Observation: Farokh Soltani-Shirazi 15 June 11am to noon, 3pm to 3:30

Trafalgar Square: A National Archive.
Nelson's column, 11am
10 MA students from a range of disciplines.


Outdoor, busy space. Noisy. Today there was a fit-up and sound check going on for a concert series that starts tomorrow, so it was more confined than usual. Big, bustling and hot on a clear, sunshiny day. The place is one giant distraction.

F greets each student on his arrival--he arrives last, sweating but in good spirits. They all have looked forward to seeing him. This class only meets occasionally, and is one of a range of secondary modules the MAs can take, so the students who take this class specifically want to be here. This particular class, as well, is optional, and presented just for fun.

The group is engaged and listening, but not bursting at the seams to speak, which is different from similarly-enthusiastic BA students. If asked to respond, they will, but they're not pushy about it, nor do they seem like they have anything to prove.

"James Napier. Google it on your phones while we walk to the other plinth." Passive, casual integration of modern technology. Crazy.

The group circles itself up instinctively, creating a classroom of their walls against the bustle of the city.

Farokh knows his information in the depths of his head, though sometimes title and author recall can be a struggle. Not in a bad way, but he somehow doesn't present the encyclopaedic 'off the cuff' feel of Jess or Sylvan when it comes to recommending books, key concepts, authors, etc.

His enthusiasm is contagious and engaging. The students freely and excitedly give him their undivided attention, even as buses honk and tourists scream.

Many interruptions and loud noises--he acknowledges them, but his students are undeterred.

Well, I spoke too soon. The stage check got to the circus act. It's more than a little distracting for a guy to be leaping three storeys in the air doing somersaults and landing on a springy telephone pole.

Suddenly the tone changed and now it's a class, a lecture even. It felt like a themed tour until now, prompting thought and posing questions but not actually giving answers or feeling like school. But you can feel the energy from earlier, walking around, building itself into a narrative--we're getting to the point.

We've had to turn around--the stage was too distracting.

Identity-creating, national narrative-establishing archives such as this place.

What is history? A nation, by definition, is an imagined community. Wait, who said this? This is an axiom.

All archives are acts of fiction.
All archives attempt to define an origin.
All archives are an act of violence to those who disagree with them.

--Are we referring to something the students have already discussed at length?

"I stole this photograph of my father from my father." Consider your personal archives. What is a thing of yours that reminds you of you?

And again, "Does that make sense?" as punctuation for the session. Please confirm that you understand not only the words themselves, but the meaning I'm trying to convey. Please confirm. No one ever confirms.

"Archive Fever" -- the archive as an act of nostalgia, homesickness even, a desire to return to a place where everything is known. No remembered history is complete or true, but we want it to be so.

Back in the building, in the controlled environment of PK2. The space is sealed, quiet. Everyone looked up, startled, when I came into the room. They're talking in a normal speaking tone, taking turns. One at a time. Strong attention and enthusiasm.

The relevance of the monument as archive seems lost somehow. The students went off into the museum after the lecture to find an archive that spoke to them, but that exercise changed their gear rather abruptly. The third part of the class doesn't feel like it refers to either of the first two.

When FSS speaks again to read and round off the class (and the course) he does so briskly and without ceremony, but the students cling to every word. They're eager to graduate but they'll miss him.