Your area representative for the No More Self Hate Campaign, 2006

Tue, 18 Jul 2006 15:42:03 GMT

Who are Hezbollah?
BBC: Thursday, 13 July 2006, 09:09 GMT 10:09 UK

Hezbollah - or the Party of God - is a powerful political and military organisation of Shia Muslims in Lebanon.

It emerged with financial backing from Iran in the early 1980s and began a struggle to drive Israeli troops from Lebanon.

Hezbollah presents itself as a force of resistance for Lebanon and the region
In May 2000 this aim was achieved, thanks largely to the success of the party's military arm, the Islamic Resistance.

In return, the movement, which represents Lebanon's Shia Muslims - the country's single largest community - won the respect of most Lebanese.

It now has an important presence in the Lebanese parliament and has built broad support by providing social services and health care. It also has an influential TV station, al-Manar.

But, it still has a militia that refuses to demilitarise, despite UN resolution 1559, passed in 2004, which called for the disarming of militias as well as the withdrawal of foreign (i.e about 14,000 Syrian) forces from Lebanon.

As long ago as 2000, after Israel's withdrawal, Hezbollah was under pressure to integrate its forces into the Lebanese army and focus on its political and social operations.

But, while it capitalised on its political gains, it continued to describe itself as a force of resistance not only for Lebanon, but for the region.

Syria

The Islamic Resistance is still active on the Israel-Lebanon border. Tension is focused on an area known as the Shebaa Farms, although clashes with Israeli troops occur elsewhere.

Hezbollah, with broad Lebanese political support, says the Shebaa Farms area is occupied Lebanese territory - but Israel, backed by the UN, says the farms are on the Syrian side of the border and so are part of the Golan Heights, which Israel has occupied since 1967.

Another casus belli cited by Hezbollah is the continued detention of prisoners from Lebanon in Israeli jails.

The movement long operated with neighbouring Syria's blessing, protecting its interests in Lebanon and serving as a card for Damascus to play in its own confrontation with Israel over the occupation of the Golan Heights.

But the withdrawal of Syrian troops in Lebanon last year - following huge anti-Syrian protests in the wake of Lebanese ex-Prime Minister Rafik Hariri's assassination - changed the balance of power.

Hezbollah became the most powerful military force in Lebanon in its own right and increased its political clout, gaining a seat in the Lebanese cabinet.

Analysts say Hezbollah has adopted a cautious policy since the Hariri assassination crisis erupted on 14 February 2005 - an event widely blamed on Syria, but which Damascus has vigorously denied.

Hezbollah leaders have continued to profess its support for Syria, while not criticising the Lebanese opposition. They have also stressed Lebanese unity by arguing against "Western interference" in the country.

Starting out

Hezbollah was conceived in 1982 by a group of Muslim clerics after the Israeli invasion of Lebanon.

It was close to a contingent of some 2,000 Iranian Revolutionary guards, based in Lebanon's Bekaa Valley, which had been sent to the country to aid the resistance against Israel.

Hezbollah was formed primarily to offer resistance to the Israeli occupation.

It also dreamed of transforming Lebanon's multi-confessional state into an Iranian-style Islamic state, although this idea was later abandoned in favour of a more inclusive approach that has survived to this day.

The party's rhetoric calls for the destruction of the state of Israel. It regards the whole of Palestine as occupied Muslim land and it argues that Israel has no right to exist.

The party was long supported by Iran, which provided it with arms and money.

Passionate and demanding

Hezbollah also adopted the tactic of taking Western hostages, through a number of freelance hostage taking cells.

In 1983, militants who went on to join Hezbollah ranks carried out a suicide bombing attack that killed 241 US marines in Beirut.

Hezbollah has always sought to further an Islamic way of life. In the early days, its leaders imposed strict codes of Islamic behaviour on towns and villages in the south of the country - a move that was not universally popular with the region's citizens.

But the party emphasises that its Islamic vision should not be interpreted as an intention to impose an Islamic society on the Lebanese.

Note: if you are interested in learning more about Hezbollah you can look into the history of the Shi'a in Lebanon and especially the Amal Movement (which Hezbollah originally came from).

Tue, 18 Jul 2006 15:18:51 GMT

In Texas hospitals, some have decided to provide care without checking immigration status while others are demanding immigration papers before providing care. Meanwhile, hospitals that treat illegal immigrants in California are being punished for doing so by not getting reimbursed by the government. (I don't particularly like the way this article is written, but I do think it reflects some of the very concrete problems. I mean, the government punishing hospitals for treating pregnant women without documentation? Come the fuck on.)

Meanwhile, the US government is charging to evacuate Americans from Lebanon.

Also, "US says war on terror not governed by UN rights treaty".

Simultaniously, in an off-record (but still accidentally recorded!) moment, President Bush states that, "...what they need to do is get Syria to get Hezbollah to stop doing this shit and it's over."

Fighting in Gaza, Israel, and Lebanon continues. A virtual civil war in Iraq continues. Another car bomb exploded next to a Shi'a shrine yesterday.

Two serial killers are striking in an Arizona town. The article took pains to make sure that all the readers knew that one was a large Black man. The rain in Southern California is helping to put out the huge fire raging there.

Tue, 18 Jul 2006 04:26:03 GMT

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/middle_east/default.stm
http://english.aljazeera.net/
http://www.jpost.com/

This is what is on my mind lately. A few nights ago I woke myself up, grinding my teeth and making groaning noises. In my dream I was trying to recite all the names of the militias in the Lebanese Civil War (I gave my report on it a week ago; strange timing). I've tried a few times to write an entry about what's going in Gaza, Israel, and Lebanon, but I can't seem to get it out right. As for you, I hope you are well. Take care of yourselves, please.

-Emily

Sat, 03 Jun 2006 00:23:11 GMT

Hobespierre is a smeghead!

Sun, 28 May 2006 03:07:37 GMT

hi emily,

While the book was a best-seller, the medical profession rebuked it as quackery and possibly dangerous. When some Dianetics practitioners were arrested for practicing medicine without a license and it appeared that Hubbard himself might be so charged, Hubbard quickly "discovered" Scientology and the CHURCH OF SCIENTOLOGY was formed, not only to give him a mantle of religious protection for his anti-medical practices, but also to enable him to make more money through a claim of tax exempt status. Hubbard began to sell weekend courses of study and issue degrees, including a "Doctor of Scientology," with the additional claims about the curative powers of his methods. In the meantime, he rebuked all criticism, saying the medical establishment knew he was right and it was fighting to destroy him and to keep control of his empire.

7. Despite his explanations to his loyal following, the disputes and attacks from governments increased. Hubbard was forced to leave the USA to live in the UK. He then tried to live in what was then Rhodesia, until he was kicked out. Threatened with being kicked out of the UK, he took to the sea and sailed the Mediterranean, only to be kicked out of one port after another, from Greece to Portugal. That was how the "Flag Land Base" in Clearwater was established. "Flag" referred to the "flagship" that Hubbard sailed. He had had a miserable Naval career, also being booted out from one command to another. By taking to the sea, he created his own Navy and called it the "Sea Organization" or "Sea Org," outfitting his crews in naval uniforms and operating them in a military fashion. They were given command of the senior organizations and told they were the "elite," and together they could take over the world. But the seagoing "flagship" was insecure. He needed a land base and that was how they secretly moved into Clearwater. "Flag Land Base" was established and became known as the CHURCH OF SCIENTOLOGY, FLAG SERVICE

i will keep you updated as i explore.

love you,
dad

Sat, 13 May 2006 04:12:58 GMT

I spent a week in New York with a certain English boy (my birthday passed - May 5 - with suitable strangeness and cuddling) and then came to California (sans English boy). The last 5 days I was in Mexico with Julie; we just got back to Claremont. I fly home to San Francisco on Monday, and will undoubtedly update/commence reading again then. And then, at the end of May, I'll return to Ohio.

It's been swell. I got a tan, by which I mean I am slightly less jaundiced than usual. Hope you're all doing well. Speak soon, and take care.

Fri, 28 Apr 2006 16:34:50 GMT

I miss home so badly.

I miss Ed. I miss Julie. I even kind of miss Devin, or at least I miss the kind of times we used to have together, the inside jokes and the adventures (that time he and Ed and I all forged through the nasty San Leandro creek, through waist-high sewage and at the end of the day ate plain sandwiches that tasted like the best food on Earth, took in the graffiti under the bridge, made strong drinks that I remember as being flavored with coconut, pineapple, and rum, and we grinned and signed our names: Josephine, Baker, and Schultz. The expedition of. I still think of it, and it is still one of the best days I've ever had).

I miss sitting Pring's - remember Pring's? (Chicken wearing spurs, motherfucker!) That place is gone, now - the shittiest/best diner ever, where we drew on stuff and acted up and made Frankenstein dioramas with the creamers but the waitresses were always nice to us. I miss those days on Clement street with Ed when we would plot and dream and write and eye the chess board.

The nights in the backyard barbecuing and talking. The days on the porch, drinking and everyone smoking, soaking up the sun. The cats at Ed's house who always know when I'm sad and come to curl up next to me.

See, the thing is, Ed and Devin made San Leandro into more than a kind of crappy suburb off Oakland. They made it into a mythological place with sacred ground, some kind of Schulzian world where even the quality of the light meant something. I guess that's what a Beautifier does - they show meaning where you thought there was emptiness.

I know memories aren't something a person can go back and live inside, and thank god for that - those were hard times too, awful times. But I want there to be more sunny and beautiful days, I want to go back to my home, the first and deepest place I consider home, and do the things I talked about: interview my family, make all the books and paintings Ed and I plotted out, nights out and days indoors with J., all the things I promised or that were promised to me but never ended up happening for no particular reason. Years are going by and everything is changing. I want to make some record of this thing so precious to me - the early childhood memories of San Francisco's nasty white houses, the school with golf balls stuck in the windows later on with little snotty girls in uniforms, the fog, the lights from that one crest on Diamond Heights looking down into the city, the dark stairway in Molly's house, Ed's bedroom right around 11 AM when it's dark and then you throw open the windows and it gets flooded with lazy light, the heat in Devin's house, still and useless and all the cats sprawled out "like a bomb went off" (he would say), Julie's mom leaned against the sink asking me questions with a familiar smile so different but with the same architecture as her daughter's, the way the streets feel, the Drug Bench that somehow everyone (even tourists) seem to know in Dolores Park, ice cream that has my dad's name, my dad with his mustache and math and pats on the head that are slightly too rough but meant with sweetness, his empty house with the faded tomato-red carpet, my mom's house, the view of the tree branch sloping into our back yard, and how there is nothing so beautiful to me as the sight of the sun setting over Oakland as I ride above everything in a BART car, watching the familiar landscape go by.

Fri, 28 Apr 2006 04:53:34 GMT

Please don't censor my internets! (Sign the petition.)

Mon, 24 Apr 2006 15:31:37 GMT

I met today with my advisor (New York advisor) and she told me I'm tentatively getting 12 credits unless my evaluations are awful in which case I'll "get docked a point or something," but it sounds like regardless the fewest I'll get is 10.

Yeah, that's right. I'm getting 10-12 credits.

Things are looking up!

Sun, 16 Apr 2006 07:32:30 GMT

Hey. If you've commented on something I wrote recently and I haven't responded, it's not because I don't appreciate it. I do, I really do. I'm just sort of knee deep in both school shit and emotional/psychological shit, which considerably lessens the amount of time I have to respond to comments, even - and especially - ones that are very meaningful to me. So I'll probably leave you a thank you and may not get back to you for some time. But really, thank you. Your thoughts, encouragement, criticisms, and support are deeply appreciated.

Sun, 16 Apr 2006 04:38:09 GMT

This article sent to me by Andrew in an email entitled, "Laughable socialist hell" but I wasn't finding it so laughable (hoodies CAN CONCEAL YOUR IDENTITY AND THAT IS DANGEROUS, apparently), until I read this comment from "Jay, Cardiff":

"This is just another ridiculous move by the legal loons that brings us ever closer to a police state. As mad as it sounds, people actually wear hoodies for other reasons other than to commit crime. They serve as wonderful protection against wind and rain. Will we ban umbrellas next. They do have potential to poke your eye out."

Fri, 14 Apr 2006 19:17:36 GMT

I would like to write something about being Arab and calling myself Arab, because I have been thinking about it so much lately and also because it is something I have never so explicitly addressed in a piece of writing.

Some of my friends identify me as white and some don’t. I think some are confused about why I insist so vehemently on speaking and writing about being Arab, about asserting my Arab-ness when I clearly receive white privilege due to my appearance. So I want to emphasize first that I do not talk about my Arab-ness in order to somehow excuse or erase the white privilege I receive; in fact, I think that as someone who is identified by dominant culture as white, it’s essential that I acknowledge and critically examine my white privilege.

However, I do identify as Arab, and I have felt that otherness inside of me all my life. “Passing under the radar” (so to speak) is not the same as having a sense of belonging, and – in times when I was ashamed of being Lebanese – I was always frightened that at any moment I would be revealed as a fraud, a “foreigner,” one of those others.

I want to preface my experiences by writing about those of my father. There are huge gaps in my understanding – mostly because he and I don’t talk about this stuff explicitly, and also because there’s a huge chunk of his history that I don’t understand – but I can recall many things he has told me, and from his actions, guess at more that he hasn’t explicitly stated.

My father was born in San Francisco, California on November 1929 to two Lebanese immigrant parents, though at the time they both immigrated (1913 and around 1915, I think), Lebanon was still part of Syria. My grandmother (my dad always refers to her as “Grandma”) was illiterate but incredibly nurturing; my grandfather (Philip) was somewhat traditional, and died when my dad was 14. With his parents and my family my father spoke a mixture of Arabic and English. Around Americans he spoke English, but with the family he spoke “kitchen Arabic,” probably a mixture of Arabic and English. He grew up surrounded not only by his family but also by other immigrant families, some of them Arab. To this day he seems to know all of the Arabs in our neighborhood, where he’s lived for the last 40 or so years (he inherited his house from his mother after she died). He worked part time from the age of 13. He was unable to get $200 for school books to attend college, and so entered the Navy (through which he was guaranteed electronics school).

My dad doesn’t really talk about growing up as an Arab; in fact, he seems to avoid the topic. Especially when he was younger he was fairly dark-skinned with a cloud of wiry black hair, a bristling black mustache, and what my mother calls a “dainty hawk nose.” Considering the people he knows well – he’s fairly solitary and doesn’t have many friends (by choice) – he seems to gravitate toward other People of Color, especially Arabs. Both his ex-wife (not my mom – they were never married) and his long-term girlfriend (who I grew up with) are Lebanese, and he displays a certain enthusiasm and openness when meeting other Arabs that is very different than his friendly, assertive, but slightly distant affect when he meets white people.

My father does have prejudices – his homophobia and anti-Muslim sentiment particularly tend to put me on edge, and being an Arab certainly hasn’t stopped him from having a number of horrible racial prejudices. He certainly suffers internalized racism, and seems to feel that white culture is, in some ways, the pinnacle of greatness. But it seems that many of the white people in his world – the founders of America, Einstein, van Gogh – are abstracts, rather than realities. In reality he seems uncomfortable with many white people (not to mention uncomfortable with many people in general). My father holds the Great White Man in the highest esteem, but is cautious when encountering many white people for the first time. He is clearly more comfortable with Arabs.

Because my parents were never married – nor together – during my lifetime, I experienced two somewhat separate upbringings. One was with my mom and her family (who are white southerners, for the most part), the other with my dad, his family, and especially his girlfriend (who are all Lebanese). In fact, despite my dad mostly avoiding teaching me Arabic (I know a few choice phrases – “you have a beautiful face,” is one favorite he would affectionately say, and also various words for bathroom, and of course words for food and eating!) his girlfriend made more concerted efforts to teach me Arabic words and all about Lebanese culture. I’ve forgotten most of the casual language lessons, but not so much of the historical and cultural stuff. My dad – like any good Lebanese person in denial – told me that favorite story about how Lebanese people are descended from Phoenecians, who are really Greeks, so even if Arabs weren’t Caucausian, we would be, because we’re actually Phoenecians, even though that was a long time ago and, well, none of us are looking very European.

Ya gotta love internalized racism.

Anyway.

The point here is that before the age of 7 I was really comfortable and happy being Lebanese. In the summer we would all have competitions to see who could get darker – the goal being to have the brownest-olive skin of everyone. I am the palest and so inevitably lost, but it was always something I thought I kind of aspired to – like “One day I’m going to look really Lebanese just like my dad!” The many other Arabs we knew bestowed lots of compliments upon me and I always felt pretty and even fairly accepted. Things weren’t always incredibly joyful – what, you think I’m going to say I had a happy childhood! Hah! – but I didn’t question my identity or feel shame over it. I was Lebanese – as well as white – and I was happy with that.

When I was 7 I entered a new school. It was well-established, private, and all-girls. I immediately felt different for a number of reasons – despite the fact that my family wasn’t poor, we were by no means wealthy (I was on financial aid! Gasp!) and many of my schoolmates came from rich families and made it clear that anyone less well-off was laughable, at best. Additionally, the majority of the class was white, and it was quite clear that skin privilege was alive and well in the clearest form: the darkest-skinned girl in our class was also the least popular (she became a virtual pariah as we all grew older). The school also suffered from a bad case of Doublespeak/Doublethink, as “diversity days” – in the great tradition of such things – focused only on how racism is whew! all over; now have an egg roll, kids! The same went for class consciousness, and the utterly cliquey nature of the school. The real purpose of all of this was to appear progressive while maintaining the statues quo.

I remember being terrified that people would find out I was Lebanese – a place that none of my classmates had heard of – and which seemed close enough to the word “lesbian” (you know, they both start with “leb,” uh, sort of) that I didn’t even want to speak it aloud. Needless to say being a lesbian was also considered comical at best and disgusting at worst. It didn’t help that I got crushes on other girls with some regularity, and was aware from a very young age that I liked both boys and girls, and that this latter was greatly frowned upon, especially by my father.

Over the years I worked to conceal and submerge my identity, hoping that someday it would all just go away. Around 13/14 I even had a goth phase during which I fetishized – among other things – very pale skin. I stopped talking about being Arab, although I secretly coveted anything that referenced Arab culture, even in an insulting way (like Disney’s Aladdin, or even the video game “Prince of Persia” – which isn’t about Arabs, but Persians!). I remember in 6th grade we did a history unit on some parts of the Arab world and Muslim culture, and I did extremely well, probably better than I did in any other class. I was fascinated by the subject matter, but totally rootless. No one really talked about race or racism or identity, or when they did it was just more Doublespeak. There were no other Arabs in my class (or even in the school, I think), and barely any People of Color; the few white immigrants were also completely ostracized. There was certainly no talk of white privilege. There were occasional moments of embarrassment – everything about my father embarrassed me: his assets, his culture, the food he made, the lack of decorations in his house, the fact that he made me toys instead of buying them, the fact that we had a poster with Arabic words on it in our house or that he brought falafels over to my friends’ houses as a “thank you” for having me over – and mind you, this is when falafels (and all Middle Eastern foods) were just considered weird and gross and weren’t hip “ethnic” food yet.

Eventually I managed to “forget” a good portion of my history, including many of my family members, my favorite foods, and my old pride and fear. I never exactly felt comfortable putting “white/caucausian” on forms, but then again everyone kept telling me that – despite the fact that they weren’t treated like white people – Arabs were, technically “Caucausians.”

When I entered high school I met the first other Arabs my age that I had ever encountered (all of my cousins are much older or much younger). In fact, one of my best friends was half-Jordanian, and because of her more Arab appearance and the fact that she had been raised more culturally Arab than I (she actually understands Arabic, for example), she was less in denial of her heritage. Indeed, being over at her house was different than being at other people’s houses: her mom and my dad were very comfortable around each other and would talk for (literally) hours; she knew Arabic words, rolled her eyes at the overprotective nature of our families, and knew all of the familiar foods. We got along quite well – not just because we were both Arabs, but I don’t think it hurt – and became very close friends. I think this is when I started feeling pride about my identity again, and wanting to explore it more. Yet there was awkwardness. Despite the fact that my high school was less awful that my middle/elementary, there was still no talk of “white privilege.” I didn’t have a place to put my identity – somewhere between being identified by others as white but identifying myself as Arab. It was confusing, and uncomfortable. I didn’t feel right speaking as someone who had experienced direct racism, but I hadn’t. What I had experienced – though distinct – was indirect, and very different from the experiences of those who had to deal with bullshit racism on a daily basis. Although I began identifying myself as Arab again, I couldn’t yet articulate the nuances of my experience.

Now I am trying to. I am beginning to explore and identify more with actual Arab art, writing, and people, not because this is the only part of my identity but because it is a present one that I feel I have to identify, because it has always been present, and because I am trying to undo some of the denial of my awkward pre-adolescent years. I believe that my experiences are different than those who deal with racism all the time, but that it’s important for me to learn to give voice to my Arab-ness, because otherwise I am supporting and perpetuating the brutalizing process of assimilation which is so much a part of the power structure in the United States.

I welcome your comments, thoughts, and criticisms of all of this. It’s not complete (there’s always more to say than I have patience to type out; I could talk about beauty standards, gender, the skin privilege of people who pass as white; and at some point I will write about all of those things), but it feels as though it needs to be said right now, today. A handful of you were there, so if you want to fact-check me and/or have a different perspective on events, I'd be interested to hear it.

Tue, 11 Apr 2006 04:55:25 GMT

"Cracker" =/= any other racial slur. Why? Find out here, on the 1 AM news.

Fri, 07 Apr 2006 01:06:50 GMT

'Both Naomi Wolf and Pierre Bordieu come the conclusion that insidious "body codes" paralyze Western women's abilities to compete for power, even though access to education and professional opportunities seem wide open, because the rules of the game are so different according to gender. Women enter power games with so much of their energy deflected to their physical appearance that one hesitates to say that the playing field is level. "A cultural fixation on female thinness is not an obsession about female beauty," explains Wolf. It is "an obsession about female obedience. Dieting is the most potent political sedative in women's history; a quietly mad population is a tractable one." Research, she contends, "confirmed what most women know too well—that concern with weight leads to a 'virtual collapse of self-esteem and sense of effectiveness' and that . . . 'prolonged and periodic caloric restriction' resulted in a distinctive personality whose traits are passivity, anxiety, and emotionality." Similarly, Bourdieu, who focuses more on how this myth hammers its inscriptions onto the flesh itself, recognizes that constantly reminding women of their physical appearances destabilizes them emotionally because it reduces them to exhibited objects. "By confining women to the status of symbolical objects to be seen and perceives by the other, masculine domination . . . puts women in a state of constant physical insecurity. . . . They have to strive ceaselessly to be engaging, attractive, and available." Being frozen into the passive position of an object whose very existence depends on the eyes of its beholder turns the educated modern Western women into a harem slave.' (Fatima Mernissi)

Wed, 29 Mar 2006 06:56:29 GMT

Also, if you're against the bill to make border crossing a felony (I am), you can send an email to your senator here.

Wed, 29 Mar 2006 06:42:03 GMT

Just today discovered that the proper spelling of hyphy (hi-fee) is, well, "hyphy."

Just so you people know.

Wed, 29 Mar 2006 04:18:20 GMT

Guilt	What is yours?	Explain yourself
Culinary:	Tasti D-Lite	It's ridiculous to pay $3.50 for 8 oz. of frozen yogurt, but it tastes so damn good.
Literary:	Robin McKinley	Especially her version of Beauty and the Beast. I almost put the entire "fantasy" genre here, but then I decided it wasn't entirely true. She has the utlra strong and nobel female characters and the melodrama and stuff that I like.
Audiovisual:	Red Dwarf	Um. Yes. It has problems, but I like it. Ultra-geeky nonsense. Smeg off.
Musical:	Bad "mix up" remixes with Nine Inch Nails	Like the Spice Girls and Nine Inch Nails. Or Britney Spears and Nine Inch Nails. Or 50 Cent and Nine Inch Nails. On repeat. There's really no justification for that.
Celebrity:	Natalie Portman	Well, it's all sort of obvious (and therefore embarrassing): she's pretty and she's a good actress and when she talks on the radio she sounds smart and unpretentious. I don't know.

horrifying

Mon, 27 Mar 2006 23:24:20 GMT

There's an ice cream truck driving around my neighborhood and blasting its tinkling music.

Can someone please explain to me what an ice cream truck is doing in fucking NEW YORK CITY?

The first thing I thought was, "Oh shit, it's Billy Kincaid!"

Mon, 27 Mar 2006 02:35:08 GMT

And now that I've sunk into a deep misery for the rest of the evening:
here's something to make you laugh!

Fri, 24 Mar 2006 08:14:25 GMT

More from John Berger's Ways of Seeing:

"Glamour cannot exist without personal social envy being a common and widespread emotion. The industrial society which has moved towards democracy and then stopped half way is the ideal society for generating such an emotion. The pursuit of individual happiness has been acknowledged as a universal right. Yet the existing social conditions make the individual feel powerless. He lives in the contradiction between what he is and what he would like to be. Either he then becomes fully conscious and the contradiction and its causes, and so joins the political struggle for a full democracy which entails, amongst other things, the overthrow of capitalism; or else he lives, continually subject to an envy which, compounded with his sense of powerlessness, dissolves into recurrent day-dreams.

"It is this which makes it possible to understand why publicity remains credible. The gap between what publicity actually offers and the future it promises, corresponds with the gap between what the spectator-buyer feels himself to be and what he would like to be. The two gaps become one; and instead of the single gap being bridged by action or lived experience, it is filled with glamorous day-dreams.

"The process is often reinforced by working conditions.

"The interminable present of meaningless working hours is 'balanced' by a dreamt future in which imaginary activity replaces the passivity of the moment. In his or her day-dreams the passive worker becomes the active consumer. The working self envies the consuming self.

"No two dreams are the same. Some are instantaneous, others prolonged. The dream is always personal to the dreamer. Publicity does not manufacture the dream. All that it does is to propose to each one of us that we are not yet enviable - yet could be.

"Publicity has another important social function. The fact that this function has not been planned as a purpose by those who make and use publicity in no way lessens its significance. Publicity turns consumption into a substitute for democracy. The choice of what one eats (or wears or drives) takes the place of significant political choice Publicity helps to mask and compensate for all that is undemocratic within society. And it also masks what is happening in the rest of the world." (pgs. 148-149)

Mon, 20 Mar 2006 21:16:25 GMT

From Ways of Seeing by John Berger:

"Because works of art are reproducible, they can, theoretically, be used by anybody. Yet mostly - in art books, magazines, films or within gilt frames in living-rooms - reproductions are still used to bolster the illusion that nothing has changed, that art, with its unique undiminished authority, justifies most other forms of authority, that art makes inequality seem noble and hierarchies seem thrilling." (pg. 29)

"If the new language of images were used differently, it would, through its use, confer a new kind of power. Within it we could begin to define our experiences more precisely in areas where words are inadequate. (Seeing comes before words.) Not only personal experience, but also the essential historical experience of our relation to the past: that is to say the experience of seeking to give meaning to our lives, of trying to understand the history of which we can become the active agents.... A people or class which is cut off from its own past is far less free to choose and act as a people or class than one that has been able to situate itself in history. This is why... the entire art of the past has now become a political issue." (pg. 33)

"One might simplify this by saying: men act and women appear. Men look at women. Women watch themselves being looked at. This determines not only most relations between men and women but also the relation of women to themselves. The surveyor of woman in herself is male: the surveyed female. Thus she turns herself into an object - and most particularly an object of vision: a sight." (pg. 47)

"We are arguing that if one studies the culture of the European oil paintings as a whole, and if one leaves aside its own claims for itself, its model is not so much a framed window open to the world as a safe let into the wall, a safe in which the visible has been desposited.

"We are accused of being obsessed by property. The truth is the other way round. It is the society and culture in question which is so obsessed. Yet to an obsessive his obsession always seems to be of the nature of things and so is not recognized for what it is.... The essential character of oil painting has been obscured by an almost universal misreading of the relationship between its 'tradition' and its 'masters'. Certain exceptional artists in exceptional circumstances broke free of the norms of the tradition and produced work that was diametrically opposed to its values; yet these artists are acclaimed as the tradition's supreme representatives." (pg. 109)

Wed, 15 Mar 2006 02:51:28 GMT

AngryBlackBitch on "The Myth of the Black Student Who Stole Your Spot at Yale"

Link sent by Andrew; the subject of the email was, "socialist hell?"

Tue, 14 Mar 2006 18:12:27 GMT

"Speeding motorists are wrecking road signs that frown at them if they go too fast, in the mistaken belief they are speed cameras, council bosses claim."

Mon, 13 Mar 2006 06:07:47 GMT

"A religion with a fallible god." -Borges, "On Love"

Let's NOT take a break from identity politics, okay.

Mon, 13 Mar 2006 05:01:56 GMT

Nola just came in and showed me the work of Robert A. Pruitt, who is fucking amazing: "Fried, Dyed & Gentrified (What's Goin On?)"(image) and description of his work.

Also amazing (but with fewer images online) is DJ Anderson

(They're both in the Whitney Biennial, which I haven't been to yet.)