What's Your Model?

The reading today was an article about varying models of how science is spread among countries and colonies through imperialism. There were four main models, as well as MacLeod's own model. Each of these models had a differing view of how imperialism and science were intertwined (or even separated). These models are the instrumentalist model, the cultural independence model, Basal's diffusionist model, and Sagasti's counter-model.

Which of these models (including MacLeod's) do you most agree with? Why? What do you not agree with concerning the other models? (If you think you may have a better model describe it).

I agree most with the cultural independence model because I believe it best takes into account the cultural influences and the effect they have on science. This model allows a worldwide interpretation of the spread of science to "colonies" all over the globe. It also allows for individualism and creativity in creation of new forms of scientific study that vary from "mother" country's versions.

MacLeod's model is far too specific, which fails to take into account the spread of science to countries other than America; and Basalla's model is too clear-cut in its definition of "Western Science" leaving no room for varying forms of western science.

This Week = Last Week

Spoke to Dr. Tiff, she agreed that it would be okay to use the post I made last week on Sex in The Calcutta Chromosome for the post this week. [Sorry for not having this up sooner... I could have sworn I posted it right after class Wednesday.]

(In Homage to Marissa) Think.

So I thought that the Red Group's "Anti-Crisis" presentation was interesting in class today. As a reminder, they considered anti-crisis to be an undercover siege meant to infiltrate a certain thing for purposes of the infiltrator, without the knowledge of the observed. They described it being a bad thing, for obvious reasons, but also a good thing in the case of a rare African tribe being researched, "romanticized", and advertised. Their question really hit me: Is this anti-crisis really a bad thing or are there good aspects to this philosophy of indirect, incognito operations? I thought that it was funny how our group specifically had a lot of interesting things to say about whether anti-crisis was a good or bad thing. Conor, specifically, really caught my attention when he mentioned what was good about anti-crisis. He pointed out that of the two evils, the fact that they were not immediately bombarding these people and were less intensely intruding them was a good thing. That idea never crossed my mind when I first heard about anti-crisis in the presentation. In response to that, though, I think that it kinda contradicts itself. Anti-crisis is bad because it intrudes on the life of whoever or whatever is being observed, but it is good because it does not immediately displace it but instead slowly creeps its way into the life of the observed? I don't think so. The fact that we need to find an excuse to intrude, whether directly or indirectly, should immediately imply that it is a bad thing. Though in Heidi's example the African women of rare descent were benefitting from their pictures being taken, they did not initially intend on this infiltration to be a silver lining to their slow, undisturbed lives. I just thought it was funny that, though we were looking for "good" things in anti-crisis, we just ended up pointing out even worse things about it.

I also thought that our discussion about subalterns during class today was very interesting. Subalterns are these people and things that we classify as under us--people or things to disregard because it is "natural" for us to assume that we are better than them, or it. In our case, we were talking about people. Whether in novels or in real life we are always seeing examples of subalterns. In class we assessed subalterns in The Calcutta Chromosome, but what about some real life examples? A subaltern is defined as: "lower in rank; subordinate". We may not realize it, but we are constantly surrounded by people who we look down on, and consider ourselves better than. From custodians to workers in the dining hall, to professors and maybe even fellow classmates, we always consider ourselves better than them--someone to disregard or ignore because they have no benefit to us. But when you really think of it, subalterns are not always subalterns. They are just lower-ranked in our perspective, whether that be because of our arrogance or because of social status. In reality though, subalterns are the reason why there is a backbone to our world--a foundation for the lives that we lead. Custodians clean up after us, kitchen workers feed us, and professors educate us. Our classmates even teach us things about ourselves sometimes! And not only do subalterns frame our real lives, but in novels, you never notice what a big role subalterns play in the plot and in the story. Those one-liners or characters in that one chapter are there for a reason--to enhance our reading experience and our perspective of the story.

I know that I mentioned kinda a lot to think about, but I really wanna know what you guys think. Though I know most of you responded in class, reiterate to me what you really think about anti-crisis--do you consider it a good or bad thing? Why? And tell me about subalterns. What other examples, whether fictional or not, can you name? Do they shape our worlds as much as I think they do?

Just some stuff to think about :)

Cara-Joy

Sex.

In reading the Calcutta Chromosome, I couldn't help but notice the number of oddly placed, yet awkwardly detailed, sexual narrations within the story -- usually in Murugan's presence. One I first noticed was in one of the chapters in which Murugan is explaining his theories to Antar (around page 90+) with Grigson seemingly getting off on the anomaly Lutchman presents (or maybe just Lutchman himself). (There was another one earlier, but can't remember where exactly to find it.) And many in the chapter on Farley (ch 21). However, one of the most obvious might be in the Umilia chapter in which she and Murugan sit by the Ross memorial in the rain (pg 220-221).

The author seems almost to bring these little descriptions in at random. I'm wondering if anyone has any idea why they might be in the book.

If I were to take him as a bad writer, I would say he's going off the "sex sells" philosophy. However, they're just so oddly placed and overly dramatized, I have to think there's some purpose to it. For example, maybe, as Dr. Tiff had said about the plots multiplying like malaria, the overtly sexual innuendos mirror our human similarities to its reproduction. Since most diseases reproduce in an asexual way, Ghosh highlights malaria's difference in this sense.
Maybe it also links us to the bug in showing that, just like a parasite, we still obey our evolutionary drive to reproduce when placed in a new environment: Murugan gets excited when he finds a new person to tell his stories to, and Farley when he finds himself with a new discovery among strange people, Umilia when she finds herself questioning the world she always knew.
The details in each, as the book progresses, also seem more and more precise; as if each attempt leads to the book's great climax which reveals the answer to everything (or leaves the reader with a bad case of blue balls -- kidding).