Less than three months to go! Argh!

(Top: Reverse of a 1939 Belgian Bank Note that shows a lace maker and the Cloth Hall and Town Hall of the town of Ypres that was destroyed in World War I. An interesting example of historical memory, in this case, dealing with World War I.)

(Middle: Front of a 1939 Belgian Bank Note that shows the profiles of King Albert I and his wife, Queen Elizabeth. Albert was known as the "Soldier King" and Elizabeth as the "Nurse Queen" during the war for their actions on the front lines during the war.)

(Bottom: The view from my seat at Café Maison du Peuple. This is Parvis St. Gilles. The church there was built in the 1860s. The café is in the old "People's House" that held meetings of the Belgian Worker's Party during the 19th and early 20th centuries.)

Well, I've been away from the blog for a bit for two reasons: I got sick and I got my butt in gear with work. First, being sick sucks and anyone who knows me knows I'm not a good patient. I was ill when I left the US and kept it in check while traveling with my friend, Paul. It came back toward the of his stay, though. I took a couple of days to fight it off, but then I made the mistake of getting a quick bite to eat at one of the dozens of Greek places near Grand Place and, well, food poisoning! Needless to say, having the bathroom three flights of stairs away doesn't exactly help matters....so I got caught up on TV shows. Then I got depressed.

Yes depressed because, I was sick and alone. Not fun. Depressed because I wasn't working and *only* had three months left so, of course, the solution is not get back to work, but mope and mope I did until about 1 February when, all of a sudden, I just felt better. Seriously.

I had a great and encouraging e-mail from an old professor friend; a great conversation with a friend from back home about what my project really is "all about;" and, of course, the patient encouragement of my girlfriend. All of that combined with just looking at my project differently meant that I came up with, well, a much stronger and engaging and focused thesis question about humanitarianism using my Belgian relief organization as a "case study." I also was able to lay out my chapters better and all of a sudden, poof! Not as hard, or crazy, or daunting as I thought it was and it was back to the archive, but this time to the library.

Honestly, sometimes the task of looking through unsorted documents in nameless, numbered files is tough. Libraries are a little more organized. So, I decided to go to the archive's library and search through their databases and lo-and-behold I found good stuff. Reports, diaries, old books from the 1910s and 1920s on topics I needed to investigate. I sat and read and took pictures.

I was back on track and still feel great about the project and am putting in full days. I'm even writing a bit now, aside from the usual grant application. It feels good to be back at it. I even changed my commute. Now I walk down a side street, through a park, to the back of the Petite Sablon and by the practice rooms of the Royal Conservatory. In the mornings its usually so quiet and the musicians are coming in. But when I leave for lunch, and return from my daily Skype call with Carly, and then when I go home at the end of the day I can hear the students practicing and it is, well, just wonderful. (It also helps that there is a Waffle Truck posted on this route that I now frequent on my way home.)

I'm also trying to spend less time just sitting at home, in my apartment. I try to get out after work a few times and read or work at Café Maison du Peuple, a short walk from my place. They have good beer, cheap food, wi-fi, and a nice active atmosphere. (See picture above.)

Yes, I still have less than three months, but I feel I can make the most of it work wise and still have some fun. Tonight it's off to an all night animated film festival with a friend. Then, on Tuesday, for Mardi Gras it's of to the town of Binche in Walloonia for what is supposed to be the most traditional and interesting Carnaval in Belgium. I've been warned to watch out for flying oranges.

So, yeah, just feeling better all around and figured I'd share. More on the films and Carnaval later in the week. And I'm also going to try to collection artifacts and such of my trip. I want to be that professor who has those cool old things on the walls of his office and say, "yeah, I got that thing when I was in such and such a place....) (See pictures of Belgian Bank Notes above.)

Corn Maïs

Okay, so the title of this post is a bad, bad pun. “Maïs” in French means “corn” or, as the Brits would say, “maize,” and is pronounced roughly the same way. So, why the pun?

Well, first off I’m missing fall back in the States and corn-mazes are a big-time fun fall thing to do, though I haven’t done one since me and a certain expert hiker friend of mine and I got lost in a small one while looking for pumpkins for the first annual UConn History House Halloween Party. He knows who he is….

The fall has always been my favorite time of year and one of the few things I really liked about living in CT (and my forty or so minute commute to campus) was the beautiful change of the leaves. It’s just not the same here. I’m waiting, though, for the Christmas season to kick in, that I know will be a lot of fun and just plain beautiful.

The second reason is that in my research I keep coming across mentions of corn and maïs in the documents I’m reading. Most of the time it’s all about how much is imported and distributed. The interesting thing, though, is that corn was not a staple human food in Europe at the time of World War I. At least not in Belgium. Corn was what was fed to animals. People didn’t eat it. The harvests at the time, however, were pretty bad and wheat – to make bread – was not plentiful and the US had – as it usually does – an excess of corn and Americans, especially those in the South, have had a long history of eating corn. So, where does that leave the Belgians?

Well, a big question I’m wrestling with is what happens when humanitarians and locals interact and this corn issue is important. I’ve now discovered some evidence to help with this: Belgian humanitarian leaders saying that American CRB delegates will help “instruct” the Belgian people in the use of corn and corn flower. I’ve also uncovered some recipes that were transmitted to the Belgian Comité National.

Of course, you don’t discover this stuff until you’ve read or skimmed over many, many, many pages of French (or English) talking about things that you just don’t find important, but when things like this pop up it makes for a good day in the archive and justification for missing my friends, my family, my girlfriend, and fall back in New England.

Afraid to get my hair cut....

As my friend PS (yes, ladies, he’s single, smart, and sexy; a real catch) said to me in an e-mail a while back, you soon get a little “non-plussed” with living in Europe. It simply becomes home. Beyond that, though, you start to remember that you need to find new places to do your usual routine. For instance, getting your haircut. Simply, put, I’m a little afraid of going to a place to have it cut. As far as I can tell there aren’t many corner semi-racists, misogynistic barbers near where I live. Most are salons and that’s fine, but I realized how could I convey what I wanted without looking like a total fool to a guy or gal with scissors. So, I’ve made a semi-executive decision to let it grown long and see what happens. (Of course, long for me is still short for most everyone else.) If and when I get the courage I’ll try to go for a really cool euro-style haircut…or not.

Anyway, it’s been a while since I updated, but I’ll make this short. Not much new or interesting has happened. I’ve been biding my time and saving money for when Carly comes to visit on Saturday. We’ll tour Brussels and go to Paris for a day. We may hit Antwerp and/or Bruges. Maybe Ypres. I can’t wait to have Carly here. I keep busy with work and such, am doing fun reading, and my internet has been behaving so I can still kill countless hours there and I did get my care package of DVDs so I can turn the brain off now and again, but it still gets a little lonely so it’ll be nice to have Carly’s company!

I’ve finished with one collection in the archive and have moved on to the big one I’m here to look at: the papers of the Comité National. It’s a newly processed collection and not yet in the online call database so my first attempt to order some documents was a little complicated, but I think it’s been figured out. I’ll see what happens this afternoon.

I did have a great moment on Saturday when I figured out what I can do with some of the stuff I’ve found. See, I came across this great 18 page copy of the minutes from a July 1915 meeting of the American relief delegates. It was full of good stuff, good quotes, and the like, but I didn’t know what larger purpose it had. So I did some – dare I say – research and found that this meeting took place after my man Hoover laid the smack down on the Belgians about his Commission’s role. This delegate’s meeting was to discuss the results of the Hoover Francqui (the Belgian chairman of the Comité National) and demonstrates some interesting things about how the CRB worked, the role of the delegates, their ideas of the Belgians, the CN and the like. It was a good moment and place to start doing some writing.

So, progress is being made, albeit slowly, but that’s the nature of the game. That said, next week – when Carly is here – will be a welcome diversion from my usual day-to-day living and existential crises over haircuts.

A king lives here.

This time last year I was rushing to get my fellowship application for Belgium written, polished, and sent off. I was freaked out, confident I wouldn’t get it, fearful I would get it and have to go, nostalgic for long days on the couch watching The Wire. Well, I’ve been here in the Kingdom of Belgium for a month and a half already and it’s feeling like a home. I know how to get around without asking for directions or asking others. (In fact I’ve given directions a few times: in English, bad French, and once through lots of pointing). I know where things are. I have “my” places where I get a beer, a coffee, fresh bread, etc.

A friend recently asked if I had become “non-plussed” with living in Europe yet. The honest answer is, yes. After a while you become part of where you live and the humdrum of life takes over from the excitement of being some place new. That said, there are still things that make me stop and remember that I’m not where I’m from; that I’m in a different country. Something that I come back to is the fact that Belgium is a kingdom.

Now, “they” say that Americans are fascinated with royalty since, well, we don’t have one. (The Kennedys aside.) But it’s true, I’m fascinated by the fact that the head of state here is a king, a man who took office only because he was related to the previous occupant.

Now, the Belgian king isn’t like, say, the British monarch with all that pomp and ceremony and history. He has no crown or other outward symbols of royalty, but he does have a huge palace that, when I walk by it, reminds me that the king works there. (He lives in the suburbs.) He is, though, a seemingly unifying force in a country deeply divided by language.

In fact, walking around the government quarter you see the complex nature of the Belgian government. The national government has its seat in the Palace of the Nation across Parc Bruxelles that separates it from the Royal Palace. Then, next to it is the Parliament of the French Speaking Community that governs the cultural aspects of the Francophone part of Belgium. A little ways away is the Flemish Parliament that combines the government of the Flemish Community (the cultural aspect) and the Flemish Region (the economic aspect). The Region of Walloonia has a parliament separate from the community. When you talk about a federal system, Belgium puts the United States to shame!

Now, I probably could have written the dissertation I’m writing without being here or even if I came for just a little while to lock myself in the archive, but it’s walking around and, when I can, talking to people that really helps me understand the nature of this young and divided country. For instance, I learned that Ypres – the living memorial to World War I – is center of Flemish nationalism. I had no idea and I probably could have read it in a book, but it was more interesting hearing it from a Francophone Belgian.

I can also get out and see where the things I’m studying happened. For instance, the former headquarters of the CRB are located on Rue des Colonies (a road named in honor of the Congo). It’s now the offices of a Russian airline. The old headquarters of the Belgian National Committee are just around the corner, now long gone and, in its place, is an ugly modern building that houses Fortis Bank. And the German administration was located down the road from both in the heart of the Royal Quarter in what is now the Constitutional Court of the Belgium.

It’s an interesting feeling to walk around from each address to the next thinking that, well, nearly 100 years ago the people I’m studying were walking the same streets. (They probably weren’t eating a piping hot waffle while doing it, but hey I do have to separate myself some how from my subjects.)

Anyway, the point here is, though I was freaking out a year ago, the choice to apply and the support from family, friends, and my committee has helped put me here and has given me a unique perspective with which to write my dissertation…and, oh year, an excuse to live abroad. Here’s hoping I earn it.

The Diary of Constance Graeffe or "Wow, I didn't see that coming."

Well, not every post can be about my fun and games or the day-to-day routine of living here, some should be about work. So, here is a little more on Constance Graeffe.

I began and finished reading her diary last week and, I must say, it was not like anything I expected and I'm all the happier because of that. Constance was of English and French descent and she married a German-Belgian, Otto. They would eventually immigrate to the United States and they died in Michigan in the early 1950s.

The historian who edited this diary – and did a fantastic job and wrote a great introduction – points out the transnational nature of The Graeffe family. (Constance would begin to write her name the German way, Gräffe, as the war went on in a way to distance herself from the Anglophillia of member of her family, especially Carrie.) This is an interesting fact considering that there really is no indigenous Belgian nationality. The king comes from a line of German princes and, well, I’ve written about the language and cultural divide of the Flemish (Dutch) and the Walloons (French) in the country. So, the question remains, “what is a Belgian?” and who were “Belgian” in World War I and, as I always like to tell my students, “what did that mean?”

The diary is a fascinating insight into what it was like to live in Brussels during the war. Constance and her family lived in Saint-Gilles, which is the same town that I live in. They spoke French and German fluently (indeed, most of the letters that Constance puts into her diary are in French). They also spoke Flemish – mainly to the servants – and English as well. Constance and her family were well off, Otto owned a sugar refinery and, let me tell you, the Belgians like their sugar.

The diary itself is written in an interesting way. It goes from August 1914 to December 1915. No one really knows why she ended it there, but she did. The entries are not typical diary entries, but letters, unsent, to a Scottish friend living in Australia. For someone who tried to be understanding of and, later, defensive of German motives and actions in Belgium and the war itself, it’s interesting that she wrote to a British subject. Again, these letters weren’t sent, but as the introduction to the diary points out and the dairy itself makes clear, Constance (or Connie) was trying very hard to justify her thoughts about the war and her family. (This interpretation isn’t mine, but the interpretation of the historian Sophie de Schaepdrijver in her introduction to the war dairy. Just trying to give credit where credit is due.)

The diary contains the usual musings on the lack of food – though Constance and her family had no worries getting food and often went to their house in the country side to get vegetables and such to supplement their rations. Also interesting is the division within her family. Carrie, the sister, allied herself and her family with the allies and was partial to the United States. Carrie housed a number of Commission for Relief in Belgium (CRB) delegates and send news of the CRB to Constance. Constance often dismissed these as propaganda or undue outside influence and doesn’t seem to have too high a regard for the Americans in her country. At one point she transcribes a report from a newspaper by an American CRB delegate – Robinson Smith – who describes the character of some of the Belgian women as very maiden-like with a certain earnestness to help their American humanitarians. Constance makes a comment, alluding to possible romantic interests by Mr. Smith, that she has never seen such Belgian maidens that Smith speaks off and goes on to describe Belgian girls as more selfish and concerned with hats and accessories than with the simplicity of country life.

It was also interesting to read about the timeless ungratefulness of children in the diary. Constance’s and Otto’s eldest son, Robert, was, well, a brat. He was 16 ½ at the outbreak of the war and tried to enlist in the Belgian Army like his cousins, but was turned away, so he continued his education first in Switzerland and then in Germany. He hated his boarding school education, in part because he was always lacking money. At one point he complains to his mother and father that he doesn’t understand why they send him to this expensive school when they can’t afford to give him money for good suits and other odds and ends. He even asks his parents if they are as rich as they say they are! The back and forth is amazingly honest about the role of parents and the role of children and the nature of the war in shaping that relationship. Indeed, the rest of the children are at home skimping, while Robert is away at school and able to take vacations.

Robert makes constant threats to sign up for the Belgian army via Switzerland. He agrees with a number of his cousins (many of whom sign an open letter to the family) that the Gräefs and their kin should be fighting for Belgium, no matter their national ties. There is a clear generational split. This threat infuriates his father who sends him a letter saying, in short, that if Robert were to sign up for the Belgian or allied army, ties would be severed and, indeed, Robert would be breaking the law because Otto gave his word to the German government (not sure how) that Robert would not take up arms against the German Empire.

Robert would eventually serve in the German army and, indeed, Otto and the family would take German citizenship partially, it seems, because of their affinity for Germany and for Otto’s business interests. (This later war and post-war information is known not through the diary, but through the research of Sophie de Schaepdrijver in her introduction to “We Who Are So Cosmopolitan”: The War Diary of Constance Graeffe, 1914-1915.)

The diary builds to a very defensive end and it’s interesting to see how Constance is first appalled – as his her husband – by the violation of Belgian neutrality, then to try to see both sides of the war and attack the excesses in rhetoric by both the English and the Germans, then to point out the hypocrisy of the English, and then to really feel as though there was a conspiracy by the English and allies to involve Belgium in the war and force the Germany’s hand. The complexity of her thinking is helpful for me because my whole approach to this project is to uncover the frictions of the relief effort and discuss how it was successful in spite of them. I’m not out to do a hatchet job or anything close to that, but to interrogate the received notion of this particular relief movement and to better understand what kind of impact humanitarian work makes on the people and the people on the relief work. This diary presents a narrative of opposition to the traditional narrative of “Germans bad” in a complex way. It’s certainly not “Germans good” but Constance wants to better understand what motivated and drove the Germans to do what they did in August 1914 and how best she, as a Belgian, can live with in the system. She also seeks to understand the inherent contradictions of war. At one point Constance asks why is it okay for the English to bomb seaside Belgian cities, but it’s not okay for the Germans to bomb Belgian towns….One man’s freedom fighter is an other man's terrorist….

These questions aren’t just abstract, they get personal at times. Constance’s sister Carrie accuses Constance of taking the German side because it suits Constance’s family’s interests to be on the German’s good side. Constance takes offense at this. This idea of collusion or participation in the occupation regime is an important one and has been studied a great deal in France, in particular. I wonder if the same question can be asked for those who participated in the “humanitarian regime” of the Belgian relief organizations….I think I see where my research may be heading as I delve deeper into the organization itself. This diary, though, has prompted a lot of good questions from an unexpected source.