Al Jazeera
Friday, April  23, 2010 
 
    The world is not flat     By Mark LeVine  
 
It started with an utterly unexpected text message that appeared on my 
phone  the moment I landed in Rome last Thursday. "Meeting cancelled. Check 
your 
 email." 
Six days later and $1,200 poorer, the saga ended when I arrived home after  
a three day travel odyssey, only to open my lap top and read that most  
airports were reopening-a day before I was originally ticketed to fly  
home-because experts had determined that the threat to jet engines posed by the 
 ash 
cloud emanating from the Eyjafjallajokull volcano was not as great as  
originally assumed. 
Despite the hardships and costs, there was an upside to being in the middle 
 of the Eyjafjallajokull ash cloud saga. It offered a unique opportunity to 
 re-examine many of the commonly accepted myths of globalisation and the 
way it  has, or in fact has not, changed the fabric of human relations.    
Special report       (http://english.aljazeera.net/focus/volcanochaos)  
My immediate reaction when I read the text  message was that something had 
happened in Israel or the Occupied Territories to  sabotage the meeting 
between Israeli and Palestinian experts on the peace  process I had come to 
Rome 
to attend. Or perhaps the funders had gotten cold  feet after pressure from 
quarters I couldn't determine. 
But then my friend Alessandro arrived to pick me up from Rome's central 
train  station, and after the customary Italian "hello" asked if I'd heard 
about the  huge volcanic eruption in Iceland that had occurred earlier in the 
day. Suddenly  the text message made sense, and checking email confirmed that 
most of the  participants couldn't get to Rome because all flights had been 
cancelled. 
Well, I thought, this won't last too long. At least I'll get to Sweden for 
a  big conference on Syria in which I was supposed to participate five days 
later  at Lund University. But by the next morning most of Europe's airports 
were in  lockdown, Italian, French, Spanish, and German news channels and 
newspapers, as  well as al-Jazeera, CNN and the BBC, were reporting that the 
eruption could go  on for weeks or months, engineers were cropping up on 
most every news network  explaining how the silicate ash cloud could cause 
"catastrophic failure" of jet  engines, and I was frantically trying to find a 
train ticket up to Copenhagen  from Italy. 
That proved impossible, as I could only get as far as Frankfurt. Everything 
 farther north was already sold out. 
With Syria suffering the same fate as Palestine, my attention turned to  
figuring out how to go west instead of north, and hopefully get out of Europe  
through Spain before the cloud covered the whole continent. 
Having no meetings to attend, I spent the next two days alternatingly 
online,  trying to find a flight home, and on line at Rome's Scuderie Papali al 
Quirinale  museum, trying to see an unprecedented collection of the great 
renaissance  artist Caravaggio. Sadly, the waiting time was almost as long as 
that at the  train station, and tickets equally difficult to procure. I 
eventually gave up  trying to get into the museum; I had no choice-or so I 
thought-but to continue  trying to get home as quickly as possible. 
Flattening out a complex reality 
Walking back and forth through the hilly and often labyrinthine Roman  
streets, I thought about one of the most celebrated descriptions of  
globalisation in recent years, that it has made the world "flat". So argues  
best-selling New York Times columnist Thomas Friedman in his sequel to  The 
Lexus and 
the Olive Tree, The World is Flat. 
Friedman's basic argument is that new communications and software  
technologies, and the business strategies that have developed along with them,  
have 
flattened the world, meaning they've created more equal opportunities for  
people to compete economically regardless of where they live, and in a 
manner  that neither governments nor multinational corporations are able to 
direct. 
Veering off of Via Veneto into a side street  that featured an alluring 
church facade, Friedman's assessment felt, well, flat.  The reality, it seemed 
to me, was that world, and globalisation with it, are  more like the streets 
of Rome-bumpy, windy, sometimes confusing and dirty, and  undulating up and 
down with the city's topography. 
Indeed, the disastrous disruptions to global travel caused by the  
Eyjafjallajokull ash cloud demonstrated that in the global era the world 
remains  as 
three dimensional as ever. Events at 30,000 feet can profoundly impact 
those  at ground level. 
Of course, so do events miles below the earth's surface, as the recent 
mining  disasters in the United States and China demonstrate. After all, most 
miners are  either digging for the coal that still constitutes the largest 
share of rapidly  escalating global energy usage, or for the precious metals 
without which cell  phones and other advanced communications technologies 
could not function. 
The oceans are equally vital links in the globalised economy; their  
intensified use, whether through over fishing or for dumping the innumerable  
waste products of the globalised production and consumption, are in fact  
producing disastrous consequences for the world's marine life. 
Finally, my frequent mobile phone calls home to check if my wife had 
managed  to find me a new ticket reminded me that globalisation could not 
function 
 without the increasingly crowded orbital satellite system, the nervous 
system of  contemporary global communications. 
A fragile world system 
It would seem that the globalised world is in fact multi-planar, with each  
level having a direct, but usually underappreciated, influence on the 
others.  And with this complexity has come fragility. 
A few days without regular air travel and supermarket shelves start going  
empty, airlines are warning of impending bankruptcy, cargo and freight are  
backed up as far away as eastern Asia, and the whole "just in time" system 
of  globalised production, which depends on the precisely timed delivery of  
manufacturing components to build products with the least waste and expense, 
no  longer functions. 
Friedman argues that business-to-business software that allows computers to 
 coordinate production and transportation is at the heart of the newest 
phase of  globalisation. But the ash cloud reveals that for humans, it's the  
consumer-focused internet and communications technologies-many stranded  
travellers were simultaneously web-surfing, texting, phoning, and watching  
television in order to find the elusive bit of information that would help them 
 
get home-that is the true engine of globalisation, tying us together across 
time  and space. 
Normally, one of the pleasures of living in Europe is that one can fly from 
 Copenhagen to Istanbul, or Amsterdam to Rome, in a few hours. But take 
away  plane travel and we're back to the early 20th century; suddenly, it takes 
days  if not longer to go from one capital to another (high speed trains 
don't help if  you can't find a seat). 
With neither planes nor trains offering a way out of Italy, I was forced to 
 contemplate the unpleasant possibility of a multi-day bus ride from Rome 
to  northern Europe. It seems the globe has not "shrunk" in the era of 
globalisation  nearly as much as Friedman and other commentators argue, nor has 
time and space  been irreversably "compressed," as leading sociologists claim. 
Europe, it turns out, is still a very big continent. 
"Placelessness" 
Perhaps Ryan Bingham, George Clooney's character in last year's hit "Up in  
the Air," would enjoy being stuck in an airport for days on end. Being 
stranded  isn't so bad if you can spend the time in the business class lounge, 
with its  free food, alcohol, showers, wi-fi, and comfortable chairs and 
couches. 
For everyone else, stuck in coach, the airport can become a pretty  
uncomfortable place. 
International airports and train stations have  become famous for being 
"placeless", each one looking and feeling so much like  the others that it 
becomes very hard to tell whether you've just arrived in Doha  or Milan. Along 
with shopping malls, their design and décor typically have few  if any 
connections with the country or culture in which they are situated,  creating a 
feel of rootedlessness and lack of social meaning that define life  under 
globalisation. 
Many critics of globalisation lament its "placelessness" on these grounds.  
The volcanic ash saga reveals another characteristic of such placeless 
spaces:  how quickly they can become a twilight zone, with those stuck in them 
largely  isolated from the surrounding societies. 
Of course, almost everyone stuck in the airports or train stations were, by 
 definition, from somewhere else. In the wake of earthquakes or floods, 
people  will often take in their neighbours or even strangers from the same 
town or  country, as they share the large bonds of nation and culture. But the 
stranded  passengers here were "others", not part of the local or national 
"us". And so,  for the most part, those living in the surrounding communities 
had relatively  little incentive to come to their aid. 
Indeed, as I watched travellers - many with young children, or themselves  
elderly -remain day after day at airports and train stations it became clear 
 that another supposed characteristic of globalisation, that it has 
increasingly  "made the world one," remains far more a dream than reality. 
In a dozen trips to the station in three days I never saw any Romans 
offering  to take anyone in. And Rome was not the exception. To be sure, there 
were  scattered reports of good Samaritan behavior in the US and a Europe, but 
there  was no significant, organised movement by locals to house or 
otherwise help the  stranded. 
Coach potatoes and "couch surfers" 
Even if people were sympathetic to the plight of the travelers, most 
remained  content to participate in the saga passively, by watching the nearly 
continuous  reporting of its unfolding on television. Few took matters into 
their own hands  and reached out to those most in need.      
It's ironic then, that as I finally boarded a flight from Rome to Barcelona 
 on Monday-which was almost cancelled at the last minute by the ash cloud's 
rapid  southward descent towards towards both cities-the first article in 
the airline  magazine was about the rising phenomenon of "couch surfing," a 
movement in which  people open their homes, or rather their couches, to 
travellers wishing to  experience a supposedly more authentic taste of the 
cities 
they're visiting. 
As the movement's main organisation, "Couch Surfing International," 
explains,  "We envision a world where everyone can explore and create 
meaningful  
connections with the people and places they encounter. Building meaningful  
connections across cultures enables us to respond to diversity with 
curiosity,  appreciation and respect. The appreciation of diversity spreads 
tolerance 
and  creates a global community". 
This is a laudable goal to be sure, but despite the movement's almost two  
million "couch surfers" there was little evidence of the practice when it 
was  most needed in Rome, Milan, or Barcelona, apparently among the most 
active couch  surfing cities in Europe. 
Sharing destinies, at least for a few days 
But if stranded travellers were largely either ignored or, via television,  
gawked at like accident victims by those not sharing their fate, inside the 
 train stations and airport terminals the boundaries of nation, religion 
and  ethnic identity quickly faded away. 
National identities and cultural particularities suddenly don't matter very 
 much when you're desperately trying to get home. Abandoned by the outside 
world,  inside the terminals people struck up friendships, encouraged each 
other's  perseverance, shared food, computers and phones, and gave each other 
hints about  what airports where open or where to find lodging. 
Suddenly, airports and train station became real "places" filled with 
social  meaning and contact. And the ad hoc rainbow coalitions that formed 
within 
them  revealed the potential for solidarity when more exclusive national or 
religious  identities are laid aside, and narrow self-interest along with 
it. That is  perhaps the true potential of globalisation, and it was revealed 
precisely when  the larger system fell apart. 
Time to slow down? 
In the midst of all the bad news surrounding the volcanic ash saga, I read 
a  short article reporting that the massive grounding of planes prevented 
the  emission of upwards of six millions tons of carbon dioxide into the 
atmosphere,  an amount that dwarfed the amount of carbon released into the 
atmosphere by the  volcano's eruption by about a factor of twenty. 
Perhaps this is a sign from mother nature-that despite her immense power, 
it  is humans who ultimately have the upper hand when it comes to reshaping 
the  world on a planetary scale. In this regard, the explosion of plane 
travel has  been driven by the same factors as globalisation more broadly: the 
revolution in  inexpensive computerised technology, the abundant supply of 
relatively cheap  carbon-based fuel, and a seemingly unquenchable need for 
speed. 
Its disruption offered an opportunity to pause and consider the 
possibilities  of living at a slower pace, of buying locally grown seasonal 
produce 
rather than  relying on "fresh" fruit flown in from half a world a way, of 
putting more of  society's energies into supporting the once pleasurable 
experience of traveling  by energy-efficient trains rather than carbon-spewing 
planes, of becoming couch  surfers rather than road warriors. Of turning off 
the 
news and closing your  laptop and letting nature take its course. 
If I'd followed that advice, I would have wound up being able to catch my  
original flight home, on Thursday, with only minor modifications. In the  
meantime, I could have stayed in Rome or taken the train down to Napoli to 
visit  friends. With time to wait on line and practice my Italian with other  
art-lovers, I might have even gotten to see that Caravaggio exhibit everyone 
was  talking about. Sadly, it will be over the next time I get to Rome. 
Mark LeVine is professor of modern Middle Eastern history at UC  Irvine and 
author, most recently, of Heavy Metal Islam, and Impossible Peace:  
Israel/Palestine Since 1989. He is also a visiting research fellow at the 
Center  
for Middle Eastern Studies, University of Lund,  Sweden.
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