South Pole Station

Tucker picked up Darth Vader. “Do you think he was a good manager?”

“He commanded authority naturally,” Dwight replied. “He asked penetrating questions and listened to stakeholders.” When Tucker raised an eyebrow at this, Dwight conceded that perhaps Darth Vader wasn’t all that good at listening to stakeholders.

Instead of heading out of Comms and back to the admin pod, where he had hundreds of e-mails waiting for responses, Tucker decided to head upstairs, to the library. He found it deserted. He flipped on the fluorescents and walked over to the bookshelves. The maintenance specialist’s alphabetization efforts had mostly held, although he did see David Baldacci living with Stephen King.

Tucker let his fingers dance over the wrinkled paperbacks one by one until they reached a glossy, unbroken spine. He knew which book it was by touch alone. Slowly, he pulled it from between Baldwin and Bradbury. It was clear that it still hadn’t been read. As he always did, Tucker turned the book over to look at the author photo, a broody Ettlinger. It seemed like a daguerreotype—limpid, light eyes; snug-fitting white undershirt; a subtly flexed bicep; airbrushed skin the color of weak coffee. The man in the photo was unknown to Tucker now.





* * *



DEFENDED NEIGHBORHOODS AND DEGRADATION CEREMONIES IN REMOTE POLAR COMMUNITIES



* * *





Denise Notebloom

Department of Sociology, Columbia University

New York, NY 10025





ABSTRACT


Utilizing eight months of direct observation of the sociocultural issues inherent in prolonged isolation and confinement in a remote location, this paper examines the process of psychosocial adaption to an outsider whose presence enhances the in-group’s mechanical solidarity. In a social environment in which “monopolistic access to particular kinds of knowledge” (Merton, 1972) is a hallmark feature and Gesellschaft a guiding principle, the arrival of a scientist whose views are in direct opposition to mainstream scientific opinion presents a unique opportunity to observe in-group/out-group dynamics. Based on observations recorded in the context of the four distinct characteristics of human behavior unique to the “polar sojourner”—seasonal, situational, social, and salutogenic (Palinkas, 2002)—the in-group’s foundational Gesellschaft, when confronted with an outsider whose presence threatens the social ecology, transforms into mechanical solidarity. This is manifested in a more vigorous defense of “neighborhoods” against the outsider, as well as more frequent degradation ceremonies. I argue that such strategies are strained to the breaking point in reestablishing social equilibrium.



Keywords: ANTARCTICA, MICROCULTURES, ADAPTATION, COPING





the dance of the anxious penguin

The Gore-Tex mitten Cooper was trying to sketch was in bad shape—a small rip discharged yellowed insulation material while the tip looked as if it had been dipped in barbecue sauce ten years earlier. Cooper had found it in the skua pile—a repository for random shit abandoned by current and former Polies. Named for the opportunistic brown seabirds that haunted the Antarctic coasts, skua functioned at Pole as both a verb and a noun: you could skua something—either by adding it to or removing it from the skua stream—or you could seek out skua. At McMurdo, the skua took up an entire shed. At Pole, it was located in a cardboard box. Cooper had spotted the mitten after breakfast, and, artistic desperation clouding her judgment, had seen in it great potential to create a work that “accurately reflects your time spent at South Pole,” per the NSF directive. As she looked at her first attempts, she felt that although it was shitty work, it was at least better than the fourteen sketches of her own mitten she’d done up to this point. When she returned stateside, she’d have to present her output to a joint National Science Foundation/National Endowment for the Arts committee. She suspected that a study of various polar mittens would not suffice, not that she wasn’t trying. She’d completed one panel of a planned triptych—of mittens.

She was trying to remember what grass looked like when someone knocked on the door. She found the Alarmism and Climate Change Hoax–reading scientist from the galley on the other side. “Hi,” she said.

“I realized too late that we did not exchange names the other day. Tucker told me your name and where to find you. I’m Frank Pavano.” The name sounded vaguely familiar to Cooper, like the name of an Italian food company based in Weehawken, but she couldn’t place it.

She pulled the door open a little. “Well, Frank Pavano, do you want to come in?”

“I don’t want to interrupt your work,” he said, glancing over her shoulder.

“There’s no work going on here, I assure you.” Cooper held the door open wider, and Pavano strode past her, directly to her easel. Cooper was unused to the frankness of his interest in her art—most people looked everywhere but the work. Instead, Pavano leaned closer to her canvas to study the Gore-Tex mitten drawing she’d transferred from the sketchbook. “You seem to have an interest in protest art. Capitalist sublimation specifically.”

“You got that from a mitten?”

He shrugged. “I took some art criticism courses in college to break up the biochem curriculum. But I got C’s, so you can take my observation for what it’s worth.”

“It’s worth a C,” Cooper said, “speaking as someone familiar with C’s.” She smiled, and to her relief Pavano smiled back. “You’re a Beaker, right? Sorry—scientist. What are you doing down here?”

“Broadly, I’m studying methane isotope variability in deep ice cores,” Pavano replied, still studying the canvas. “My early career work was in heliophysics, but I’ve cultivated an interest in climatology over the years. I received some unexpected funding this year to go a bit outside the scope of my previous research.” He scratched the side of his nose with delicate precision. “What about your objectives while you’re down here? What are the parameters? Do you have to deliver a statement of results?”

Before Cooper could answer, someone knocked on the door. She glanced at her watch. “That’ll be Denise. My shift is almost up. Do you want to grab lunch?”

Pavano seemed alarmed by the invitation. “No, I have to get back to the lab. I just wanted to formally introduce myself. On reflection, I realized I’d repaid your interest and kindness with a hasty departure, and I thought I’d apologize.” He opened the door, and slipped past Denise wordlessly. A moment later, he reappeared. “Thank you for the invitation, though.”

Denise raised an eyebrow at Cooper as she walked in. “I’m curious to see how, or if, he is going to integrate into the scientific community,” she said, as she pulled out her laptop and set it heavily on the desk.

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