon sanitaires demarcated those worthy of living healthy lives from those deemed “racialized other” and disposable. Many of the early segregation laws in South Africa were undertaken in the name of public health: the Native Reserves Location Act of 1902 was implemented to ostensibly contain outbreaks of bubonic plague, yet effectively led to large-scale displacement, defining urban areas in South Africa as “White” spaces. The 1914 Tuberculosis Commission Report was one of the first major surveys to support the expansionary aims of the British Empire. Under Apartheid Group Areas Act and Influx Control laws, these acts of dispossession controlled and defined space as racialized, demarcated through infrastructural violence.
In 2020, the online format of our twelve-hour Zoom call both collapsed distances, allowing us to seemingly overcome our inability to travel, and revealed the invisible inequalities that divided and separated our experiences of isolation. The call was haunted by glitches, echoes, dropped connections, and shaky internet, revealing our location on a spectrum of infrastructural access. As we thought through the promises and failure of liberation in Egypt, we were made aware of the current difficulty of quarantine in an informal settlement, or in unsafe homes in South Africa; of the inability to participate in an event such as this, for so many in our immediate proximity. We occupied dust as a provisional constituent: it fills and conceals; it is scattered, haunting and ever present. Swept away, it returns, only to be cast back up into the air.