Even the (a)moral clarity and sharpness of purpose that comes from being a happy servant of capital doesn’t absolve one of the responsibility of coming up with an actual plan.
Watching Chris Christie endorse Trump was a bit surreal yesterday. Whether he did it for a coveted cabinet position or because it was one of the first signs that the GOP establishment is accepting the inevitability of the Trumpocalypse, it drove home the absurdity of the two-party system, which requires the forging of very odd alliances. The 2016 cycle has exposed that the public would at the moment be best served by at least 4 parties in a multi-party parliament setting:
Free market traditionalists (GOP establishment)
Multicultural neoliberals (Clinton)
Social democrats (Sanders)
Were the Black Panther-themed costumes during Beyonce’s performance an example of her being politically edgy or more a sign that corporate pop culture is so powerful that it can accommodate the iconography of anticapitalist black nationalism without seeming to implode from its internal contradictions? If she feels safe dancing with panthers, then have they been defanged? Beyonce’s performance elicited worshipful gaze and a chorus of affirmation, with cries that she slayed and that she deserved her title as queen of pop culture. How should we square that with a nod to a group whose raison d’etre was to slay queens and kings, to destroy empires?
I’m not somebody who thinks that pop can’t be subversive, or that one should dismiss an artist because of contradictions. But in this case, I am skeptical of the messenger (although I fully admit I have huge gaps in knowledge of her music) and especially the setting — presumably hundreds of largely apolitical people okayed this idea and thought it wouldn’t threaten one of the most lucrative ad spaces in American history. The identitarian turn in contemporary pop culture helped make this safe. But does its emphasis on consciousness rather than actual power also make it impotent? What do people think?
The biggest problem with the Oscars isn’t that they’re so white. It’s that they’re a garbage institution with garbage taste and values. Every year thousands of provocative new films grace the world and the Oscars do things like nominate Seabiscuit or American Sniper for best picture or award Crash or The Hurt Locker with best picture, and a few obvious directors and movies dominate the ceremony in a manner that turns what could be a celebration of artistic diversity into a prestige dick measuring contest that largely cements the cinematic and sociopolitical status quo.
The best critique isn’t pointing to films that have minorities and were “snubbed” — as Freddie DeBoer has pointed out, “there’s just no way to prosecute these arguments without insisting that your aesthetic taste is objective.” The stronger critique, the one that provides the most promise in the long run, is that the Oscars’s selections should reflect diversity in form and origin and style and intellectual leaning and political sensibility and social context / goal — ethnic diversity will naturally emanate from that process. That’s the best way to avoid strong-arming vacuous institutions into degrading rituals of tokenism which we’ll be sure to see in the coming years.
Better yet, let’s just scrap the whole thing — between the cost of the crowd’s clothing and producing the show, you could probably pay for a good chunk of reparations. Then let some smart people who are more interested in expanding artistic horizons than serving as guardians of mediocrity and celebrity start something from scratch.
Credit: Aitor Aguirregabiria
The Paris attacks earlier in November sparked a rather interesting Internet phenomenon: grieving wars.
On social media, blogs and news sites, the first wave of public mourning had hardly passed before people began to fight about the ethics of mourning.
Whom do we ache over, which events inspire our tears? A number of commentators decried the disparity in the way ISIS suicide bombings that incinerated scores of civilians in Beirut the day before the Paris attacks received little attention, while the whole world seemed to stop in its tracks for Paris.
Some commentators said that it wasn’t a media problem, but an audience one — the articles about Beirut were published, but relatively few people cared to read them, or make noise about them.
Others defended deeper melancholy for Paris: for many Westerners, Paris is likely to bring to mind a friend or a memory or a fantasy. By contrast, it’s likely most Americans could not name the country or continent that Beirut belongs to. Why should Americans not feel sadder for something they feel closer to?
Part of this whole debate is because the firehouse of sentimentalism on the Internet has the ability to turn just about anyone into a contrarian. And part of it is because in today’s media environment bludgeoning people with accusations of double standards or hypocrisy is a reliable way to keep the clicks coming and the rent paid. But the question remains: why does tragedy take on a different cast when in Paris than in Beirut?
I’d argue that there’s a flaw in the very premise of that question. This issue doesn’t fall into the category of tragedy, but horror.
The reality is that the questions people asked when trying to understand the exceptional nature of the response to Paris could’ve been much further-reaching. Why don’t people express such consternation when they hear about the far, far, far larger numbers of people dying in massacres in full-blown wars? From starvation? From preventable disease? From automobile accidents? From narcotics overdoses?
The power of the image of a gunman in a theater doesn’t lie in the body count he creates, but in the implication that one’s own body is vulnerable in a theater — the idea that a space reserved for ease and leisure can be bloodied unexpectedly. It rips a hole in the modern contract about what is supposed to be designated a safe space.
This fear is undoubtedly compounded by an element of xenophobia. Whiteness penetrated by darkness. The partially obscured, swarthy complexion of the assailant; his guttural tongue; his non-Enlightenment convictions. He lurks in the shadows, and materializes unexpectedly. He is unknowable, untamable. He is scary.
When someone is rattled by a shocking death in a horror film, afterwards they aren’t lingering on the death, but how and where it happened.
This observation is not in any way profound; the term terrorism is of course derived from the recognition that the effectiveness of such attacks lies in stoking fear.
But this distinction seems to be lost in the grieving wars. So it needs to be said: people in the West cared more about Paris, and always will care more about Paris, because Paris is supposed to be safe. And if Paris isn’t safe, am I safe?
And safety is of course political, but political in a different way than implied by the “all life should be considered equally sacred” line of thought pushed by some of the Beirut dissenters.
As Greg Afinogenov eloquently describes, the zealous ambition for security can be traced back to larger geopolitical ethos that mandates a totally safe global North and a global South that must endure whatever is required to ensure that goal.
Here’s an excerpt from his thoughtful post:
Ever since WWII the overall consensus strategy on the part of everyone in the ruling elite of the global North, from the most far-right capitalist to the most left-wing Politburo member, has been to export conflict from the North into all kinds of global peripheries. We expect to see violence in Beirut because we put it there. Our security states protect us from the blowback of whatever neocolonialist policies we might care to pursue on those peripheries. So what if we fail at nation-building? We’ll never have to “fight them over here,” not really.
The solution isn’t pretending like you’re oh so distraught when a bus full of Russians or Bangladeshis falls off a cliff. It’s pursuing a politics in which Western elites–that’s the people who govern us–have to take responsibility for the violence they displace onto other people. And that means acknowledging that the bubble they’ve created was created on our behalf.
The core issue underlying the Paris-Beirut disparity isn’t that people have small hearts and that they’re selective in whom they feel bad for, it’s that they’ve correctly assessed that one bombing implies far more about their security than the other.
So far, Russian airstrikes against ISIS have already killed more than 400 civilians in the Middle East. U.S. airstrikes have killed over 450. If you ask the average American about this, they’ll say that’s tragic, but it’s needed to keep our country safe. In this world, we believe that certain communities are entitled to safety, while others must earn it.
I wrote about a remarkable study that establishes a causal link between inequality and political polarization in state legislatures. While nobody has demonstrated a causal link for U.S. Congress, there is an established correlation between the two phenomena historically (polarization and inequality have both been increasing since the 70s; last time polarization was this bad was in the early 20th century — when there was extraordinary inequality). At least on the state level we have stronger grounds now to say that an economy designed to serve the 1% is poisoning some of the very institutions that are essential to reforming it. Read it here
The other day I walked by a man in tattered clothing slumped against a pay phone, a small stream of blood trickling down his forehead. I was on the phone while I walked by him, and slowed to look at his face, but then carried on. The common explanation for my failure to act is that ethical obligations are diluted by a crowd; it was a busy intersection and I figured someone was going to do something about it. But I don’t think it was that.
After two years of living in New York, I have developed an expectation that the city will trounce a certain portion of its population. I did not speculate about the cause of his bleeding, because I figured that in some way or another the city had done it to him. I did not feel the tug of civic duty because I figured he was lost to the jaws of the city. The city does not reject those who lose their gamble on it, it punishes them. In this stronghold of modern abundance, I have been conditioned to sometimes look at the unfortunate the way I do at gazelles being mauled by crocodiles at crowded watering holes. Some Atmosphere lyrics came to mind — “This city’s a vampire, she eats her kids / Let’s hide the bodies under the bridge..”