Imagined Communities: Greater than the sum of their parts?

Benedict Anderson, a Marxist leaning political sociologist famously wrote that nations are "imagined communities" because "members will never know, meet or even hear of the majority their fellow-members, and yet, in the minds of each lives the image of their communion".

This concept describes the reality that all nation-states are modern political constructions that emerged as a tool for mass mobilization and economic organization. And yet, there is something inherently natural about feeling a part of something. Perhaps the potential for imagined communities is greater than the sum of its parts?

I think I have written about Anderson's social constructivist take on identity and nationalism on this blog before, and if I haven't then those of you who know me well, know that this is a concept that I not only am really fascinated by, but generally agree with. Anderson's book, "Imagined Communities" remains to this day, probably the most influential reading of my life.

Where is all this coming from?

The lady and I just finished setting up our apartment today. We've just moved into a large studio in central Bangkok, our third apartment in our third city. As I was putting photos up on the walls, I stopped to examine a beautiful photo of Montreal (taken by our good friend Mica) that we have put up in our kitchen corner.

It's a black and white photo, taken from the top of Mont Royal in the middle of winter. Despite the fact that there's a tropical monsoon showering the pavement outside my window here in Thailand, (I can hear the clap of the drops on the metallic roofs, and smell the muggy, humidity) gazing at that photo from Montreal sparked a feeling of familiarity inside.

Looking at the snow, I can almost feel the sleepy pulse of a city, whose gritty and flamboyant sounds are suddenly muffled under the blankets of snow in the winter. Looking at the lights in the buildings, I can imagine the people inside. I imagine how they feel, dreary and fatigued in the middle of the dark winter. They look forward to the weekend, when they can go skating in the park, or have dinner in the Old Port.

In reality, I probably have just as much in common with the imaginary people in those Montreal buildings in the photo, as I do with the leathery faced security guard at the bottom of my building, who smiles as I walk past him everyday, and loyally keeps his post, sitting on that plastic chair at the entrance.

But it is the potential of that feeling of communion that we should think about, and focus on, rather than the naivete of it.

For example, to this day I continue to feel a strong sense affinity with people in Moscow, Russia, where I lived for 3 years as a young teenager. The tough and cynical feel of the streets and the people have a way about them. I remember playing streetball that more closely resembled tackle football... scrapping with skinhead wannabe's... the biting, bitter wind that cut your face in the winter.. crowds of frustrated and angry young men who (tellingly) gathered to protest with Nazi flags under the statue of Lenin. I have and will always have a strong feeling of harmony with Moscovites and Russians in general, despite the fact that I will ALWAYS despise, from the bottom of my heart, the xenophobia that plagues those very streets.

The potential of that imagined community to create communion where there wouldn't ordinarily be, is an incredible thing. For humanity to advance for the better, we need to figure out harness that communion, without relying on targetting an "other".

For now, I'll enjoy my coffee-induced cozy memories while monsoon season continues to bring unabated tropical rains outside.