In 1946, roughly a year after the end of the Second World War, a cache of Adolf Hitler’s personal correspondence was found in Berlin. Included were letters from ordinary German women professing admiration, affection, and even romantic love for their distant leader. Following are a few excerpts from the English translations of some of those letters, which were discovered by William C. Euker. (The source of the translation is unknown at this point).
“From Miele, who sends cakes:
My dear, sugar-sweet Adolf, I must write to you because I am so alone. Yes, yes, my dear, sweet, good Adolf, love is as true as gold, and I can’t do a thing about it. My sweet, I hope things are going as well for you as they are for me.Now i’m going to turn on the wireless and later I’ll listen to the news, then I’ll got for a walk…and htink about you, my darling, and what you’re doing at the front. Thousands of best wishes and kisses from your dear, good Miele…”
“From Margarete, who has moved to new lodgings:
My heart’s own! My dear heart’s own, you really must see all this for yourself… Now, my dear, listen to me; I’m having a front door key and a key to my room made for you, Adolf. In the next letter, you’ll get the first one; and in the letter after that you’ll get the room key…”
Something people should’ve told these women:
1: Hitler was a scumbag
2: “He’s just not that into you.”
In all seriousness, these letters make for an interesting thought experiment about love for political or social figures, and the manner in which national sentiment can be transformed into romantic fervor. How similar is love of a man to love of a nation? Further, how much do these women imagine their letters to be reaching a receptive audience? What is their motivation for writing? Why did Hitler keep the letters?
Are these women the female eqvuivalent of Goldhagen’s ”willing executioners?” Does their affection for Hitler translate into some hatred for others? Can we equate their love of Hitler with an approval of his actions (though how much detail of his actions was known is still in question today…”
I think about art often. Here’s something that has me thinking like crazy.
Kris Kuksi
Kris Kuksi. Images: http://www.liftingface.com
How amazing and complex and creepy are these sculptures? They remind me of a scary but beautiful story I might have read- or dreamt- as a child. I love them. Thoughts, anyone?
Today was World AIDS Day. Amidst the normal goings-on of graduate school life (the last week of classes, impending finals, PhD applications) I was left remembering my time spent in Namibia and contemplating the way in which HIV and AIDS has drastically changed the face of a nation, a continent, and an entire global community. While there’s little impact in remembering and no one was saved or changed or helped by my memories, I hope that the greater inspiration of those thoughts- a renewed commitment to working on and teaching about HIV and AIDS through my work at the Div School- will make a difference.
There’s little else to say in this moment. My heart is both heavy and hopeful with respect to such a day of both reflection and action.
For more information about World AIDS Day or HIV and AIDS:
Autumn is my favorite season. I love the feeling of possibility that’s stirred up with the leaves and the cool breeze. The air is so crisp, the world is so bright and rich, and the knowledge of the coming cold makes people appreciate the chance to linger outside in the last of the warmth. Autumn makes me think of Halloween as a little girl, of bonfires out with my family, of camping and hayrides and driving around looking at the bright trees.
Now that I live in a cold climate fall means the donning of scarves and blazers and sometimes even hats, all of which I so enjoy (and rarely got to wear growing up in the South). Autumn is the last measure of summer’s golden glory before the white blanket of winter settles down over this amazing city. I’m embracing every bit of that glory while I can. There’s so much pleasure in the little things- the crunch of leaves under my feet as I walk to school, the brilliance of the ivy on the beautiful Gothic buildings here at the UofC, the strange sort of community that seems to be present at this time of year. As the quarter rapidly progresses and the time for paper writing and presentations draws ever nearer, I’m so glad for this feeling of potential. Fall makes anything- everything- seem possible, even writing 60 pages before December and passing an exam in a language I don’t know. I love it.
Here is my head with the most amazingly red tree. Autumn is the best season if for no other reason than trees like this. I think that should be a cheesy song lyric.
For anyone who isn’t aware (and actually, that’d probably be most people), I decided that one blog wasn’t enough, so I started another. I got blog greedy! This new blog is called sartoriography and is essentially my brain candy distraction from the stress of school. It features photos of outfits of various kinds (mostly my own and my roommates’) and random thoughts on fashion. It’s much more photo heavy than this blog and doesn’t really deal with anything academic, for those of you who are tired of the way I ramble on about the UofC.
It’s official- the quarter has begun. It’s only the first day of Week Two and I’ve already left the house without my backpack (which means I went to Bruce Lincoln’s class without any materials- thank you Sandy Dowler for saving me!!), gotten very little sleep, and been forced to dig through the bowels of the internets to find a text I needed for class. Wasn’t it Goethe who said “beginnings are always difficult”? You right, Goethe!
For answers to those much asked questions about what I’m taking this quarter and how school is going, please read the following:
AUTUMN 2009 COURSES
I’ve idiotically decided that this is a good quarter to take four classes instead of the standard three. Those four classes are
1: Religion and Ritual, Martin Riesebrodt: a course about the ways in which religious ritual has been studied and conceived of in the academy. It focuses primarily on perspectives from the History of Religions and Anthropology/Sociology of Religions fields of religious studies, which are my two favorites, and questions the importance of the performativity of ritual, its contents and structure, the symbolism employed, the role of ritual in social formation, etc. Thus far it has not been scintillating, thanks largely to a ridiculously nerdy and painfully long explication of the liturgy of Scientology by one of my classmates.
2: The Afro-Atlantic World, Stephan Palmie: one of the UofC’s most well-respected anthropologists (it’s a course in the anthro department). We’re investigating the formation of the idea of a connection (political, ethnic, cultural, etc) between Africa and the Atlantic world, mostly the Caribbean. We’re then exploring the socio-cultural character of the “Afro-Atlantic.” I’m particularly interested in the religion part, of course, but the class is made up of all kinds of people (ethnomusicologists, poli sci people, historians), so it’s going to be really interesting all together, I think. Palmie is famous for his lecture style (very informal, full of humor) and is someone I’m considering as a sub-advisor to the PhD, so it’s cool to be in this class.
3: Contemporary Theories in the Study of Religion, Richard Fox: a class makes my mind hurt and expand and hurt some more. Too much talk about the lack of a pre-discursive subject or individual agentival action or the conditions under which an object becomes intelligible can totally overwhelm, but it can drastically change the way that I think, too. Understanding the theories that undergird the subject I study makes me so much more aware of the ways I want to approach the things I care about within the discipline. Also, all these people who wrote all this BS were really smart. It impresses me, even if I do HATE talking about the term “deconstruct.” Bloody Derrida.
4: Orality and Textuality, Bruce Lincoln: Bruce Lincoln is my intellectual baby daddy. This course is centered on such an intriguing question, whether the transition from an oral to a written form of communication shifts the way that culture develops. It deals with questions of authority, speech, social reproduction, cultural performativity, political economy, etc etc. More awesome than anything specific we’ll ever talk about, though, is watching BLincoln wield his knowledge in the classroom. The man is an intellectual wonder and, unlike so many scholars of his caliber, he is an incredible teacher. He challenges everything I say in a way that forces me to think seven steps ahead of myself, finding and evaluating connections between ideas in a way I might never have done on my own. He has genuinely taught me a new way or thinking…or at least has inspired me to refine the process I’ve learned over the years. I’m trying to learn everything I can by observing and emulating him before I’m someday turned loose on a classroom of my own.
In addition to classes and working with the Baby C, I’m also trying to learn French. Some of you may remember that I was working on German at the beginning of the summer, but it thwarted me and I switched to French. I really hate all the people who didn’t tell me how bloody much easier French was than German. Friends, French is way easier and prettier and more fun than German! I’m actually really enjoying progressing the book and getting to know this language that everyone on earth considers so beautiful and romantic. What would NOT be beautiful and romantic would be failing the French exam in a month. No high pass, no PhD application. SCARY!
As I would imagine is conveyed by the typity typing here, this quarter is going to be the hardest one yet, and that’s rather saying a lot. I’m looking forward to it, though, in a way. That part of me that lives for the rigor of intellectual inquiry missed school all summer (though my body really liked the extra sleep!). With PhD applications due at the beginning of winter quarter, we’ll soon find out if I’m in for another half decade (or more) of that rigorous love. Oh, the suspense!
Okay, actually, I do mean to brag. Because any time anyone says that we all know they’re lying. I admit it: I’m a liar.
The University of Chicago: ranked 7th in the world!
The preface: I’m proud of being a student at the University of Chicago. I don’t claim that it’s the perfect place for everyone ot that there aren’t a number of flaws in its administrations, faculty, student body, mindset, ethos, whatever. I do claim, however, that the UofC is exemplary in more ways than I can count. Most importantly, my mind has never been so challenged and rigorously trained as it has been and is being here, particularly at the Div School. I routinely leave class with either a headache or a high- often both- full of new frustrations and insights that lead me down yet another road of genuinely exciting intellectual inquiry.
Apparently I’m not the only one who feels this way. The UofC kicked some higher ed ass in the Times of London international university rankings, placed at number 7 of the world’s top 200 universities. More importantly, the University’s president, Robert Zimmer, was quoted as an inspiring leader of higher education, highlighting the UofC’s commitment to open, critical dialogue as its strongest asset. At this stage, I’d agree with that.
Walter Benjamin, that love of my academic life, wrote “…it is only in company that food is done justice; food must be divided and distributed if it is to be well received.” (Benjamin, Selected Writings, 1913-1926). Here at 656 E. 51st St, we agree with that notion. In our time of roommate-hood, Erin, Kelli, and I have have divided and distributed our food into some really delicious family dinners, not to mention dinner parties and visits from friends that ended in us digging out everything in our fridge and compiling it into a feast. As grad students, we don’t have a whole lot of money to spend, but a decent portion of what we do have is definitely spent on food. Here are some photos of my favorite things we cooked during our first year at the Div School.
PS- Apologies for how ugly this looks. Why can’t WordPress be prettier?
Uncle Dan’s Margatitas! Kelli borrowed her uncle’s secret recipe and we made margaritas to toast the end of summer in 2008.
Potato soup is alway a great fall/winter meal. I made this one when the Chicago winter first showed up. It’s made with russet potatoes, cheddar, garlic, and green onions.
For our first dinner party we made this Kenyan rice: wild rice, almond slivers, sultanas (golden raisins), garlic, and agave nectar.
At the same dinner party we made tempura veggies. This is the sauce in which we dipped all kinds of yumminess: portobello mushrooms, sweet potatoes, Vidalia onions, broccoli, and zucchini.
More dinner party food: breaded chicken breast stuffed with pine nuts, garlic, and goat cheese.
The dinner party continued: whole wheat flatbread pizza with a hummus sauce, red onions, cherry tomatoes, pine nuts, and feta. Thanks to KFo and Walt for the inspiration!
The party’s autumnal salas: spinach, red onions, dried cranberries, walnuts, and honey-crisp apples. We served this with a spicy-sweet olive-oil dressing.
A mound of cheddar from Mexican night. I heart cheese!
No Mexican food is complete without guacamole. This was made with nearly ripe avocados, garlic, sweet onions, cilantro, and sour cream.
Alison and Garl’s birthday cake. Everyone got a candle!
A few people over for dinner turned into a party of 25. I made two huge pans of lasagna- one red with tomatoes, fresh basil, white onions, red peppers, and mozzarella and one white one with homemade bechamel sauce, green peas, pine nuts, and goat cheese. For the vegans we made orzo with olive oil, red onions, fresh basil, cherry tomatoes, tofu, and pine nuts. Here T-Craig and Micah finish off their dishes.
At the same party we served fresh fruit with caramel sauce. Josh, Erin, and I were so excited about it we couldn’t act like normal people. That’s the best kind of excitement there is.
Ham and portobello and cheddar crepe from one of our fall quarter group breakfasts. Michel and Brett outdid themselves here!
An Indian curry with tofu, onions, peppers, garbanzos, zucchini, and a whole lot of turmeric.
Huge chunks of fresh mozzarella and tomatoes (with basil and olive oil, of course) on crusty Italian bread.
Orzo and feta stuffed peppers with yummy bread.
A selection from our Easter brunch- veggie quiche, phillo pastries (with either ham and cheese or cream and blueberries), and, of course, a dyed egg.
Okay, we didn’t cook this, but if I’m talking about food in Hyde Park I have to include a breakfast at Valois (prounounced Vuh-loys). It’s Obama’s favorite greasy diner and, when I want to feel bad about myself, I love it, too. Here you have a veggie omelet with has browns. Best cheap breakfast you’ll ever have, and if you’re cute the Russian cook is nice to you and gives you the crunchy potatoes. :)
I have to admit that I spend a decent amount of my time wishing that I were independently wealthy…and by that I mean filthy stinking rich. I often let my mind wander to what I would do with all my dirty, evil money if I were an investment banker or a waste-of-space heiress instead of a debt-ridden grad student. Sometimes I go a bit mad and think…
*I’d buy lots of Valentino gowns to go to fancy parties and the opera and to the grocery store.
I'd choose a color other than red, but really! Can you get more glamourous than this?!
*I’d still shop at Anthropologie, but I’d let myself spend $180 on a very pretty sweater dress that would go so well with my favorite fall boots.
*I’d buy more fall boots.
*I’d buy a beautiful house in Tuscany (think rich burnt sienna stucco with a courtyard and gorgeous tiling) and fly all my friends to stay with me when I was there. We’d drink good wine, make pasta from scratch, jump in fountains, and generally be happy living la dolce vita.
*I’d buy art, especially art from young artists who actually needed and appreciated the money.
*I’d have a salon, like rich French women, and I’d be the patroness of great thinkers, who’d come sit with me in plush chairs and talk all night.
*I’d travel like a fiend. I’d go anywhere that interested me and never question the investment in the plane ticket.
*I’d send my brother and sister and parents and friends all over the world
*I’d take time to do things that I feel rushed trying to do now (because I have to work for a living!): photography, kayaking, reading for pleasure, writing, wandering alleys, looking at the stars, swimming…
Even with all these fun things to think about, I remember pretty quickly that I’m thankful for what I have and that I don’t need all these things. I already have more than so many people in the world. One thing I would do if I were American-style posh rich, though, is fully but sustainably fund the Oshikuku Basket Project and other projects like it. My friend and fellow Peace Corps Volunteer, Amber Lung, and I started OBP at the beginning of my second year in Namibia. It was initially a sort of motley group of confused memes who patiently listened to us babbling about how we’d like to buy and sell their baskets. Now it’s a solid, multiple-group cooperative with over 80 women who’ve made thousands of high quality, original baskets.
Kuku Rita Simeon, one of the most talented and prolific members of OBP
The project is a source of dignity and confidence for women in a place where their creativity and abilities are often overlooked. It allows them to use their talents and traditional knowledge to support their families and helps them navigate away from difficult circumstances like unsafe sex, forced prostitution and poverty. The money they earn from the sale of their baskets feeds, clothes, and educates countless children, many of whom have been profoundly impacted by the HIV and AIDS pandemic that continues to threaten countries all over Africa and, indeed, the world. The families of these women have access to healthy futures in a way that they previously did not because of the work done through the project. They have role models in their mothers, grandmothers, aunts, and sisters and the women themselves have a sense of purpose and confidence that originates in their own talents.
If I were independently wealthy I’d make sure that the women of OBP had adequate resources and training to keep the project going after Amber (who has worked tirelessly for years) is gone from Namibia. These women are intelligent, diligent, positive people who are an inspiration to those around them and my money would be so well spent. And once the original funding was provided, I know that they would do the rest on their own. That’s the key thing for me- knowing that this is about investing in someone’s abilities, not crippling them by throwing money at them. Until recently all the progress the project has made was done without the assistance of any official donor funding. Most of the baskets were sold through Amber’s dedicated marketing to stores around Namibia and the many backpacks full of baskets so many of us lugged home to the US. The women made baskets without getting paid, policed the quality of the baskets themselves, and chose long-term sustainability over short-term gain. They’re bloody awesome. There’s been no charity, no “do this for us!”, no white Americans throwing cash at something they don’t understand.
So, if any of you reading ARE independently wealthy, or want to join me in giving a little of your non-independent wealth to women who are more than worthy of our time and respect, please do. We could certainly use it. And you’ll know that your money is going to a group of people who are using it to make the world (or at least a small part of it) a better, safer, more dignified place.
