Introduction
Humanity has long been cited as humanitariansâ main constituency, yet â despite the obviously gendered nature of the humanity being discussed â the humanitarian sector (including academics) has been slow to make gender a central category of analysis. Gender has been a central aspect of humanitarian programming without key questions being asked about how gendered power relations shape the sector more broadly. As Miriam Ticktin notes, humanitarian discussions of humanity raise a central paradox of feminism in which âone must emphasise oneâs difference (as women) in order to claim oneâs sameness (as equal human beings)â (Ticktin 2011, 250). This manifests in relation to âdebates about whether to include women as equal subjects/objects of humanitarian aid ⊠or whether to single them out as different in order for them to receive critical attention and careâ (250). Gender is a key category of difference in humanitarianism and peacebuilding, yet there is a tendency to overlook it in favour of discussions on the differences between the local and the international (for exceptions, see McLeod 2015; Partis-Jennings 2017; Martin de Almagro, 2018). In this article, I seek to explore embodied accounts of difference in humanitarianism by considering Chasing Misery, an anthology of essays by female aid workers (Hoppe 2014a). I propose that we can learn about practices of humanitarianism and peacebuilding by taking these accounts seriously, not as objective truth but as examples of âflesh witnessingâ (Harari 2009).
As Duncanson (2013, 57) notes in relation to soldiers, there is something âparticularly revealing about identityâ in memoirs, as they are telling âtheir story as they want to tell itâ. They can tell us about âwhich embodied experiences become importantâ, or, more simply, âwhose bodies countâ (Dyvik 2016a, 59). However, such accounts are not just revealing in terms of personal identity but also collective identity, as these memoirs shape and are shaped by broader social imaginaries â following Lennon (2015, 1), the âaffectively laden patterns/images/forms, by means of which we experience the world, other people and ourselvesâ â which affect not only how aid workers and the wider public think about humanitarian aid, but also how they think about the spaces in which humanitarian aid is deployed and the people who receive it.
Humanitarians, especially in conflict-affected areas, increasingly serve as sources of information about the areas they work in and the people they work with; as such, it is important to critically interrogate their experiences and knowledge. The ways in which female aid workers narrate their experiences of the spaces of humanitarianism offer an important contribution to the construction and maintenance of a distinctly humanitarian social imaginary, which highlights the complex and intersecting hierarchies of gender, race, class, nationality, and age that are deeply embedded in humanitarian practices. The 24 essays in the Chasing Misery collection (Hoppe 2014a) frequently collapse publicâprivate and workâlife binaries in different ways.1 They address complex, emotional, and fundamentally sensorial experiences, often viscerally. Difference appears in the stories, in relation to colleagues, recipients of aid, parties to conflict, and friends and family âback homeâ, but it is always embodied â and this embodiment matters, as there is always âa tension between womenâs lived bodily experiences and the cultural meanings inscribed on the female body that always mediate those experiencesâ (Conboy, Medina, and Stanbury 1997, 1).
In order to explore this tension, I read these stories through a double lens of âflesh witnessingâ and âpassingâ.2 In doing so, I address âdifferenceâ in peacebuilding and humanitarianism as a gendered relation of power, highlighting three ways in which the existing norms that define what it means to be an aid worker produce the women as different, such that they âhave to pass as what [they] are assumed not to beâ (Ahmed 2017, 115). As such, women must perform their identity â i.e. try to pass â as aid workers because the legitimacy of their claim to this identity is in question (120). In drawing attention to the ways in which these identities are performed, it is possible to see how the norms which establish difference are both reinforced and contested. I begin this article by arguing that womenâs narratives of their experiences are claims to the authority of âThe Fieldâ. Following this, I highlight the ways in which the writers produce themselves as different, and separate, from both the populations they are there to assist and their own communities âback homeâ. Finally, I show how the essays also reveal that many of the women experience a sense of âbeing inadequate to the identityâ of aid worker (Ahmed 1999, 96). In taking the essays of female aid workers as a starting point, I hope to highlight the ways in which difference is always embodied and is imbued with meanings, regardless of the degree to which there is conscious awareness of these meanings. Before outlining the approach I take to reading the womenâs essays, the next section briefly introduces the anthology under examination.
Chasing Misery
Published in 2014, Chasing Misery: An Anthology of Essays by Women in Humanitarian Responses is edited by a team, whose lead editor Kelsey Hoppe is an aid worker with both humanitarian and development experience in a range of countries. She states on the bookâs website that she developed the idea for the anthology âas a way to give a platform to womenâs perspectives and voices in the work they do as well as to help people better understand what humanitarian aid isâ.3 The anthology contains 24 essays written by 21 different women4 from a variety of different backgrounds5 who have worked in humanitarianism in different roles and capacities.
The editor, Kelsey Hoppe, is explicit in her belief that women have distinct insights to offer: âwomenâs voices, perspectives and narratives on aid work are unique and deserve their own spaceâ, in part because of their ability âto explore the greys, the âinbetweennessâ, to reflect on the questions about being humanâ (Hoppe 2014d, 12). The book starts from the assumption that women have a different perspective on the world â presumably, different from that of men. Feminism has long been interested in situated knowledge (Haraway 1988), and the book poses interesting questions about the liminality of women in humanitarianism and peacebuilding (for more on the liminality of women in peacebuilding, see Partis-Jennings 2017, 418). For endeavours which claim gender as a central policy and programming expertise, surprisingly little attention has been paid to the ways in which their everyday humanitarian practices are gendered â and given the feminist underpinnings of the âlocalâ and âexperientialâ turns, this oversight seems even more stark.
Difference, embodiment and passing
Feminist approaches to international relations have, in recent years, highlighted the need for bodies to be brought inside âthe frame of international relationsâ (Wilcox 2015). This literature has tended to focus on the ways in which war needs to be understood as an embodied experience by âcentralizing peopleâs experiencesâ (Dyvik 2016a, 56). I argue that extending this lens to peacebuilding and humanitarianism is a key move, as these activities are deeply embedded in conflict and, thus, are a key site of investigation for more fully understanding the lived experiences of conflicts and their aftermaths. There has in recent years been an experiential turn in the study of peacebuilding; however, much of this literature leaves the feminist origins of the move to the âeverydayâ implicit, and the analyses remain at the abstract level rather than presenting specific lived experiences which engender embodied analysis â although the work of Laura McLeod, Hannah Partis-Jennings, and Maria Martin de Almagro are exceptions (McLeod 2015; Partis-Jennings 2017; Martin de Almagro 2017, 2018). As Christine Sylvester notes, our experiences of war â and I would argue interventions in war â are âexperienced through the bodyâ, so we must look at the body as a unit of analysis (Sylvester 2013, 5). International aid workers in conflict settings have interesting and distinct experiences of war; they occupy a strange liminal position â in the conflict but ostensibly not part of it, at risk but also protected from violence. The lived experiences of these tensions can perhaps offer us insights into the broader dynamics of conflict and the interventions which seek to end or ameliorate it.
Just as Duncanson (2009), Welland (2015), and Dyvik (2016a, 2016b) have looked to military memoirs to study the gendered performances at the heart of recent and contemporary conflicts, I argue that humanitarian memoirs can help us to explore the embodied racialized and gendered experiences of aid in conflict. I do not however suggest that these memoirs can be seen unproblematically as âtrue accountsâ; rather, following Duncanson (2013, 57), I believe that there is âsomething particularly revealing about identityâ in peopleâs personal narratives, which tell âtheir story as they want to tell itâ. There seems to be a pervasive belief that there is something about being in these conflict spaces that is impossible to convey to those who have not lived it: âit is experienced by those who practice it as a bracketed space, one in which only a few have access to, at once a manifestation of life at its most real and its direct counterpartâ (Dyvik, 2016a, 57). Yet, paradoxically, it is an elusive or illusory endeavour, as the ârealityâ of the experience can never be fully articulated.
As Catherine Baker suggests, writing about embodiment is necessarily an act of both compression and translation, âreducing the sensory complexity of someone elseâs physical experience, or even oneâs own, into written language that someone else will understand through sight or soundâ (Baker 2016, 120). Yuval Noah Harari offers a way of thinking about this problematic through the notion of âflesh witnessingâ, a phrase drawn from the observation of a French soldier from the First World War that one âwho has not understood with his flesh cannot talk to you about it [the experience of war]â (quoted in Harari 2009, 215).
This notion of flesh witnessing is especially intriguing in thinking about the humanitarian field, as the idea of âwitnessingâ and âspeaking outâ has a controversial history in humanitarian aid interventions (e.g. Givoni 2011). In contrasting flesh witnessing with eye witnessing, Harari (2009) notes the different kind of authority associated with each. With eye witnessing, authority comes from the notion that you can observe âfactsâ that can be verified, which relies on the mastery of a field of information that humanitarians rarely have more than partial access to. Flesh witnessing, on the other hand, offers a more ânovel authority ⊠which is based not on the observation of facts but on having undergone personal experienceâ (Harari 2009, 217). Harari notes that flesh witness accounts seem to be interested in conveying experiences, but because they do not believe that these experiences can be conveyed to those who have not shared them, âby definition, they cannot succeed in thisâ (221). Instead, âflesh witness narratives are mainly an exercise in authorityâ (222). As (Dyvik 2016a, 58) notes of military memoirs, they seem to convey the notion that âyou donât know what itâs likeâ even while still attempting to explain â and as such, what they establish is their authority as a witness.
Humanitarian memoirs are not only important for what they reveal about specific humanitarian experiences but also for how they frame a broader social imaginary of what humanitarianism is. As Dyvik (2016a, 58) notes, military memoirs are more than individual stories: âthese texts participate in the writing of war. They help frame what we think war isâ. Similarly, humanitarian memoirs participate in the writing of humanitarianism and help frame what we think humanitarianism is. At the beginning of the 2000s, David Rieff critiqued the portrayal of humanitarianism which relies on a âfamiliar morality play of victims in need and aid workers who stand ready to help if their passage can be secured and their safety maintainedâ (Rieff 2002, 87). This remains a common (and deeply gendered) trope in humanitarian imagery.
Michel Agier notes: â[t]he humanitarian world is based upon the fiction of humanity as an identityâ (Agier 2010, 32). This identity draws legitimacy from a mythologized humanitarian history and legacy in which âhumanitarian exceptionalismâ is entrenched in a particular reading of international humanitarian law (Fast 2014). However, as Ticktin (2011) notes in relation to humanitarian efforts to address sexual violence, the âhumanâ upon which humanitarians have built their identity is gendered and racialized. She argues that the expansion of the humanitarian mission to include gender-based violence âhas inadvertently opened up space for confrontation with politically significant forms of difference and inequalityâ (Ticktin 2011, 262). I argue that humanitarian memoirs, as a form of âflesh witnessingâ (Harari 2009), offer an interesting way of thinking about difference as embodied.
When difference appears in discussions on peacebuilding, the most common difference cited is between the local and the international, as Lisa Smirl explores in relation to liminality in humanitarian memoirs (Smirl 2012). This binary is so embedded within the peacebuilding literature that a subfield of literature has emerged to explore how it can be broken down through notions of hybridity (e.g. Mac Ginty 2010; Mac Ginty and Richmond 2015). Concurrently, in discussions of aid worker security particularly, there is recognition of the existence of a âhumanitarian exceptionalismâ (Fast 2014) whereby the âexpatâ aid workerâs status is rendered as something distinct from military or civilian, reinforced by their distinct security practices (Duffield 2010). The âlocal turnâ in peacebuilding has sought to challenge the dominance of international knowledge both in the academic literature and in practice, yet in doing so has reinforced the distinction between local and international (Randazzo 2016).
As Bargués-Pedreny and Mathieu note, within this hybridity literature
differences are reified and essentialized as inescapable, but also, and perhaps more importantly, difference is linked to stigma (as a deviance from the ânormâ that is reproduced by the frames used to identify it) ⊠emphasizing difference (even as something to be celebrated, a space to cultivate bottom-up peace initiatives) does not remove the stigma attached to it insofar as the ânormâ is neither questioned nor displaced. (BarguĂ©s-Pedreny and Mathieu, 2018, 289)
Turning to a different reading of hybridity, Sara Ahmed talks of hybridization in the context of racial identity, as a rejection of the notion that two racial identities âcan be distinguishable in space and time: hybridisation as the very temporality of passing through and betw...