Month: January 2016

Cartucho, like The Underdogs, encompasses many voices, but is a decidedly different text in many ways. There are two main aspects of the story I found especially powerful.

The first is its complicated portrayal of death (often times many deaths, and violent ones at that) from the perspective of a child. It is not even that the deaths never come across as completely negative but that they become, to some degree, anticipated and exciting. In a section entitled “Through The Window,” the young protagonist describes watching a murder outside her window that leaves a body with “blood pouring out of him through many holes.” She goes on to say, “I became accustom to seeing the scrawl of his body […] The dead man seemed mine […] He was my obsession.” And later, after he is removed she remarks, “That night I went to sleep dreaming that they would shoot someone else and that it would be next to my house.” Throughout the text her mother becomes more and more distressed. At different times she cries, has her daughter visit graves and prays. She is clearly quite affected by the fighting and we know that her daughter must be, to some degree, aware of this since she is the one recounting the events. Despite her mother’s visible pain she remains enthralled by death. I have not yet decided what I think the author intended by writing her reactions this way. I am torn between thinking that her perspective is such precisely because she is a child and cannot understand the severity of what she is surrounded by and giving her much more credit and reading her curiosity as a coping mechanism.

The second thing I found particularly interesting is the way in which safety and masculinity are conflated in this novel. Azuelo certainly implied this but Campobello makes it very evident. We are told the story of the protagonist who looks on as eleven men come into her home and insult her mother. The leader, a man with a blonde mustache, goes onto become famous and well-liked. In exploring her anger towards this man she says, “Two years later […] I saw him […] That day, everything was ruined for me. I couldn’t study. I spent it thinking about being a man, having my own pistol and firing a hundred shots into him.” It does not suffice, even in her own head, to simply imagine herself as soldier. She must first imagine herself as a man so that the idea of becoming a soldier and carrying a weapon seems plausible. In this way defense, of the state or of the self, is relegated to a sphere only men may inhabit.  What is worth noting is that the character who tells us this is a child so we can easily see how pervasive (and damaging) these gendered narratives can be.

I felt that the notion of revolutions are cyclical and doomed to recreate and/or sustain the conditions they were conceived in really came through in this novel, especially in the latter half. This sentiment is encapsulated by a phrase near the end of the book which reads, “”If you’ve got a rifle in your hand and your cartridge belts are full its because you’re going to fight. For whom? Against whom? For whom? No one even cares about that.” (Pg 78)  In this instance, revolution, and specifically its violent qualities, are seen as mindless and mechanical. The fighting loses its meaning. We see this again when Demetrio’s wife asks him why he is still fighting and he replies, “see how the pebble can’t stop…” (Pg 86) Positing what began as revolutionary violence as not only inevitable but natural as well.

When Demetrio and his crew begin looting more regularly, we see a much darker side of them than we did before. Or perhaps we only see it pronounced in comparison to the first half of the book. Eventually while looting they “clean out” a peasant man. They take all his corn and he cannot feed his family. When he brings this to their attention they make a show of accommodating him but then make him “beg for mercy.” (Pg 68) This scene puts into focus, who, if anyone, Demetrio & his gang appear to be fighting for. At this point, it seems that they are only fighting for themselves. What is telling about this scene is that they are not only unwilling to meet this man’s needs but they actually make a spectacle of his suffering.

Luis Cervante does a curious thing in the same scene. When the looting is over he says, “Look what a mess the boys have made. Wouldn’t it be best to keep them from doing this?” (Pg 48) He is condemns looting but as readers we know he himself has pocketed one of the most valuable things found, diamonds. (The person he’s talking to also knows this but declines to comment on his obvious insincerity.) Cervante maintains an air of superiority throughout the story which reaches its peak when we learn he has taken his spoils and enrolled in medical school in America. It seems to me that in this scene especially he is demonstrating a double standard. He appears to feel moral/intellectual superiority even though he engages in similar and/or identical activities as his peers. What I found strange is that when I looked into the author’s background it was very similar to Cervante’s in that the author also had a background in academia and in medicine. This portrayal then confused me because I couldn’t tell whether the author’s intent was to demonstrate the precarity of Cervante’s superiority or the legitimacy of it.

When I’ve had fewer blog posts assigned for different classes I’ve been able to opt out of weeks where I’ve found the material uninteresting. Unfortunately I can’t do that now. Not that the subject matter is boring, it’s not. But I kept getting distracted during the movie. Pretty sure that about half of it is just Marlon Brando looking moodily off into the distance/out a window/etc.

Zapata wants to make positive changes like returning land but after his rebellion he find that the new leader, Madero doesn’t have similar plans. This isn’t a new narrative. I was reminded of the cyclical nature of rebellion which appears both true and factual, especially when watching this film, but also potentially counterproductive. Another “inherent” contradiction.  If we can only look at rebellion as cyclical (and self-defeating/self-perpetuating) it might only fuel our apathy. How can we acknowledge this narrative as being present for a reason, but not necessarily being cause to give up entirely?

We see this narrative somewhere like the Haitian revolution when Henri Christophe, upon obtaining power, continues to employ slaves. (And some would argue employ them in larger numbers.) Additionally, (if I’m remembering correctly) he wishes to find a European architect to collaborate with and in doing so he is very much perpetuating “Western” ideals as signifiers of sophistication and progress within his kingdom.

Brand equates our relationship with capitalism to an addiction, and I am inclined to agree with him on this point. To take that further, what this film and what other revolutionary movements suggest to me is that hierarchies, generally, become addictive, for those in the upper tiers. Not only that but I think things that we come to view as “successful” become particularly addictive. So while things like power, control and force may be, for some, addictive, physical force that say, allows them to overthrow their current tyrannical leader, becomes especially addictive.  It may be difficult for a movement or a political body that comes into fruition through violence to then use other strategies when their first one was so effective. Once a group of people begins the process of deciding when/where it is “acceptable” to use violence I think it becomes easier and easier to justify violence in the future, especially if you have a history of “getting results.”

We tend to think of revolutionaries in a positive light–as people who are progressive, organized, selfless and proactive–but that is often incorrect, especially when we talk about violent revolutionaries. Thinking you know better than anyone else what is best is a little poisonous.

I find the language of this weeks readings particularly difficult (& I’ve never taken a history class before) so it’s possible I’ve interpreted them with comical inaccuracy. Sorry in advance/I’m hoping to learn more from other people’s blogs.

I tend to think of revolution and protest as directly opposing something, be it a system of government on the whole or something more specific, like a particular policy. Alternatively, Jefferson’ letters and the excerpts from Robespierre’s speech seem to posit revolution as something that works in conjunction with government rather than against it. Jefferson writes, “I hold it that a little rebellion now and then is a good thing, and as necessary in the political world as storms in the physical. Unsuccessful rebellions, indeed, generally establish the encroachments on the rights of the people which have produced them.” This seems to suggest that any act of rebellion, regardless of its discernible impact, is a natural condition of government and in fact functions to demonstrate to those in power where they may need to change something. Jefferson goes on to suggest that acts of rebellion should be mildly punishable, if at all because they are “a medicine necessary for the sound health of government.” This made me think of the human body and how it’s constantly regenerating. For Jefferson and Robespierre rebellion is a natural act of regeneration that has to occur as long as government wants to remain current and effective, like shedding skin or growing nails.

Robespierre says, “the characteristic of popular government is confidence in the people and severity towards itself.” Perhaps a government that looks at rebellion as a learning experience and is hypercritical of itself would be popular. I couldn’t tell you since I’ve never seen evidence of a government that thought that way. Unsurprisingly, I think that is a very unrealistic way of describing government. As such, rebellion in the way that Jefferson and Robespierre appeared to be speaking about it, doesn’t exactly make sense to me. Their discussions of rebellion and its function reminded me of a child who loses control of a situation and tries to appears as if they have not by lying. Positing rebellion as a natural and constructive facet of government reduces the threat of a rebellion.

The first chapter of the Communist Manifesto details a type of rebellion I am much more familiar with–one that is both adversarial and violent. Of the proletariat it is stated that: “their mission is to destroy all previous securities for, and insurances of, individual property.”

The Communist Manifesto’s extensive discussion of class inequities (& exclusion of other potential inequities) could be viewed as narrow-minded or as evidence that class inequities really are more important than others. One way that I’ve enjoyed thinking of it is: with fewer financial concerns we would likely have more time and energy to spend thinking of and discussing our other shared difficulties. For instance, I might keep a job at which I feel undervalued and objectified because of financial concerns. I might complete a degree in a faculty I don’t care about because it offers me more job security. Relieved of the pressure to be an active and productive presence in the capitalist workforce I think I would be even better at caring for and considering the feelings and perspectives of those around me. I am inflexible when I’m exhausted.

A leader in the basic-income movement, Enno Schmidt, claims the movement would “help unleash creativity and entrepreneurialism: Switzerland’s workers would feel empowered to work the way they wanted to, rather than the way they had to just to get by. He even went so far as to compare it to a civil rights movement, like women’s suffrage or ending slavery.” I think this is a relevant movement and a potentially viable option when discussing future changes in relation to the values that are outlined in this manifesto.

I’ve linked the article below.

http://www.nytimes.com/2013/11/17/magazine/switzerlands-proposal-to-pay-people-for-being-alive.html?_r=1

 

 

I am hoping that in class tomorrow the only thing I am supposed to have gleaned from Russell Brand’s piece on the syllabus is what not to say and how not to act.

I was sick of this article by the time I finished the very first sentence, which reads: “when I was asked to edit an issue of The New Statesman I said yes because it was a beautiful woman asking me.” He repeats this again in the interview we were asked to watch, implying that the only way he can be motivated to be politically engaged is with the promise of sex. If you are reading this you may be thinking: well that isn’t exactly fair, we all do weird and elaborate things for sex sometimes. You’re right, and if this were the only place in which his misogyny appeared, I may have let it slide. (Just kidding.)

Brand predicts that we may accuse him of being slightly hypocritical when he writes, “I should qualify my right to even pontificate on such a topic […] How dare I, from my velvet chaise lounge, in my Hollywood home like Kubla Khan, drag my limbs from my harem to moan about the system?” This is a question I asked myself as well. Brand goes on to describe how exactly he benefits from the current capitalist climate when he writes that it is a system that has “posited me on a lilo (British word meaning: A type of inflatable mattress which is used as a bed or for floating on water, according to Google) made of thighs in an ocean filled with honey and foie gras’d my Essex arse with undue praise and money.” He is a hypocrite, but he wants us to know that he’s aware of that fact. Capitalism has given him so much. He has wealth, he has women, he has good food and he has a shinning reputation. For all his “activism,” and his talk of the dangers of capitalism, which according to him is, “convenient for the tiny, greedy, myopic sliver of the population that those outmoded ideas serve,” he has, in one sentence, equated women with wealth and goods. In Brand’s revolutionary vision there is no more class disparity but women are still a commodity.

Without a hint of irony, with a confessional but unapologetic tone Brand writes, “Like most of the superficially decent things I do in life, my motivation was to impress women more than to aid the suffering.” (Shortly after he refers to his “inner womaniser”) Here he is obviously trying to illustrate his transition from childish and selfish to Altruistic and Thoughtful by showing us how he Used to Be, before he learned of the severity of poverty. This occurs in the following paragraphs when he visits Africa and must refer to it as Armageddon. (Failing, of course, to acknowledge the obviously colonialist implications of the trip itself and the rhetoric he employs when writing about it.) Brand likely included that passage to demonstrate to his reader that he is introspective, malleable, capable of change and most of all, relatable. That may be true but there is nothing I can feel upon reading this apart from revolted.

To be clear, there are many things he says that I agree with. No large shift will occur if we rely on our current system. Up until this past October I had also never voted for similar reasons. I voted last year due to what I considered to be very special circumstances (read: Stephen Harper.) I don’t think that the government, or corporations want to support or even accommodate low-income peoples and families and this is a problem as equally pressing as sexism and misogyny. Yes, we have a responsibility to our planet which we are completely neglecting. That said, I have no desire to listen to or be in dialogue with Russell Brand. It seems to me that living in his particular vision would mean that there would be equal distribution of wealth and that each would have according to his need, but my need to be seen as more than the way I am presenting and to be treated as more than simply an object would remain unmet.

No thank you.