It took me 93 hours to fly from East Asia to Northeast America, with stops I planned and didn’t plan to make. Most of those sleepless hours that filled my journey from home to home were spent either on a plane or at an airport: Beijing, Hong Kong, Los Angeles, Philadelphia, and finally, Burlington in Vermont. Of the 36 hours in LA, only a handful were shared with friends and family. The rest were lost in the Byzantine LAX-it — the notorious ground transportation transit around LAX airport made worse by the new constructions that look ominously toward the 2028 Summer Olympics — and the infamously jammed I-10 that exerted a big toll on my Uber rides. The second leg from LA to Vermont was stretched by 300% thanks to Hurricane Debby and the poor management of the airlines. The canceled flights sent all exhausted passengers to shock, angst, frenzy searching for a hotel room connected with the airport through wet and dark motorways, and nervous waiting for the next possible flight, while our checked bags, the only thing bearing a material recognition of our identities besides the coldly thin and textual ID and credit cards, were withheld in an unreachable corner with much needed medicines and clothes for the unrequested overnight stay.
These spaces and hours account for the quintessential experience of what the French anthropologist Marc Augé calls “non-places” that constitute “supermodernity.” Antithetical to “anthropological places” that “create the organically social” and localized network through relational and historical construction of inter-positional dynamics, non-places annihilate all of these and instead execute a mandate of “solitary contractuality.” The alienating and temporarily liberating sensation produced by non-places derives from anonymity to which the passenger, supermarket customer, hotel occupant, slot machine player, or mall wanderer accedes. It is bookended by momentary experience of ID checks, at the security, customs, touchless pay machine, frontdesk, ticket stand, or toll booth. In and through these wordless, symbol-based, and abstract communication, circulation, and consumption, the “world thus surrender[s] to solitary individuality, to the fleeting, the temporary and ephemeral” and it in turn gives “the transitory occupant the illusion of being part of some grand global scheme: a fugitive glimpse of a utopian city-world” (The Guardian review).
Excess of information, image, and space. No exit. Supermodernity turns everything, every body, into a spectacle on a big screen that encapsulates all of us. Augé reminds us that “the screens of the planet daily carry a mixture of images (news, advertising and fiction) of which neither the presentation nor the purpose is identical, at least in principle, but which assemble before our eyes a universe that is relatively homogeneous in its diversity.”
Modernity features the juxtaposition of distant and distinct places, or elements of them, still differentiating the metropolis/the near from the frontier/the elsewhere, and allowing the present and the past — the chimney and the church spike, in an anthropologist’s eye — to coexist as lived reality. But supermodernity enforces an acceleration of history: “We barely have time to reach maturity before our past has become history, our individual histories belong to history writ large.” What has become of history in the “overabundance of events, spatial overabundance and the individualization of references” of supermodernity? Empirically, history is “seen,” not lived, in the liminal space of an abstract reference that instigates in the prospective spectator a brief entertaining imagination. It exists on the billboards that stand tall on the side of intercity artery roads that reorganize and decentralize a town or city’s traffic, in street names and the travel catalog of magazines, to evoke not an embodied connection but a leisurely fantasy, nostalgia, and melancholy. It is flattened, though with careful designs, into a “business card” the city-world sends out to passersby as they move through the frontier of its territory, not yet even thinking about a visit.
The heterogeneity of history is as much about space as about time. The contemporary age finds itself in the parallel between the disappearance of “route describers” of premodern maps into “an ‘inventory’ of geographical knowledge” and the homogenization of temporalities into a “perpetual present” of window shopping. “History and exoticism play the same role in it as the ‘quotations’ in a written text.” This haunting paradigmatic shift from history to ahistory, modernity to supermodernity, entails a methodological change in anthropology. Not only is the “ideal” isolated area of study replaced by a hyper-connected, interdependent world in fragments, but the contemporary human-space relationship inscribed on non-places, always already mediated through a screen, has sent to crisis the socio-spatial foundation upon which to gauge the positional representativeness of the “average man.” It is the doing of anonymity, and the solitude that comes with it.
Turning toward the individual/self, Augé finds intriguing paradoxes compared to the traditional anthropological person, the average man born, or “assigned to” live, in a constrained place. He puts it very straightforwardly, “There will be no individualization
(no right to anonymity) without identity checks.” As consumers of “screen food” (my phrase) whether at home, on the road, or in a mall, we are addressed by the environ of supermodernity both individually — its instructions, directions, and admonitions directed unambiguously towards each of us — but to non-places and the power and authority of them, there is no ontological differentiation between us. We are average not because of our relative position within a given society, in relation to, say, the elite; but our average status is “defined as the user of the road, retail or banking system.” We are not equal, but the same, not in spite of, but because of the difference supermodernity permits us to possess is no more and no less than the excess of information. Homo economicus. Or, “do as others do to be yourself.”
There is negativity, even pessimism, in the definition of non-places and supermodernity. Does that mean the end of anthropology, of aesthetics, and of creativity? Not anthropology, because the ethnologists are compelled to find new ways to observe, document, and represent the milieu of working and being where the exterior and interior, the global and local, the lived and virtual, the frontier and the near are folded into and constitute each other. They need to understand the large-scale architectural space of non-places not as is, but perceive it as occupying a time between no longer and not yet (or not ever), a present whose spatial grandeur is the retrospect of future ruins. Just look at the abandoned malls, finished or semi-finished, slowly rotting on the side of motorways. Even whole cities planned to divert traffic and investment from the overly burdened capitals become ghost towns. Or high-tech industries, from IT to game, that overhire highly educated youths, only to lay them off before many have had a chance to establish a life and rid their debts. Their office spaces within an architecture and in relation to their city may have rehearsed part of this scenario before the employees noticed. Here, the anthropologist’s job is to see and listen to that rehearsal, not to forebode a catastrophe of a particular industry, but to illustrate the network of supermodernity so that those with proper tools and powers can set up policies to cushion the economic assault.
There is some perverse beauty about non-places. From films to video games to music and sculpture, art makers and writers capture the unspoken sense of solitude brought to us by the common fate of supermodernity, reinventing nostalgia and rewriting life upon existing or foreseen ruins. To create has ceased to be making something new, but “resisting the apparent obviousness of current events,” playing with time in spaces of no exit, and handling the hauntological agency of liminality.