The year in shock.
Molesworth, Helen ; Ali, Tariq ; Brown, Wendy 等
THE STUNNING RISE OF NATIONALISM, populism, and fundamentalism has roiled the world. It is tempting to imagine that we are witnessing just another rotation of political modernity's cycle of progress and backlash. But we can situate the undoing of the demos in democracy's longue duree while rejecting the false comfort of the idea that what's happening is not new, that we've seen it all before. How did we get here? How did we create the conditions for Trump, for Brexit, for Mosul, for a daily sequence of devastating events, whether shootings or strikes? Is shock, that quintessentially modernist avant-garde strategy of instigating mass perceptual--and therefore political--change, somehow more prevalent than ever, albeit in radically transformed ways? Does shock, in fact, go hand in hand with apathy and desensitization?
Art must confront these shifts in experience and form. And so Artforum asked curator HELEN MOLESWORTH, activist TARIQ ALI, and political theorist WENDY BROWN to reflect on THE YEAR IN SHOCK: on the sudden reaction, the surprise turn, the violent wake.
THE YEAR IN SHOCK
ONLY CONNECT
HELEN MOLESWORTH
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MY EARLY-1990S LIFE involved reading a lot of theory in graduate school accompanied by near-compulsive listening to Jane's Addiction. This meant that while I was at home reading, lyrics like these hung in the air: The TV's got them images TV's got them all It's not shocking Every half an hour Someone's captured and The cop moves them along It's just like the show before The news is Just another show With sex and violence
Meanwhile, in my seminars, there was much talk of modernism and modernity and, therefore, of shock: shock as a modality that allowed us to understand everything from the destruction of bodies on the killing fields of World War I (Dada collage), to artists' responses to the dropping of the atomic bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki (from AbEx to Gutai), to the effect of technologies on bodies both individual and politic (the trauma of modernity's speed, from the train and the telephone to the novels of J. G. Ballard). In this way, the avant-garde was understood as countering shock with shock. Its strategy of epater le bourgeoisie suggested that there was a stratum of society that needed to be shaken from its anesthetized stupor by another set of shocks. But truth be told, I was skeptical of such talk: Must meaning be predicated on shock? Why was a cut or a break always required for something to be historically serious or significant? Why couldn't continuity or gentleness, even, be imagined as a hermeneutic of radicality? As someone with a nascent interest in domesticity and the quotidian, I felt that shock didn't help me understand much of anything. I wasn't interested in Duchamp's readymade as a shock to the very category of art; I was curious about how a bottle rack or a bottle of perfume might be engaging larger societal shifts in how women were being taught to be consumers of mass-produced goods.
Since the murder of Trayvon Martin, the media has been awash with more images than ever of the massacre of innocent black citizens by law enforcement. There has been a lot of hand-wringing about how this can be happening "now," as if our present were somehow severed from our past. This stream of snuff films has been accompanied by talk of shock. People are shocked by the killings, shocked by the footage, shocked by the constancy of both. But I have to say I am not shocked. Indeed, I find talk of shock in this instance galling, for I understand it to be a statement--inherent, implicit, unconscious--of extraordinary privilege. In other words, I think the only people who are shocked are those who still don't understand that this violence began during the Middle Passage, continued through slavery, was perfected during Jim Crow, and is, as I write this, being ruthlessly carried out, with ever more efficiency, through the practice of mass incarceration.
One of the most prevalent responses to the recent documentation of this violence has been to call for more body cameras on police officers--a call, in other words, for more images, which, in turn, is ostensibly a call for more shock. But I think it is fair to say that, as of yet, the cameras--turned on or not, footage made public or not--have not served to deter these murders, nor have they clarified any of the police accounts of various officers' personal fears and split-second decision-making processes. In fact, quite the opposite has happened: The cameras have made these executions weekly television-news fare. And since it stands to some kind of "reason" that repetition mitigates shock's force of singularity, then the continued display of shock in the face of these state murders, is, for me, ever more disturbing. Alas, I find the demand for the "veracity" of police-generated footage to partake, extend, and perhaps even polish to a new shine the long history of spectactularized violence against black bodies in our country--from public whippings to communal lynchings, from the photograph of Emmett Till in his coffin to Andy Warhol using "Race Riot" to title a silk screen that depicts a young black man being attacked by police dogs. I know people feel shocked--and of course they should--but I cannot be, because I feel like being shocked now is just a polite way of saying you haven't been paying attention. This isn't to say that I haven't wept at, and been devastated by, this violence. It's to say that, today, shock and desensitization are wedded together in a complicated dialectic that so far has tended to translate into an exhausted, tacit, cynical acceptance of business as usual.
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Yet I am not without hope. Modernity may be an incomplete project, but it has had a sufficient number of critics who have produced other tendencies of thought. That so many of these critiques have come from the very communities being terrorized is no coincidence. Lately, I have felt that we may be in the midst of another avant-garde--albeit one that has declined to call itself that, precisely because of modernism's checkered history.
The refusal of the mainstream media (whatever that means) to cover the complexity of the Black Lives Matter movement is also not shocking. So I'm especially grateful to the editors of Artforum for this little patch of print to spread the word about what I see as a set of cultural discourses and practices that are happening in response to the very particular horror of our current moment (with its global turn toward xenophobia and religious radicalism), and which have replaced modernist tactics of shock with something close to its opposite. On Thursday, July 7, the Museum of Contemporary Art in Los Angeles (where I work) hosted two artists--Patrisse Cullors and Tanya Lucia Bernard--central to the Black Lives Matter movement in LA. We had originally invited them to participate in a forum called "What Is Contemporary?" and given them the brief of discussing the relationship between activism and art. But the night of their appearance, scheduled months in advance, turned out to be during the week Alton Sterling and Philando Castile had been killed within days of each other, and Cullors and Bernard rightly shifted gears. At LA MOCA, we prepared for an overflow audience: We rented three hundred chairs and arranged them, as requested by Cullors and Bernard, in a town-hall setting. More than eight hundred people showed up. Cullors and Bernard led an open-mic forum where people were offered an opportunity to speak to a temporarily convened public. The pair prefaced their personal abdication of the microphone by asking white people to hold back from speaking if they were near a person of color who clearly had something to say. No white people spoke publicly for the entire evening. For about an hour the talk was of pain, and grief, and mourning. Several people discussed the rampant mental illness in their communities, neighborhoods, and families. No one mentioned shock; people were too damned sad. The last audience member to take the mic was a man whose narrative, in contrast to his peers that night, gave way to rage. He indignantly described his long commute via train to the museum. He angrily explained his late arrival to the event because he had to escort an elderly female neighbor to the grocery store; she was afraid to go out on the streets alone. His voice raised, he wanted to know why any white people occupied any of the seats at all. How dare they let any black people stand, given the current situation?
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To say that the tenor or feeling in the room turned in that moment is an understatement. The man's anger was so real and so profound and so precise that it felt like the room was awash in a form of energy that I can only describe, with all of my personal ambivalence, as apprehension--a feeling that, I confess, I identified in this context with my whiteness. But what happened next was, for me, completely remarkable. Cullors took a microphone--indeed, she had taken it early in his testimony, looking at him the entire time he spoke--and addressed him intimately and directly, person-to-person, and said: "Thank you for your honesty." And then she paused, and addressed the group: "What we are being allowed to do tonight is listen to people's pain and rage, righteous rage, so I appreciate you for naming it, and being honest and being vulnerable." In this one linguistic, affective moment of pure genius, she reframed his rage--and all of its implicit and attendant fear and violence and its potential for confusion and miscommunication--as the very attribute that makes us most human: vulnerability. In doing so, she suggested that it is only in our vulnerability to each other that we can truly recognize and see one another. She held that space open for all of us that evening; I don't think I was the only person who left the building thinking about how to bring about ethical change one personal encounter at a time. And it seems clear, to me at least, that this work comes through repetition, and continuity, and gentleness. I do not think shock, with its trafficking in rupture and cataclysm, was what allowed Cullors to enact her extraordinary position of leadership that evening.
I have come to understand this work of healing as central to Black Lives Matter. And it is not isolated. I see it in Simone Leigh's therapeutic workshops with women in the movement at the New Museum in New York; the new lexicon of "self-care"; Karon Davis's elegiac show "Pain Management" at Wilding Cran Gallery in Los Angeles and Lauren Halsey's spiritual funk fest "Kingdom Splurge (4)" at Recess in New York; the eloquently reparative albums of Dev Hynes and Solange; and the emergence of the Rebuild Foundation in Chicago and the Underground Museum in Los Angeles (which offer yoga and meditation, respectively, as part of their programs). I see all of these endeavors working together to form a web of responses to the cancer of racism in our democracy. Maybe the rhetoric of shock is part and parcel of this illness from which we are all suffering, and perhaps it is time to treat both the symptoms and the cause, not with the outmoded technique of shock therapy, but through a quieter, more painful, and more intimate palliative of continuous self-reflection and regard for others.
HELEN MOLESWORTH IS CHIEF CURATOR AT THE MUSEUM OF CONTEMPORARY ART, LOS ANGELES.
THE YEAR IN SHOCK
DEAD CENTER
TARIQ ALI
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IN THE RUN-UP to the Brexit referendum in the UK, the Remain campaign looked certain to prevail. I personally thought that that would be the outcome. They had the bulk of the liberal media on their side, the BBC. And then seventeen million people voted to quit. I was astonished by that. But it happened. And of course, as it turned out, that was mere prelude to a far bigger, even cataclysmic, shock.
Trump demonstrated his capacity to surprise early on. For him to oppose NAFTA was astonishing. Neither Bill Clinton nor Barack Obama would repudiate the treaty, and Hillary Clinton surely wouldn't have either, because it's very beneficial to the rich and to big corporations. Trump comes out and says he's opposed to it, and then he denounces the Iraq War quite savagely (though he supported it in the past) and says to Jeb Bush, "Your family is part and parcel of this war," and Bush is reduced to a gibbering wreck, because he can't reply. Yet, despite the regularity of such startling pronouncements, Trump's victory is simply dumbfounding.
More broadly, what strikes me as unexpected is the speed with which this rightwing recrudescence has taken place. Suddenly, in every major European country, you have right-wing groups developing along anti-immigration lines, saying, "We've got too many foreigners in our country," trying to unite voters around populist xenophobia. Of course, most of the politicians and ideologues who deal in such rhetoric, in all of these European nations, forget the many immigrants their countries bequeathed to the New World. One finds the same hypocrisy, inverted, among American xenophobes, who forget that they descend from immigrants themselves.
If the speed of these developments has surprised me, however, the developments themselves have not. The predisposing factors were there to see, the historical patterns well established, even if a convenient amnesia often occludes them. When people are fed up, when they have no work and no income, when they're subjected to wars, they flee. This has always been the case in times of crisis, throughout world history. If we think in terms of a shorter duree, then we confront the fact that the US and its EU allies uprooted these populations in the first place. When you bomb Arab cities and Arab countries, reduce them to penury, destroy their social infrastructures, and effectively create a vacuum in which religious fundamentalists come to the fore, it is not surprising that millions of people want to run away.
In both Europe and the US, the reaction to the influx of immigrants has been out of control. And naturally, instability and precarity play a role here, too. Had we been living in a time of, let's say, plentiful social democracy, the response would have been different. It's when people feel that things are not working out for them, that their earnings are meager and that the level of inequality is too high, that they come to feel: Given how bad things are, why should we share what little we have with anyone?
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On the other side of the political spectrum, we witnessed two white-haired guys who maybe don't look all that brilliant on TV or Twitter--Jeremy Corbyn in the UK and Bernie Sanders in the US--mobilizing hundreds of thousands of young people, all looking for something different. Corbyn won his bid to be elected Labour leader, while Sanders of course did not become the Democratic presidential nominee, but the sociological analogies are very interesting. Both Sanders and Corbyn endorsed social democracy--only in the tiniest doses, but still, in the world in which we live, even that seems quite startling. During a meeting a few months ago, Corbyn told me that when he was campaigning, he'd said, "If I win we're going to have free higher education again, like we used to," and that large numbers of young people came up to him and asked, "Was there really a time when there was free higher education?" They had no memory of it at all, because of the ascendance of what I've called the extreme center. That rubric is intended to highlight the fact that the mainstream political parties of North America and Europe--Democrat and Republican, Labour and Conservative, and their respective Continental analogues--in fact work side by side in the service of a single radical neoliberal agenda. And the speed with which this system wipes out memory is incredible. There's no narrative account of history anymore in our culture, so people have no perspective on their own circumstances.
That, in turn, makes it easier to maintain specious certainties: that we now live in a completely capitalist world and we've got to play along with it, support it, strengthen it, etc. Blair as prime minister espoused those ideas rather persuasively, and his successors in Labour's right wing aren't prepared to break from the truisms of the extreme center, which is why they've responded to Corbyn with total hatred.
MANY OF US ON THE LEFT were in a quandary about Brexit. "What are we going to do?" At one stage, I thought I would definitely abstain from the vote, because the pro-Brexit campaign was dominated by the Right. Quite a few other people on the Left, for instance trade-union leaders and a few politicians, said, "We should vote to leave, because after all we can't defend the EU after what it's done, in the name of 'austerity,' to Greece in particular but also to Spain, Italy, and Portugal." Corbyn was for staying in and fighting within Europe, although he was very critical of the EU throughout his campaigning. We waged a left-wing campaign called Lexit, Left Exit from Europe, which was very small and had limited impact, but our position certainly did chime with the views of a number of people we talked to on the streets, etc., who said that the country was wrecked and that staying in the EU would prevent us from doing anything to fix it.
Brexit was far from the only recent instance in which far Left and Right have found unlikely common ground. Many contemporary right-wing leaders actually offer a curious melange of positions, some of them borrowed from the Left. Marine Le Pen, the French postfascist leader, as she calls herself, is a right-wing nationalist, very hostile to Muslims, very hostile to immigration, a great believer in French purity. Yet her social program--I don't think that she would follow through on it, but on paper--rests on deprivatization, massive use of the state apparatus to help the poor, etc. That's why she has such large working-class support in France, the Communist Party having surrendered its own working-class support just shamefully, abjectly. For the same reason, the Italian Communist Party has lost much of its support to the Five Star Movement, which is a mixed bag of liberals and right-wingers. No one can quite work it out.
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Trump's own, let's say, eccentric array of positions defies traditional Left-Right divisions in the same way. Thomas Frank argued this quite well in The Guardian in March, a period when most of what people were talking about was Trump's appeal to racists. Frank attributed much of Trump's success to working-class voters' understanding that "neoliberalism has well and truly failed." These people really are ignored by mainstream politicians. Similarly, while hostility to immigrants played a role in the Brexit result, what many voters were objecting to was all the cheap labor that corporations import from Eastern Europe. Under EU laws, no one can stop them. That was not a racially based concern, it was economic, a fact downplayed by the media.
I wish I could say that I think the extreme center has been put on notice by the past year's turmoil and by Trump's election, that new prospects for the Left and for direct democracy have opened up in the wake of Corbyn's and Sanders's campaigns. Unfortunately, I can't. In the 1960s and '70s, there was a great deal of optimism. There were few victories, but the defeats weren't of such a nature that we thought they were going to be permanent or semipermanent. We live in bad times, I feel--the worst through which I've ever lived. There was a ray of hope during the height of the Bolivarian experiment in South America, where Chavez's incredibly moving idea to unite the continent against the empires was very heartening. His death and the dramatic drop in the price of oil have of course brought Venezuela to a dire state. While Ecuador and Bolivia are doing somewhat better, people feel that we are going to be defeated there. And then, with the economic changes that the United States wants in Cuba, one is wondering how long it will be before Cuba becomes a US brothel again. I hope that doesn't happen. But if it does, I won't be surprised.
Given the state of the world, I've been revived somewhat by working on a new book for the centenary of the Russian Revolution next year, The Dilemmas of Lenin. Lenin was a visionary inspired by utopian dreams, a man of practical action and ruthless realism. Rereading him and related works has been a real treat, so much so that my dedication is actually quite optimistic. "For those who will come after: The road to the future can only be unlocked by the past." ?
--As told to Elizabeth Schambelan
TARIQ ALI IS A RADICAL ACTIVIST AND THE EDITOR OF THE NEW LEFT REVIEW. AND THE AUTHOR, MOST RECENTLY, OF THE DILEMMAS OF LENIN: TERRORISM, WAR, EMPIRE, LOVE, REVOLUTION (VERSO, MAY 2017). (SEE CONTRIBUTORS.)
THE YEAR IN SHOCK
THE END OF THE WORLD AS WE KNOW IT
WENDY BROWN
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"WE KNOW THIS might carry us over a cliff, but fuck it. Compared with my life? Let's blow it all up and see what's left." That seems to be the impulse motivating some Trump and some Brexit supporters alike. It's apocalyptic populism: "We know it might lead to economic collapse, political peril, even nuclear war, but that's better than the humiliation and impotence we face now."
One has to be shocked by the events of the past year--especially by Brexit, the growing strength of neofascist parties in Europe, the destruction of Turkish democracy, and the rise of Trump--and at the same time, one has to figure out the frame through which they make sense. Trump in particular must be fathomed in terms of a white working- and lower-middle-class population that has been radically displaced, economically and culturally, over the past quarter century, and whose increasing frustration has been mobilized in xenophobic and racist ways. But it's crucial to attend to the extent to which impotence--displaced, rerouted, improperly named--is at stake here. I mean to invoke both felt political powerlessness and felt socioeconomic castration. The political powerlessness has to do with the gutting of democracies, and the castration has to do with expectations and powers long associated with whiteness, with maleness, and with class.
Gender politics in the US is cracked open right now. There's extraordinary ferment around sexual violence, misogyny, and women's enduring inequality--economically, politically, and socially. This explosion is not attributable to either Clinton or Trump, but their respective candidacies have certainly been explosive sites for some of these issues and have produced some spectacular effects, like the robust corporate feminism of Megyn Kelly. This fifth wave of feminism is happening side by side with queer and trans movements dealing with gender along quite different axes, and with Black Lives Matter and immigrants' rights movements that feature still other dimensions of women's struggles for life, belonging, equality, mattering. All of this is tremendously exciting, opening up new domains of meaning and possibilities for being human and for addressing the nonhuman world. But all of this, and not only Clinton's presidential run, is surely compounding the rage of that castrated stratum of white men. We could cite similar dynamics in the United Kingdom, around Brexit, for example, and in Europe more generally.
It's important, however, not to focus solely on the racism and xenophobia of neofascist white-nationalist parties like France's Front National and Greece's Golden Dawn. That dimension is there, and terrifying. But we need to fathom why we're seeing these particularly neofascist forms of racism and xenophobia, as opposed to more quotidian forms, right now. These new Right movements are not just racist, they also generally reject classic democratic political principles, whether liberal or radical, and seek a strong authoritarian state in its place. We're not seeing calls for inclusion, equality, freedom through popular sovereignty. We're seeing mass thuggery, contempt for the rule of law, equality, civil liberties, and universal inclusion. We are seeing a deep, wholesale rejection of the most basic principles of democracy. This is what neoliberalism has wrought over four decades--this wide, deep rejection of democracy, not only social democracy but political democracy.
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There are other aspects of neoliberalism at stake in the US elections. Yes, it's incredible that a figure like Trump, with his unbridled narcissism and sociopathic tendencies and ludicrous chest-thumping, could become the Republican nominee. What isn't incredible in 2016, however, is a wealthy real estate developer proposing his business acumen and business success as qualifications for the presidency. This is the quintessence of the transformation of political life and political meanings by markets and by economic meanings. Personality-disorder issues aside, Trump is offering himself as a businessman who would bring to the executive office his capacity to make deals and dominate the competition. He's not offering knowledge of the Constitution; he's not promising to represent the people, execute the law, or work with Congress. That his credentials in business and entertainment could become credentials for the presidency is totally in line with the neoliberal assault on democracy.
But there are other unprecedented dimensions of the past year or two: the rise of Justin Trudeau in Canada, Bernie Sanders in the US, and Jeremy Corbyn in the UK, along with syriza, Podemos, the Indignados, and so forth. Half a decade ago, few imagined that there was a future in Left parties. We were focused on movements like Occupy, and we'd more or less given up on party politics--certainly on Democratic Party politics in the US and Labour Party politics in the UK. Now we have reason to reconsider. And these parties are often very clear-minded about neoliberalism as a social, political, and economic regime that has failed, that is cruel and unsustainable. I find this hopeful. Of course, once these parties are in power, they have to cope with rule by international finance. And Left governing in those circumstances, especially when the powers of finance want the government to fail, is not easy. Ask syriza.
AS FOR THE UNITED STATES: Whether Trump or Clinton wins, the Left and the mainstream of the Democratic party must rethink how to address the tens of millions of Americans who have been won over to Trump. The Left has largely given up on organizing the working class, which means it has been abandoned to Fox News and its own pain. That's the stuff of reactionary or fascist popular formations. If Clinton is in the White House, our task is also to push hard for reinvesting in public education, deprivatizing prisons, lowering the black incarceration rate, and, above all, leashing the banks and corporations. Put another way, our task is both to figure out how to reach the deeply alienated and often angry working class and how to open up new ways of thinking about justice, democracy, and political action. Our task is to expose and replace the neoliberal rationality that has governed all policy for the past thirty-five years. It's time to put everything we've got into the effort, while also understanding the gravity of our situation, which is unprecedented in many ways. Here, we can't lose sight of the neo in neoliberalism. We need to distinguish, for example, between the colonization of everyday life by the commodity, a feature of liberal capitalism, and the saturation of every part of existence and the construction of the human subject itself by contemporary economic metrics of value, and especially the gutting of democracy and justice with market values. We are in a different kind of struggle today over what constitutes a livable world than was imagined by older Left critiques of capital.
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There are some other features of the landscape that strike me as radically new and that I think we need to bear in mind in order to work effectively in what Stuart Hall would have called our current conjuncture. First, we are obviously in a kind of interregnum between the era of nation-states and whatever comes after them. We're not done with nation-states, but they are waning in power and significance. Globalization means they have less and less power over their economies and even their political life. They're also, obviously, less and less homogeneous. Thus, they do not secure cultural and political identity at the site, for example, of Frenchness, Americanness, etc. Some of the emerging neofascist movements are responding to that. So now we have a serious predicament. On the one hand, you can't think or easily practice global belonging--the globe is too big, diverse, and unknown to most of us. On the other hand, national belonging is almost inevitably nationalist in a reactionary sense, even as it may be a platform for radical democratic demands, as in the case of Greece. So that is one predicament that contours our present and near future.
The second feature is related and pertains to the tremendous transnational movement of contemporary populations. Whether they are displaced or voluntarily mobile, people are migrating in unprecedented numbers, bringing different cultures and religions and gender norms and so forth into close proximity. This heterogeneity means that those who care about democracy have to think about how we can live together without settled norms, and how to govern ourselves together, but not as a nation in either the ethnic or the sovereign sense. The problem here is not just to figure out how we live together as peoples with different histories and attachments, but to determine how we imagine ruling ourselves together--being democrats together--without settling the norms that come out of these histories and attachments.
And finally, there's the phenomenon I've touched on above--finance capital, which increasingly rules the world. Unless we figure out a way to get that genie back into the bottle, everything we say or do about socialist or democratic or communist or anarchist futures is probably beside the point. And the task of getting that genie back in is not trivial. It's on the order of unsplitting the atom, figuring out, in a world that knows how to make nuclear weapons, how we can eliminate them. In a world that now knows how to generate unfathomable amounts of wealth through the financialization of assets, through credit and debt, how do we eliminate that and turn instead to building economies that are sustainable for the earth and the creatures on it? It's not impossible, but damn close. To pull it off, we have to be very imaginative and undogmatic--not simply drawing on current trends, on past Left thinking or hoped-for solutions from markets and technology. We have to be absolutely inventive, creative, open, pluralistic, and humble. And we have to be totally committed to nonstupidity.
--As told to Elizabeth Schambelan, October 27, 2016
WENDY BROWN IS CLASS OF 1936 FIRST PROFESSOR OF POLITICAL SCIENCE AT THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA, BERKELEY, AND AUTHOR, MOST RECENTLY, OF UNDOING THE DEMOS: NEOUBERALISM'S STEALTH REVOLUTION (ZONE BOOKS, 2015). (SEE CONTRIBUTORS.)
