More than ever I am convinced that Marx (and others, including many feminist thinkers) have been right when they remind us that humans are quintessentially social. We require community, in the most robust sense of the word, and human nature can only be understood relationally. Indeed, without living in community, can we even truly be called human?
Thrown out alone in the wilderness, the human individual can only last so long, even though the body might survive (survival is possible, though very difficult without shared resources as a sort of insurance, until the day you get too old, sick, or otherwise weakened to provide food and water for yourself). But in order to express our humanity, do we not need other people? Is this not why solitary confinement is such a harsh punishment?
We tend to forget this, and think of ourselves first and foremost as autonomous individuals, who choose to live in relation with others. Capitalism fosters this illusion, its forces trying to make us into competitive individuals, "free" from societal constraints as much as possible. In this view, freedom follows a consumption model of choice - freedom means choosing how to spend our dollar, or with whom we spend our time. The end result is often shallow relationships, a sense of restlessness, alienation, loneliness and unhappiness. (Despite this, we often do manage to have deep and abiding and satisfying relationships, which is a testament to just how unnatural the absolute individualist model is.)
In fact, I would say the only reason we are able to hold the illusion of our autonomous individuality is because of the protections and comforts our wider society affords. It provides for us many of the things that a small community once might have. So many fundamental shared institutions underwrite our individual activities. Without infrastructure, a measure of security and stability, relative agreement about social norms, regulation of some aspects of industry etc we could not live a life that seems independent and autonomous. And yet precisely because these things are simply there, taken for granted, largely provided by a faceless state or society, we tend to forget how much we depend on them. It is the communal wealth and social capital provided by the state and society that allows us to imagine we are independent, to forget our interdependence.
In some ways, the current financial crisis is driving home this exact point. When faced with an economy in crisis, the myth of the self-made man seems a little silly, doesn't it?
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Showing posts with label rambling. Show all posts
Showing posts with label rambling. Show all posts
Sunday, October 12, 2008
Friday, August 1, 2008
Why Critical History in a Postcolonial World? Part 3
Continued from Parts 1 and 2
This is exactly why history as critical practice is so crucial. Without a relationship to the past (historicity) we assume things like culture are natural, immutable. Something which is the product of history is naturalized as the eternal human condition and then used to justify oppressive practices, as if it is in the nature of people of colour, women, and non-Western peoples to be dominated. Marx brought this to our attention when he unmasked bourgeois man masquerading as universal man. Historicity, then, is a means of recognizing alterity. As Spivak points out, history involves the "transgression of the logical by the historical-geographical." It introduces the problem of difference into the philosophical master narrative, requiring us to be sceptical of claims to timeless truths. This opens up the possibility of changing our present and imagining a very different future. Likewise, Nietzsche's critical history means the prospect of putting a knife to the roots of an injustice, "a privilege, a caste, a dynasty." Ironically critical history lets us be in the present by loosening the hold of the past, "to shatter and dissolve something to enable [us] to live."
The difficulty is how to act without the script, without slotting our story into its place in the grand master narrative. This is more important than ever in our supposed postcolonial world. Despite decolonization and liberation struggles, the hierarchies between the West and the rest of the world are perpetuated; indeed the disparities grow wider. HIV/AIDS, conflicts and intractable poverty prompt some to say the postcolonial project has failed. Trying to follow the blueprint the West has laid out does not seem to be an option, but neither does looking backwards. Time moves forwards so there is no choice about whether or not to progress, but maybe progress must not be unilinear. Maybe, as Nandy suggests, there are alternative universalities. If the universals of the West had to so distort the difference they encountered in order to include it, are they really universal? Instead of othering difference in order to force it to fit into the universals, can we modify the universals to truly accommodate difference? In other words, can we change the script?
According to Spivak's reading, Marx was already dealing with these concerns in his critique of the intending subject. Even the capitalist, in whom we usually see dominance, power and agency, is just an instrument of capital: "capital personified and endowed with consciousness and a will." If both those who dominate and those who are dominated are but playing a part, following a script, where is there any room for responsibility, agency, change? Capital may be the historical agent in Marx's historicism, but it is not alive. Indeed any script is dead without actors to breathe life into the part. It cannot function without people, humans to play the part: "the human is the living element that can be instrumental in animating (or operating) inscriptions." A script is not entirely deterministic. If there is no escape from the script, can we perform it creatively?
In some ways, this is what people are doing all the time in their everydayness, when they, "collectively attempt to make their own history as they act (in the most robust sense of agency) a part they have not chosen, in a script that has as its task to keep them silent and invisible." (Yup, her again) Chakrabarty shows us that despite how hard the British worked to enumerate and measure fixed, impermeable and discrete communities, Indians still inhabit fuzzy communities: "In their everyday lives, in negotiating the spheres of friendship and kinship, say, Indians, like human beings everywhere, are comfortable with the indeterminacies of ethnic identities." This is part of what he means by the term History 2. There are ways of being in the world that cannot be explained by even the most rigorous history of capital. All the everyday practices that cannot be captured by scripts and identities are not necessarily subject to temporizing. Because it is outside its logic, History 2 is not the Other of capital. History 2 is its limits, disrupting its totalizing force. While historicism tries to "subjugate or destroy the multiple possibilities that belong to History 2," it cannot complete the "subordination of History 2s to the logical of capital."
In a sense History 2 is simply an attempt to name the radical alterity of the past. The past is often treated as the other of the present, as if it can be captured, but in truth it escapes our grasp. The infinite fullness and diversity of the vanishing present cannot be held onto, preserved, as the antiquarian would desire. It slips through our fingers. We can never capture the past in its rich livingness; we cannot make it present. Neither can we cram it into a single master narrative, to possess its essence or meaning. Its teeming complexity will overflow even the grandest monumental account.
We can never know everything that happened in the past – Nietzsche's superhistorical perspective notwithstanding – but neither can we be outside of history. Though the past has passed, its traces remain in the present. If I have a broken leg, it is because last week's event – say, falling out of a tree – is in some way present today. There is no standpoint outside of history, outside of human experience. As temporal beings, we are imperfect, finite, embedded in a particular history and culture. This contingency of our existence, rather than discouraging, is actually cause for hope. If contingent, it can be created otherwise. We can destabilize history's all-knowing narratives of power by starting with the limits. This opens new vistas. An imaginative source for re-presentation, history can be transformative. This is history in service of life.
BTW, I put the points I consider most important in bold - is it helpful or distracting?
This is exactly why history as critical practice is so crucial. Without a relationship to the past (historicity) we assume things like culture are natural, immutable. Something which is the product of history is naturalized as the eternal human condition and then used to justify oppressive practices, as if it is in the nature of people of colour, women, and non-Western peoples to be dominated. Marx brought this to our attention when he unmasked bourgeois man masquerading as universal man. Historicity, then, is a means of recognizing alterity. As Spivak points out, history involves the "transgression of the logical by the historical-geographical." It introduces the problem of difference into the philosophical master narrative, requiring us to be sceptical of claims to timeless truths. This opens up the possibility of changing our present and imagining a very different future. Likewise, Nietzsche's critical history means the prospect of putting a knife to the roots of an injustice, "a privilege, a caste, a dynasty." Ironically critical history lets us be in the present by loosening the hold of the past, "to shatter and dissolve something to enable [us] to live."
The difficulty is how to act without the script, without slotting our story into its place in the grand master narrative. This is more important than ever in our supposed postcolonial world. Despite decolonization and liberation struggles, the hierarchies between the West and the rest of the world are perpetuated; indeed the disparities grow wider. HIV/AIDS, conflicts and intractable poverty prompt some to say the postcolonial project has failed. Trying to follow the blueprint the West has laid out does not seem to be an option, but neither does looking backwards. Time moves forwards so there is no choice about whether or not to progress, but maybe progress must not be unilinear. Maybe, as Nandy suggests, there are alternative universalities. If the universals of the West had to so distort the difference they encountered in order to include it, are they really universal? Instead of othering difference in order to force it to fit into the universals, can we modify the universals to truly accommodate difference? In other words, can we change the script?
According to Spivak's reading, Marx was already dealing with these concerns in his critique of the intending subject. Even the capitalist, in whom we usually see dominance, power and agency, is just an instrument of capital: "capital personified and endowed with consciousness and a will." If both those who dominate and those who are dominated are but playing a part, following a script, where is there any room for responsibility, agency, change? Capital may be the historical agent in Marx's historicism, but it is not alive. Indeed any script is dead without actors to breathe life into the part. It cannot function without people, humans to play the part: "the human is the living element that can be instrumental in animating (or operating) inscriptions." A script is not entirely deterministic. If there is no escape from the script, can we perform it creatively?
In some ways, this is what people are doing all the time in their everydayness, when they, "collectively attempt to make their own history as they act (in the most robust sense of agency) a part they have not chosen, in a script that has as its task to keep them silent and invisible." (Yup, her again) Chakrabarty shows us that despite how hard the British worked to enumerate and measure fixed, impermeable and discrete communities, Indians still inhabit fuzzy communities: "In their everyday lives, in negotiating the spheres of friendship and kinship, say, Indians, like human beings everywhere, are comfortable with the indeterminacies of ethnic identities." This is part of what he means by the term History 2. There are ways of being in the world that cannot be explained by even the most rigorous history of capital. All the everyday practices that cannot be captured by scripts and identities are not necessarily subject to temporizing. Because it is outside its logic, History 2 is not the Other of capital. History 2 is its limits, disrupting its totalizing force. While historicism tries to "subjugate or destroy the multiple possibilities that belong to History 2," it cannot complete the "subordination of History 2s to the logical of capital."
In a sense History 2 is simply an attempt to name the radical alterity of the past. The past is often treated as the other of the present, as if it can be captured, but in truth it escapes our grasp. The infinite fullness and diversity of the vanishing present cannot be held onto, preserved, as the antiquarian would desire. It slips through our fingers. We can never capture the past in its rich livingness; we cannot make it present. Neither can we cram it into a single master narrative, to possess its essence or meaning. Its teeming complexity will overflow even the grandest monumental account.
We can never know everything that happened in the past – Nietzsche's superhistorical perspective notwithstanding – but neither can we be outside of history. Though the past has passed, its traces remain in the present. If I have a broken leg, it is because last week's event – say, falling out of a tree – is in some way present today. There is no standpoint outside of history, outside of human experience. As temporal beings, we are imperfect, finite, embedded in a particular history and culture. This contingency of our existence, rather than discouraging, is actually cause for hope. If contingent, it can be created otherwise. We can destabilize history's all-knowing narratives of power by starting with the limits. This opens new vistas. An imaginative source for re-presentation, history can be transformative. This is history in service of life.
BTW, I put the points I consider most important in bold - is it helpful or distracting?
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Why Critical History in a Postcolonial World? Part 2
Continued from Part 1...
In order to effect comparisons and determine positions in a hierarchy, differences must be made commensurate, usually by the application of a universal category. If by definition universal (Encarta: "applicable to all situations or purposes") means there is nothing outside the universal, how do universals deal with difference? Partha Chatterjee shows that under colonialism claims of both universality and difference had a tendency to slip into a development narrative, as we saw in Hegel, which was a way of temporizing and therefore assimilating cultural and historical difference. Difference thus produced deferral, based on an expectation of education, improvement and progress. Through this not-yet, primitive India could be brought into the grand master narrative, though not equally with Europe. What Chatterjee calls the "Rule of Colonial Difference" meant a deferral of identity or sameness, possibly an eternal deferral: if Europe is still progressing and India is behind, can it ever catch up?
This is the situation inherited by nationalist movements. Fanon explains that colonialism, "not simply content to impose its rule upon the present and the future," also "distorts, disfigures, and destroys" the past of the colonized societies. To fortify and legitimize collective identity in the present, nationalism must rehabilitate the past. Fanon sees this as a response to colonialism's totalizing discourse. In the nationalist psyche, to recreate a pure and uncolonized past is to find and recover the national culture. But for Fanon the attempt to recover the glory of a past civilization is doomed. It makes culture, which should be in constant motion and full of vitality, into an artefact, preserved like a museum piece, dead. This kind of nativist history is, in Nietzsche's words, not serving life. It resembles antiquarian history, which "merely understands how to preserve life, not how to generate it." Mummified, decaying, this is the past sucking the vigour from the present. We can see exactly this tension in Nehru. Although he wants to rejuvenate the universals he finds in India's past (to make that past live), he is also searching for mythological origins of the nation's essence.
This search for origins and essential identities often has the purpose of buttressing boundaries, demarcating identities, making precise the inside and outside of "authentic" culture. Tradition is one familiar means for this, and its invention and preservation seem to have been a feature of nearly all decolonization struggles. This reproduction of the (imagined) past often involves enforcing custom and tradition, sometimes in a repressive manner: "the fact that something has become old now gives rise to the demand that it must be immortal." (Nietzsche) Obsession with tradition is yet another form of fetishism of the past, privileging it over the present. In opposition to the domination of the West, difference is privileged. In the name of emancipation, this nativist history reverses the binary, valorizing the past and rejecting the modern. Different problematic same thematic, it remains within the colonial logic, since it presupposes that the colonized are living in the past, while Europe is modern and more advanced on the unilinear historicist scale.
This is the general problem for Others trying to reconstitute their selves as subjects, because, as Fanon says, sealed in Otherness the only way to have a subject position is to accept being the voice of the Other, to fetishize themselves, reproducing the racialized logic of same and other. It also explains the performance of nativism by native intellectuals and elites who feel they must "go native" to "get away from the white culture." As if the only way to participate in politics and society is to take on these identities. However, identity politics is simply another form of mimesis: first determine the Indian way of doing things, and then follow that script. It is puppetry, following the black man script because that appears to be the only way to enact a subject position. But whiteness has constructed blackness, so this is playing someone else's part without authenticity or real agency; taking on the voice of the Other is about sheer instrumentality.
What is tricky, as Chakrabarty reminds us, is to take on a subject position of difference that does not repeat the racialized self-other logic. Fanon recognizes how difficult this is, and says it indeed produces a sort of melancholy because for this there's no script. We want a living culture, a community with national consciousness, but what the hegemonic order means by "culture" is a given political identity. If culture is that which cannot be captured, the living vanishing present, what Balibar calls everyday practices of meaning, "culture can also function like a nature, and it can in particular function as a way of locking individuals and groups into a genealogy, into a determination that is immutable and intangible in origin."
Part 3
In order to effect comparisons and determine positions in a hierarchy, differences must be made commensurate, usually by the application of a universal category. If by definition universal (Encarta: "applicable to all situations or purposes") means there is nothing outside the universal, how do universals deal with difference? Partha Chatterjee shows that under colonialism claims of both universality and difference had a tendency to slip into a development narrative, as we saw in Hegel, which was a way of temporizing and therefore assimilating cultural and historical difference. Difference thus produced deferral, based on an expectation of education, improvement and progress. Through this not-yet, primitive India could be brought into the grand master narrative, though not equally with Europe. What Chatterjee calls the "Rule of Colonial Difference" meant a deferral of identity or sameness, possibly an eternal deferral: if Europe is still progressing and India is behind, can it ever catch up?
This is the situation inherited by nationalist movements. Fanon explains that colonialism, "not simply content to impose its rule upon the present and the future," also "distorts, disfigures, and destroys" the past of the colonized societies. To fortify and legitimize collective identity in the present, nationalism must rehabilitate the past. Fanon sees this as a response to colonialism's totalizing discourse. In the nationalist psyche, to recreate a pure and uncolonized past is to find and recover the national culture. But for Fanon the attempt to recover the glory of a past civilization is doomed. It makes culture, which should be in constant motion and full of vitality, into an artefact, preserved like a museum piece, dead. This kind of nativist history is, in Nietzsche's words, not serving life. It resembles antiquarian history, which "merely understands how to preserve life, not how to generate it." Mummified, decaying, this is the past sucking the vigour from the present. We can see exactly this tension in Nehru. Although he wants to rejuvenate the universals he finds in India's past (to make that past live), he is also searching for mythological origins of the nation's essence.
This search for origins and essential identities often has the purpose of buttressing boundaries, demarcating identities, making precise the inside and outside of "authentic" culture. Tradition is one familiar means for this, and its invention and preservation seem to have been a feature of nearly all decolonization struggles. This reproduction of the (imagined) past often involves enforcing custom and tradition, sometimes in a repressive manner: "the fact that something has become old now gives rise to the demand that it must be immortal." (Nietzsche) Obsession with tradition is yet another form of fetishism of the past, privileging it over the present. In opposition to the domination of the West, difference is privileged. In the name of emancipation, this nativist history reverses the binary, valorizing the past and rejecting the modern. Different problematic same thematic, it remains within the colonial logic, since it presupposes that the colonized are living in the past, while Europe is modern and more advanced on the unilinear historicist scale.
This is the general problem for Others trying to reconstitute their selves as subjects, because, as Fanon says, sealed in Otherness the only way to have a subject position is to accept being the voice of the Other, to fetishize themselves, reproducing the racialized logic of same and other. It also explains the performance of nativism by native intellectuals and elites who feel they must "go native" to "get away from the white culture." As if the only way to participate in politics and society is to take on these identities. However, identity politics is simply another form of mimesis: first determine the Indian way of doing things, and then follow that script. It is puppetry, following the black man script because that appears to be the only way to enact a subject position. But whiteness has constructed blackness, so this is playing someone else's part without authenticity or real agency; taking on the voice of the Other is about sheer instrumentality.
What is tricky, as Chakrabarty reminds us, is to take on a subject position of difference that does not repeat the racialized self-other logic. Fanon recognizes how difficult this is, and says it indeed produces a sort of melancholy because for this there's no script. We want a living culture, a community with national consciousness, but what the hegemonic order means by "culture" is a given political identity. If culture is that which cannot be captured, the living vanishing present, what Balibar calls everyday practices of meaning, "culture can also function like a nature, and it can in particular function as a way of locking individuals and groups into a genealogy, into a determination that is immutable and intangible in origin."
Part 3
Sunday, July 27, 2008
Why Critical History in a Postcolonial World? Part 1
This is a follow-up to yesterday's post.
Let nothing be called natural
In an age of bloody confusion,
Ordered disorder, planned caprice,
And dehumanized humanity, lest all things
Be held unalterable!
Bertolt Brecht
The past has passed, meaning it is no more. By definition not present, it no longer exists. So why bother attending to it? Whether we attend to it or not, we cannot escape the past, since it produced our present – what exists is inherited from whatever came before. Perhaps we could just forget the past and be as happy as Nietzsche's cows. With no memory, they would be forgiven for taking themselves to be the general case. They might assume the whole world is an eternal pasture, and that a herd is the only natural way of being. But this is exactly the concern. Without attention to historicity we run the risk of naturalizing a particular kind of subject, society, culture, economic system, or set of power relations, universalizing the particular, making natural a product of history. Not only does this reduce anything (or anyone) different into an Other, an aberration, it leaves little room for change. The colonial order, racial hierarchies, gender inequality all appear natural and timeless.
A diachronic perspective, by contrast, can show us that things have not always been the way they are now, and therefore immunize us from assuming things will be thus forever. How we tell our past-narrative, our history, impacts how we imagine ourselves, our present, and our future. This is precisely the reason postcolonial thinkers have concerned themselves with the past. Of course, as Nietzsche points out, not just any attention to the past will do – history should serve life. Whatever falls outside of the grand universal narrative of historicism, akin to monumental history, is produced as an Other. Nativist history, a response to this othering, makes a fetish of the past (as does antiquarian history), but is unable to break free of the othering discourse. In contrast critical history and attention to historicity are concerned with the present and have the potential to go beyond the othering discourse.
The grand sweep of colonial history could be seen as an attempt to deal with difference met in the colonial encounter. In order to persevere, historicism had to find a way of fitting very different societies into its universal temporal narrative. Often seen as unhistorical, in stasis, outside of time, these colonized societies were only wrenched back into the stream of time by colonial rule. Although back in the narrative, they were then behind, backward. The colonies were seen as Europe's own past, like Europe but at the same time not like Europe. Historicism is then about both sameness and difference. It brings difference into sameness by temporizing. Nietzsche could have been writing about this when he wrote of monumental history: "how much that is different must be overlooked, how ruthlessly must the individuality of the past be forced into a general form …" Monumental history is inspirational. It advises us that greatness is once more possible if we imitate past greatness. Monumental history thus produces a script, forcing out all specificity. It is nothing but lifeless mimesis, producing "nothing but timidly disguised universal men."
Hegel exemplifies historicism. His juggernaut of a master narrative simply rolled right over alternative histories. He could subjugate them, bringing them all into the grand narrative, because of the totalizing progress of spirit (geist) through the ages. To be all-encompassing his system had to find ways to make these varied narratives commensurate, which is why the India we meet in Hegel's narrative is so distorted. Hegel's question of how to deal with discrepancy – India – was solved by the explanation that ancient India was once great but got stuck in stasis, while Europe kept on progressing. For Hegel, self-consciousness is produced dialectically through experience of the other: "those peoples therefore are alone capable of History... who have arrived at that period of development... at which individuals comprehend their own existence as independent, i.e. possess self-consciousness." But the Indians, steeped in spirituality, did not exercise their reason to separate Man from Nature and God. Without differentiating themselves from the universal, the dialectic could not function. The irrationality and lack of individuation of Indians ("In India we have only a division in masses..." explains Hegel) thus retarded the development of reason. And because reason, or Spirit, is the great mover of history, without it the Indians could have no history or progress. They were doomed to be stuck in the past – at least until Europe's convenient intervention; it was "the necessary fate of Asiatic Empires to be subjected to Europeans." In Hegel, India is othered, then the other is conquered by the same. As Chakrabarty explains this is a united world with an internally articulated hierarchy – the world is both one and unequal.
Part 2 here
In an age of bloody confusion,
Ordered disorder, planned caprice,
And dehumanized humanity, lest all things
Be held unalterable!
Bertolt Brecht
The past has passed, meaning it is no more. By definition not present, it no longer exists. So why bother attending to it? Whether we attend to it or not, we cannot escape the past, since it produced our present – what exists is inherited from whatever came before. Perhaps we could just forget the past and be as happy as Nietzsche's cows. With no memory, they would be forgiven for taking themselves to be the general case. They might assume the whole world is an eternal pasture, and that a herd is the only natural way of being. But this is exactly the concern. Without attention to historicity we run the risk of naturalizing a particular kind of subject, society, culture, economic system, or set of power relations, universalizing the particular, making natural a product of history. Not only does this reduce anything (or anyone) different into an Other, an aberration, it leaves little room for change. The colonial order, racial hierarchies, gender inequality all appear natural and timeless.
A diachronic perspective, by contrast, can show us that things have not always been the way they are now, and therefore immunize us from assuming things will be thus forever. How we tell our past-narrative, our history, impacts how we imagine ourselves, our present, and our future. This is precisely the reason postcolonial thinkers have concerned themselves with the past. Of course, as Nietzsche points out, not just any attention to the past will do – history should serve life. Whatever falls outside of the grand universal narrative of historicism, akin to monumental history, is produced as an Other. Nativist history, a response to this othering, makes a fetish of the past (as does antiquarian history), but is unable to break free of the othering discourse. In contrast critical history and attention to historicity are concerned with the present and have the potential to go beyond the othering discourse.
The grand sweep of colonial history could be seen as an attempt to deal with difference met in the colonial encounter. In order to persevere, historicism had to find a way of fitting very different societies into its universal temporal narrative. Often seen as unhistorical, in stasis, outside of time, these colonized societies were only wrenched back into the stream of time by colonial rule. Although back in the narrative, they were then behind, backward. The colonies were seen as Europe's own past, like Europe but at the same time not like Europe. Historicism is then about both sameness and difference. It brings difference into sameness by temporizing. Nietzsche could have been writing about this when he wrote of monumental history: "how much that is different must be overlooked, how ruthlessly must the individuality of the past be forced into a general form …" Monumental history is inspirational. It advises us that greatness is once more possible if we imitate past greatness. Monumental history thus produces a script, forcing out all specificity. It is nothing but lifeless mimesis, producing "nothing but timidly disguised universal men."
Hegel exemplifies historicism. His juggernaut of a master narrative simply rolled right over alternative histories. He could subjugate them, bringing them all into the grand narrative, because of the totalizing progress of spirit (geist) through the ages. To be all-encompassing his system had to find ways to make these varied narratives commensurate, which is why the India we meet in Hegel's narrative is so distorted. Hegel's question of how to deal with discrepancy – India – was solved by the explanation that ancient India was once great but got stuck in stasis, while Europe kept on progressing. For Hegel, self-consciousness is produced dialectically through experience of the other: "those peoples therefore are alone capable of History... who have arrived at that period of development... at which individuals comprehend their own existence as independent, i.e. possess self-consciousness." But the Indians, steeped in spirituality, did not exercise their reason to separate Man from Nature and God. Without differentiating themselves from the universal, the dialectic could not function. The irrationality and lack of individuation of Indians ("In India we have only a division in masses..." explains Hegel) thus retarded the development of reason. And because reason, or Spirit, is the great mover of history, without it the Indians could have no history or progress. They were doomed to be stuck in the past – at least until Europe's convenient intervention; it was "the necessary fate of Asiatic Empires to be subjected to Europeans." In Hegel, India is othered, then the other is conquered by the same. As Chakrabarty explains this is a united world with an internally articulated hierarchy – the world is both one and unequal.
Part 2 here
Tuesday, January 1, 2008
Out with the old, in with the new (year, that is)
I hadn't planned on posting any nostalgic summaries of 2007, ridiculous predictions for 2008, top whatever lists, or anything like that. But, because 2007 was such a good year for me personally, I guess I felt compelled to at least acknowledge the holiday. 2007 was a year of learning, and transformation. I quit my job to go back to school, saw some excellent films, read some amazing books, learned a lot, laughed a lot, cried a lot, travelled a bit, met new friends, saw friends I love move away, lived in the same city as my brother for the first time in 10 years, and spent the holidays with my family.
So, Happy Time-to-get-a-new-calendar Day to the few loyal readers I have left (after my shameful December lack of posts).
Yes, a good year for me. Not so much for the world. Here's Harper Magazine's year in review:
So, Happy Time-to-get-a-new-calendar Day to the few loyal readers I have left (after my shameful December lack of posts).
Yes, a good year for me. Not so much for the world. Here's Harper Magazine's year in review:
Eight hundred ninety-nine U.S. troops and 18,610 Iraqi civilians were killed in the Iraq War. Eighty percent of Iraqis were reporting "attacks nearby" and it was estimated that 90 percent of Iraq's artists had fled the country or been killed. Halliburton announced that it would add 13,000 jobs, and President George W. Bush underwent a colonoscopy. In Venezuela, President Hugo Chavez embraced President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad of Iran. "Welcome, fighter for just causes," said Chavez. Senator Barack Obama was featured shirtless in People Magazine's Beach Babes issue, House Speaker Nancy Pelosi banned smoking in the Speaker's Parlor of the Capitol, and Senator Hillary Clinton said that "we want to be able to continue to export democracy, but we want to deliver it in digestible packages." Viagra turned 15. Wildfires spread from north of Los Angeles to south of San Diego, and scientists at New York University were deleting frightening experiences from the memories of rats. The first Muslim member of Congress took his oath on a Koran once owned by Thomas Jefferson. Annual sales at Taser International were expected to reach $90 million.
Drought was driving tens of thousands of snakes into Australian cities, female koalas in Australia were ignoring males in favor of five-bear lesbian orgies, and developers were planning to open a Hooters in Dubai. Scientists in London were working on a gum that suppresses appetite and fights obesity. "Obese people like chewing," reasoned a researcher. The United States projected that it would emit 19 percent more greenhouse gases in 2020 than it did in 2000, and U.S. pollution was cited as the reason that the Dutch are now taller than Americans. The United Arab Emirates beat out the United States to become the world's most wasteful country, Ford posted a loss of $12.7 billion for 2006 (the largest in its 103-year history and equivalent to the GDP of Jordan), and General Motors announced it would open a new research center in Shanghai to develop alternative fuels and vehicles. Geneticist Craig Venter announced that he had constructed a synthetic chromosome out of laboratory chemicals, creating the first artificial life form on Earth. Britney Spears shaved her head, and an appeals court in Washington, D.C., ruled that the writ of habeas corpus does not apply to prisoners at Guantanamo Bay, Cuba. The market price for children in India slipped below that of buffalo, and crystal meth was now available in candy flavors.
Kurt Vonnegut, Norman Mailer, and Boris Yeltsin died. Osama bin Laden turned 50 and the Senate doubled the bounty on his head to $50 million. Ariel Sharon was still alive. New stars were hatching near the head of Orion. Paul Wolfowitz, Karl Rove, Alberto Gonzales, and Tony Blair resigned. "[Blair] was the worst thing that ever happened to Africa," said Bright Matonga, the deputy information minister of Zimbabwe. "We hope that the children of Iraq and Afghanistan he is killing everyday will haunt him for the rest of his life." Reverend Ted Haggard declared himself "completely heterosexual," and Paris Hilton went to jail. An Irish soldier who won the Military Cross for single-handedly defeating a Baghdad suicide bomber was facing a court-martial for auctioning his medal on eBay. Scientists trained dogs to track polar bear feces, produced talking construction paper, made stem cells out of adult mice, and linked the upsurge in cat sex to global warming. Mr. Wizard died, as did Mr. Whipple. Pope Benedict XVI decreed that, by definition, Protestant churches are not churches, and it was revealed that Mother Teresa, beginning in 1948 and continuing until the end of her life in 1997, was unable to sense the presence of God. "Repulsed--empty--no faith--no love--no zeal," she wrote. "Heaven means nothing." Detainees at Guantanamo Bay complained of "infinite tedium and loneliness," and 20,000 people marched against the junta in Burma; about 400 monks were pushed away from the house where pro-democracy leader Aung San Suu Kyi was imprisoned. "Love and kindness," read the monks' yellow banner, "must win over everything."
Sunday, October 21, 2007
Terrorism as a Rational Act of Resistance
I'm tired of hearing people say that suicide bombing and other such acts of terrorism are irrational.
There are many ways to opine about suicide bombing: we can be morally opposed to the specific tactic, we can support it in theory but oppose it in practice, we can be opposed to the ideology behind it, we can support it in some circumstances and not others, we can armchair speculate about its effectiveness, etc.
But we cannot really say that it is an irrational tactic.
Resistance ranges from demonstrations, riots, general strikes, petitions, destruction of property or symbols, and "everyday forms of resistance" such as false compliance, theft, sabotage, foot dragging, popular discourse, etc. Acts of violent resistance are simply one other tactic, and potentially a powerful one, for the weak to influence the strong. As such, they are as rational as any other tactic. Irrational would mean there was no reason behind the act, that it was a senseless act of violence for no purpose. But terrorist acts do have an internal logic and reasoning behind them. There's enough work done in the political sciences and history to prove that. Indeed that is the only premise on which to base an effective strategy to stop terrorism.
So why can't they admit that? Why can't the politicians and pundits oppose an act of terrorism by declaring it a tragedy and a terrible crime, or even by standing in opposition to the ideology espoused by the perpetrators? Why do they call it irrational?
I suppose to say that terrorism is rational is to admit the terrorists aren't so completely different from us, that they aren't inhuman, stupid, or beast-like. Or perhaps admitting respect for one's "enemy" displays a lack of machismo. Or maybe it's just laziness.
There's a desire in politics and punditry for simplicity. That's why stereotypes seem to be everywhere - they are a nice convenient way of avoiding any sort of depth, complexity, heterogeneity, multiplicities, layers, standpoints - you know, reality. The Manichean world view of good v evil is easily mapped onto other binaries, like Civilized/Uncivilized, Freedom/The Commies, Moral/Immoral, HonestHardworkingAmericans/Evildoers, Us/The Terrorists, Rational/Irrational. So you only have to conjure one of these and all the others are assumed. So maybe the word irrational is used as just another synonym for "evil".
Odd, because what "irrationality" is pretty much a synonym for is faith, and I don't mean it derogatorily. Faith, in the Christian sense anyways, is basically the gap between reason and God. What is beyond the rational.
Interesting, too, that the oppressed and marginalized have historically been labeled irrational. Women, people of colour, the colonized, pagans, the mentally ill, sexual "deviants", etc.
Irrational != Immoral
Moral != Rational
(Translation for non-geeks that means "Irrational does not equal Immoral, Moral does not equal Rational)
There are many ways to opine about suicide bombing: we can be morally opposed to the specific tactic, we can support it in theory but oppose it in practice, we can be opposed to the ideology behind it, we can support it in some circumstances and not others, we can armchair speculate about its effectiveness, etc.
But we cannot really say that it is an irrational tactic.
Resistance ranges from demonstrations, riots, general strikes, petitions, destruction of property or symbols, and "everyday forms of resistance" such as false compliance, theft, sabotage, foot dragging, popular discourse, etc. Acts of violent resistance are simply one other tactic, and potentially a powerful one, for the weak to influence the strong. As such, they are as rational as any other tactic. Irrational would mean there was no reason behind the act, that it was a senseless act of violence for no purpose. But terrorist acts do have an internal logic and reasoning behind them. There's enough work done in the political sciences and history to prove that. Indeed that is the only premise on which to base an effective strategy to stop terrorism.
So why can't they admit that? Why can't the politicians and pundits oppose an act of terrorism by declaring it a tragedy and a terrible crime, or even by standing in opposition to the ideology espoused by the perpetrators? Why do they call it irrational?
I suppose to say that terrorism is rational is to admit the terrorists aren't so completely different from us, that they aren't inhuman, stupid, or beast-like. Or perhaps admitting respect for one's "enemy" displays a lack of machismo. Or maybe it's just laziness.
There's a desire in politics and punditry for simplicity. That's why stereotypes seem to be everywhere - they are a nice convenient way of avoiding any sort of depth, complexity, heterogeneity, multiplicities, layers, standpoints - you know, reality. The Manichean world view of good v evil is easily mapped onto other binaries, like Civilized/Uncivilized, Freedom/The Commies, Moral/Immoral, HonestHardworkingAmericans/Evildoers, Us/The Terrorists, Rational/Irrational. So you only have to conjure one of these and all the others are assumed. So maybe the word irrational is used as just another synonym for "evil".
Odd, because what "irrationality" is pretty much a synonym for is faith, and I don't mean it derogatorily. Faith, in the Christian sense anyways, is basically the gap between reason and God. What is beyond the rational.
Interesting, too, that the oppressed and marginalized have historically been labeled irrational. Women, people of colour, the colonized, pagans, the mentally ill, sexual "deviants", etc.
Irrational != Immoral
Moral != Rational
(Translation for non-geeks that means "Irrational does not equal Immoral, Moral does not equal Rational)
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
The Whiner Files: Backpack Edition
Oh no! Not the backpacks! Grownups with backpacks - why that's nearly as bad as women who wear sneakers for their commutes. Selfish sneaker wearing women - caring about their own comfort more than they care about how their legs look to the menz.
Dude - let me 'splain. We don't have enough SPACE for everyone to drive. Some people can't even afford a car, or are too young to drive. Hence the subway. When you can't store your whole day's worth of stuff in your car, you have to carry it somehow. The backpack is the most body-friendly way to do that. If you don't like backpacks, you can carry a plastic grocery bag. And leave the rest of the backpack-toting world alone.
I find people are actually pretty careful with their backpacks and even when they aren't, if you ask them nicely to move, they cheerfully oblige. Let's practice together, in our non-bitchy voices: "Can you please move your backpack so I can sit down? Thanks."
What do people carry in their backpacks? Well, those lazy entitled students (though personally I find those whose parents drive them to school are a wee bit lazier and more entitled than those who take mass transit) usually have enough books and homework to keep them busy for 9.2 hours a day.
Now, I have shocking news. In this new age of peak oil and a warmed globe, you better get used to backpacks. Here's what I recommend: an umbrella for sudden weather changes, sweater (for the over-airconditioned buildings), wide-brimmed hat and big bottle of SPF2000 for melanoma protection. Maybe you should place the blame for the backpack scourge where it is deserved: on the shoulders of big oil.
Is there really nothing better to complain about? Like say, people starving or something? Or your favourite shampoo was discontinued? Come on.
You know what really gets me? People who say "napsack". WTF is a nap sack? Something to hold my supplies for the dream world? In conclusion, if you're going to whine about sacks or packs or backs or naps, please do not waste space in the NEWSpaper doing so. Get a blog like the rest of us.
Saturday, June 23, 2007
How the Cult of Busy Protects Capitalism
I have a confession to make. The other day I was reading Ways to begin gutting Capitalism (and this - Strategies that have Failed), and the first thing that I thought was yeah, but who has TIME for this. Neighbourhood associations, local currencies, growing my own food, it all sounds great, but geez, there's practically no time to eat and sleep any more let alone adding all that face time with people. (I'm also kind of shy, but that's another issue altogether.)As regular readers know, I'm quitting my job of 9 years and going back to school, and the more I think about it the happier I am about this decision. The truth is, I have a great job, with good pay, a fair bit of autonomy, and great co-workers. But it's not nourishing me. And I have no time to even contemplate a change in my daily routine, such as would be necessary to get more involved in my community. I used to be time rich and cash poor. Now, relatively speaking, I'm cash rich and time poor. I wouldn't really call that progress.
But it's hard to give up busy. There's a certain pride I take in my work and accomplishments, and having a schedule that isn't completely full feels, well, empty. But that's the whole point, isn't it? That unstructured time, that space in the interstices between appointments, is where the mind plays. That's where imagination, creativity, and problem solving all function their best.
So I know all of this, and I accept it. That's why I'm taking about six weeks off (well, I'm taking one class) before full time school starts, and looking forward to it. Despite this, I worry what others will think of me. People might think I'm an unproductive member of society, lazy, morally deficient, stupid, ungodly, whatever. What's this insecurity all about? See, somehow there's this equivalent between how hard a person works in the paid sphere, or how much money she makes, how busy she is, and her moral value. Oh, and the stuff she consumes - people who own BMWs and Audis are superior to people who take the bus, because clearly they work harder.
Let's wrap up. The measure of our moral character is equivalent to our busy-ness. Extra points for each hour of sleep debt incurred. Working so hard to buy more things that take up our time (video games, television, cars, big houses) leaves us us too exhausted to organize. How convenient for capitalism
Sunday, June 17, 2007
Fighting Amongst Ourselves for the Scraps
One of my favourite Canadian blogs has a very interesting conversation going on in the comments of this post, as explained here. To sum up, there's a Nice White Guy who feels Indiginous peoples have unfair advantages, and Scott has some very compassionate and well-argued points. I urge everyone to go and read.
I've been hearing and reading versions of this conversation everywhere lately. The well-meaning, hard-working white guy has a tougher and tougher time making it these days. He looks back, feeling nostalgic for a time that seems simpler; the time before the women's movement, before civil rights, before various other liberation struggles. There's a tendency among many regular working class people to blame those who are below them in the heirarchy but catching up, rather than those at the top who are keeping everyone down. Thus you have increasing fear, and a huge backlash against so many of the progressive reforms hard fought and won. Vicious anti-feminism, anti-immigration, and that sort of soft reactionary racism that is common these days (such as the belief in reverse discrimination).
See, on the left, we usually see the rise of neoliberalism as one of the main causes of the increasing difficulties for the white middle class. We blame those at the very top, and their cheerleaders and supporters in the market fundamentalist government, corporate media, and think tanks. Most (though not all) of these people are white, wealthy, Christian, hetero men. That doesn't mean we blame white people, the wealthy, Christians, heteros, or men.
The nostalgic past in which life was simple and good for a hardworking everyman was experienced by a minority of white Westerners. The 50s look very different to a black woman in the US, or an aboriginal person in Canada, an Algerian in Algeria, or a Palestinian in a refugee camp.
The last few decades have seen amazing struggles, many successes, and many setbacks. I certainly don't want to bedgrudge any group the rights they fought so hard for. I want them to have more. I want us to have more. That's what social justice is about. If I may use a dog-and-meat-metaphor: we should not be fighting amongst ourselves for the scraps, but going after those who are eating the prime rib. (Well, more precisely those structures that dole out prime rib to some and scraps to the rest.)
I've been hearing and reading versions of this conversation everywhere lately. The well-meaning, hard-working white guy has a tougher and tougher time making it these days. He looks back, feeling nostalgic for a time that seems simpler; the time before the women's movement, before civil rights, before various other liberation struggles. There's a tendency among many regular working class people to blame those who are below them in the heirarchy but catching up, rather than those at the top who are keeping everyone down. Thus you have increasing fear, and a huge backlash against so many of the progressive reforms hard fought and won. Vicious anti-feminism, anti-immigration, and that sort of soft reactionary racism that is common these days (such as the belief in reverse discrimination).
See, on the left, we usually see the rise of neoliberalism as one of the main causes of the increasing difficulties for the white middle class. We blame those at the very top, and their cheerleaders and supporters in the market fundamentalist government, corporate media, and think tanks. Most (though not all) of these people are white, wealthy, Christian, hetero men. That doesn't mean we blame white people, the wealthy, Christians, heteros, or men.
The nostalgic past in which life was simple and good for a hardworking everyman was experienced by a minority of white Westerners. The 50s look very different to a black woman in the US, or an aboriginal person in Canada, an Algerian in Algeria, or a Palestinian in a refugee camp.
The last few decades have seen amazing struggles, many successes, and many setbacks. I certainly don't want to bedgrudge any group the rights they fought so hard for. I want them to have more. I want us to have more. That's what social justice is about. If I may use a dog-and-meat-metaphor: we should not be fighting amongst ourselves for the scraps, but going after those who are eating the prime rib. (Well, more precisely those structures that dole out prime rib to some and scraps to the rest.)
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