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Zygmunt Bauman - individualized society
What most critics fail to discuss as well is that this world, like any other human world, has been human-made; far from being a product of inscrutable and invincible laws of nature or sinful yet irredeemable human nature, it is, to no small extent, a product of what can only be called the political economy of uncertainty.
The major vehicle of this particular political economy of our times is the escape of power from politics; a flight connived with by traditional institutions of political control, above all by the governments of states, and more often than not actively aided and abetted by them through the policies of deregulation and privatization. The overall result of this process is, as Manuel Castells puts it, a world in which power flows, while politics stays tied to the place; power is increasingly global and exterritorial, while all established political institutions stay territorial and find it difficult, nay impossible, to rise above the local level. After two centuries of the modern effort to tame and domesticate blind and erratic forces of nature and replace them with rationally designed, predictable and manageable human order – it is now the outcomes of human activities that confront the actors as eccentric and capricious, wayward and impenetrable, but above all unbridled and uncontrollable ‘natural’ forces. Societies once struggling to make their world transparent, danger-proof and free of surprises now find their capacity to act hanging on the shifting and unpredictable moods of mysterious forces such as world finances and stock exchanges, or watch helplessly, without being able to do much about it, the continuous shrinking of labour markets, rising poverty, the unstoppable erosion of arable land, the disappearance of forests, growing volumes of carbon dioxide in the air and the overheating of the human planet. Things – and the most important things above all – are ‘getting out of control’. As the human ability to cope with problems at hand grows, so do the risks and new dangers which every new move brings, or may bring, in its wake.
The overwhelming feeling of ‘losing a hold on the present’ is the result, which in its turn leads to a wilting of political will; to disbelief that anything sensible can be done collectively, or that solidary action can make any radical change in the state of human affairs. That condition is seen increasingly as a ‘must’ – a supreme necessity which can be interfered with by humans only at their own peril. We hear again and again that the sole medicine for the morbid side-effects of deregulated competitiveness is more deregulation, flexibility and a yet more resolute refusal to meddle. And in case one remains unconvinced, the clinching argument against resistance is the all-too-tangible absence of an agency powerful enough to carry out whatever decisions may be taken by joint deliberation and agreement. Even those who think they know what is to be done throw the towel into the ring when it comes to deciding who – what kind of an effective institution – is going to do it.
This is why, as Cornelius Castoriadis observed, our civilization ‘stopped questioning itself’. This, Castoriadis adds, is our main trouble. When people accept their impotence to control the conditions of their life, if they surrender to what they take to be necessary and unavoidable – society ceases to be autonomous, that is, self-defining and self-managing; or, rather, people do not believe it to be autonomous, and thus lose the courage and the will to self-define and self-manage. Society then becomes heteronomous in consequence – other-directed, pushed rather than guided, plankton-like, drifting rather than navigating. Those on board the ship placidly accept their lot and abandon all hope of determining the itinerary of the vessel. At the end of the modern adventure with a self-governing, autonomous human world, we enter the ‘epoch of universalized conformity’
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Picture this: you’re walking down a quiet street in a small town far from any coastline, and suddenly the scent of sizzling spices, the sound of a familiar song, or a brightly colored flag fluttering in the breeze transports you halfway across the world. It’s a little reminder that no matter how far people travel, home isn’t just a place—it’s something they carry with them.
For those whose lives have been upended by war, natural disasters, or economic hardship, finding home again can be an adventure filled with resilience, laughter, and, let’s be honest, a lot of good food. Take, for instance, the families who rebuilt their lives after the 2004 Indian Ocean tsunami. They settled in communities thousands of miles from their coastal villages, bringing with them an unshakable spirit—and recipes that can make anyone feel like they belong.
In a small town in Sweden, a group of Sri Lankan families, displaced after the tsunami, have turned their sorrow into spice. They opened “Ceylon Delights,” a restaurant where the walls are adorned with the bright lion of the Sri Lankan flag, and the air is filled with the smell of coconut and curry leaves. Locals come in for their morning roti and end up staying for the warm conversations and stories. “We lost our home,” says Priya, one of the owners, “but here, we’ve found family in unexpected places.”
And then there’s the case of New Orleans natives who fled after Hurricane Katrina. Scattered across cities like Houston and Atlanta, they brought their music, their gumbo, and their famously warm hospitality. Walk into any one of their restaurants, and you’ll find neighbors tapping their feet to live jazz, while long-time residents swap hurricane stories with newcomers over a bowl of crawfish étouffée. “Houston welcomed us,” says Charles, a former Ninth Ward resident, “but we brought the party.”
Communities like these thrive not just because of their shared experiences, but because they’ve found ways to blend the old with the new. In Germany, Syrian refugees who left their homes due to war have started thriving businesses—from bustling kebab shops to cozy bakeries serving baklava and coffee strong enough to remind them of Damascus. And they’ve found friends in their new neighbors, too. “At first, I worried people wouldn’t understand us,” says Omar, who runs a popular café in Berlin. “But now, my German neighbors know how to say ‘shukran’ (thank you), and I can ask for bratwurst in perfect German.”
Similarly, Palestinian communities have flourished across the world in countries like Germany, Sweden, Canada, Australia, Chile, the United States, and other parts of Europe. Whether they are setting up thriving businesses in Berlin’s bustling Neukölln district, creating community hubs in Canadian cities like Toronto and Montreal, or opening family-run restaurants serving fragrant maqluba and knafeh in Sydney, Palestinians have brought their enduring spirit and rich culture to every corner of the globe. In Santiago, Chile—home to one of the largest Palestinian communities outside the Middle East—families gather in social clubs where they celebrate weddings, play soccer, and keep traditions alive through dance and storytelling. “We may be thousands of miles away,” says Yasmeen, a second-generation Chilean-Palestinian, “but every bite of my grandmother’s hummus reminds me where we come from.”
Faith, culture, and a bit of good humor often help people settle in and make a new country feel like home. In Canada, a group of Afghan families displaced over the past two decades gather every Friday for prayers and, of course, a massive pot of mantu dumplings. Their mosque has become a hub of laughter, shared wisdom, and the occasional friendly debate about whether Canadian hockey will ever truly replace cricket in their hearts (spoiler: it won’t).
And let’s not forget the surprising friendships that blossom when cultures meet. In a small town in Italy, a group of Bangladeshi families have not only opened successful textile shops but have also introduced their new neighbors to the wonders of samosas and chai. “They taught us to love spicy food,” jokes Marco, a local. “And we taught them how to make a proper espresso.”
Resettling after a disaster is never easy, but as these communities show, it’s not just about surviving—it’s about thriving. Whether it’s through food, music, faith, or a shared love for soccer (because let’s be honest, soccer transcends borders), these resilient individuals create little pockets of home wherever they go.
So the next time you stumble upon a family-run Ethiopian café in a quiet Midwest town, or hear the joyful strains of Caribbean music in an unexpected place, take a moment to step inside. Order something unfamiliar, ask a few questions, and you might just find yourself with new friends—and maybe even a new favorite dish.
Because home, after all, is where the heart—and the best recipes—are.
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