1999, The imaginary of mobility: the quest for renewal

Dominique Desjeux, anthropologist, professor at the Sorbonne
d.desjeux@argonautes.fr

This research has brought up to date our understanding of the social micro-mechanisms that allow people to take or to delegate action.  Action is not merely a question of individual will; action in society is structured by social games, by symbolic devices, and by the materiality of the objects that surround us.  Games, devices, and materiality are elements that are both producers of action and the product of actors.  How they are viewed depends on the scale of observation that is used to study them, on the divisions of the social dimension chosen to analyze them, and on their role in how objects are acquired and used throughout their life cycle.

Studying the phenomenon of moving also brought us to change how we view daily life, nomadic objects, rituals of passage, complex issues of delegating, and the importance of forms of cooperation with friends and family today.  Objects have taken on more importance, and actors of daily life have become more immediate and more concrete.  While services continue functioning as simple commercial transactions, they can also be seen to be practices set in the social and the symbolic dimensions of our everyday life, reflecting the forms of social cooperation of our era, which is neither extraordinarily good or bad, but banal, necessary, and also convivial.

A move may be experienced as a routinized change, as temporary disorder, or as a tragedy, in the case of a period of homelessness when changing from home to another.  The emotional tension and risk involved in moving require the mobilization of rational management expertise, which can reduce the uncertainty of mobility.  However, the rational dimension is not the only important aspect of moving; a move may also be read as a narration or a quest, and it is with this symbolic dimension that we would like to conclude.

The imaginary of moving¹ may be analyzed in five manifestations that represent the five key moments of this mobility: the separation that symbolizes the anxiety at the moment that one’s objects are sorted; the ordeal that symbolizes the expenditure of physical energy and the mental charge involved in transporting the objects; the fear of loss and defilement that symbolizes the uncertainties threatening the intimate objects during the transporting; the purification by the cleaning of the new home, which symbolizes the necessity to eliminate traces of others; and the renewal, when the move is experienced positively, that symbolizes the success of the installation process.

Separation: coping with being deprived of the “cherished object” and the fear of unforeseen conflict

In practical terms, everyone confronts the situation of sorting a certain number of objects, which at each move are discovered to be an integral part of the self, as the “ego-skin” of the psychoanalyst Didier Anzieu (1985).  It means that objects are experienced both inside and outside oneself and one’s identity.  To part with an object means to cut off a part of oneself, which may be lived positively or negatively: “I gave away some books.  I gave away clothes, and I am quite proud of giving up some books.  Because books are a part of myself.”

 In order to limit the shock of the separation, some choose an “ascetic” strategy, limiting the number of objects in their possession.  They are often “nomads”: “I hardly throw anything away (at the time of the move), I have the strict minimum.”  Others choose a “technological” strategy for managing administrative papers, that of “zero papers”: “In general, I don't keep the bank stuff, I have it all on my computer — the utility receipts, etc.”  But most people confront choices during sorting involving a great emotional charge.  As Saadi Lahlou and Claude Fishler (1996) write concerning the way information is metabolized in offices — information that they call RECOMs,  REpresentations Coded on Media: “In order to throw things out serenely, well-defined criteria would be necessary.”  However, an analysis of household objects that must be sorted — clothing, “paper objects” (such as administrative papers, advertisements, bills, magazines, and books), “sound and picture objects” (such as records, video and audio cassettes, VCRs, televisions, and tape recorders), “appliance objects” (such as refrigerators and microwaves), and some cooking objects — shows that these criteria cannot be “purely” rational or utilitarian.  They involve the symbolic management of separation and the maintenance of wholeness.

Sorting what is to be kept, given away, stored elsewhere, gotten rid of, sold, and thrown away requires going through the imaginary, allowing for an appraisal of the distance and proximity that each person assigns to the different objects.  The closer the object is considered, the more it will be difficult to part with.  Criteria must be invented to create a distance that symbolically justifies separation or conservation of the “cherished object.”  Symbolically, the separation is much more acceptable when the “abandoned” object continues to live its social life away from the person who parts with it.  Thus, giving away, getting rid of, or selling objects — rather than throwing them away — are practices that make it easier to free oneself in the imaginary of the anxiety of separation, even if the recipient is not particularly interested in the gift.

The feeling of closeness that causes one to keep objects occurs first of all when parts of the objects touch the body and they are considered an integral part of oneself.  Thus, clothes — shirts, shoes, ties — and certain objects that are extensions of the body — such as purses, book bags, and diaries — are kept: for example, “I really can’t get rid of handbags,” or “I have tendency to keep the briefcases; you can keep papers in them.”   If possible, objects that touch the roots of personal life are kept: “I tend to hold onto administrative papers.  I kept all my files, purchases, and car papers: insurance, photocopies of the registration, repair bills from accidents…  I’m quite attached to my cars.  That brings back memories; it’s a bit like a photo album.”  Or as one young woman says: “I keep the papers concerning my motorcycle, all that paperwork brings back memories.”

 In order for an article of clothing to be discarded, it must symbolically change categories.  If it is classified as being outmoded or too small, it can be categorized as a gift; if it is classified as worn-out, it can be disposed of: “Moving gives you the opportunity to give away shirts you don’t wear any more when you have too many,” or “I give away the kids’ clothes that don’t fit anymore.”  Similarly, for objects that intimately connected to incorporations of the past such as records or cassettes, the taboo of separation, of being sold off, does not hold if they are classified as outmoded or duplicate: “I’ve sometimes sold things that were surplus: Jaïro, Nougaro, second-rate stuff, junk…” “I sold off records of music from the ‘70s, Tangerine Dream, when you smoked a thick joint with!”  or “I sold everything that is French and out of fashion — for example, Dalida, Gérard Lenormand, Claude François, Sheila — to a collector at a record convention.”  Here, selling records also denotes a function of passage, like a sign of letting go of one’s youth.

The act of sorting evokes the theme of immortality and its opposite, the feeling of finitude.  In fact, it is more acceptable to part with a “cherished object” if one knows that the social life of the object continues after the separation.  Throwing away an object means that it has died socially, which is difficult to accept for an object that is too close: “I have trouble parting with ties.  They don’t take up much room, and fashions come back.  And some don’t go out of style.  For example, I have theme ties, with scenes on them, that don’t go out of style; they are immortal.”  “I keep Géo [a geography magazine], because it’s not current events; it’s relatively timeless.  Le Nouvel Observateur [a news magazine], I throw out.” “Books, hardback encyclopedias, I keep.”  Unlike hardback books that symbolizes durability here and are kept, another person gets rid of books bought from France Loisirs [a book club], which have less symbolic value: “I gave away some of the books that I used to buy from France Loisirs.”

To be thrown away, an intimate object must thus undergo a strong symbolic depreciation.  It must be “worn out” or “old” — that is, unusable and therefore “dead” — or “surplus” or “duplicate — that is, not vital, or even “ephemeral,” that is to say, without temporal or mnemonic depth: “I give the less interesting books to people.  The choice is difficult.  They’re not necessarily the oldest ones; they’re the ones that seem to me to be less interesting.  I have biographies of historic or contemporary people.  I would rather give away the contemporary ones.  I think that a history book keeps better.”   “I gave away a book on home repair; I had two of them that were just about the same.”   “There was a lot of old furniture in the studio that I just bought.  It’s old, I’m going to give it away.”

This is why intimate objects that still have a chance of “surviving” can be easily sold only by someone else: “LPs?  I didn't sell mine.  I sold my husband’s!”   Going through a charity such as the Red Cross or Emmaüs, particularly for clothes, makes it easier to put objects back into circulation, but does so impersonally, unlike giving an object directly to someone with a personal relation. 

Sorting is not only managing the separation, it is also a way to manage the fear of not being able to contest or to prove one’s case in case of litigation with bureaucracies or others by means of a trace in writing.  What varies, from one actor to another, is the appraisal of how long it is necessary to protect oneself with the papers that provide certification.  The period ranges from several months, for current bills, to lifetime, for taxes or pay slips: “I keep bank summaries for 5 years.  If there’s any dispute, pay slips must be kept for life.”   “I keep the last electric bill for a year, to make sure there is no mistake, to have an idea of my consumption.”   “I keep things for 10 years.”  “I keep things for 5 years.”   “I sort my papers, and I keep my account statements for 3 or 4 years.”   “Pay slips — you need them for retirement; they’re the only proof.”   “I keep taxes for life.”   “Property taxes, television fees, insurance.”  Finally, “If there is ever a mistake, I’m always afraid that one day they wake up.”   This “they” says a great deal about the importance of the imaginary of the fear in our daily universe.  It reveals the importance each person attributes to an imaginary of fear, to the feeling of a “bureaucratic” threat, the new “fatum” of modern society, to use an expression of Michael Hersfeld (1993), which explains the choice between keeping and throwing away.  Administrative papers are outside the commercial sphere.  No one tries to sell administrative papers.  They do not circulate in the form of a gift or trade, except those that are connected to the transmission of an inheritance, those that guarantee property and family identity beyond death.

Moving obliges people to take action.  This constraint plays a key role in triggering the process of sorting and the symbolic violence that it implies.  It is what explains that some speak of “heartbreak” or “broken memories when discussing their move.  The separation changes at the time of installation, most often becoming positive, becoming a means to recreate a space for oneself or differentiated spaces.

Physical ordeal: hard but temporary muscular work

A move, perhaps more than a symbolic break, is perceived mainly as a physical ordeal at the moment of moving out.  It denotes a “corvée” (chore) and a “galère”  (drag) two French colloquial terms that nevertheless hark back in the collective unconscious to feudalism and absolute monarchy, that is, to forced work in the fields or forced rowing chained to oars in ships.  It is muscular work, like “weightlifting,” that evokes the “fatigue, effort, and weight” associated with “staircases.”  It is a bodily suffering that affects the “arms” and includes “backache.”  And furthermore, it takes place in the “dust.”  It is also trying in terms of “economic cost.”  It is finally a mental charge in terms of “stress and anxiety: it’s a real pain.”

The imaginary of the ordeal is linked to a temporary activity — “you don’t move every day” — that is laborious but only lasts a short time; it will soon be just a bad memory.  It is a physical ordeal but not as involved as that of separation.  The physical ordeal reassures.

Loss and defilement: keeping the identity whole

The symbolism of loss is expressed through two themes, social precariousness and the loss of precious objects.  The symbolism of defilement is more easily understood.  It entails the fear of seeing intimate objects exposed to everyone’s sight, as if they were soiled by the eyes of people, including the movers, who are not authorized to penetrate into the domestic intimacy.

Moving may be more common nowadays, but it is in any case strongly associated with an imaginary of “precariousness” and risk of “social lapse that can happen to anybody.”  The move symbolizes a future without necessarily a happy ending.  It also symbolizes the fear of losing one’s administrative “connections” due to “files being lost by administrations during transfers.”

Objects that are to remain in the apartment until last or that are to be carried away by hand in the car symbolize the big human functions that must be preserved against the risks of the move, against the risks of loss or defilement: eating (“dishes”), sleeping (“mattress”), intimacy of the body (“vanity case and toothpaste”), certain clothes (to avoid the “dirt of the moving van”), and certain games (“my boy's Sega console”).  To these can be added objects of value (“silverware, beautiful lamp, small antique, pictures, stamp collection”), fragile objects (“plants and television”), and the basic administrative documents that guarantee a part of the social relations and protect against precariousness. 

These objects, by the special treatment that is granted them, appear here as the key symbolic elements of keeping the identity whole.  All these objects reveal the presence of a feeling of insecurity — which may vary in strength — as well as of what constitutes the basis of social and personal identity, and whose loss would provoke a serious crisis.

Purification: erasing the traces of others

The arrival in the new home mobilizes a very powerful imaginary, that of purification, not in proportion with the obviously banal practice that corresponds to it, that is, cleaning the new space.  The symbolism of the purification is ambivalent.  It is first of all a means of symbolically appropriating and incorporating the new space:  “The day you get the key, you’re not at home; the day you have cleaned, you feel at home.”  “By cleaning, you establish symbiosis with the apartment; there is communication.”  “You give it a soul.”

But purifying also connects back to an imaginary of the severance and isolation:  “Purifying can mean isolating oneself, getting into a bubble.”   Purifying too much can also be perceived as socially dangerous: “What is negative side is purifying too much.  There is a reactionary aspect to it, in the political sense.  To decontaminate is the bad side of it; like wanting to recover right-wing  or conservative values, to recover a previous situation.”  “Purifying too much is a reduction, a loss.  To purify a water to the extreme is to remove its mineral salts, which have a value.”  “To purify can have a connotation that is too hygienic, it is too much like scrubbing.”

The act of purification is built upon on a strong anxiety that one finds in all societies, that of integrating a territory of which everything is unknown, including its origins and its history.  The supposition is that this territory may have been soiled by a dangerous act that makes any new settlement impossible, as is expressed in this discussion of cleaning: “You have to clean before [the departure].  And after [arriving], you’re not going to go somewhere someone has lived in.” [Question: Why?] “You don’t know what they did there.”  “It’s all in your mind,” retorts another.  [Question: Is it impossible to get settled into a place without cleaning?] “Yes, unless it is new.  And even in a new apartment, sometimes… you don't know what happened before.”  [Question: What, for example?] “A murder...”  “You imagine everything, that’s just it; you don't one know exactly.”

This is why purification, in its first stage, begins with erasing of traces of others: “I don't know whether you give [the new home] a soul, but in any case you get rid of the one from before!”  “As for the toilet, you pour on the bleach.  People have different ideas about hygiene.”  Once the traces of others are eliminated, the home is purified, and a new history can begin: “It becomes healthy, you disinfect, no parasites, no microbes, life is beautiful!”   “It’s for us, to mark our territory.  It’s psychological.  Now it is ours.  We remove all traces of people, we start with a clean slate.”    Once purified, the apartment can then receive new markings: “You mark your territory, like cats.”  “You put in a new carpet.”

The imaginary of purification is connected to a fear that is uncontrollable, the fear of others as unknown and threatening.  Cleaning, as prosaic as it may be, nevertheless involves the presence of bleach, a product to be handled with caution, symbolizing its strength; cleaning is a mandatory procedure in appropriating the new space.  Without this act, partly magic, it is not possible to move in.  It symbolizes the most “dramatic” moment of the moving process.  It is required for renewal, which accompanies the move, when it is lived positively, like an inverted symmetry of the imaginary of precariousness that prevails at the moment that loss is apprehended.

Renewal: overcoming the ordeal, rebirth, and opening to all possibilities

After the ordeals of the move, settling into the new territory of residence is viewed as a success not unlike “an internship, an exam, or a trial period at work.”   This success enables a renewal to take place, like “nature,” with images of “spring,” “daybreak,” “the plant that dies at the end of season and that is born anew in the new year.”  This renewal evokes concurrently “birth, a cell, regeneration, molting, and a shower.”  Everything appears possible, in all domains: “a new life, a new wardrobe, a new profession, a new sport.”  It is the accumulation of all the advantages gained: “closer to work, to school, to local services; bigger; more quiet; more nature; ownership; more freedom; more reassurance; and less stressed or more intelligent.”

And above all, one comes full circle; the imaginary of separation changes from negative to positive, thanks to more space — when such is the case — that allows for new arrangements, and new separations within rooms: “arranging the rooms is a positive separation.”  Spaces of the new home are partitioned, the kitchen from the living room, the dining area from the sitting area, the living area and the office area, or parents from children.  Everything is done to vary the functions of the space thanks to a reduction of the constraint of area: “I moved from a small, rented apartment to an apartment I bought with more room.  I have a living room with a small space for my office.”  The living room is the room that is more adapted to leisure:  “I arranged the main room, and I made a sort of divider with a trendy piece of furniture to separate the eating area from the living room.  When having lunch, you enjoy more being with someone if the space is divided, if it separated from the television.”  “I have an L-shaped living room, so the dining area is well separated.  I made myself an office area.  You can combine modules that you can buy, Ikea bookcases, to create volumes and different, self-contained spaces.”  “I made a play area for the children.”  Because of its size, the living room can contain a dining area, a play area, and an office area, although this is not always so easy.  Some arrangements are felt to be real achievements: “I managed to make a living room, with a small table and armchairs.  It's much nicer.  When I eat with my wife, we eat in the kitchen; otherwise it’s in the living room, when we’re with friends, to have an aperitif.…”    “I was able to separate the kitchen from the living room.  It’s better because of the odors.  I made a little office.  That makes the living room more intimate and more uncluttered, with armchairs, a sofa, a table...  Before, it was multifunctional.”

It is as if, after having broken the spell of the fear of a great separation, after having purified the collective space, everyone tried to recreate a positive separation, to produce a space of intimacy in which to reinstall their objects, to invent specialized spaces to create small nooks of cohabitation. 

The symbolism of moving works like a narration, with an event that sparks the search, the decision to move, followed by a separation leading to an ordeal of passage, then by a period of regeneration, preceded of a purification ritual.  We do not know the rest of these people’s story, as with all tales...  Some are surely ready to undertake a new search and a new departure, to put their objects back into motion as a sign of their involvement in strengthening social relations, but perhaps not right away!

¹ This imaginary was constructed from a creative session with a group of ten people.

Translated by Ray Horn, Paris Descartes University, SHS Sorbonne

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Autres publications de la sous-rubrique :

2008 06, Roberta Dias Campos, Innovation (From the boook by Everett Rogers) 2007 11 8-9, Beijing, China, lecture given by Dominique Desjeux, Introducing Anthropology of Consumption. Understanding Daily Life in China 2007, 09 29, D. Desjeux, Working in multicural teams 2007 07, D. Desjeux, Introducing anthropology of Consumption: a methodological point of view 2005, D. Desjeux, SMS uses and issues (China, France, Pologne) 2004, D. Desjeux, Introducing Anthropology of Consumption 2003, D. Desjeux, understanding innovation 2003, S. Alami, D. Desjeux,Practices and representations of cooking and meals in France 2002, D. Desjeux, Zheng Lihua, The itinerary method: comparing intercultural daily life: The case of Guangzhou, China 1999, D. Desjeux, Rituals as means of Moving into action 1998, D. Desjeux, May 1968 : Testimony of a Left-wing Liberal in May 68 at Nanterre in France 1988, D. Desjeux, Essay on training in culture 1998, D. Desjeux, Rituals as a means of Moving into action 1996, D. Desjeux, scales of observation 2002, Dominique Desjeux, Anthropology of Mobility 2007, 11, Dominique Desjeux , Beijing, China, Introducing Anthropology of Consumption