The Stoics often said virtue is its own reward. Epictetus, for example, argued that there's no reward for a person greater than doing what's good and just. In response to one of his students, who asks what good can be expected from the development of virtue, Epictetus says, "What greater good do you look for than this? You were shameless and shall be self-respecting, you were undisciplined and shall be disciplined, untrustworthy and you shall be trusted, dissolute and you shall be self-controlled. If you look for greater things than these, go on doing as you do now: not even a god can save you." And the older I get, and the more I look around at the world around me, the more I'm inclined to agree that this, in and of itself, is indeed reward enough. A virtuous person is as rare as gold and twice as precious.
Wednesday, December 27, 2017
notes from a potential revolutionary
I've always loved Fyodor Dostoyevsky's Notes From Underground. For one, it speaks to me in a way that no other piece of literature has, and I see a lot of myself in the Underground Man. In addition, the more I read it, the more I get out of it. For example, while seemingly outwardly critical of Nikolai Chernyshevsky's socialism and 'western' views as expressed in What Is To Be Done?, I think one can also read Notes from Underground as a complimentary (but unintentional) form of revolutionary literature if one views:
* The Underground Man's spite as a symptom of a deep moral, spiritual, and existential malaise born out of a feeling of powerlessness, as well as a rebellious and revolutionary spirit that lacks any obvious theoretical or practical outlet. His vulgarness is one born out of the vulgarness of bourgeois culture and values. And all of his acts of spite and humiliation are simply a way for him to assert his free will in a world where few other choices really are open to him.
* The Underground Man's self-hate and self-harm (chronic depression?) as being conditioned in large part by how bourgeois society makes him feel about himself (i.e., unfulfilled, lacking in comparison to others, unproductive, alienated from others and his work, etc.), which in turn conditions his anger towards the society that makes him feel this way. He's oppressed within and without. He could just as easily be called the Alienated Man.
* The Underground Man's praise of lazy idleness and criticism of vocations in general as the lamentations of someone living within a mode of production that forces people into 'vocations' for the sake of getting ahead/being someone. Possibly a criticism of the protestant work ethic and bourgeois social values imported to 19th century Russia from Europe and its bourgeois revolutions, as well as the drudgery of work under capitalism itself. Compare this POV to the liberation of the working class from the confinement of capitalist social relations touched upon by Marx in The German Ideology:
* The Underground Man's acute consciousness as an awareness of the ills of bourgeois society while at the same time partaking of and deriving enjoyment from them, i.e., a psychological contradiction reflecting material contradictions inherent under capitalism. His awareness of this contradiction is viewed from his POV as a disease stemming from the scientific rationalism of bourgeois society that infects/influences his particular consciousness.
* The metaphorical wall the Underground Man often speaks of as representing capitalism (which some, like Francis Fukuyama, see as the natural end of history) and all the material and psychological barriers present within bourgeois society to living a more healthy, fulfilling, and less alienated life. He prefers his 'corner' (or hole) to that outside world, unable to let himself believe that there's any alternative he can actively (and successfully) fight for. He doesn't have the strength to break through it or the 'natural laws' that give rise to his present reality, but can't (or won't) make peace with them, either. For the Underground Man, only the ignorant can accept this reality and act; the intelligent, on the other hand, are doomed to think themselves into inaction. Compare this, however, to Frederick Engels' perspective in Anti-Duhring:
* The idea of 2 × 2 = 4 vs. 2 × 2 = 5 as referring to, in part, the influence of ruling class ideology and capitalist social relations on the working-class. The Underground Man connects the former to 'natural laws,' which here can be reflected in the slogan coined by Margaret Thatcher, "There is no alternative" (TINA), i.e., the idea that capitalism is akin to a natural law that's impossible to rebel against.
* The Underground Man's criticism of rational self-interest, the idea that people will do what's profitable for themselves rather than what's harmful, as a criticism of heterodox economics, which posits producers and consumers as rational agents. Sometimes, as the Underground Man argues, what profits a person is against their interest. And the market is often irrational. Moreover, capitalism is a system based on profit to the exclusion of all morality. Benefit and harm are extraneous concerns to the creation and realization of profit. In fact, it actively creates desires that are harmful and then feeds them to grow ever larger (e.g., tobacco industry, fossil fuel industry, weapons manufacturing, etc.). And the logic of capital accumulation itself tends to lead to crises of overaccumulation, i.e., capital's own self-interest (accumulation for accumulation's sake) actually destabilizes the economy and creates both violent economic crises and social and political inequality, one of the biggest contradictions inherent to capitalism. He's critical of the rational egoism of Chernyshevsky in his argument that people will do what's harmful to prove or express their free will; yet at the same time, he's a victim of a system that subjects him to the amoral (and often destructive and dehumanizing) whims of the market, which gives us the illusion of choice and freedom while in reality stripping us of real control over the production process, the product of our labour, the added value incorporated in production, and ultimately, the material shape of society.
* The Underground Man's admission of having become "unaccustomed to living life" as a response to the alienation and existential suffering created by the suppression of his/our species being, i.e., the emotional and psychological pain of living a world dominated by capitalist social relations and bourgeois individualism, complete with the numerous contradictions and forms of alienation that separate us from one another, as opposed to the fullness of life possible under a less exploitative socio-economic system.
* The Underground Man's conclusion that it's "better to do nothing" while at the same time admitting that, in actuality, he thirsts for something different/higher as reflecting an acute awareness of the alienation and exploitation of capitalism — the life of capitalists/bourgeoisie/normal people 'above ground' who don't challenge the system, intellectually or otherwise, and buy into the dominant ideology of TINA — vs. his intuition that there really is an alternative (represented especially by the potential for love personified in the character of Liza), one that has the potential to unite and liberate all classes, 'above' and 'below' ground, but one that he seems unable to fully articulate. He envies those above, yet doesn't want to be them "in the circumstances" he sees them. In essence, it's expressing the struggle of an emergent class consciousness within him, a struggle between the 'false consciousness' of bourgeois rationalism and the alienation that that engenders within the Underground Man and his dream of something better.
Basically, where Dostoyevsky tries to imply a turn towards Orthodox Christianity as the synthesis to these internal contradictions within the Underground Man's psyche, it can also represent the Underground Man's failure to connect his existential suffering to the bigger picture contained in anti-capitalist politics, becoming lost within the nihilism and depravity of the individualism of bourgeois culture, politics, and ideology rather than turning towards the 'salvific' communalism of socialism. Christianity, in this sense, can be seen as the spiritual embodiment of the French slogan "liberte, egalite, fraternite" (liberty, equality, fraternity) and the Underground Man's unrealized wish of something different, i.e., the love of others and useful action represented by, and symbolically contained within, the radical love and egalitarianism of Christ.
* The Underground Man's spite as a symptom of a deep moral, spiritual, and existential malaise born out of a feeling of powerlessness, as well as a rebellious and revolutionary spirit that lacks any obvious theoretical or practical outlet. His vulgarness is one born out of the vulgarness of bourgeois culture and values. And all of his acts of spite and humiliation are simply a way for him to assert his free will in a world where few other choices really are open to him.
* The Underground Man's self-hate and self-harm (chronic depression?) as being conditioned in large part by how bourgeois society makes him feel about himself (i.e., unfulfilled, lacking in comparison to others, unproductive, alienated from others and his work, etc.), which in turn conditions his anger towards the society that makes him feel this way. He's oppressed within and without. He could just as easily be called the Alienated Man.
* The Underground Man's praise of lazy idleness and criticism of vocations in general as the lamentations of someone living within a mode of production that forces people into 'vocations' for the sake of getting ahead/being someone. Possibly a criticism of the protestant work ethic and bourgeois social values imported to 19th century Russia from Europe and its bourgeois revolutions, as well as the drudgery of work under capitalism itself. Compare this POV to the liberation of the working class from the confinement of capitalist social relations touched upon by Marx in The German Ideology:
Further, the division of labour implies the contradiction between the interest of the separate individual or the individual family and the communal interest of all individuals who have intercourse with one another. And indeed, this communal interest does not exist merely in the imagination, as the 'general interest,' but first of all in reality, as the mutual interdependence of the individuals among whom the labour is divided. And finally, the division of labour offers us the first example of how, as long as man remains in natural society, that is, as long as a cleavage exists between the particular and the common interest, as long, therefore, as activity is not voluntarily, but naturally, divided, man’s own deed becomes an alien power opposed to him, which enslaves him instead of being controlled by him. For as soon as the distribution of labour comes into being, each man has a particular, exclusive sphere of activity, which is forced upon him and from which he cannot escape. He is a hunter, a fisherman, a herdsman, or a critical critic, and must remain so if he does not want to lose his means of livelihood; while in communist society, where nobody has one exclusive sphere of activity but each can become accomplished in any branch he wishes, society regulates the general production and thus makes it possible for me to do one thing today and another tomorrow, to hunt in the morning, fish in the afternoon, rear cattle in the evening, criticise after dinner, just as I have a mind, without ever becoming hunter, fisherman, herdsman or critic. This fixation of social activity, this consolidation of what we ourselves produce into an objective power above us, growing out of our control, thwarting our expectations, bringing to naught our calculations, is one of the chief factors in historical development up till now.
* The Underground Man's acute consciousness as an awareness of the ills of bourgeois society while at the same time partaking of and deriving enjoyment from them, i.e., a psychological contradiction reflecting material contradictions inherent under capitalism. His awareness of this contradiction is viewed from his POV as a disease stemming from the scientific rationalism of bourgeois society that infects/influences his particular consciousness.
* The metaphorical wall the Underground Man often speaks of as representing capitalism (which some, like Francis Fukuyama, see as the natural end of history) and all the material and psychological barriers present within bourgeois society to living a more healthy, fulfilling, and less alienated life. He prefers his 'corner' (or hole) to that outside world, unable to let himself believe that there's any alternative he can actively (and successfully) fight for. He doesn't have the strength to break through it or the 'natural laws' that give rise to his present reality, but can't (or won't) make peace with them, either. For the Underground Man, only the ignorant can accept this reality and act; the intelligent, on the other hand, are doomed to think themselves into inaction. Compare this, however, to Frederick Engels' perspective in Anti-Duhring:
Freedom does not consist in any dreamt-of independence from natural laws, but in the knowledge of these laws, and in the possibility this gives of systematically making them work towards definite ends. This holds good in relation both to the laws of external nature and to those which govern the bodily and mental existence of men themselves — two classes of laws which we can separate from each other at most only in thought but not in reality. Freedom of the will therefore means nothing but the capacity to make decisions with knowledge of the subject. Therefore the freer a man’s judgment is in relation to a definite question, the greater is the necessity with which the content of this judgment will be determined; while the uncertainty, founded on ignorance, which seems to make an arbitrary choice among many different and conflicting possible decisions, shows precisely by this that it is not free, that it is controlled by the very object it should itself control. Freedom therefore consists in the control over ourselves and over external nature, a control founded on knowledge of natural necessity; it is therefore necessarily a product of historical development.
* The idea of 2 × 2 = 4 vs. 2 × 2 = 5 as referring to, in part, the influence of ruling class ideology and capitalist social relations on the working-class. The Underground Man connects the former to 'natural laws,' which here can be reflected in the slogan coined by Margaret Thatcher, "There is no alternative" (TINA), i.e., the idea that capitalism is akin to a natural law that's impossible to rebel against.
* The Underground Man's criticism of rational self-interest, the idea that people will do what's profitable for themselves rather than what's harmful, as a criticism of heterodox economics, which posits producers and consumers as rational agents. Sometimes, as the Underground Man argues, what profits a person is against their interest. And the market is often irrational. Moreover, capitalism is a system based on profit to the exclusion of all morality. Benefit and harm are extraneous concerns to the creation and realization of profit. In fact, it actively creates desires that are harmful and then feeds them to grow ever larger (e.g., tobacco industry, fossil fuel industry, weapons manufacturing, etc.). And the logic of capital accumulation itself tends to lead to crises of overaccumulation, i.e., capital's own self-interest (accumulation for accumulation's sake) actually destabilizes the economy and creates both violent economic crises and social and political inequality, one of the biggest contradictions inherent to capitalism. He's critical of the rational egoism of Chernyshevsky in his argument that people will do what's harmful to prove or express their free will; yet at the same time, he's a victim of a system that subjects him to the amoral (and often destructive and dehumanizing) whims of the market, which gives us the illusion of choice and freedom while in reality stripping us of real control over the production process, the product of our labour, the added value incorporated in production, and ultimately, the material shape of society.
* The Underground Man's admission of having become "unaccustomed to living life" as a response to the alienation and existential suffering created by the suppression of his/our species being, i.e., the emotional and psychological pain of living a world dominated by capitalist social relations and bourgeois individualism, complete with the numerous contradictions and forms of alienation that separate us from one another, as opposed to the fullness of life possible under a less exploitative socio-economic system.
* The Underground Man's conclusion that it's "better to do nothing" while at the same time admitting that, in actuality, he thirsts for something different/higher as reflecting an acute awareness of the alienation and exploitation of capitalism — the life of capitalists/bourgeoisie/normal people 'above ground' who don't challenge the system, intellectually or otherwise, and buy into the dominant ideology of TINA — vs. his intuition that there really is an alternative (represented especially by the potential for love personified in the character of Liza), one that has the potential to unite and liberate all classes, 'above' and 'below' ground, but one that he seems unable to fully articulate. He envies those above, yet doesn't want to be them "in the circumstances" he sees them. In essence, it's expressing the struggle of an emergent class consciousness within him, a struggle between the 'false consciousness' of bourgeois rationalism and the alienation that that engenders within the Underground Man and his dream of something better.
Basically, where Dostoyevsky tries to imply a turn towards Orthodox Christianity as the synthesis to these internal contradictions within the Underground Man's psyche, it can also represent the Underground Man's failure to connect his existential suffering to the bigger picture contained in anti-capitalist politics, becoming lost within the nihilism and depravity of the individualism of bourgeois culture, politics, and ideology rather than turning towards the 'salvific' communalism of socialism. Christianity, in this sense, can be seen as the spiritual embodiment of the French slogan "liberte, egalite, fraternite" (liberty, equality, fraternity) and the Underground Man's unrealized wish of something different, i.e., the love of others and useful action represented by, and symbolically contained within, the radical love and egalitarianism of Christ.
Monday, August 21, 2017
whose streets
Becky took me to see Whose Streets last night, and I highly recommend seeing it if you haven't already. It's a film documenting the events in Ferguson, MO, from the POV of people who were there, people who were on the streets from day one. It's a powerful look at a community struggling to deal with systematic oppression and violence at the hands of police, specifically the death of Michael Brown, which sparked those events. And it's a necessary perspective that counters much of what was presented in the days and weeks that followed Brown's death by the mainstream media and city officials.
It angered and upset me and reminded me of so many other injustices. It also made me feel frustrated, powerless, because it seems as if there's no justice for the state (no indictment of Darren Wilson and so many others who murder unarmed citizens), just as there's no justice for companies like Wells Fargo (who's recently been in the news for defrauding hundreds of thousands of people with barely a slap on the wrist). And in this documentary, the anger and frustration of this grief stricken community is palpable and takes centre stage. An unarmed man is killed. The community demands answers and gets none. They come together to mourn and show their love and support for one another and the police show up with armoured vehicles and riot gear and an absence of any empathy whatsoever, inciting violence by bullying the community with guns and chemical weapons and confining them, in their pain and anger, to a small area ready to explode, and then presenting the narrative, with the help of the media, that the residents of Ferguson are just a bunch of violent, self-destructive animals.
Yes, there was some looting and a building was burnt. But as mindless as the looting and vandalism initially seems to some (mostly white people who haven't had the same experience with systematic violence and racial prejudice as black individuals and communities), one person hit the nail on the head when they said that it's all about proximity. You can't take on huge companies like Wells Fargo just as you can't take on the police or the racism that still exists and causes so much suffering, so you smash and loot whatever is close to you, whatever is in your power to take on and gain some sort of redress from, even if you're ultimately hurting your own community. It's not rational; it's emotional, symbolic. And that's precisely what MLK Jr. meant when he said that the riot is the language of the unheard. Nobody heard these people when they spoke with words and candles and tears, so some of them started speaking with their anger and rage and fists.
But through it all, this community refused to back down or to remain silent, and they continued to document their own experiences and struggles even if no one else (or at least those in power) was listening. And that's what I took away from this film, that we (especially white people) have to start listening and then start acting in solidarity by fighting against racism in all its forms, and seek to demilitarize the police and make them community institutions rather than arms of the state (or abolish them altogether), or else there's going to be another Ferguson, just as there's been numerous Fergusons in the past, Chicago in 1919, Harlem in 1964, Watts in 1965, Detroit in 1967, LA in 1992, Baltimore in 2015, and so many more.
Talking about it with Becky afterwards, I realized that I can't speak for people of colour. I can't say that I know what it's like to be black in the US just because I grew up in Detroit or have black friends. But from listening to them and seeing with my own eyes what's being done to them, I think I at least have an idea of the struggles they have to face and the barriers they have to overcome that I simply don't. And what I can do is try to amplify their message through my words and show solidarity with their struggles through my actions by being vocal, by admitting that racism exists and that its our responsibility to help dismantle it, by arguing against simplistic, patronizing narratives of violent blacks terrorizing their own communities for no reason, and by shining a light on a different narrative, that of people who have to live with this systematic violence every single day of their lives.
The film ends with this passage from the preamble of the Declaration of independence:
Their power, the very foundation of our civil society itself, is unjust without our collective consent; and I think it's way past time that we vocally and vociferously relinquish that consent. Because to remain silent in the face of oppression is to give our implicit consent to the oppressors and to turn our backs on the victims of injustice.
It angered and upset me and reminded me of so many other injustices. It also made me feel frustrated, powerless, because it seems as if there's no justice for the state (no indictment of Darren Wilson and so many others who murder unarmed citizens), just as there's no justice for companies like Wells Fargo (who's recently been in the news for defrauding hundreds of thousands of people with barely a slap on the wrist). And in this documentary, the anger and frustration of this grief stricken community is palpable and takes centre stage. An unarmed man is killed. The community demands answers and gets none. They come together to mourn and show their love and support for one another and the police show up with armoured vehicles and riot gear and an absence of any empathy whatsoever, inciting violence by bullying the community with guns and chemical weapons and confining them, in their pain and anger, to a small area ready to explode, and then presenting the narrative, with the help of the media, that the residents of Ferguson are just a bunch of violent, self-destructive animals.
Yes, there was some looting and a building was burnt. But as mindless as the looting and vandalism initially seems to some (mostly white people who haven't had the same experience with systematic violence and racial prejudice as black individuals and communities), one person hit the nail on the head when they said that it's all about proximity. You can't take on huge companies like Wells Fargo just as you can't take on the police or the racism that still exists and causes so much suffering, so you smash and loot whatever is close to you, whatever is in your power to take on and gain some sort of redress from, even if you're ultimately hurting your own community. It's not rational; it's emotional, symbolic. And that's precisely what MLK Jr. meant when he said that the riot is the language of the unheard. Nobody heard these people when they spoke with words and candles and tears, so some of them started speaking with their anger and rage and fists.
But through it all, this community refused to back down or to remain silent, and they continued to document their own experiences and struggles even if no one else (or at least those in power) was listening. And that's what I took away from this film, that we (especially white people) have to start listening and then start acting in solidarity by fighting against racism in all its forms, and seek to demilitarize the police and make them community institutions rather than arms of the state (or abolish them altogether), or else there's going to be another Ferguson, just as there's been numerous Fergusons in the past, Chicago in 1919, Harlem in 1964, Watts in 1965, Detroit in 1967, LA in 1992, Baltimore in 2015, and so many more.
Talking about it with Becky afterwards, I realized that I can't speak for people of colour. I can't say that I know what it's like to be black in the US just because I grew up in Detroit or have black friends. But from listening to them and seeing with my own eyes what's being done to them, I think I at least have an idea of the struggles they have to face and the barriers they have to overcome that I simply don't. And what I can do is try to amplify their message through my words and show solidarity with their struggles through my actions by being vocal, by admitting that racism exists and that its our responsibility to help dismantle it, by arguing against simplistic, patronizing narratives of violent blacks terrorizing their own communities for no reason, and by shining a light on a different narrative, that of people who have to live with this systematic violence every single day of their lives.
The film ends with this passage from the preamble of the Declaration of independence:
We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness. That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed, That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it.
Their power, the very foundation of our civil society itself, is unjust without our collective consent; and I think it's way past time that we vocally and vociferously relinquish that consent. Because to remain silent in the face of oppression is to give our implicit consent to the oppressors and to turn our backs on the victims of injustice.
Saturday, June 3, 2017
stand united against hate
I'm extremely apprehensive about the upcoming rallies on Sunday for a number of reasons. One is the growing number of racist attacks, acts of vandalism, and intimidation in and of themselves since the rise of Trump, and with him, the alt-right.
Houses have been defaced with racial slurs. Swastikas are popping up everywhere. Schools are being forced to close because of threats of violence. People are being harassed, beaten, shot, stabbed, and even killed by white supremacists and self-proclaimed free speech advocates. And in the midst of all this, right-wing groups are growing larger, more emboldened, and holding nationwide rallies supporting their 'free speech' rights to hate, and at least rhetorically intimidate, immigrants, people of colour, and others falling outside the homogeneous society they wish to create.
For them, freedom means the freedom to harass and threaten people who they don't want in this country (or to even exist) for whatever reason. There are many who are actually defending the asshole who stabbed three people on the MAX, blaming the people who intervened instead of simply allowing the racist shithead to continue to harass two young women of colour, one of which who was wearing a hijab. If they just left him alone to frighten these people by screaming racist, hate-filled things at them, they argue, the two who were killed would still be alive.
More specifically, I've been keeping tabs on the FB page of one of the organizers and key note speaker of the "Trump Free Speech Rally," and he's not only been trying to organize people from all over the country to attend via crowd-funding sites, but he's essentially been advocating for violent confrontations with any counter protesters, especially those affiliated with Antifa, to defend those rights.
On top of that, the police are going to have a large presence. Local. State. Federal. They're all going to be there increasing tensions, especially considering their penchant for attacking protesters at the drop of a coke can.
It also worries me that there's a lack of solidarity amongst some of the groups organizing the counter rallies, mostly over tactics re: the best way to organize and confront these white supremacists and nationalists. The other side, while likely smaller in numbers, seems to be more cohesive as a whole; and the police are more likely to come to their defense if anything goes down, particularly due to their longstanding, antagonistic relationship with the left.
Part of me is afraid and wants to stay home. But another part wants to take a stand against racism, jingoism, sexism, and every other hateful 'ism' out there that these people represent and perpetuate.
Unfortunately, many think it's better to just ignore people like this and not give them any attention. But I think ignoring fascist movements and their brand of bigotry is dangerous because it just allows it to fester and spread and potentially gain popular support, as it did in Germany and Italy during the early-mid 20th century and is currently happening in places like Greece (Golden Dawn), France (National Front), Austria (Freedom Party), the Netherlands (Party for Freedom), Ukraine, and of course right here in the US.
A couple of years ago, I went to my first anti-fascist rally to counter the American Freedom Party's "White Man March." A friend accused me and my "antifascist friends" of being for censorship and silencing the opposition through intimidation and the threat of violence, as if their proposed rally didn't do the same to immigrants, people of colour, LGBTQ individuals, and all others who find themselves the targets of their bigotry. And after the latest round of hate crimes and the recent deaths on the MAX, I think the threat to these communities is finally being taken seriously.
So, yeah, I'm a little scared of what might happen. And some people may criticize me for it. But instead of simply ignoring the problem, I'd rather show up, confront these people, and show them that their views of hatred won't be ignored or tolerated.
Houses have been defaced with racial slurs. Swastikas are popping up everywhere. Schools are being forced to close because of threats of violence. People are being harassed, beaten, shot, stabbed, and even killed by white supremacists and self-proclaimed free speech advocates. And in the midst of all this, right-wing groups are growing larger, more emboldened, and holding nationwide rallies supporting their 'free speech' rights to hate, and at least rhetorically intimidate, immigrants, people of colour, and others falling outside the homogeneous society they wish to create.
For them, freedom means the freedom to harass and threaten people who they don't want in this country (or to even exist) for whatever reason. There are many who are actually defending the asshole who stabbed three people on the MAX, blaming the people who intervened instead of simply allowing the racist shithead to continue to harass two young women of colour, one of which who was wearing a hijab. If they just left him alone to frighten these people by screaming racist, hate-filled things at them, they argue, the two who were killed would still be alive.
More specifically, I've been keeping tabs on the FB page of one of the organizers and key note speaker of the "Trump Free Speech Rally," and he's not only been trying to organize people from all over the country to attend via crowd-funding sites, but he's essentially been advocating for violent confrontations with any counter protesters, especially those affiliated with Antifa, to defend those rights.
On top of that, the police are going to have a large presence. Local. State. Federal. They're all going to be there increasing tensions, especially considering their penchant for attacking protesters at the drop of a coke can.
It also worries me that there's a lack of solidarity amongst some of the groups organizing the counter rallies, mostly over tactics re: the best way to organize and confront these white supremacists and nationalists. The other side, while likely smaller in numbers, seems to be more cohesive as a whole; and the police are more likely to come to their defense if anything goes down, particularly due to their longstanding, antagonistic relationship with the left.
Part of me is afraid and wants to stay home. But another part wants to take a stand against racism, jingoism, sexism, and every other hateful 'ism' out there that these people represent and perpetuate.
Unfortunately, many think it's better to just ignore people like this and not give them any attention. But I think ignoring fascist movements and their brand of bigotry is dangerous because it just allows it to fester and spread and potentially gain popular support, as it did in Germany and Italy during the early-mid 20th century and is currently happening in places like Greece (Golden Dawn), France (National Front), Austria (Freedom Party), the Netherlands (Party for Freedom), Ukraine, and of course right here in the US.
A couple of years ago, I went to my first anti-fascist rally to counter the American Freedom Party's "White Man March." A friend accused me and my "antifascist friends" of being for censorship and silencing the opposition through intimidation and the threat of violence, as if their proposed rally didn't do the same to immigrants, people of colour, LGBTQ individuals, and all others who find themselves the targets of their bigotry. And after the latest round of hate crimes and the recent deaths on the MAX, I think the threat to these communities is finally being taken seriously.
So, yeah, I'm a little scared of what might happen. And some people may criticize me for it. But instead of simply ignoring the problem, I'd rather show up, confront these people, and show them that their views of hatred won't be ignored or tolerated.
Friday, June 2, 2017
the keepers
I just finished The Keepers recently. I didn't think I could dislike/distrust the hierarchy of the Catholic Church more than I already did, but I was wrong.
Sadly, the story told in The Keepers is just one of many similar stories that reflects an appalling level of abuse and secrecy within the hierarchy of the Catholic Church, and I'm having an even harder time than I was reconciling my spiritual life and community with the overarching institution informing it.
While I was eventually drawn towards Catholicism because of its deep, ecumenical, and spiritually-advanced contemplative tradition, its robust monastic tradition, and the open and welcoming community at St. Philip, my initial negative opinion of the institution itself stems from the following:
There are many things about this spiritual tradition I truly love and benefit from. But every dark corner of the church needs to have a light shined on it.
Sadly, the story told in The Keepers is just one of many similar stories that reflects an appalling level of abuse and secrecy within the hierarchy of the Catholic Church, and I'm having an even harder time than I was reconciling my spiritual life and community with the overarching institution informing it.
While I was eventually drawn towards Catholicism because of its deep, ecumenical, and spiritually-advanced contemplative tradition, its robust monastic tradition, and the open and welcoming community at St. Philip, my initial negative opinion of the institution itself stems from the following:
- The Catholic Church is inherently sexist. It bars women from authoritative leadership roles in the church even though there's absolutely zero physical or spiritual barriers preventing women from performing them, and despite Paul's admonishment that, "There is neither Jew nor Gentile, neither slave nor free, nor is there male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus" (Gal 3:28). They can't be pope. They can't be bishops. They can't be priests. They can't be deacons. They're not even allowed to give reflections during mass.
- The church has covered up numerous instances of physical and sexual abuse throughout the world, hiding abusive priests, trying to silence victims through settlements, and fighting against laws that would make prosecuting offenders easier. This is beyond unconscionable.
- The church discriminates against LGBTQ individuals. It calls their lifestyle sinful and fights against equal rights, like the right to marry. And I personally find this untenable, both in terms of my own personal convictions and in terms of the example of Jesus.
- The church is secretive and lacks any sort of real transparency.
- And this show refreshed my memory of all that. I felt real anger and disgust, and I definitely feel a lot better about my decision to stop giving money to the church itself (I still give to certain charities and communities, though). That doesn't mean I hate Catholicism as a whole; but I'm not a fan of the church's position on many of these issues, and I'm certainly not a fan of the corruption and appalling conduct exhibited by many within its leadership.
There are many things about this spiritual tradition I truly love and benefit from. But every dark corner of the church needs to have a light shined on it.
Sunday, February 19, 2017
requiescat in pace, romanos
Today, I was reminded once again just how bad I am at keeping in touch with people. I found out that my friend and godfather, Romanos, passed away back in October. October! I'd even been thinking about him recently, thinking about how I hadn't seen much from him on Facebook or his blogs for a long time. So when Barbara mentioned his passing, I was shocked.
I met Romanos back in 2010 at Holy Trinity Greek Orthodox Church, where he was volunteering during their annual Greek festival. We spent a lot of time talking that day, and we eventually became friends, talking (and sometimes arguing) about religion, philosophy, politics, you name it. He was a unique person to say the least, and I never quite figured him out; but he was genuinely kind and smart and caring. He loved to talk, but he was also a good listener when he needed to be.
What I appreciated the most about him, though, was his approach to spirituality. It was contemplative and loving and it really spoke to me. I really enjoyed our discussions. Because of him, I started to see something good in everyone. Our long talks gave me plenty to think about, and he truly got my spirituality. He gave me a couple of books that really piqued my interest in contemplative Christianity, an interest that eventually led me to spend a week at a nearby Trappist monastery. And from there, I soon discovered the wonderful community at St. Philip Neri.
With his help, I'd found my own spiritual home, a warm, welcoming community with a strong interest in social justice and a contemplative foundation. And when I decided to be formally initiated into the community, I asked Romanos to be my godfather even though he was Orthodox and the community I was joining was Catholic. But labels never really mattered to Romanos, and he followed his heart regardless of what people thought about his religious and political views or the company he kept.
He was my friend even though he disagreed with my politics. He was my friend when I called myself a Buddhist. He was my friend when I called myself a Catholic Buddhist. And he remained my friend when I simply saw myself as a contemplative socialist of various stripes, deeply ecumenical and outspoken on progressive social issues.
We'd often go months without speaking, and during that time, I was going through a lot of changes. New job. New place. New relationship. I guess I was just too wrapped up in my own world to notice the Facebook post his son made about his passing. I regret not being at the funeral to say goodbye, but I'm consoled by the fact that I knew such a strange and wonderful character at all.
Everlasting be your memory, my brother, who are worthy of blessedness and eternal memory.
I met Romanos back in 2010 at Holy Trinity Greek Orthodox Church, where he was volunteering during their annual Greek festival. We spent a lot of time talking that day, and we eventually became friends, talking (and sometimes arguing) about religion, philosophy, politics, you name it. He was a unique person to say the least, and I never quite figured him out; but he was genuinely kind and smart and caring. He loved to talk, but he was also a good listener when he needed to be.
What I appreciated the most about him, though, was his approach to spirituality. It was contemplative and loving and it really spoke to me. I really enjoyed our discussions. Because of him, I started to see something good in everyone. Our long talks gave me plenty to think about, and he truly got my spirituality. He gave me a couple of books that really piqued my interest in contemplative Christianity, an interest that eventually led me to spend a week at a nearby Trappist monastery. And from there, I soon discovered the wonderful community at St. Philip Neri.
With his help, I'd found my own spiritual home, a warm, welcoming community with a strong interest in social justice and a contemplative foundation. And when I decided to be formally initiated into the community, I asked Romanos to be my godfather even though he was Orthodox and the community I was joining was Catholic. But labels never really mattered to Romanos, and he followed his heart regardless of what people thought about his religious and political views or the company he kept.
He was my friend even though he disagreed with my politics. He was my friend when I called myself a Buddhist. He was my friend when I called myself a Catholic Buddhist. And he remained my friend when I simply saw myself as a contemplative socialist of various stripes, deeply ecumenical and outspoken on progressive social issues.
We'd often go months without speaking, and during that time, I was going through a lot of changes. New job. New place. New relationship. I guess I was just too wrapped up in my own world to notice the Facebook post his son made about his passing. I regret not being at the funeral to say goodbye, but I'm consoled by the fact that I knew such a strange and wonderful character at all.
Everlasting be your memory, my brother, who are worthy of blessedness and eternal memory.
Thursday, February 2, 2017
realizing our species-being
One thing that I completely agree with the Young Marx on is the need for society to move beyond its fetishism of the right to liberty in the form of private property (i.e., the right to enjoy and dispose of property without regard to others, esp. in terms of corporate 'persons') and towards a realization of its species-being.
Unlike those who assume 'human nature' is a fixed, static thing that's naturally greedy, competitive, etc., I take the position that much of what we label human nature is fluid and changeable yet strongly conditioned by the world around us, especially by the economic 'base' of society, i.e., the way society reproduces itself. Hence the forces and social relations that are embodied within any given mode of production help to shape and influence the ideas and interrelationships within that society (which, in a global context, includes those between nation-states as well as between individuals).
In A Contribution to the Critique of Political Economy, for example, Marx famously writes:
Within capitalism, what Marx terms the 'coercive laws of competition' force individual capitals to compete with one another and exploit labour as much as they can in the pursuit of profit; and at the same time, these coercive laws of competition force individual workers to compete with fellow workers, locally as well as globally, for jobs that provide the wages they depend on to survive. And this, in turn, influences and reinforces relations (individual, national, etc.) that are built upon or grow out of this socio-economic foundation.
The problem is, civil society is a decidedly communal endeavour. And as Marx saw it, our species-being is an "ensemble of social relations," which are mutable, rather than an "abstraction inherent in each single individual." The logic of capitalism and the social relations arising out of it, however, structure a society in which we create the bare "semblance of a human existence" instead allowing our nature its full expression, leading to everything from alienated labour to the fostering of profitable industries that harm our very existence.
And I think no area demonstrates this more than the environment and the negative impact the contradictions inherent to capitalism have had on it, with its crises, coercive laws of competition, and accumulation for accumulation's sake that compel businesses and individual capitalists to put profits over all other concerns.
Unlike those who assume 'human nature' is a fixed, static thing that's naturally greedy, competitive, etc., I take the position that much of what we label human nature is fluid and changeable yet strongly conditioned by the world around us, especially by the economic 'base' of society, i.e., the way society reproduces itself. Hence the forces and social relations that are embodied within any given mode of production help to shape and influence the ideas and interrelationships within that society (which, in a global context, includes those between nation-states as well as between individuals).
In A Contribution to the Critique of Political Economy, for example, Marx famously writes:
In the social production of their existence, men inevitably enter into definite relations, which are independent of their will, namely relations of production appropriate to a given stage in the development of their material forces of production. The totality of these relations of production constitutes the economic structure of society, the real foundation, on which arises a legal and political superstructure and to which correspond definite forms of social consciousness. The mode of production of material life conditions the general process of social, political and intellectual life. It is not the consciousness of men that determines their existence, but their social existence that determines their consciousness.
Within capitalism, what Marx terms the 'coercive laws of competition' force individual capitals to compete with one another and exploit labour as much as they can in the pursuit of profit; and at the same time, these coercive laws of competition force individual workers to compete with fellow workers, locally as well as globally, for jobs that provide the wages they depend on to survive. And this, in turn, influences and reinforces relations (individual, national, etc.) that are built upon or grow out of this socio-economic foundation.
The problem is, civil society is a decidedly communal endeavour. And as Marx saw it, our species-being is an "ensemble of social relations," which are mutable, rather than an "abstraction inherent in each single individual." The logic of capitalism and the social relations arising out of it, however, structure a society in which we create the bare "semblance of a human existence" instead allowing our nature its full expression, leading to everything from alienated labour to the fostering of profitable industries that harm our very existence.
And I think no area demonstrates this more than the environment and the negative impact the contradictions inherent to capitalism have had on it, with its crises, coercive laws of competition, and accumulation for accumulation's sake that compel businesses and individual capitalists to put profits over all other concerns.
Friday, January 27, 2017
top ten albums from high school
Top ten lists always seem kind of dumb to me. I mean, who really cares what I listened to in high school? But then I woke up from a dream about my mom this morning and couldn't go back to sleep, so I started mentally composing a list to take my mind off of the sadness.
Most of the music that had the biggest impact on me during my high school years came from three main sources: my brother Gary, music videos on MTV, and random things I found at the record store with cool cover art. So, in somewhat chronological order with commentary, my dumb top ten list:
1. Rust in Peace, Megadeth.
Not my first metal/thrash album, but definitely my favourite.
Most of the music I listened to in my early teens came from my older brother Gary, who introduced me to bands like Anthrax, Metallica, Megadeth, and Slayer right before I started high school. Before that, I was apathetic as far as most music went. I liked Michael Jackson's Thriller as a kid, but pretty much ignored music after that. Nothing on the radio really interested me. And then I heard things like Rust in Peace and all that changed. I thought, What the shit is this?! Where has this been all my life? The heavier and faster, the better.
After being introduced to heavy metal, I moved from Detroit to Warren, MI, and started high school as the weird new kid. I was into comics and mythology and growing my hair out long in the middle of Michigan suburbia. Not the best fit. When days were rough, and people were especially mean to me, I'd come home and listen to music. And the album that stands out the most when I think about my first year of high school is this one.
Thematically, it also fostered my growing interest in politics, conspiracy theories, and the occult. Fortunately, my politics and spiritual beliefs evolved in the opposite direction of frontman Dave Mustaine.
2. Arise, Sepultura.
My brother had just gotten a new radio and some money for his 16th birthday. We went to my uncle's cottage in Lexington Heights, near Lake Huron, for a few weeks. We saw this tape in the case of a small local store, and Gary bought it solely because of the insane cover art. Not knowing what to expect, we were totally blown away. It was the heaviest thing I'd ever heard. We listened to it non-stop that summer. This, along with albums like Rust in Peace and Slayer's Seasons in the Abyss, formed the soundtrack for my first couple of years in high school.
3. Nevermind, Nirvana.
Nevermind came out just before I started high school. I was already wearing band shirts, torn jeans, Chucks, and flannels. People used to call me a scrub. Then this came out and I was 'grunge.' It was heavy and angsty and made for people like me.
Kurt Cobain was also the first idol of mine to die tragically. I remember hearing the news in school during the morning broadcast of Channel 1. It hit me pretty hard. But even though it was shocking and sad, his suicide also showed me that other people struggle with life too, which somehow made me feel less alone.
4. Psalm 69, Ministry.
My first real industrial album, soon followed by NIN's Downward Spiral and KMFDM's Xtort. More seeds for my future political awareness, and another musical outlet for all my pent up teenage angst. This album sparked my love of industrial music, which would later lead to a lot of great friendships.
5. In the Shadows, Mercyful Fate.
My first exposure to King Diamond was the video for "Egypt." I'd never heard nor seen anything quite like it. I was immediately drawn towards the overt mythological and occult overtones; but I was completely captivated by King Diamond himself. His voice. His makeup. His lyrics. The moment I saw that video, I knew I'd found my musical soulmate.
I was already familiar with the philosophy of Anton LeVey by then (I mean, what rebellious preteen could resist picking up The Satanic Bible at their local bookstore?), and King Diamond personified it to a T. His music and countercultural philosophy further stoked my rebelliousness against the conservative, Judeo-Christian culture that dominated Michigan suburbia, inspiring me to foster my individuality rather than supress it in order to conform with what was expected of me.
While I'd later more away from LeVey's philosophy, finding a better spiritual fit first in the likes of Aleister Crowley and later in Buddhism, it without a doubt helped me survive high school without losing myself or my mind.
6. Abigail, King Diamond.
My first King Diamond album. Also my first concept album.
I can't even begin to explain the impact this album had on me. It's more of a feeling and attitude than anything rational, but it definitely changed my life for the reasons mentioned above re: In the Shadows and much, much more. A horror story set to music, I'd often listen to it, along with Them and The Eye, at night. It was like the King himself was singing me nightmarish bedtime stories as I drifted off to sleep, transporting me into worlds where I could escape from the pressures of being an awkward teen who never quite fit in.
I was known throughout my high school years for my obsession with King Diamond.
7. Covenant, Morbid Angel.
One of the best death metal albums ever made, in my opinion. Also, my first concert. The first time I heard "Rapture" on Headbanger's Ball, I was young, rebellious, and fancied myself quite the little Satanist. It was the heaviest, most Satanic thing I'd ever heard, and I couldn't get enough of it. I listened to that tape religiously. When I heard they were playing at the Falcon Club in Hamtramck, MI, I knew I had to go.
It was the summer of 1994. I was all of 15 and crashing on my friend Mike's couch at the time after running away from home to get away from my increasingly out-of-control stepdad. I remember that we had to go to some record store or another to buy the tickets. My friend Larry was there too. We convinced somebody to give us a ride down there that night (maybe Jerry, or someone's mom?). I remember waiting outside and hearing them rehearse "Sworn to the Black." It gave me chills. I was so fucking excited I was practically twerking with anticipation.
The place was small and more like a basement than a venue. 7,000 Dying Rats and Crowbar opened. Then Morbid Angel came on and fucking destroyed my face with the heaviest riffs and most devilish lyrics my relatively innocent, young ears had until that time heard (this was before the interwebs, mind you). It was one hell of a show. I headbanged so hard I'm pretty sure I gave myself whiplash.
After the show, we tried to find a ride back, but ended up having to catch a taxi instead. Unfortunately, we could only afford to make it halfway back to Mike's place, walking the last five or six miles in the dead of night.
8. Transylvanian Hunger, Darkthrone.
My first black metal album. Bought it because of the cover artwork. It looked so badass I just had to hear it. I didn't like it at first, though, to be honest. Initially, I only listened to the first three tracks. The rest was just low-quality noise to me. But I kept coming back to it for some reason; and the more I listened to it, the more I began to appreciate the album as a whole, as well as the genre itself.
For me, music is first and foremost about the aesthetics, how it sounds, how it makes me feel, etc. I didn't understand a lot of the lyrics, and was completely unaware of the racism associated with the band at the time (statements Fenriz would later disavow and call disgusting); but the sound itself was so raw, dark, and honest that, aesthetically, it mirrored much of the anger and alienation I felt at the time. Listening to it was like letting the dark half of my soul run free through the coldest, darkest forests of my imagination.
9. Symphony Masses, Therion.
If memory serves me right, this was recommended to me at or around the same time I bought Transylvanian Hunger by someone working at Harmony House, who I sort of knew through mutual friends. I loved it. And through the evolution of the band's music, this album would eventually introduce me to symphonic metal and bands like Cradle of Filth and Dimmu Borgir.
10. Antichrist Superstar, Marilyn Manson.
By the time this came out, I was one of the three resident Satanists in school, had waist-length hair, wore mostly black, and filed my nails to a sharp point.
Being new and kind of weird, asshole, suburban kids liked to pick on me; and the more they did, the more I transformed myself into someone they didn't want to fuck with. I wanted to become Satan himself. This album came out during the culmination of that transformation. It gave an especially coherent, tortured voice to all the anger and frustration I felt towards the world; and it further motivated me to transcend the stifling limitations imposed by societal social norms by trangressing them more than I already was.
More than anything, though, it helped me break free from the psychological constraints of heteronormality. I didn't know much about the goth scene, but this album introduced me to that world, a world I immediately felt at home in, especially after finding a haven for misfits like myself in the form of Gotham Cafe, which would lead me to a whole new chapter of my life.
Most of the music that had the biggest impact on me during my high school years came from three main sources: my brother Gary, music videos on MTV, and random things I found at the record store with cool cover art. So, in somewhat chronological order with commentary, my dumb top ten list:
1. Rust in Peace, Megadeth.
Not my first metal/thrash album, but definitely my favourite.
Most of the music I listened to in my early teens came from my older brother Gary, who introduced me to bands like Anthrax, Metallica, Megadeth, and Slayer right before I started high school. Before that, I was apathetic as far as most music went. I liked Michael Jackson's Thriller as a kid, but pretty much ignored music after that. Nothing on the radio really interested me. And then I heard things like Rust in Peace and all that changed. I thought, What the shit is this?! Where has this been all my life? The heavier and faster, the better.
After being introduced to heavy metal, I moved from Detroit to Warren, MI, and started high school as the weird new kid. I was into comics and mythology and growing my hair out long in the middle of Michigan suburbia. Not the best fit. When days were rough, and people were especially mean to me, I'd come home and listen to music. And the album that stands out the most when I think about my first year of high school is this one.
Thematically, it also fostered my growing interest in politics, conspiracy theories, and the occult. Fortunately, my politics and spiritual beliefs evolved in the opposite direction of frontman Dave Mustaine.
2. Arise, Sepultura.
My brother had just gotten a new radio and some money for his 16th birthday. We went to my uncle's cottage in Lexington Heights, near Lake Huron, for a few weeks. We saw this tape in the case of a small local store, and Gary bought it solely because of the insane cover art. Not knowing what to expect, we were totally blown away. It was the heaviest thing I'd ever heard. We listened to it non-stop that summer. This, along with albums like Rust in Peace and Slayer's Seasons in the Abyss, formed the soundtrack for my first couple of years in high school.
3. Nevermind, Nirvana.
Nevermind came out just before I started high school. I was already wearing band shirts, torn jeans, Chucks, and flannels. People used to call me a scrub. Then this came out and I was 'grunge.' It was heavy and angsty and made for people like me.
Kurt Cobain was also the first idol of mine to die tragically. I remember hearing the news in school during the morning broadcast of Channel 1. It hit me pretty hard. But even though it was shocking and sad, his suicide also showed me that other people struggle with life too, which somehow made me feel less alone.
4. Psalm 69, Ministry.
My first real industrial album, soon followed by NIN's Downward Spiral and KMFDM's Xtort. More seeds for my future political awareness, and another musical outlet for all my pent up teenage angst. This album sparked my love of industrial music, which would later lead to a lot of great friendships.
5. In the Shadows, Mercyful Fate.
My first exposure to King Diamond was the video for "Egypt." I'd never heard nor seen anything quite like it. I was immediately drawn towards the overt mythological and occult overtones; but I was completely captivated by King Diamond himself. His voice. His makeup. His lyrics. The moment I saw that video, I knew I'd found my musical soulmate.
I was already familiar with the philosophy of Anton LeVey by then (I mean, what rebellious preteen could resist picking up The Satanic Bible at their local bookstore?), and King Diamond personified it to a T. His music and countercultural philosophy further stoked my rebelliousness against the conservative, Judeo-Christian culture that dominated Michigan suburbia, inspiring me to foster my individuality rather than supress it in order to conform with what was expected of me.
While I'd later more away from LeVey's philosophy, finding a better spiritual fit first in the likes of Aleister Crowley and later in Buddhism, it without a doubt helped me survive high school without losing myself or my mind.
6. Abigail, King Diamond.
My first King Diamond album. Also my first concept album.
I can't even begin to explain the impact this album had on me. It's more of a feeling and attitude than anything rational, but it definitely changed my life for the reasons mentioned above re: In the Shadows and much, much more. A horror story set to music, I'd often listen to it, along with Them and The Eye, at night. It was like the King himself was singing me nightmarish bedtime stories as I drifted off to sleep, transporting me into worlds where I could escape from the pressures of being an awkward teen who never quite fit in.
I was known throughout my high school years for my obsession with King Diamond.
7. Covenant, Morbid Angel.
One of the best death metal albums ever made, in my opinion. Also, my first concert. The first time I heard "Rapture" on Headbanger's Ball, I was young, rebellious, and fancied myself quite the little Satanist. It was the heaviest, most Satanic thing I'd ever heard, and I couldn't get enough of it. I listened to that tape religiously. When I heard they were playing at the Falcon Club in Hamtramck, MI, I knew I had to go.
It was the summer of 1994. I was all of 15 and crashing on my friend Mike's couch at the time after running away from home to get away from my increasingly out-of-control stepdad. I remember that we had to go to some record store or another to buy the tickets. My friend Larry was there too. We convinced somebody to give us a ride down there that night (maybe Jerry, or someone's mom?). I remember waiting outside and hearing them rehearse "Sworn to the Black." It gave me chills. I was so fucking excited I was practically twerking with anticipation.
The place was small and more like a basement than a venue. 7,000 Dying Rats and Crowbar opened. Then Morbid Angel came on and fucking destroyed my face with the heaviest riffs and most devilish lyrics my relatively innocent, young ears had until that time heard (this was before the interwebs, mind you). It was one hell of a show. I headbanged so hard I'm pretty sure I gave myself whiplash.
After the show, we tried to find a ride back, but ended up having to catch a taxi instead. Unfortunately, we could only afford to make it halfway back to Mike's place, walking the last five or six miles in the dead of night.
8. Transylvanian Hunger, Darkthrone.
My first black metal album. Bought it because of the cover artwork. It looked so badass I just had to hear it. I didn't like it at first, though, to be honest. Initially, I only listened to the first three tracks. The rest was just low-quality noise to me. But I kept coming back to it for some reason; and the more I listened to it, the more I began to appreciate the album as a whole, as well as the genre itself.
For me, music is first and foremost about the aesthetics, how it sounds, how it makes me feel, etc. I didn't understand a lot of the lyrics, and was completely unaware of the racism associated with the band at the time (statements Fenriz would later disavow and call disgusting); but the sound itself was so raw, dark, and honest that, aesthetically, it mirrored much of the anger and alienation I felt at the time. Listening to it was like letting the dark half of my soul run free through the coldest, darkest forests of my imagination.
9. Symphony Masses, Therion.
If memory serves me right, this was recommended to me at or around the same time I bought Transylvanian Hunger by someone working at Harmony House, who I sort of knew through mutual friends. I loved it. And through the evolution of the band's music, this album would eventually introduce me to symphonic metal and bands like Cradle of Filth and Dimmu Borgir.
10. Antichrist Superstar, Marilyn Manson.
By the time this came out, I was one of the three resident Satanists in school, had waist-length hair, wore mostly black, and filed my nails to a sharp point.
Being new and kind of weird, asshole, suburban kids liked to pick on me; and the more they did, the more I transformed myself into someone they didn't want to fuck with. I wanted to become Satan himself. This album came out during the culmination of that transformation. It gave an especially coherent, tortured voice to all the anger and frustration I felt towards the world; and it further motivated me to transcend the stifling limitations imposed by societal social norms by trangressing them more than I already was.
More than anything, though, it helped me break free from the psychological constraints of heteronormality. I didn't know much about the goth scene, but this album introduced me to that world, a world I immediately felt at home in, especially after finding a haven for misfits like myself in the form of Gotham Cafe, which would lead me to a whole new chapter of my life.
Saturday, January 21, 2017
women's march on washington
So many things on my mind seeing the hundreds of thousands of people taking to the streets today in solidarity with the Women's March on Washington.
Our country is a political dumpster fire. We've actually elected a reality show star for president. His cabinet is full of anti-gay, anti-poor, anti-women racists and corporatists. His first speech as president was written by racist-in-chief, Steve Bannon, and took a decidedly nationalistic and patriarchal tone (and even plagiarized Bane to boot). They don't even try to hide their contempt for non-WASPs, especially women, utilizing political slogans from the golden age of American nationalism and repression, and wasting no time in ridding the White House website of references to the LGBT rights, climate change, and civil rights. It's like I've died and woken up in the prequel to A Handmaid's Tale.
The protests are amazing. But protesting alone isn't going to fix the problem. Yes, it gives people hope, and it forces the ruling class to pay attention to the real anger, frustration, and suffering of all those who are discriminated against and marginalized. It shows their numbers and their solidarity, their willingness to shut everything down, to not be further victimized or ignored. But it also unintentionally harms a lot of working-class people, those who can't afford to take days off work to be out in the streets otherwise they'd be out on the streets.
Shutting down bridges and public transit gets the ruling class' attention, but it also prevents working-class parents from getting home to their children after a long workday. It sends a powerful message to the minority in power, but it can also alienate huge pockets of working people. The fight must also include educating people about the importance of resistance and the ways real people are being harmed, as well as long-term strategies for staying relevant and not burning out, utilizing political activism and community organizing as much as direct action.
And while intersectionality is super important to any movement geared towards equality, women have definitely been at the forefront of the fight to put out this particular dumpster fire. They're out there marching and organizing and making their voices heard, which is amazing. Women have been the motivating force of this resistance from day one, and they are inspiring solidarity amongst all walks of life with their fire and determination.
I'm not sure what's going to come out of the seeds of today, but I'm cautiously optimistic about the future. Not because of my faith in our political system, but my faith in ordinary, everyday people. And I'm proud to follow the lead of all the amazing women who are leading the way into a better tomorrow.
Our country is a political dumpster fire. We've actually elected a reality show star for president. His cabinet is full of anti-gay, anti-poor, anti-women racists and corporatists. His first speech as president was written by racist-in-chief, Steve Bannon, and took a decidedly nationalistic and patriarchal tone (and even plagiarized Bane to boot). They don't even try to hide their contempt for non-WASPs, especially women, utilizing political slogans from the golden age of American nationalism and repression, and wasting no time in ridding the White House website of references to the LGBT rights, climate change, and civil rights. It's like I've died and woken up in the prequel to A Handmaid's Tale.
The protests are amazing. But protesting alone isn't going to fix the problem. Yes, it gives people hope, and it forces the ruling class to pay attention to the real anger, frustration, and suffering of all those who are discriminated against and marginalized. It shows their numbers and their solidarity, their willingness to shut everything down, to not be further victimized or ignored. But it also unintentionally harms a lot of working-class people, those who can't afford to take days off work to be out in the streets otherwise they'd be out on the streets.
Shutting down bridges and public transit gets the ruling class' attention, but it also prevents working-class parents from getting home to their children after a long workday. It sends a powerful message to the minority in power, but it can also alienate huge pockets of working people. The fight must also include educating people about the importance of resistance and the ways real people are being harmed, as well as long-term strategies for staying relevant and not burning out, utilizing political activism and community organizing as much as direct action.
And while intersectionality is super important to any movement geared towards equality, women have definitely been at the forefront of the fight to put out this particular dumpster fire. They're out there marching and organizing and making their voices heard, which is amazing. Women have been the motivating force of this resistance from day one, and they are inspiring solidarity amongst all walks of life with their fire and determination.
I'm not sure what's going to come out of the seeds of today, but I'm cautiously optimistic about the future. Not because of my faith in our political system, but my faith in ordinary, everyday people. And I'm proud to follow the lead of all the amazing women who are leading the way into a better tomorrow.
christian communism
I'm currently reading Gareth Stedman Jones' book, Karl Marx: Greatness and Illusion, and one section has me wondering why more Christians, and Catholics in particular, aren't communists in the proper sense of the word and vice versa. That's not to say I think one must (or even necessarily should) be the other; only that I find them to be immensely compatible on a fundamental level.
For example, in contrast to Feuerbach's criticism of Christianity as a philosophical roadblock to the emergence of a modern, communal society characterized by spiritual and political freedom -- the 'unity of I and Thou' -- the universality of 'the church as one body' (via 1 Cor 12:12-13) most certainly contains within it the communal essence of the human species as Feuerbach envisions it.
Our tendency towards abstraction aside, rather than simply seeing the state of religion as "the particular union of each individual with an external being," as Stedman Jones summarizes Feuerbach's critique of Christianity (p. 127), this theological concept explicitly conceives of each individual as an integral part of the same communal, unifying body within the universality that is personified by Christ. Moreover, Christ himself makes concern for the needs of others the entry fee into the kingdom of heaven (Mt 25:31-46).
So, rather than usurping the primordial species-unity of 'I and Thou,' as Feuerbach suggests, Christ actually embodies that unity. All are one in Christ, and Christ is one with all (Gal 3:28). Next to loving God, loving our neighbour as ourselves is the greatest commandment (Mt 22:34-40). And the relational nature of God in the form of the trinity itself reflects the interdependent nature of humanity, the aspect of individuals as communal species-beings.
While this revolutionary facet of Christianity has been suppressed by ruling elites, both spiritual and political, throughout most of its history, its existence is clearly evinced by the early apostles themselves: "There was no needy person among them, for those who owned property or houses would sell them, bring the proceeds of the sale, and put them at the feet of the apostles, and they were distributed to each according to need" (Acts 4:34-35).
In addition, for Marx and Feuerbach, God is a mystification of our species-essence, an abstraction, an inversion of subject and object; and therefore our religious inclinations are in reality just a fetishization of this alienated aspect of our species-being that we've objectified and turned into something alien from ourselves. But the revolutionary story of Jesus effectively undoes this inversion of subject and object.
Jesus is God manifest in human form; and in this sense, represents a demystification of our species-essence and a reunification of our spiritual and political consciousness. Jesus not only bridges the gap between the transcendent and the concrete, but the rift between humanity and itself created by our tendency to, in the words of Feuerbach, "posit the essence of nature outside nature, the essence of humanity outside humanity, the essence of thought outside the act of thinking."
I think that both Feuerbach and Marx were correct in their criticism of idealist philosophies that begin with "the 'I' or 'self' in isolation," as well as of the role that Christianity played in the rise of individualism and egotistical withdrawal from communal life within modern society. But I think they make a mistake by neglecting the revolutionary spirit imbedded within the New Testament.
For example, in contrast to Feuerbach's criticism of Christianity as a philosophical roadblock to the emergence of a modern, communal society characterized by spiritual and political freedom -- the 'unity of I and Thou' -- the universality of 'the church as one body' (via 1 Cor 12:12-13) most certainly contains within it the communal essence of the human species as Feuerbach envisions it.
Our tendency towards abstraction aside, rather than simply seeing the state of religion as "the particular union of each individual with an external being," as Stedman Jones summarizes Feuerbach's critique of Christianity (p. 127), this theological concept explicitly conceives of each individual as an integral part of the same communal, unifying body within the universality that is personified by Christ. Moreover, Christ himself makes concern for the needs of others the entry fee into the kingdom of heaven (Mt 25:31-46).
So, rather than usurping the primordial species-unity of 'I and Thou,' as Feuerbach suggests, Christ actually embodies that unity. All are one in Christ, and Christ is one with all (Gal 3:28). Next to loving God, loving our neighbour as ourselves is the greatest commandment (Mt 22:34-40). And the relational nature of God in the form of the trinity itself reflects the interdependent nature of humanity, the aspect of individuals as communal species-beings.
While this revolutionary facet of Christianity has been suppressed by ruling elites, both spiritual and political, throughout most of its history, its existence is clearly evinced by the early apostles themselves: "There was no needy person among them, for those who owned property or houses would sell them, bring the proceeds of the sale, and put them at the feet of the apostles, and they were distributed to each according to need" (Acts 4:34-35).
In addition, for Marx and Feuerbach, God is a mystification of our species-essence, an abstraction, an inversion of subject and object; and therefore our religious inclinations are in reality just a fetishization of this alienated aspect of our species-being that we've objectified and turned into something alien from ourselves. But the revolutionary story of Jesus effectively undoes this inversion of subject and object.
Jesus is God manifest in human form; and in this sense, represents a demystification of our species-essence and a reunification of our spiritual and political consciousness. Jesus not only bridges the gap between the transcendent and the concrete, but the rift between humanity and itself created by our tendency to, in the words of Feuerbach, "posit the essence of nature outside nature, the essence of humanity outside humanity, the essence of thought outside the act of thinking."
I think that both Feuerbach and Marx were correct in their criticism of idealist philosophies that begin with "the 'I' or 'self' in isolation," as well as of the role that Christianity played in the rise of individualism and egotistical withdrawal from communal life within modern society. But I think they make a mistake by neglecting the revolutionary spirit imbedded within the New Testament.
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