a global summer
world wide fun
Last month, I saw Rosalía in concert. Her 2025 album, LUX, draws from classical music, 13 languages, and heavenly references, producing sounds and images that seek to draw us into a global and divinely human experience. The aesthetics of the show, the dancing, and Rosalía’s outfits explore the precious— a ballerina in a jewelry box, a piece of art hung in a museum, ballet en pointe— and pulls it out of its boxes, from behind frames, making it accessible.
Her song “Reliquia” is about her experiences around the world, where she loses (maybe leaves?) a small part of herself in each city she visits, continuously shaped by each location and her experiences there.
Something delicious about this summer has been a series of joyful, globally unifying experiences: the World Cup, the Knicks, even Love Island. In a post-COVID world, a world where octogenarian leaders and billionaires disconnected from all humanity, make war, it has been beautiful to see and participate in global cultural phenomenons.
So much of our politics advocates for an individualism that ensures that oneself and one’s immediate circle is well off. Politicians ward off the collective as if belonging to a herd means eventually being subsumed and suppressed by it. But as we have seen this summer, what sociologists call collective effervescence— or “the affective arousal of an assembled crowd” is an achievable feeling when all can participate in a shared joy or journey (Liebst 2019).
In May, I solo traveled to Mexico City. You never belong to the world as much as when you’re in a new place by yourself relying on the kindness of strangers. Whether it was people being patient with my broken Spanish, giving me advice or just welcoming me to their city, any vulnerability I felt as a foreigner was supplanted by the grace of the locals.
After that experience, I’m after this feeling of being a part of something, being a sort of citizen of the world— in some consumptive ways, sure, but also in a geopolitical way. As occasional international travel becomes more attainable for me, it has me thinking about where I go and how I move there with reverence for other cultures— as well as a recognition that cultural connection has important political implications and opportunities at home. For example, in New York City we’ve seen how Mayor Mamdani has capitalized on the World Cup, Knicks win, and just summertime to provide collective public goods— parks open late, late night childcare, and summer programming, to name a few.
Collective effervescence isn’t just about harnessing the opportunity for public goods, however— it’s also fucking silly: I watched the Mexico- England game at an east LA house party on July 5th and every time Mexico scored, the neighborhood shot off fireworks. It was absolutely delightful.
I am in awe of media with a global reach and scale— something that can spark global discussion and introspection. Our want of connection is what used to be so promising about social media, and it’s how a decade of social movements gained momentum and visibility to a global audience. In some ways, this organic connection still happens when a collective deems something appointment watching. Love Island, even House of the Dragon has become a communal experience that adds conversation and DISCOURSE (!!) to the viewing experience. The Odyssey is a global phenomenon right now— a grand scale feature film of the epic poem, with too many movie stars to count. But what I appreciated about it is its fundamental humanity, that a man who had taken advantage of the trust between people was too ashamed to show his face in society afterward. It poses both a lesson for the powerful and a question for all of us: what do we owe our neighbors?
This global summer reminds me of what Toni Cade Bambara says is the job of the artist: to make revolution irresistible. Mutually shared joy is humanizing, and any social transformation for the good is (ideally) a happy one. There are lurking ethical conundrums beneath global cultural phenomenons: who has the power and the means to reach the public? Who has the means to join in the celebration? Can an artist, or writer, or academic have this kind of reach without, frankly, selling out somehow? Because lets face it, no one wants their movement, or their writing, or their films to be niche forever. One hopes for impact, a unifying and joyful experience across locales, across borders. Maybe, though, this impact, this joy, starts on a smaller scale— a classroom, a community, a city, even oneself.
Summer Reading List
Fiction
The Houseguest
I picked up this book in Mexico City as a little treat. I love short story collections. This one is all about the unseen apparition, the thing that haunts us that we cannot exactly name or describe. The writing raises the stakes but rarely gives the satisfaction of full discovery.
Kin
Been taking the long way with this one, slowly moving through two best friends’ journeys through the South and young womanhood. It’s familiar, it’s Black, it’s Southern. It’s brave.
Reconstruction Corner!
I’ve decided that I (and really everyone) have to know more about the Reconstruction Era. What were those “eight years in power” like when the formerly enslaved catapulted themselves into government? These readings are giving me a picture. The Clyburn and Dray books are focused on the first Black representatives in South Carolina and Congress, respectively. It’s incredible to read about the risks these men endured to be the first Black political representatives in American history. And of course, Black Reconstruction in America is DuBois’ magnum opus, an incisive telling of the second American revolution and a palpable recounting of the political context at the time. Mind blowing.
Leave a comment me know your global/ human experiences + reading lists for the summer.
Engage Joy Daily