More than just my thumb: On the Disappearance of Manual Skills

Hand: In the Old English - ‘mund’. Taken from the Latin ‘Manus’, and the Proto-Indo-European root ‘man’. As in ‘manual’, ‘manufacture’, ‘manuscript’, ‘amanuensis’, ‘command’.

Human -  In Latin ‘humanus’, or Old French ‘humaine’ - ‘of or belonging to man’. In Proto-Indo-European ‘dhghomon’ - ‘earthly being’, and ‘man’. As in ‘mannequin’, ‘leman’, ‘ombudsman’, ‘landsman’.

The PIE ‘Man-’/hand and ‘Man-’/human are distinct in their etymology. But to the eye and ear they are intrinsically linked.

This week, my very good friends Sara and Alex came for a jaunt to Japan. It was a true tonic to spend time in their company. There’s something wonderful about talking with good friends - the kindness, vulnerability, comfort. Through each other we lament and rejoice, talking our ways through political theory, social analysis, music, art, general knowledge, and of course meme videos of otters on the internet (big up Halloumi the naughty otter from Dartmoor Otter Sanctuary - you fuzzy menace!). But out of all these wonderful topics and instances of human connection, it was a particular grumble shared upon their last night in Tokyo that has prompted today’s post.

‘You wouldn’t believe it’, says Sara over her ginger-rice dish. ‘When I get applications from students who want to start new societies, we actually have to tell them not to use ChatGPT to answer questions on the form. Even really simple ones like “why do you want to start this society?” - it’s crazy!’

‘Yeah, well’, I slurp out words in between wads of ramen, ‘most of my kids barely know how to Google something properly. Like, the very basics of actual ICT. They all just have tablets instead’.

Alex picks a mushroom out from his bowl of noodles, and examines it with dismay. ‘That’s bleak as fuck. Googling is like surely a base response - especially now that Wikipedia is actually alright’.

What followed was a half-hour conversation culminating in mutual agreement that we are worried. Worried about the future of a humanity that is increasingly hyper-dependent on systems and companies to provide for us. We think of our grandparents, and the manual skills that would have been central to their livelihoods disappearing due to increasing convenience of material acquisition under industrial capitalism. Alex asks us if there’s a skill we wished to gain. Something our grandparents or great-grandparents would have acquired in childhood.

He says he’d like to know more about horticulture. Sara talks about her Nonna making clothes that could be easily taken in and out at the seams with the body’s natural changes.

‘You’d need to wear that one outfit for years. Because fabric’s expensive, and it takes so long to make anything properly’.

I’d like to know more about electrics. Anxiety rips through me at the thought of cutting wires to change a plug. ‘But it would be useful’, I say, ‘to repair rather than rebuy’.

Now, maybe it was the fermented beansprouts. Maybe we’re all ego-driven academic snobs, minds too focused on theory for our own good. Maybe it’s not that deep. But our conversation got me thinking about how good it would be for the Musks, Xus, and Bulckes of the world if us regular Joes, Jos, and Josephines had to rely on them for all our basic necessities, without the faintest idea of how to provide for ourselves.

So I decided to use my hands for something other than doom-scrolling, and do some research into whether or not this generational loss of home economics skills could result in further-lined pockets of the ultra-wealthy - whilst leading the rest of us to a shorter, less autonomous and healthy life.

Getting to grips with the problem of hyper-reliance: Or why we need more D.T. classes

Design and Technology, Home Economics - whatever you call it, school classes focused on practical skills have been benched in favour of cerebral training in STEM. Both in our school timetables and general public consciousness, it is increasingly assumed that such classes become unnecessary after a point for all but the less academically-minded. In theory, this isn’t surprising. After all, who needs to know how to sew a pencil case out of jeans when we must prepare students for life in the knowledge economy ? 

But maybe it's deeper than that. Maybe it's not just that our priorities have altered in reaction to a changing society. Maybe this was always going to happen. In Das Kapital, Marx and Engels argue that the industrial revolution:

‘produced world history for the first time, insofar as it made all civilised nations and every individual member of them dependent for the satisfaction of their wants on the whole world’. (p.78)

Unfortunately, this whole-world dependency has not been connective. It has not been kind. It in fact has perpetuated nothing but the exploitation of usually-poor, usually-non-white, usually-LEDC-residing producers for the benefit of a far-off consumer. 

I’m looking at you Nestle/Primark/Shein/H&M.

On one side of the world, children labour in cobalt mines, work sewing buttons by candlelight. Parents nearly kill themselves for working just to access the basic necessities their children need to grow up. Meanwhile, miles away (or sometimes even just next door), someone trades stocks and bemoans the idea of a wealth tax - because those people truly earn their money. And everyone else in between is sat above the oppressor’s boot yet far from the head. Nestled in pockets, we buy and work and feed. Feed from. Feed to. Growing large on convenience, yet devoid of nutrition.

As corporations and older generations accumulate (inevitably hoarding) wealth, the average consumer becomes consumed as our livelihoods become targets of billionaire greed. Rents rise, you can’t get a pack of eggs for love nor money, heating becomes a luxury many can ill-afford. We require income, thus the traditional familial structure of breadwinner-housekeeper must give way to both parents entering the workforce. And don’t get me wrong -  I’m obviously grateful for this move away from mandatory housewifery. But given the circumstances of my emancipation, I can only call it preferable, not ideal. All parents should be able to nurture their child if they so choose, rather than pried away from family in pursuit of survival. Marx might agree:   

‘[S]ince certain family functions, such as nursing and suckling children, cannot be entirely suppressed, the mothers who have been confiscated by capital must try substitutes of some sort. Domestic work, such as sewing and mending, must be replaced by the purchase of ready-made articles. Hence the diminished expenditure of labour in the house is accompanied by an increased expenditure of money outside. The cost of production of the working class family therefore increases, and balances its greater income. In addition to this, economy and judgement in the consumption and preparation of the means of subsistence becomes impossible’. (Marx.1976, p. 518, footnote 38.)

Though Marx and Engels weren’t exactly staunch womens’ rights activists, they rightfully point out that traditional forms of domestic ‘feminine labour’ - and the skills required of them - are central to Capitalism’s success. In her book Posthuman Feminism, Rosi Braidotti examines the idea that most of our modern technological advances assume roles historically overseen by parents - particularly mothers: Cleaning, cooking, the production of material goods and entertainment. And like me she argues that this technological advancement does not principally serve to empower women, but sidelines and infantilises consumers. Again, I must note that such tasks are not uniquely feminine, nor should they be so. I’m not advocating a trad-wife existence here, merely examining the sexist foundations upon which Capitalism is built – and noting the sidelining of unseen producers.

As we replace the maternal with machine, we also replace the human - and all the good that comes with it. Kinship, Culture, expressions of identity and a link to who we are. Learning recipes or stitch patterns from our elders is something that defines us, and lives today as material history. Through appreciating the effort that goes into making things (jumpers, jambalaya, clay pots, a simple shelf), we cultivate respect for the item itself - leading to a less wasteful existence - but also for where it comes from. Therefore, without a guardian, history, or culture to connect with, it is instead systems that we become reliant on. Losing sight of the producer, capitalists are therefore encouraged to view production as an unmanned process, unable to recognise the slave labour required to produce a pair of fast-fashion Mom jeans. 

If you are reading this now, chances are that you’re a consumer in our current system. Which means you are - as am I - hyper-reliant upon a myriad of companies to sustain your lifestyle. Which means we’re both impotent, but not unsafe.

At least, not for now.

Breast Milk, Honey, and far worse additives.

In the late 1970’s, consumer fears brewed to a bubble, then a boil, then a full on boycott of Capitalism’s Darling: Nestlé. News had recently been uncovered of the multinational corporation’s contribution to infant death in developing countries. For years, Nestlé (amongst other companies) had commissioned and distributed marketing campaigns targeting new mothers. These advertisements claimed that baby formula such as Lactogen was superior to breast milk in nutritional value and convenience:

A magazine advert for Nestlé's Lactogen, apparently giving a baby ;everything he needs for healthy development'.

Playing upon post-war fears of infant health and with increasing pressure on the stay-at-home housewife to be a picture-perfect model of magazine maternity, these advertisements did more than entice, they dominated. With catastrophic results. Many mothers were fooled into thinking the ‘nutrients’ in Lactogen were necessary to infant development, hoodwinked into regarding their own bodies as insufficient. Nestlé gave out free samples of formula to maternity wards, and salespeople dressed in nurse-looking uniforms approached new mothers in baby clinics. As more and more mothers turned to bottle-feeding their newborns, their breast milk dried up - like most lactating creatures’ does when it is not being suckled. So, unable to feed their children as mothers had done for centuries, those who once chose to use formula now had no other option. This reliance on Nestlé’s baby formula was not just a spiritual burden, it was also an economic one.  But money was of little matter once the truth was revealed.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, it turned out that processed baby formula was actually not nutritionally superior to human breast milk. In fact, it lacks some of breast milk’s key nutritional benefits. In particular, colostrum - which is present in breast milk soon after birth and builds a baby’s immune system - was nowhere to be found in Lactogen. In countries where people lived in more hygienic, safe, spaces with easy access to hospitals, this revelation was shocking. But to those living in war-torn, previously colonised, or developing countries? It was deadly.

During the 1960’s and 70’s, countries like Chile, Mexico, St. Vincent, and Taiwan saw a significant decrease in breastfeeding practices as Nestlé sent over free Lactogen in the form of aid supplies. And babies started dying. Millions of them. From what doctors termed ‘weanling diarrhea’. Without core proteins and nutrients such as colostrum from breast milk, babies’ immune systems could not fight disease - either from the outside world, or hiding in the often less-than-clean water mixed into formula. 

Millions of babies dead or immunocompromised. Because Nestlé convinced their mothers that breast milk was not enough. That relying on convenience and companies is the future of a healthy humanity. Even today, Nestlé still adds sugar to its baby formula - and it adds significantly more sugar to baby food sold in middle/lower-income countries. Because people are too busy trying to survive cannot be expected to question everything they've been raised to trust.

Even though Nestlé’s criminality led to more stringent food policy laws, it is difficult to argue that the boycotts had much impact on our general food-consciousness. If anything, I’d argue we know less about what we’re eating now than ever before. With cooking classes taking a backseat in educational spaces, I find from experience that many people living now lack the knowledge of their forebears. Cue a snapshot montage of me trying without much luck to get three 16-year-olds to tell me what senbei - literal translation rice crackers - are made from (clue: it’s rice). They didn’t know. Pan camera lens to me informing two shocked American colleagues that big corn and baby corn are from the same plant. 

Then comes the rainfall.

Shot upon shot of me explaining veganism to the people who argue there’s no death or cruelty in the dairy industry. That, just like humans, a cow must be pregnant and have a baby to lactate. Babies that are immediately taken away so the mother can be hooked up to a mechanical milking device. Babies that are either raised on colostrum-deficit formula to later be used like their mothers (female), or slaughtered for veal and pet food (male). An industry-standard dairy cow will be impregnated once a year for three years, and then she will be slaughtered for cheap beef. 

I am always disappointed at people’s lack of knowledge. And more to the point my own. Because I couldn’t tell you anything about most of the ingredients listed on a packet of supermarket bourbons. Which is a pity, because I love bourbons.

But we cannot stop at blaming ourselves. Instead we must ask: Who profits from our ignorance? I point you towards the Nestlé anecdote. You can draw your own conclusions. Then apply those conclusions to skills other than cooking - sewing, knitting, the fast fashion industry. Woodwork, metalwork, engineering. The rise of plyboard and slave-made tech.

It’s not just our cultural practices, knowledge, or skills at stake here. It’s bodies. The bodies of other people, and also our own.

To have and hold onto.

We need to be conscious of our own dependencies. But more than that we need to trust in our own capabilities - to explore and utilise the rare gifts of our species - critical minds and opposable thumbs. 

And we need to keep them strong. 

Right now due to an increased use of tech and tablets in toddlers, primary schools have been investing time and effort into ‘hand-strengthening’ classes to combat the weakest grip-strength of any generation in recorded history. This remedial intervention seems to be working in some cases, but is ultimately a reactive solution to a far deeper problem. It may be more effort, but parents must attempt to limit their child’s tech usage in favour of manual play. Because kids who can’t hold pencils can’t grow up to become writers, artists, musicians, chefs, creatives of all kinds. The people who produce culture.

We need to use our hands. All of us. To reproduce - craft - humanity. To keep us alive and productive and happy in a way that is fulfilling and personal. The sensory stimulations from such activities produce feel-good hormones that keep us happy and fulfilled in our lives outside of work.

And that, dear reader, is why I am learning to knit.

It’s not much. But we’ve all got to start somewhere. I'm just lucky to not be starting from nothing.

I’m grateful to have grown up in a rural household of manual people, to have my childhood be a rich ecosystem of tactility. My mother and guardians nurtured me like a careful farmer spends years keeping their field turned, rested, rich. Sitting me in the garden with a tub of orange paint - applied not to paper but to my own body in messy creativity. Taking me to the library, turning pages and pointing out words. Walking me up and down the beach in search of sea glass - grainy, smooth, seaside costume-jewelry stored in jars in the bathroom. By the time I turned eleven I was rich, and ready to help in more adult-tasks. I carried bricks, railway sleepers, wheelbarrows full of mud as I learned how to build raised beds that lay foundations for my knowledge of gardening. Holding my nose, learning to ferment comfrey in rainwater to make fertiliser. Filling my Sundays on semi-building sites, I got dirty and grimy and tired hauling bags of cement into a mixer, then helped point a patio. Building walls, cutting brambles, breaking slate tiles, eating chips, learning how to make focaccia and pita and naan from the old tin of bakers’ yeast in our kitchen cupboard. With every day, in every way, these memories become more precious to me. And I realise the privilege it was to have such a childhood. It wasn’t easy. But it was essential.

The challenge now is making sure my childhood isn’t wasted. Even whilst living in a city, I must try to live a more manual existence. More than anything because I don’t want carpal tunnel surgery before I’m 40 - my mother’s had it and apparently it hurts like hell. So if you’re reading this, and want to be more self-sufficient too, let’s make a pact. I’ll try to use my hands for something other than scrolling every day if you do too. 

I think that would be a very worthwhile pursuit indeed.

With all my hugs, handshakes, and high-fives swimming around the internet like a sky full of stars,

Char