always ready to fight the canon

Hi I'm Jack & I'm here to throw hands

[fightmeyeats]

Ursula Heise argues in “Martian Ecologies and the Future of Nature,” that Mars in science fiction should be read as “a thought experiment ultimately meant to be bent back onto Earth itself” (2011: 465), but this same perspective is useful in considering the colonization and terraforming of planets and other extraterrestrial bodies more generally. However, as a “thought experiment,” terraforming in science fiction frequently seems to be a biopolitical and technopolitical way of conceptualizing and responding to the anxieties induced by climate change in ways that broadly displace climate anxiety onto other, non-Earth planets and allow for the sense that these anxieties are at once remote and solvable. These logics, which draw from myths of American colonialism and the “western frontier,” respond to an increasing sense of fragility on Earth by imagining that, through technological intervention and expansion, the root causes of climate change do not actually need to be addressed because we can simply offset damage to the Earth through the acquisition and transformation of new planets/moons/asteroids. In my research I will examine space colonization narratives, with an emphasis on terraforming, in order to explore how these logics develop, what underlying cultural logics they speak to, and what impact they have on how climate change is understood and addressed. I will do this by examining primary texts such as Robert Heinlein’s Farmer in the Sky and conduct a review of secondary/theoretical materials in order to analyze these texts and explore the way in which these fictions are informed by and inform material realities.

I’m so excited to share that my paper “Constructing Reality: An Investigation of Climate Change and the Terraforming Imaginary“ was published today in the Johns Hopkins Macksey Journal! This article is a shortened version of my thesis, and examines the way that terraforming in science fiction draws from histories/contemporary realities of colonization (particularly in the U.S.) & frequently seems to be a biopolitical/technopolicital way of conceptualizing and responding to the anxieties induced by climate change in ways that broadly displace climate anxiety onto other, non-Earth planets, allowing for the sense that these anxieties are at once remote and solvable.

I’d love to talk about it with anyone who is interested :)

[fightmeyeats]

ACNH: Colonial Desires in the Context of Quarantine

Since finishing up my undergraduate studies in June, one of the major things I've been doing with my free time is playing Animal Crossing: New Horizons (please don't @ me but I've already logged something like 400 hours). As much fun as the game is, one of the things that's really stood out to me is how much AC:NH depends on and reifies colonial logics, and how important it is to unpack this in the context of the game's popularity and the ongoing pandemic.

One of the first ways I want to address colonialism in AC:NH this is through the way I was first introduced to it, namely through its connection to my thesis and what I refer to as the "terraforming imaginary". Before I started playing or had even decided to buy the game, I was working on my thesis "Constructing New Worlds: An Investigation of Climate Change and the Terraforming Imaginary" (which, shameless self plug but if you're interested you can check out my 10 minute video presentation for symposium at Johns Hopkins University here). During this time I was talking about my thesis pretty non-stop with anyone who would listen and as a result probably about half of my friends independently sent me this meme

[ID: meme from @animalcrossingmemes which shows two children; the one on the left is smiling and looking off into the distance with the label "daydreaming about terraforming" while the child on the right looks stressed and upset with the label "actually terraforming". Beneath this meme is text from @kaijuno which reads "I realize this is an animal crossing meme but as an astrophysicist I was really excited for a second that someone was finally seeing the light on how fricking difficult an a huge waste of time it would be to try to terraform Mars". Beneath this text is another meme with four hands gripping each other's wrists to make a circle. In the center is the initial animalcrossingmemes image and each arm is labeled, respectively, "Minecraft Players," "Sims Players," "Animal Crossing Players," and "Astrophysicists apparently"]

Although my thesis addresses terraforming in the context of space exploration/colonization, AC:NH's engagement with "terraforming" (alongside other aspects of colonial practices and desires) helps to expand on the stakes of this. The reason I put "terraforming" in scare-quotes is because…technically, there isn't any terraforming in AC:NH, given that terraforming is "the operation consisting of rendering other stellar bodies—mainly planets and eventually asteroids—appropriate for human life" (Frédéric Neyrat, 46). While I'm all down for an interpretation of the Animal Crossing world as a non-Earth planet and the villagers as aliens, the island is already suitable for human life and the use of "terraforming" in the game is generally more readily identifiable as geoconstructivism: players redesign and restructure their islands, shaping waterways and topography to create idealistic spaces (as opposed to making the island literally livable). Either way, it speaks to the terraforming imaginary—the underlying set of logics and desires conducive to the imagining and desiring of “terraforming”, ie the logics and desires of colonization. Even though AC:NH's terraforming isn't technically terraforming, it is an embodiment of the terraforming imaginary, centering desires for the "civilizing"/"cultivating" of a space into an orderly, colonized ideal. On even a very surface level it is useful to think about this through the island rating system: islands are ranked out of five stars, with deductions made for things such as having "too many" weeds or not "cleaning up" by leaving items lying around rather than placed with intention. 

Another, perhaps more obvious, way in which AC:NH embodies colonial logics is through the "Nook Miles Tickets". Players trade in Nook Miles (an achievement based currency) for tickets which they can take to the airport and use to visit other, uninhabited islands which they can destroy to extract all of the resources slash-and-burn style. Players also have an increased likelihood of catching rare insects, fish, and sea animals to display to their own island museum or sell. As Wilbur, a dodo pilot, explains about this process: "we run the 'finders keepers' protocol here. Lumber, fruit, fish, whatever? Yours if you can carry it", going on to emphasize the importance of not leaving anything behind as there will be no returning; they "burn the flight plans" after each flight.

Although the rampantly destructive extraction of resources is the most apparent embodiment of colonial logics, the centrality of the museum and the imperative to complete each wing by finding and identifying all of the bugs, fish/sea creatures, fossils, and artworks in the game is an equally significant connection to colonialism. Benedict Anderson argues in Imagined Communities that the museum, along with the census and the map, "shaped the way in which the colonial state imagined its dominion—the nature of the human beings it ruled, the geography of its domain, and the legitimacy of its ancestry" (164). The specifics Anderson goes into differ of course, because he's talking about actual colonial states while AC:NH has the fluidity of embodying the underpinning desires which colonialism as process requires to function, but what holds true is that these specific forms of producing, organizing, and displaying knowledge which produced "a totalizing classificatory grid, which could be applied with endless flexibility...to be able to say of anything that it was this, not that; it belonged here, not there" (Anderson 184). Essentially, in AC:NH part of a player's ownership of the island occurs through a player's ability to classify and collect artefacts for the museum. Furthermore, this imperative to collect and preserve fossils, art work, bugs, fish, and sea creatures is part of the way the player's island is positioned as a place of value. 

The museum also implicitly functions to reify positions of authority, legitimizing a kind of monopoly of knowledge. In AC:NH, this primarily means the positions of the museum curator (Blathers) and, to a degree, Tom Nook (who selected and invited Blathers) are secured as the authorities on knowledge. When Tom Nook tells the player that the island(s) are deserted, we must take this as truth...yet fishing both on the player's island and the Nook Miles islands can turn up trash items like old tires, tin cans, and boots. Colonial logics depend on a management of who counts as "people" and what counts as "inhabited" and the myth of empty lands; Tom Nook's instance that these islands are all deserted is haunted by these lingering traces of some other inhabitation prior to the game's start. 

Okay, so you might be asking what does this all mean and why should we care? Let's talk about both the game's popularity and the ongoing COVID-19 pandemic which contextualized its release (and continues to shape daily life). Animal Crossing: New Horizons has not only received overwhelmingly positive critical reception, but is one of the best selling games both for the Switch console and the Animal Crossing series. According to freelance journalist Imad Khan's New York Times article "Why Animal Crossing Is the Game for the Coronavirus Moment," the game's appeal centers in its function as an escape to an "island paradise where bags of money fall out of trees and a talking raccoon can approve you for a mortgage". Khan quotes Dr. Ramzan (a professor of game narrative at Glasgow Caledonian University) who refers to it as "the universe you’ve always wanted, but can’t get." Given the significantly decreased mobility and connection that has accompanied social distancing, as well as the increased stress and heightened inequality which have accompanied COVID-19, this probably isn’t particularly surprising. It makes sense that a cute, low-stress video game would be a valuable form of escapism.

Mobility is a particularly fraught discourse in this context: on the one hand, concerns surrounding containment/immobility are heightened in the context of neoliberalism and within colonial societies, which depend upon discourses of individualism and independence to demarcate the “freedom” which comes from capitalist economies. At the same time, the desire for things like connection/community, movement, and spatial autonomy/sovereignty are not inherently colonial, even as colonialist logics frequently position colonial/capitalist/neoliberal expansion as the solution. Animal Crossing is heavily situated within this entanglement, simultaneously offering a very real form of connection (and even protest) for many people while also implicitly speaking to latent beliefs that colonization is a legitimate form of mobility and escapism. To say that AC:NH is the universe we’ve always wanted but can’t get is to refuse to engage with the inherent contradictions of neoliberalism and reafirm the notion that colonial capitalist worlds are worth wanting; that the fantasy of individual wealth and success through destructive extraction and market freedom, when obtainable, is good.

None of this is to say that playing AC:NH is the same as colonization, because of course it isn't. However, the colonial undertones of the game reflect the pervasiveness of colonial logics and desires in our daily lives, subsequently further normalizing them. Journalist Kazuma Hashimoto, for example, emphasizes the importance of contextualizing AC:NH's colonial undertones within Japanese Colonialism in "Animal Crossing: New Horizons and Japanese Colonialism". As Hashimoto argues, "I am only asking that people familiarize themselves with Japanese colonialism and why something as innocuous as discovering a deserted island can be read as colonialism — especially within the context of a Japanese game".

Inattentiveness to the more subdued, invisibilized manifestations of violence facilitates their internalization and acceptance; educating ourselves and paying attention to and challenging places where we feel comfortable with these kinds of escapist fantasies is an important exercise in critical thinking which can help us to continue to refuse their real life manifestations. 

[fightmeyeats]

Rethinking “Inclusive Excellence”: A Critical University Studies Approach to COVID-19, the UC COLA movement, and Inequality in the University

If there’s one thing we know about power, it’s that it is most effective when it is obscured; we do not question what we cannot see, what we take for natural. This is something which the UC system depends on, positioning itself as a space of accessible education and “inclusive excellence” while refusing to engage with the way that the very infrastructure maintaining the UC is inherently antithetical to these goals. Wildcat strikers and organizers for the COLA4ALL movement currently sweeping through the UC system have done much to excavate these oppressive systems and contradictions foundational to the UC through the fight for a COLA (Cost of Living Adjustment) and the simultaneous refusal to disconnect this specific goal from the need to address the broader violence of the institution.

For those unfamiliar, the movement initially started at UC Santa Cruz. UCSC graduate students, like nearly all UC graduate students, are rent burdened. During the Fall 2019 quarter, graduate student instructors began a wildcat grade strike, calling attention to the contradiction between the university’s dependence on graduate student labor to function and the university’s refusal to provide graduate students with a reasonable standard of living through a refusal to submit grades. The movement quickly spread, and now spans all 10 UC campuses (many of which are on a full or partial strike). COLA4ALL’s overall vision, taken from the inter-campus website StrikeUniversity.org, centers free and accessible public education for everyone (without student debt), critical thinking and skills that are not bound to the imperatives of the market, replacing competitive models with communities of care and shared struggle, brilliance that refuses hierarchical models of “experts,” and the decolonization, democratization, queering, and abolishing of the university.

The UC has responded to COLA organizers with violence which is deeply revealing of the anti-black, carceral power foundational to the entire system. Militarized police presence has been prevalent at COLA picket lines, walk outs, and other organizing events. During a COLA rally on February 20, 2020 at UC Irvine campus police officer Trish Harding tackled and arrested a Black alumna who was not even involved with COLA and simply on campus trying to pick up her transcripts (please sign the UCI Black Student Union’s petition demanding accountability). UC-wide, many students have been harassed, assaulted, and arrested for daring to tell administration that they cannot survive under “business as usual”.

Recently a student in one of my classes asked the professor about their stance on UC graduate students organizing for a COLA; the professor said that it was up to us as their students, asking if we would be willing to have our grades withheld. Framing the issue as one of undergraduate willingness to go without grades fundamentally misrepresents what is going on. None of us want our grades withheld. Many of us cannot afford to have our grades withheld. But the consequences of having our grades withheld only exist within the context of institutional intransigence, not graduate students going on a wildcat strike.

It is imperative that graduate students be paid fairly and the university reevaluates the oppressive model it is currently operating under.

One of the things that stands out to me in the way that COLA4ALL is discussed is the emphasis put on the fact that the strike is illegal because UAW 2865, the graduate student union, has not voted to strike. As those of us who have critically engaged with criminality and the construction of “illegal”, part of the discourse surrounding illegality is an undermining of the value and contributions of those who are positioned as “illegal.” This is something which is, of course, multiply impactful to those who are already criminalized, as we can see clearly in police response to Black alumni existence on campus. The law is so often unjust and frequently sides with those who hold power and money. Why is it illegal for workers to organize outside of a singular union? Why is it legal for the UC system to put union busting measures into their contracts? Why do we talk about the wildcat strikes in terms of legality instead of engaging critically with the University as an institution?

The extraction of wealth from students is central to the current operation of the UC. This is evident in the high cost of tuition and the rate of student debt, and further heightened through the multitude of ways in which the UC system profits off of its students; while we can think about this in the insane cost of parking, the use of work-study to maintain a labor force of minimum wage workers, the denial of sick pay to undergraduate student workers, the tokenization and marketing of students, and the obviously inflated prices at on-campus stores like The Hill or Zot-n-Go, no where is it more apparent than in housing. Focusing on graduate students, since COLA4ALL is currently focused on improving pay and labor conditions for graduate students, not only are the majority of students extremely rent burdened, but many are living in “subsidized” campus housing, paying large portions of their paychecks back to the very institution already underpaying them and exploiting their labor. It very much feels like company scrip.

Under the social distancing/remote learning model being deployed in response to COVID-19 many of these already untenable circumstances are only being heightened. Housing insecurity, a major problem for many undergraduate and graduate students alike, is significantly increased through the rise in un-and-under-employment resulting from shelter-in-place closures; meanwhile, the UC system is encouraging students to leave campus while doing nothing to assist those who live in off-campus housing who are now not only rent burdened and frequently living in highly crowded living quarters during a pandemic, but given no option to break their lease without penalty and are still required to somehow continue paying rent despite changes in their ability to work.

Similarly, while some campus employees are now able to telecommute to work the administration obviously has no intention of allowing those working in food services, maintenance, custodial services, etc to “conference in”, leaving them at continued risk while prioritizing the safety of those in higher wage positions. Additionally, graduate students and professors without access to the technology needed to teach from their homes are being encouraged to continue to come to campus and teach from classroom spaces. What this means is that those with the resources (stable housing, internet access, a computer with a webcam and mic) can work safely from home, while the most marginalized (those most in need of a COLA) will have to risk exposure.

Furthermore, many telecommuting workers are being told they must sign a contract which includes the provision that employees are “responsible for establishing and maintaining a safe, ergonomically sound, and secure work environment. The employee will establish a functional workspace, including appropriate computer and communications equipment within their telecommuting worksite.” Forcing workers to sign this contract creates a situation where the UC is not obligated to ensure students/workers have access to either the tools they need to work remotely or paid leave, and further establishes that the UC is not responsible for work-related damage to the health and personal equipment of workers. It also makes it possible for the UC to fire those who are not able to independently establish and maintain said work environment.

The level of exploitation and discriminatory violence on this campus and in the UC system is unethical and untenable. The fact that a billion dollar institution would rather negatively impact graduate and undergraduate students, would rather pay for a militarized police presence at the picket line, would rather heighten the risk to their most marginalized students and employees, would rather arrest a Black alumna than pay graduate student workers a living wage speaks for itself. This is not about whether undergraduate students can afford to go without grades, it is about refusing a system where the interests of graduate student workers and the interests of undergraduate students are falsely constructed as oppositional.

The stakes are too high not to speak candidly. I hope you will consider openly standing in solidarity with COLA4ALL. 

[fightmeyeats]

Skin Care as Self-Care: The Appropriation of Self Care by the Beauty Industrial Complex

Because we live in a society where our worth is heavily framed in terms of our production/capitalist exploitability as workers, emphasizing the importance of taking care of ourselves is absolutely important and can even be radical. However, “self care” as a framework has increasingly become individualizing and part of the larger neoliberalization of health/wellness in the U.S.. One place where this becomes especially clear is in the way self care has become deeply intertwined with the beauty industrial complex in contemporary practices and ideologies of “skin care”. 

More below the cut. 

Self care, at its root, is not the problem. As Audre Lorde’s famously said, “Caring for myself is not self-indulgence, it is self-preservation and that is an act of political warfare”. We are frequently made to feel that our only value is in how much we are able to do, how busy we are, how convenient we are; in this context, taking care of ourselves can feel selfish, and reframing the way we value ourselves and our needs becomes particularly important. However, increasingly we can see the ways in which self care serves to make contemporary capitalism (appear) tenable. 

This becomes clear first and foremost through the way self care is positioned as a response to the harm which occurs through late stage capitalism; we only need self care because of neoliberalism/capitalism, and yet by imagining self care as a practice of healing and revaluing the individual over the corporation, self care implicitly naturalizes the system which produces the need for self care. Essentially, self care operates through a neoliberal framework, individualizing care, healing, and wellness, in ways which disrupt or obscure communal networks of care. Through this framework, care not only becomes something which is enacted by and for the individual, but also constructed as the responsibility of the individual--typically in addition to regular obligations.One of the central problems exploiting workers causes corporations (assuming workers do not strike) is the problem of selling products--if no one can afford to purchase items, the system starts to fall apart. Because of this, mobilizing self care to encourage consumption helps support the entire system. “Self care” has increasingly become appropriated and intertwined with consumption; not only has he phrase itself becomes a kind of marketing, used in ads to sell products (for example, targeted instagram ads by a companies with the handle such as “selfcareisforeveryone” offering t-shirts with catchy slogans like “GOING TO THERAPY IS COOL!”), but “self care” as a practice is frequently associated with buying the things you want (#treatyoself) or, more and more often, buying items specifically marketed as being specifically necessary to produce relaxation, namely bath bombs, facemasks, and other skin care products. 

This is not a failure of those who are using self care to survive, but something directly produced by and through neoliberalism/capitalism; the necessity of self care starts to feel like

[image id:Seth Rogan putting duct tape over huge crack in the wall] 

but the central issue isn’t the people using the duct tape, it’s the way the late stage capitalism and neoliberalism intentionally frame band-aid solutions as meaningful responses to the damage capitalism produces--and then sell the band-aids for a profit. 

The connection between specifically skin care related products and broader “self care” discourse is certainly nothing new or surprising; in the last few years skin care has increasingly become a central focus in the marketing of U.S. beauty practices, with the concept of “self care” often being mobilized in these discourses. As Constance Grady argues in her 2018 Vox article “The skin care wars, explained,” contemporary ideas about skin care have not been hijacked by corporations “because skin care in its modern form has always been corporate” (emphasis added). 

While there are many ways in which one might critique this--for example, the way someone’s “natural” face comes to mean a face without makeup, subsequently naturalizing the artificial, expensive, and extensive routines which are required to achieve “clear” “moisturized” “healthy” “glowing” “natural” skin --what I am interested in exploring here is the shift in language from the beauty industry’s heavily “choice feminism” flavored branding of make up to the current branding of skin care. Whereas the branding of make up was (and still is) typically linked to discourses of creativity, freedom, and power (ie “winged eyeliner sharp enough to cut a man”), skin care is dominantly a neoliberal disciplining discourse, centered on the notion of individual responsibility to clean/purify skin through strict regimens of “care”. This is absolutely not to imply that make-up is better than skin care, merely to point to the various ways the beauty industrial complex deploys certain positive associations, often appropriated from or in conversation with the language of various feminisms, in order to increase marketability. 

One of the things which Jia Tolentino points out in her 2017 New Yorker article “The Year That Skin Care Became a Coping Mechanism,” is the way that while beauty standards have remained largely the same, the framing of these ideals shifts as feminism becomes more common in society--for example, rather than emphasizing looking young/anti-aging, there is an increase in the use of words like “radiance.” While her overall argument suggests that anti-aging skin care is an act of resistance because of the way it insists that there will be a future during a moment where the future feels increasingly unstable, the “coping mechanism” actually seems to be a response to agency panic, a way of controlling one’s self as a response to general instability. Again, like self care it imagines that individualized practices resist structural violence, while simultaneously increasing the marketability of misogynists beauty ideals. 

Feminist aesthetics and language are frequently appropriated by corporations to sell products to “conscientious” consumers (obligatory reminder that there’s no ethical consumption under late stage capitalism), or to profit off of the increasing visibility of various feminist activism. Just as we can see with the way the broader category of  “self care” is increasingly mobilized by corporations to sell products, in the last few years we’ve seen “skin care” culture come into vogue as the “positive” new version of make-up culture. The idea here is that skin care allows people to be “natural” and “healthy,” simultaneously justifying the time and expense associated with these updated beauty regimes, while also imaging that a) “healthy” skin is clear/even/looks “perfect” without the need for makeup and b) this skin is attainable by anyone who puts in the effort to achieve it. At best, skin care culture is a kind of capitalist ambivalence: regardless of whether prioritizing skin care is better than prioritizing cosmetic routines, the beauty industry only cares about selling product. As Tolentino argues, “when my skin feels good, I feel happy...at the same time, it’s impossible to ignore that the animating idea of the beauty industry is that women should always be working to look better”. Grady similarly points to this ambivalence, pointing out that “while it’s true that some forms of acne and dry skin are physically painful, the drive for “perfect” poreless skin is primarily an aesthetic one”.

At worst, skin care is insidious and damaging because despite the rhetoric of “care,” skin care is, at its base, a discourse of neoliberal bodily discipline--skin “defects” cannot simply be covered up but must be addressed through intensive routines which center a personal responsibility in fixing them. It is these same logics which produce the idea of a “glow up” (or “glo up”) which frequently compare an “ugly” picture of an individual--typically during their early teens (while they were going through puberty)--next to a “glowed up” version of the individual as a young adult. While these pictures do frequently involve makeup as part of the “glow up”, weight loss and clear skin are often associated with a glow up, and one of the central ideas being conveyed through this practice is that beauty is something “achieved”. 

Ultimately, my point is not to critique those who engage in skin care as self care, but rather the beauty industrial complex itself and the way that corporations intentionally appropriate and mobilize discourses of resistance in order to sell products. We know that physical appearance is associated with inner qualities and value; having “bad” skin often becomes a social signal for poor moral qualities (uncleanliness, laziness, unhappiness, lack of self care, etc); as many have come to realize, “choice feminism” is useless because while we do of course have agency, our choices are in part produced by the contexts we find ourselves in; the problem is not the individual people who engage in extensive skin care regimes, but rather the way that this is produced as a necessary and/or desirable choice. What we need to do is de-corporatize self care, and expand self care into practices of mutual/communal care. What we need is to create a world where self-care is more compatible with community organizing/striking/protesting than it is with the consumption of serums, lotions, face masks, face oils, exfoliators, toners, and eye creams. 

[fightmeyeats]

not that it wasn't already apparent, but seeing all the people who condemn undocumented immigrants and Black Lives Matter and Indigenous resurgence/activism as "we're a nation of laws" only to immediately support not only trump's crimes but also his extremely facist refusal to acknowledge/participate in the impeachment is absolutely telling as to WHO laws are supposed to apply to under a white supremacist settler colonial government

[fightmeyeats]

Let’s Make it That Deep: Thinking about the Surveillance State, Racial Politics, and Humanity in Terminator: Dark Fate

This week I watched Terminator: Dark Fate, which carries forward from the second Terminator film, Terminator: Judgement Day (1991), wisely ignoring everything that happened in movies 3-5. Dark Fate is set in the year 2020 and follows Dani Ramos, humanity’s new hope to survive the future robot apocalypse, as she, Grace (an augmented human from the future), Sarah Connor, and Carl (a T-800 model terminator) fight against a Rev-9 sent back in time to kill Dani. Overall, to quote my sibling, the movie “isn’t a literary masterpiece,” but it is fairly enjoyable--especially if you’re thirsting over the main leads. However, because I have a feral academic-garbage brain I also wanted to spend some time unpacking what I saw as the film’s three major discourses: surveillance/technological inevitability, race politics, and human exceptionalism. These are fraught discourses, often represented in contradictory and confusing ways over the course of the film, but I think it is generative to sit with them and to try to work out what messages are intentionally and/or unintentionally being conveyed through the movie, as well as what the potentials and limitations of these messages might be. 

Spoilers ahead.

i. Surveillance & Technological Inevitability

Before getting into the content of the film, one thing which may be useful to consider is how the movie previews shown in the theater before the start of the movie contextualize reception and engagement with the actual story Terminator: Dark Fate tells. There were quite a few trailers before the movie--enough so that one patron a few seats down in my row loudly commented “is the movie going to start now or what??” as yet another trailer started playing, the majority of which were either for war or horror movies. The two in particular I am interested in discussing are The King’s Man (2020) and Midway (2019), and the way that they both glorify and justify the imperialist/security state. The King’s Man trailer, for example, positions the titular agency as being an “independent intelligence agency” which essentially is able to actively “protect” people while governments fall short. In between clips from the film, title cards read "witness the rise...of the civilized," a shockingly open and yet seemingly unconscious connection between the King’s Man narrative and British colonialism/imperialism. Immediately following this trailer is one for Midway, a WWII moving centering on the aircraft carrier USS Midway immediately after the events of Pearl Harbor, which a character in the trailer calls “the greatest intelligence failure in the history of the US”. The reason why these trailers are important to keep in mind is because they implicitly respond to some of the anxieties articulated in Terminator; if Terminator films speak to fears of technology and surveillance, these trailers argue that really technology, surveillance, and military power are all important aspects of “civilized” nations, necessary for security and safety. 

This actually ties in immediately to the opening of Terminator: Dark Fate, and the death of John Connor which can be interpreted, in one sense, as a failure of surveillance. This actually specifically made me think of Inderpal Grewal’s article “Security Moms,” and the rise of the neoliberal female citizen subject as an agent of security through motherhood in the post 9/11 U.S. The “security mom, essentially, is a “conceptualization of women as mothers seeking to protect their innocent children - a figure that is not so new in the history of modern nationalisms, or even American nationalisms and racism” (Grewal 27). Much like the King’s Man trailer suggestion that private intelligence is better suited to save lives than governmentalized intelligence, “neoliberalism suggests that the state is unable to provide security and thus it disavows its ability to protect all citizens”--only in here, it is the figure of the mother rather than a private agency which becomes the new and better fitted agent of surveillance, always watching for enemies in order to protect their children (Grewal 28). In a voice over, Sarah Connor tells us that she “saved three billion people but [she] couldn’t save [her] son”; a T-800 (Arnold Schwarzenegger) model Terminator which had been sent back before Skynet was destroyed and continued carrying out orders “from a future that never happened” walks right past Sarah and shoots John. While Sarah leaps in to action after she recognizes the threat, she is unable to stop the T-800 from killing her son in seconds. This might actually be a key difference between Sarah Connor and Grewal’s “security mom”: while security moms are a largely a post-9/11 construction of neoliberal/nationalist motherhood, Sarah Connor was a successful security mom in 1991, constantly vigilant and constantly surveilling her surroundings for concealed enemies who could kill her son. In the post-9/11 era, Sarah Connor’s belief that the apocalypse has been averted causes her to believe that she and her son are safe, resulting in inadequate surveillance/vigilance and her son’s death. Much like the framing of Pearl Harbor in the Midway trailer and 9/11 in real life, disasters happen because of failures to appropriately surveil. 

Technological state surveillance itself is reflected in strange ways in the film, which seems to be at once critiquing and accepting constant surveillance. Sarah Connor keeps her cell phone in a chip bag to avoid being tracked and tells Grace and Dani that they will not last without her help because they are not aware of the constant surveillance occurring at every traffic light, every store, every gas station, etc--information the Rev-9 terminator chasing Dani will certainly have access to. Terminator: Dark Fate expresses fears of technological abuse/control and surveillance, but constantly frames these fears as the failure of the government to control these technologies--the threat isn’t what the government will do or is doing with these technologies, but rather that these technologies are uncontrollable or might be used by enemy agents. While one could argue that the fear being expressed here is actually a critique of the existence of surveillance technologies--that technologies exist for a reason and will do what they are programmed to do--this framing overwhelmingly still imagines a kind of governmental neutrality, where the threat is the located exclusively in the technology itself, not in those creating and using it. Here I also want to emphasize that while in Judgement Day there’s a deeper critique of the military industrial complex and the role of private corporations, in Dark Fate it appears to be the government alone engaged in constant surveillance and the technologies which result in the robot apocalypse, with the role of capitalism largely obscured from the connection between the new evil AI, Legion. In this same vein, while it seems that Legion is built as a weapon by the government, but we do not even explicitly know which government--again, the threat isn’t government construction of Legion (although Sarah does comment “they never learn”) but rather the technology itself. 

In the original movies, Skynet was a defensive surveillance software--but this is no longer science fiction; as Edward Snowden revealed/confirmed in 2013, constant mass surveillance is a real thing, and there are real ways people can avoid it (using VPNs, encryption, covering webcams, anti-facial recognition makeup (called CV dazzle), wearing disguises, etc). Despite this, and despite Sarah Connor’s awareness of constant surveillance, the characters don’t do much to avoid surveillance and just as Sarah originally predicted, the Rev-9 easily tracks them through governmental surveillance apparatuses. In the same way, surveillance and the technological abuse/carelessness which bring about the robot apocalypse are largely imagined inevitable. While there is a constant argument for agency and the idea that people can and must make choices in the present moment that determine the future, nothing is done to disrupt surveillance in the present moment, and the future seems to be unstoppable. While we can certainly think about the switch from Skynet to Legion, and the way this articulates a different set of social concerns and anxieties in 2019 than in the late 80s/early 90s, stopping Skynet delays but does not prevent what seems to be, from a material standpoint, the same future. In this same vein, when Grace dies so that Dani can use her power source to destroy the Rev-9, Grace tells Dani “we both knew I wasn’t coming back”; this frames her death as predetermined and fixed. Similarly, at the end of the film Sarah tells Dani she will help her to “prepare”, implicitly suggesting that the future cannot be prevented--further legitimizing the reading of the Skynet to Legion switch as an inability to meaningfully change the future. This brings us to the line used both in Judgement Day and Dark Fate: “there is no fate but what we make for ourselves”. While this line seems to suggest that we have agency and can make choices that change the future, the inability to actually enact change might instead lead to a counter reading of the line: is it that we make fate, or that the fate we get is the one we “deserve”? 

ii. Race (& Gender) Politics

There’s actually quite a bit to think about in terms of the racial politics of Terminator: Dark Fate. One the one hand, we can certainly think about the underlying savior discourse and the transition of this role from a white man to a Mexican woman. There is some fairly heavy handed Christian symbolism involved in John Connor as the white male hero—John’s initials parallel him to Jesus Christ, and Sarah comments “let her play Mother Mary for a while” when she thinks Dani has become the new target because a son Dani will someday give birth to will be the new savior of humanity. Sarah also comments that Dani isn’t the threat, it’s her womb. I want to go two directions on this comment: first, while it of course turns out that Dani is the hero herself, the idea of Latinx wombs as a threat is intricately tied to U.S. immigration policies and histories of eugenics, with the imagined threat being to the preservation of the (white) nation, so to here articulate the idea of Latinx reproduction as a kind of weapon to protect humanity is to offer something very different from a discourse of salvation through white reproduction/motherhood. Second, this line offers a kind of meta commentary on the way the previous movies claimed John as the savior (despite Sarah’s own heroism) to convince viewers that Dark Fate is more politically aware than previous Terminator movies, since Dani is the one destined to save the world (which  of course ties back into my previous discussion of the unresolved tension between fate and agency), not her son and not a white man.

Moving beyond the switch in hero, one of the main things I want us to consider in thinking about the racial politics of Dark Fate is the question of collateral damage: while it’s nothing unusual to see large amounts of collateral damage in the background of an action movie, here this damage seems to be located exclusively in the Global South (specifically Mexico). Most (but not all) of the destruction is disassociated from individual people--for example, in one scene the Rev-9 drives a bulldozer down the wrong side of a freeway, crushing or crashing into numerous cars which obviously have people inside, even though we do not see most of them. Scenes of damage or interactions between populations and the Rev-9 in the U.S. do not result in death the same way that they do in Mexico/along the border. When the Rev-9 is knocked off of a plane after take off and crashes into a backyard in Texas, for example, he picks himself up and apologizes to the white people barbecuing in the yard for destroying their shed before continuing on his way. Similarly, when he flies over a military base which is actively attacking him, he ignores them and continues his pursuit of Dani without fighting back. While in both of these cases, one might argue that this is connected to the Rev-9’s obsession with fulfilling his mission without needing to kill anyone who is not actually preventing him from reaching Dani, a) this is a work of fiction so someone decided that the Rev-9 could fulfill his mission with minimal collateral damage in some spaces but not others, and b) in the final fight at the dam, the workers simply disappear when the fighting begins, removing them from any risk of becoming collateral damage. 

Although there are action scenes throughout the movie, the last scene to involve mass violence against background characters is in the detention center. Before I get into the discussion of collateral damage/background character death at the detention center, I want to start by discussing border crossing and the representation of the detention center more broadly. There are some ways in which Dark Fate does attempt to address the violence involved in detention centers and U.S. immigration policy, but overwhelmingly it falls short. One of the ways we see this is in the actual crossing of the border and the way that it’s not particularly difficult or dangerous for Dani, Grace, and Sarah to cross. Certain popularized images of border crossing are deployed in ways which might suggest this is an authentic look at what it means to cross borders without documents (Dani, Grace, and Sarah ride on the top of a train with other migrants, which I suspect draws from the documentary Which Way Home, and Dani’s uncle, a Coyote, helps them cross the desert and enter the U.S. through a tunnel under the border wall), however the way these images are used as a shorthand undermines the danger undertaken/violence experienced by real undocumented migrants as the result of U.S. border policy. Riding the freight trains, called El tren de la muerte or La Bestia (the Death Train or The Beast) in real life, is highly dangerous and many people are killed or suffer serious and long term injuries as a result, and although we are told that Dani’s uncle is a good Coyote who gets people across safely (and he is of course helping his own niece), crossing the desert is extremely dangerous and many people die. Representing this crossing in maybe 10 minutes of screen time makes it seem easy and safe, obscuring the very real dangers faced by migrants in real life. Similarly, in the detention center border patrol agents are represented as apathetic but not particularly violent/dangerous, and the depictions of the cages migrants are kept in do not come close to reflecting the overcrowding experienced by the people who are being imprisoned in detention centers in real life. Furthermore, the imprisoned migrants do not have speaking roles and become non-agentive; the real suffering of undocumented migrants becomes nothing more than a setting, offering no significant or useful critique of U.S. border policies/politics. This brings us back to that question of collateral damage in the detention center. After Grace breaks out of the medical room she was being held in, she unlocks all of the cages and detained migrants begin to flee; although I have seen this described in some places online as her “freeing” them, escaping migrants become a distraction which aids in Dani, Sarah, and Grace’s actual escape from the detention center and the Rev-9 which has caught up with them. While most of the violence is enacted on border patrol agents rather than migrants (which is good), the Rev-9 does kill/harm some of the migrants who block his path as they attempt to escape, and the only border patrol agent we can identify as a speaking character to be killed is the Black woman who was pointedly apathetic to Dani’s pleas for help during the intake process. Most, if not all, of the other border patrol agents with speaking lines at the detention center are white, and seem to be framed as almost more sympathetic; the medical personnel fixing Grace’s wounds, for example, notices the metal interlaid in her body and are horrified by “what’s been done to her,” viewing her as a victim to be sympathized with. While one of the guards insists “we call them detainees” when Grace escapes from her handcuffs and demands to know where the prisoners are being kept, which offers an attempted commentary on the linguistic obscuration of violence and white apathy, we again must come back to the fact that the white medical guard is left unharmed while the Black guard is very pointedly killed. 

We might push back on this overall interpretation by thinking about the ways that in real life people of color can become complicit in systems of white supremacy which will ultimately harm them while continuing to overwhelmingly protect white citizens, as well as the way that the Global South so frequently is a site of collateral damage, and experiences the displaced violence of the Global North. However, what I want us to think about is that this kind of intervention is useless when it is left latent, and overall only feeds into the constant racialized violence which plays out in movies and television programming. Furthermore, I want us to think about James Cameron’s comment about Judgement Day when he said that the T-1000 looked like an LAPD officer because “the Terminator films are...about us losing touch with our own humanity and becoming machines, which allows us to kill and brutalize each other. Cops think of all non-cops as less than they are”. While some have argued that Dark Fate picks up this legacy by making border patrol the villains, and the Rev-9 does clearly represent a military/border patrol kind of threat, the Rev-9 is also always a person of color. The base appearance, played by Gabriel Luna, is a man of color, and every single person it transforms itself to look like (which we are told kills the person being copied) is also a person of color. Because of this, there is a way in which the critique of border patrol is divorced from white supremacy and people of color become part of what is imagined as the threat. 

iii. Thinking About Humanity 

Finally, this ties into the discussion of humanity and the idea of human exceptionalism and purity articulated throughout Dark Fate. As with much of what I have previously talked about, this is a frequently contradictory kind of discourse which simultaneously broadens and constrains the idea of what “humanity” is/means. One example of this is the way in which augments and terminators that grow a conscious queer the boundary between “human” and “machine.” When Sarah demands they shoot Carl in the face to see what he “really is,” Dani insists “I don’t really care what he is”; through this there seems to be, on some level, an articulation that there’s more to being “human” than literally being a human being. Furthermore, these characters are queer in multiple dimensions--Grace is a very butch, very queer feeling character, and while I don’t want to say that the reformed murderous robot said Ace Rights, Carl’s character does push back against the heteronormative coital imperative by through his relationship to Elisa and his adopted son Mateo, which offers a model of meaningful romantic partnership and family commitment which does not involve biological reproduction or sexual intimacy. However, despite these queer potentials, we are constantly pushed back towards a privileging of “human” through frequent assertions that Grace is human (not a machine, just augmented), that augmentation is unstable (Grace’s frequent metabolic crashes and dependence on a cocktail of medication to keep herself going), and Carl only has the approximation of a conscious and cannot love the way humans do. Furthermore, Carl and Grace both die, suggesting that this queering of the human/machine boundary is untenable. 

So what does “humanity” mean in Dark Fate? Ultimately, it seems to mean protecting the vulnerable and being willing to sacrifice yourself to do it. During the final confrontation between Dani, Sarah, Grace, and Carl, the Rev-9 says “I know she’s a stranger, why not let me have her”; Sarah responds: “Because we’re not machines you metal motherfucker”. While I obviously think the film offers a confused message on agency and that we need to be critical of the racial politics of the film, this ties into what I think (or what I would like to think) the movie hoped to say about border patrol and detention centers: we need to do better by refugees and undocumented migrants. It doesn’t matter whether we know someone, whether we imagine they are deserving or undeserving, what it might or might not cost us to do the right thing; we can choose, in this moment, whether or not we step up and fight against the detention of undocumented migrants, whether we resist ICE, whether we advocate for refugees. There is no fate but what we make for ourselves. 

[fightmeyeats]

Production of Student Subjectivity through the University

Once again I am feeling overwhelmed by the number of assignments I have to work on, and am dealing with this by writing about a completely unrelated topic that my goblin brain has decided to become fixated on. This time, it’s the way in which universities are imagined as neutral actors involved in generating and transmitting knowledge, when they are of course not neutral (nothing is neutral) and involved the production of a gender-and-national normative student body. Before I get into this, I would like to situate this commentary and clarify that while I am using Academic English courses as a central example in my discussion, I am certainly not limiting this discussion to Academic English courses specifically; rather, I am using these courses as a kind of informal case study which might illuminate the way academia is more broadly involved in the production of certain kinds of subjects and subjectivities. 

Per the Merriam-Webster dictionary, academia is “the life, community, or world of teachers, schools, and education.” I would argue, however, that it might be useful to additionally consider academia as a set of discourses and institutions. Through this kind of lens, we can think about the way that the classroom is always a site of power, and all classes are involved in the production of particular (although occasionally conflicting) subjectivities. These subjects/subjectivities are created through the way that the classroom is invested in a communication of knowledge which is generative/productive–what is produced is not only “new” knowledges, but also “new” subjects shaped through certain disciplinary processes and discursive frameworks. Although larger arguments have been made about the way grammar is inherently racist (and classist, ableist, etc), my focus here is more on thr role universities have in disciplining the production of what is called "higher-order thinking". The Academic English course is a useful point of entry into considering what this means and what this looks like because it is a course specifically interested in teaching not just English as a language/rhetorical process/technical craft, but as it specifically pertains to the American subsection of institutions called “academia”. 

At my university, Academic English courses are “themed”, with the particular theme this quarter being “equality”. This is of course implicitly a national discourse, with the readings thus far frequently privileging the idea of equality/fairness and often linking it to “the West”. This is further heightened by the fact that the students of Academic English courses are predominantly non-native English speakers (NNES), sometimes international students and frequently positioned as being from outside of the U.S. regardless. As one student noted in response to an assigned article which asserted that human societies are more equal than primate societies, equality is an abstract concept and our understandings of what qualifies as a “more” or “less” equal society is heavily situated in the particular way through which we perceive equality (for example, in the U.S. the association of equality with democracy allows many to imagine that the U.S. is uniquely equal, and yet we can clearly see that this is in fact not the case through not just the prevalence of racism, capitalism, colonialism, sexism, homophobia, transphobia, etc in our society and especially in our institutions, but in the way these intersections of oppressionare foundational to the nation). Essentially, assigning readings which tell students to view equality/equity as good things associated with “the West” in ways which imagine the Global North as fully embodying (or at least uniquely striving to embody) equality and further exclude the possibilities of other ways of navigating or experiencing equality in other nations/communities is a method of producing students who internalize these myths of American exceptionalism and engage in U.S. academic writing through these kinds of implicit frameworks. 

In this same way, gender normative subjects are produced through the university as well. Professors, for example, frequently continue to (incorrectly) teach that singular they/them pronouns are grammatically incorrect and teach students to use awkward, implicitly ranked, and exclusionary phrases such as “he or she” in their academic writing. I have also observed exercises designed to teach things such as the use of adjectives and verb conjugation being used to police gender; one male (presenting) student, for example, told the class that he was “motherly”, prompting a roughly five minute detour while the professor wondered whether it was possible for him to be “motherly” and suggested he probably meant “caring” because he couldn’t really be motherly. In another lesson, the professor promised to upload several articles on gender equality for anyone who might find them interesting, before commenting (and therefore suggesting) that the guys probably wouldn’t. Because of the power professors hold over their students, when a professor comments that men will not be interested in gender equality, they are implicitly instructing their students that men cannot be interested. Only women are invested in gender equality and men have no reason to care or be invested (and those who are not cis women or cis men are invisibilized). Similarly, when a professor supposedly teaching adjectives uses the lesson to discourage students from defining themselves through the "wrong" gendered descriptors, they are actually teaching how to be an appropriately gendered subject in the academic institution. 

If these examples feel like they're too small or insignificant to be worth excavating in this way it is only because of they ways the larger patterns which shape them are naturalized and obscured. I do want to emphasize, however, that while institutions and (hegemony more broadly) are constantly in the process of attempting to produce us as specific kinds of subjects, it is important to remember we still have varying degrees of agency within these systems. When I say the university is invested in the production of subjects/subjectivities, I do not mean to suggest it is universally successful. Rather, I want us to consider and acknowledge this attempt at production, because by denying and obscuring this process we increase the likelihood of its success. As I said earlier, there is no such thing as neutrality–the production of knowledge will always coincide with the production of frameworks of interpretation, methodologies of production, and subjectivities which can access, produce, and engage with knowledge through these methodologies, discourses, and frameworks. However, we can acknowledge these processes and, through this acknowledgement, choose what subjectivities we are complicit in producing and demand more inclusive and accessible academic practices in our institutions. We have an ethical imperative to acknowledge the violence that accompanies dominant productions and the disciplining that surround them, to come together in solidarity and resistance, and to intervene in the places we see this violence play out.

[fightmeyeats]

i feel like scarjo sayin she can play plants & animals in the context of playing women of color and trans men is uh, pretty telling

[philosophicsweetheart-deactivat]

saying this as a non white woman. but. this is stupid as shit. it was an example based on the stupidest most ridiculous thing you could play as an actor. you know what an actor is? someone who pretends to be SOMEONE THEY’RE NOT while performing in a film, play, or television or radio. everybody has played a tree or an animal at a school play. everyone should be allowed to play anything regardless. and the fact that people are calling her out for being stupid but not calling out the actual men who cast her as trans and asian is uh, pretty telling

[fightmeyeats]

Hi! So while this post is obviously a short drag, not a comprehensive analysis/response to the overall problem, you are ABSOLUTELY RIGHT that directors/producers/casting directors often are not called out in the same way actors are and that's a huge problem because it can obscure the underlying issues. However, while we do need to make sure we address this more comprehensively, it's still an issue that actors (especially highly paid, very successful ones) choose to pursue and take these roles. It's a problem to say any actor should be able to anyone they want when we can currently see that in practice this pretty much means any white/cis actor can play anyone they want, while often talented actors of color or actors who are trans never even get the chance to tell their own stories. It's also a problem when we're told the only way we can hear trans stories are if we let cis people play them (re: Rub and Tug being cancelled after Scarlett dropped).

Going back to what this post was specifically commenting on, Scarlett Johansson's implicitly comparing people of color & trans people to plants and animals, this *is* a problem and it is worh commenting on because it is very revealing of her over all attitude towards marginalized communities. As I'm sure you know and have experienced, people of color and trans people are all too frequently dehumanized in society. This isn't just everyone liking a good drag, it's a frusteration with ScarJo's continued and public endorsement of the roles of people of color being given to white people & the roles of trans men and trans women being given to cis women and cis men. At this point, we know representation DOES matter, so our choices to refuse to represent certain kinds of people and/or to represent them in highly damaging ways needs to be discussed. Again, I agree that we need to do this comprehensively by calling out the industry not just individuals, but we also need to talk about the kinds of rhetoric used to defend and uphold systems of misrepresentation.

[fightmeyeats]

Fantasy Racism™ Sure is Pretty White: A Critique of “Carnival Row”

One of the problems with the “politically relevant” fantasy genre is that it frequently offers “representation” and “relevant” critiques of social problems in ways which favor the representation of the oppressions people face, rather than of the people themselves--meaning metaphors which parallel fantasy races to people of color while using a predominantly white cast. Often times this further reifies the unmarked categories of the cultural context the work is produced in (ie whiteness as the dominant & default category), further marginalizes and dehumanizes people of color, and positions white folks as the victims of metaphorical white supremacy. Amazon’s new streaming original Carnival Row is an unfortunately clear example of this continued fetishization of white poverty/desperation/vulnerability at the expense of communities of color. 

Spoilers below. 

While one might rightly critique the “trauma porn” genre and the way that people of color are often brutalized on screen or depicted only as victims of violence in discussions of oppression, with the solidarity and resistance of communities of color erased from dominant narratives, substituting white bodies into these sequences of violence does not offer us a useful subversion. In her book What You Are Getting Wrong About Appalachia, Elizabeth Catte talks about the historical and contemporary use of a particular image of white poverty. The focal example of Catte’s book is J.D. Vance’s memoir Hillbilly Elegy (2016) where Vance consistently uses the image of the bad, dependent poor white to reify racist images of poverty and undermine the need for programs and systems to support poor folks--just one example of this is the way he insists that the “welfare queen” is real and implicitly argues that the use of this stereotype to undermine welfare programs is not racist because he has known white welfare queens. Outside of contemporary use, Catte also gives examples such as how in the 1960s “white poverty offered [white people uncomfortable with images of civil rights struggles] an escape--a window into a more recognizable world of suffering” (59), and the quotes Appalachian historian John Alexander Williams comments on the way that, in the displays of Appalachian poverty, “‘the nation took obvious relish in the white skins and blue eyes of the region’s hungry children’” (qtd Catte 82). This obsession with white poverty has little to do with addressing the actual problem; instead, it is a tool used to obscure oppression, resistance, and transformative solutions to these problems. 

Carnival Row offers a discourse on colonialism, racism, and xenophobia intended to mirror the political climate of the real world, namely the violence experienced by refugees and undocumented immigrants. It also attempts to comment on the way that Global North/colonial nations often create or are implicit in the creation of catastrophes which cause Global South/colonized nations and regions to become unsafe and result in refugee migrations, as well as the subsequent way that many times when refugees end up immigrating to the very nations that played a role in the collapse of their homelands, they are met with violence on multiple levels and their traumas are ongoing. In this current moment, this kind of discourse/intervention is “relevant” (I use scare-quotes because while the treatment of refugees in many Global North nations is horrendous in this current moment, this is not a new problem the way it sometimes is imagined) and I’m even willing to concede that there are some things which I think are done well. However--and this is a big however--the choice to make a predominantly white non-human population the metaphorical stand in for real life people who are predominantly of color greatly undermines what the series is attempting to accomplish. The implicit message is that it is easier for general audiences to sympathize with and recognize the personhood in non-human white figures than it is to sympathize with and recognize the personhood in real life people of color who are actively experiencing the violence fictionalized in this series. Furthermore, even as the victims obscure the real role white supremacy plays in xenophobia and the violence experienced by migrants and refugees, it still is a form of trauma porn. The only real difference is that because of the dominant whiteness of the victims, this version of trauma porn allows for the voyeuristic participation in systems of violence wherein many who are passively complicit (or even actively responsible) in the very systems causing violence are able to relate to the victims and experience a sort of cathartic release which allows them to maintain their complicity, feeling “good” that they consumed “politically relevant” content which allowed them to “care” safely, without having to address the reality that they are part of the brutalizers not the brutalized.

One of the ways that the show attempts to somewhat skirt around this problematic of white victimhood is by giving many of the white refugees, namely the main character Vignette (played by British actor/model Cara Delevigne), Irish accents and setting it in a time period which ambiguously mirrors the time before (as Noel Ignatiev puts it) “the Irish became white”. Celtic whiteness is used both in Carnival Row and with the case of Appalachia, and seems to be a particular favorite flavor for the fetization of white poverty. My personal theory is that this is because, when used in this way, the British colonization of Celtic peoples works to simultaneously obscure the racialized realities of both poverty and colonialism--in this fashion, Celtic whiteness is Othered just enough to justify the creation of white victimhood as a fetish object, but still undeniably white enough to connect this victimhood to the universal construction of whiteness. While there is nothing inherently wrong with including Ireland (or Scotland or Wales) in discourses of colonialism/neocolonialism because Ireland and other Celtic lands were and are colonized by the British and this colonization has had a clear and lasting impact on these regions and these peoples, using it as part of the fetishization of white poverty does not further anti-colonial goals, and again is being used to displace and obscure the way racism and white supremacy are central to anti-refugee and anti-immigrant rhetoric, policies, and popular practices.

During the first few episodes, I tentatively imagined myself commenting on the only semi-positive aspect I saw in the show’s use of whiteness: while obscuring metaphors for white-supremacist politics are deployed in many fantasy works, they often position people (humans) of color as being members of the human-supremacist groups which are meant to reflect real life white supremacy, further obscuring the real stakes of the topic being discussed. For the first four episodes, Carnival Row avoids this problematic and gives a representation of the metaphorical anti-immigrant/“pro-Brexit” crowd exclusively through white humans--and bonus points, they can be found in both the political elite and the working class/poor. While the whiteness of fantasy races means that the real life targets of white supremacist violence (people of color) are obscured, at least this allows us to remain clear on who is responsible. That, unfortunately, changes in episode five. One of the major places where we can see this change is in the introduction of Sophie, a woman of color, who takes over her (white) father’s seat in parliament after his death. Sophie gives a speech where she mobilizes her status as a woman of color to further fantasy-racism, stating that her mother had “desert blood” and experienced racism, but that the city overcoming racism and recognizing the value of racial diversity does not apply to the “Critch” because “our differences are more than skin-deep” (ep 5, 34:15). While this is predominantly intended to differentiate real racism (which I guess has been solved?) from Fantasy Racism™, it also serves to undermine the dehumanizing politics of racism which are continuously deployed. It reassures audiences that real life racism can be solved because race is just skin deep and we’re ultimately all pretty similar. This obscures the historical and contemporary claims about “race science” and “racial difference” which often explicitly and implicitly justify racism. While in this present moment “race science” has become a more latent belief--most people laugh at the idea of measuring skulls--everyone with a White™ Facebook friend who's taken a 23-and-Me to prove they’re 0.005% African can speak to continuing beliefs in biological race theory. 

Ultimately, like many other “politically relevant” fantasy works, Carnival Row’s use of a white washed Fantasy Racism™ as a metaphor for the systems of oppression that, in the real world, affect people of color remains highly problematic. In both our personal viewing practices and in our practices of creating and curating stories, we must think critically. Storytelling is a powerful tool in shaping how we perceive and consider reality, so when we choose to tell stories that represent marginalized communities exclusively by their oppressions, and especially when we choose metaphors that participate in the fetishization of white desperation and whitewash these communities we are doing real harm. 

[fightmeyeats]

somebody tell me why Descendants 3 has a stronger prison abolitionist narrative than 99% of “#woke”/”political” television programming

[fightmeyeats]

“Jungle Puzzles” and the Indigenous City as challenge/invitation: a Post-Colonial Intervention on “Dora and the Lost City of Gold”

I saw Dora and the Lost City of Gold (2019) at a local cheap theater with one of my friends last night and, to quote my friend, it was “wild”. Overall Dora is a fun movie that offers very important and positive Latine representation, and most of the minor things that bothered me (lack of narrative cohesion, the unrealistic absence of the sheer amount of paper involved in actual archaeology) certainly wouldn’t bother the core demographic (children). However, Peter Debruge, writing for Variety, commented:

““Dora and the Lost City of Gold” goes out of its way to establish that the character isn’t a tomb raider or a treasure hunter, but rather an explorer, risking her life for the love of knowledge. That ranks her as perhaps the most “woke” big-screen adventurer since the invention of cinema, making Indy’s indignant “That belongs in a museum!” seem so 20th century by comparison” (“Film Review: ‘Dora and the Lost City of Gold’”).

This is where, I think, we get into some trouble. Spoilers below.

There are, on the surface, some obvious differences between a “treasure hunter” and an “explorer.” Treasure hunting is destructive and extractive, taking artifacts based on how high their potential resale value might be, with a complete disregard for the surrounding artifacts/environment, let alone the cultural meaning of the either artifact being extracted or the things being destroyed to retrieve it. An explorer, we are told, doesn’t take the gold. 

“Exploration” and “explorer,” however, are highly loaded terms. Exploration is intrinsically linked to colonialism and imperialism, and explorers have historically been central to the production of knowledge and the generation of public and private interest which paved the way for colonization. They have also, historically, taken the gold. This is highly evident in the way that Cambridge Dictionary defines “explorer” as “a person who travels to places where no one has ever been to learn about them” because if explorers go where no one has ever been and explorers go to places where people of color have lived and are actively living, we now know who counts as a person and who doesn’t. To be fair, this specific phrasing is not a universal definition, but other definitions still contain the same problematics. Google Dictionary, for example, defines “explorer” as “a person who explores an unfamiliar area; an adventurer”. Here we can maybe concede that the “unfamiliar area” is unfamiliar to the person exploring it not an area that “no one” is familiar with, but again when we consider how the term is applied, explorers implies an emptiness to the region being explored: someone on vacation might “explore” the city of New York, but they wouldn’t be considered an explorer for doing so. 

This leads us into the problematic of “jungle puzzles.” The phrase is first used in the movie by Randy, the cliche socially awkward nerd, after they have fallen into an aquifer. Dora and Randy both notice that the star map on the roof is wrong, prompting Randy to say it must be a jungle puzzle and pull a lever at random in order to correct the star alignment and reveal something hidden. Dora says there is no such thing as jungle puzzles, the room begins to fill with water, and they realize the star map was in fact accurate the whole time and they had just been looking at it wrong. This scene offers an excellent subversion of the “jungle puzzle” trope which is so often utilized in jungle-action/explorer flicks. In the images and rhetoric of colonialism, we frequently see the “challenge as invitation” theme appear, and often in ways which are very violently sexualized. This model is not only applied to colonial imaginings of colonized women/women of color, but to the feminized land itself, and it is very much as rape-y as this implies. The entire jungle puzzle trope is centered around the idea that ancient and/or indigenous peoples built their cities and their civilizations in order to serve as “escape the room” tests of courage, morality, and knowledge for outsiders, rather than for actual use by the inhabitants of those cities/members of those civilizations. It carries over the idea that the challenge of solving the puzzle invites in explorers/colonizers, and often it further imagines a universal morality and understanding of value which the explorer/colonizer can access and succeed at. Because of this, having a scene where explorers believe that an element of indigenous civilization was designed for outsiders to “solve” in order to be “rewarded” only to realize that they not only misunderstood the accuracy of an Incan star map, but that the entire structure was just a regular part of Incan life that had nothing to do with outsiders is an important intervention.

Unfortunately, upon arrival at the city of Parapata this initial intervention is lost, as the children quickly realize there are in fact “jungle puzzles” both to enter the city and to view the giant golden monkey statue. I do want to emphasize here that between Indiana Jones and Dora and the Lost City of Gold, it is obviously important and even radical to see the rugged individual (cishet white man) model of Indiana Jones replaced by four kids--two of whom are Latinx and one of whom is played by an Australian Aboriginal woman--working together, and this shift is apparent in the way they characters interact with the city and its guardians. However, because it uses the same tropes it has many of the same issues. Again, it imagines that the city was built as a test, but the problematics of this representation are heightened by the arrival of los guardidos perdidos/the lost guardians and the old woman who initially tried to keep both the treasure hunters and the explorers away from Parapata but in the scene leading up to Dora solving the final puzzle, transforms into a beautiful young Incan princess and allows Dora to attempt the puzzle. 

First, as a separate but connected issue, the figure of the Incan princess also plays into the idea of indigenous peoples as mystical/mysterious, ancient, and displaced from/frozen in time. First of all, I again want us to think about definition and application; according to Google Dictionary “ancient” means “belonging to the very distant past and no longer in existence.” The Incan Empire fell in the 1530s under Spanish conquest and the Incan people still exist today; when we look at Europe, Stonehenge is ancient; you don’t ever hear about the “ancient” art of Leonardo di Vinci, and he was dead and buried for more than a decade before the Incan Empire was destroyed. While we are not told where the guardians or the princess comes from, what we are implicitly told by an de-aging of the Incan princess is that they seem to be connected to the “ancient” empty city rather than contemporary Incan society, and subsequently that there are no modern Incan peoples, or that the modern Inca are irrelevant to this story. Against this lack of contemporary Incan indigeneity, Dora refers to the student body of a Los Angeles high school as its “indigenous population” several times throughout the film; it is imperative to consider how this undermines modern indigenious communities and their experiences. 

Furthermore, the figure of the old-young princess fully leans into the sexually exploitative imagingings of colonized peoples/cities/lands as desiring of the entrance of outsiders; as an old woman, the princess’s role is to warn away, but as the young woman her role is to invite in the worthy, with the worthy being those who are able to solve the puzzle. Dora says she wants to learn, and the princess allows her to attempt the puzzle, but what exactly is Dora supposed to be learning (it seems the reward for the puzzle is the ability to view a giant gold statue of a monkey) and, more importantly, why is the entire city centered around this test? 

[fightmeyeats]

When James Baldwin said “Love takes off the masks that we fear we cannot live without and know we cannot live within. I use the word ‘love’ here not merely in the personal sense but as a state of being, or a state of grace” and when Fred Rogers said “Love is at the root of everything, all learning, all relationships; love, or the lack of it” and when Francisco X. Alarcón said “Love, if it isn’t for everyone, it isn’t enough” 

[a1-b2c3-deactivated20230114]

why are star wars planets more boring than earth and our solar system like sure we’ve seen desert, snow, diff types of forest, beach, lava, rain, but like… 

rainbow mountains (peru)

red soil (canada/PEI)

rings (saturn’s if they were on earth) 

bioluminescent waves

northern lights (canada)

salt flats (bolivia, where they filmed crait but did NOTHING COOL WITH IT except red dust?? like??? come ON)

and cool fauna like the touch me not or like, you know, the venus flytrap.. and don’t get me started on BUGS like… we have bugs cooler than sw aliens

BASICALLY like???? come on star wars you had one (1) job where are the cool alien species

[wearethesparkk]

I KNOW!! I did a report on filming locations in Star Wars last year and just made a list of places that looked so surreal they could make a convincing other planet. You covered some on my list but if I could just add a couple more:

Tsingy di Bemaraha, Madagascar

Zhangye Danxia, China (similar to the Rainbow Mountains in terms of appearance)

Chocolate Hills, Philippines

Giant’s Causeway, Northern Ireland

So many missed opportunities with cool ass things on Earth, Lucasfilms smh…

[memcjo]

Earth is effing amazing!

[isnerdy-deactivated20190101]

Quebrada de Humahuaca, Argentina

Lake Retba, Senegal

Tepui, Venezuela

Tianzi Mountains, China

[bunjywunjy]

these would make amazing Star Wars planets OR fantasy material:

Tsingy du Bemaraha, Madagascar again (but a different part)

(those are razor-sharp, if you were wondering. very little of this area has been explored because YIKES)

Lake Natron, Tanzania

(looks cool, but is alkaline enough to Kill Your Shit)

Lake Baikal, Russia

(the deepest lake in the world, seriously)

and I’ll wrap it up with Son Doong Cave, Vietnam, the largest cave in the entire world.

it puts anything Dagobah has to offer to absolute shame:

(seriously, the largest chamber is 660 feet high. you could jam a fucking skyscraper in there and still lose it) 

anyway I really like caves thanks for coming to my ted talk

[d-cookie-deactivated20210317]

@therockscientist

[heywriters]

Just adding onto this collection—Star Wars aside—because there are some manmade places/landmarks that are pretty extraordinary too.

Field of Jars, Laos (ancient, uncertain origins; heavily damaged by American Forces in the Vietnam War, now partially a hazardous minefield)

Stone spheres of Costa Rica (ancient, uncertain origins/purpose)

Anasazi ruins, USA (ancient, uncertain origins)

Nazca Lines, Lima, Peru (ancient, uncertain origins)

Malakoff Diggins, Nevada City, USA (result of hydraulic gold mining)

Nuestro Pueblo “Watts Towers”, Los Angeles, USA (lone man spent 33yrs building these in his yard)

Aaand a couple natural things that I can never get over:

‘Sailing Stones’ of Death Valley, USA (they move on their own)

Banyan trees, India (one tree takes root repeatedly and looks like many trees)

[fightmeyeats]

This post is overall very cool, and does a good job of pointing out how limited the imagination of sci-fi set designers can be BUT the "anasazi ruins" are actually ancestral Puebloan dwellings. "Anasazi" is a Navajo word which means "people who have gone away," or, according to some translations I've heard "ancient enemy." Either way, the Puebloan peoples have not gone away and do not like this word being used to describe their ancestors. Ancestral Puebloan dwellings can be found throughout the U.S. south-west; that specific photo looks like "the Cliff Palace" in Mesa Verde, Colorado to me which was built and continuously developed/refurbished from 1190-1260 CE. Even if I have misidentified the specific dwelling, due to dendrochronology and the use of wood in Ancestral Puebloan dwellings we have the dates of construction for nearly all of the dwellings. No one would call anything made in Europe during the 12th and 13th centuries of "ancient, uncertain origins." Don't say something is unknown just because YOU don't know about it, ESPECIALLY when you're advocating for the use of indigenous aesthetics in scifi films.

[fightmeyeats]

i feel like scarjo sayin she can play plants & animals in the context of playing women of color and trans men is uh, pretty telling

[fightmeyeats]

Marvel’s Netflix Originals & the Reification of the Prison Industrial Complex: A Prison Abolitionist Intervention on Jessica Jones

I just finished the final season of Jessica Jones on Netflix and overall I feel fairly ambivalent about it. I think the first season was by far the show’s strongest and I felt like the show lost some of its heart (namely through the way we see the corruption of Trish and especially Malcolm), but overall I felt like it held to some of its core themes, and I certainly didn’t hate it. However, what this season got me thinking about, and what I think becomes a clear problematic which repeats throughout many of Netflix’s Marvel originals shows is the way the vigilante role of the superpowered heroes is represented and played out: heroes demonstrate repetitively the failing of America’s criminal justice system, and yet ultimately reify the validity of these structures in very frustrating ways. Definitely spoilers below. 

Before continuing, I do want to emphasize two things: first, this is intended to be an intervention on an incredibly prevalent problem, not a complete dismissal of the shows themselves. Considering how much of the Marvel Cinematic Universe centers on the stories of white men (frequently rich or middle-class, and exclusively canonized as heterosexual despite fan counter-readings), it is important to acknowledge the significance of Netflix shows centering their stories on women, people of color, and people with disabilities, as well as the way they, to some extent, address the social inequalities that marginalized communities and individuals experience. Secondly, I also do not want to suggest that all of the Marvel Netflix-originals have the same kinds of potentials; The Punisher, for example, does not, to me, hold the same possibilities as Luke Cage, and I’m not even looking at Iron Fist because I haven’t watched it and don’t intend to.

Let me first start by briefly discussing the concept of the prison industrial complex and prison abolition. If you are unfamiliar with the concept or the activism I highly suggest reading The Nation’s article “What Is Prison Abolition?” and looking at Critical Resistance, which was co-founded by Ruth Wilson Gilmore and Angela Davis. Taken from the website’s about, “the prison industrial complex (PIC) is a term we use to describe the overlapping interests of government and industry that use surveillance, policing, and imprisonment as solutions to economic, social and political problems.” What prison abolition is about “is a political vision with the goal of eliminating imprisonment, policing, and surveillance and creating lasting alternatives to punishment and imprisonment.” There are a number of excellent scholars/theorists/activists who discuss prison abolition, but here I’m going to be citing and discussing “Prison Reform or Prison Abolition?” (the introduction to Angela Davis’s Are Prisons Obsolete?) and Morgan Bassichis, Alexander Lee, and Dean Spade’s “Building an Abolitionist Trans and Queer Movement with Everything We’ve Got.”

Let me start tracing this argument through Jessica Jones by drawing out a few of the examples which initially brought this criticism to the forefront of my mind while watching this final season:

Corrupt Cops & the Need for Jury Evidence: while the show demonstrates the limitations of policing and the criminal justice system, it simultaneously acknowledges corrupt cops who are abusing their power and the inability of police to lock up a villain because they don’t have enough evidence or the ability to get said evidence. By showing these together, there is a suggestion that the two issues at once separate from each other and equally problematic. We do not see police officers acting without warrants, assaulting/shooting suspects (although in one scene, an officer threatens to shoot Jessica when she is smashing a gazebo and digging beneath the foundation to recover a body neither the officer nor the homeowners realize is hidden there up until Trish begins filming her), or acting outside of the law to collect evidence; instead, the show’s hero does many of these things in contexts which suggest she is correct to do so (again, the antagonist she is facing up against is a psycopathic serial killer who tries to kill her multiple times). The corrupt cop in this season is removed from the central action; his corruption allows Jessica to do what she “needs” to do (destroy evidence which will allow the villain to be incarcerated, to keep her sister out of prison), and is represented as being separate from the police force as an institution. There is even a way in which his actions are presented as being potentially justifiable: he kills drug dealers to steal from them. We are told this is wrong because they are kids and still have “time to change,” implying that if they were adults, their murders would be perhaps justified (and one officer even comments that “one of those kids” hit her in the head with a bike lock, suggesting that their age doesn’t matter); we are also told it is wrong because his motive is the theft, not “justice.” This again implies that things might be different if he was murdering drug dealers for dealing drugs, and again obscures the systemic inequalities which produce crime, as well as the way the PIC contributes to and benefits from these inequalities.

“Supers” and Prisons: acknowledged but never fully addressed is the significance of “supers” as an unprotected category. When Trish is arrested, Detective Costa informs her that the NYPD doesn’t have jurisdiction and that powered peoples are, apparently, not afforded due process of law. When Jessica is initially reluctant to tell the police that the masked vigilante is Trish and hopes to stop Trish herself, Jessica comments that no one really knows what happens on the Raft because no one from the Raft is able to contact the outside world. Given the context that Luke Cage’s powers came from illegal experimentation conducted on him while he was incarcerated, it seems possible if not probable that experimentation/medical torture is being conducted on those incarcerated on the Raft, and it becomes all the more insidious that Luke shows up to explain to Jessica that he himself had to send his brother to the Raft, and convince her to do the same. Essentially by addressing some of the extreme human rights abuses involved in incarceration in the real world through the metaphor of fictitious superpowered people being denied the (facade of) protections that are extended to suspected criminals, the argument being made is that even incarceration at its worst is a necessary and viable solution to crime.

The problematic of “diverse” cops: this is less centered in the narrative and subsequently has lower stakes than the other two examples I discuss above, but by representing a “diverse” police force, we are given the illusion that police forces “are” “diverse”, and that this means something. Costa, who is shown having “personal problems” in the form of going through the adoption process with his husband, who is worried about how much Costa is working and whether or not he will be more present as a parent, obscures the reality of homophobia in the PIC.

Davis argues that “the prison is considered so ‘natural’ that it is extremely hard to imagine life without it” (10) and the consequence of this is that “the U.S. population in general is less than five percent of the world’s total, whereas more than twenty percent of the world’s combined prison population can be claimed by the United States” (11). She goes on to raise the question “why were people so quick to assume that locking away an increasingly large proportion of the U.S. population would help those who live in the free world feel safer and more secure?” (14). Jessica Jones, Luke Cage, The Punisher, and Daredevil, address, to varying degrees and varying success, some of the problems of the PIC: they acknowledge police corruption, wrongful incarceration, the effects of financial inequalities on criminal justice outcomes (namely in the power of the rich to avoid punishment), illegal treatment of prisoners (through experimentation/medical torture), the effects of trauma and poverty on the creation of the “criminal”, and the lasting effects of incarceration. However, the solutions suggested through these shows, at best emphasize alternative models of policing/surveillance (in the case of Jessica Jones, private investigator and serial trespasser, an increased kind of policing/surveillance) and reforming systems rather than abolishing them. The problem with this, as Davis points out, is that “frameworks that rely exclusively on reforms help to produce the stultifying idea that nothing lies beyond the prison” (20). Furthermore, the shows, for the most part, do not even call of for reforms or imagine reform as a real possibility anyways; they suggest empathy but maintain that prison or death are the only ways to stop “real” criminals. The prison is almost always the natural solution in these shows; the only question is who belongs in them and how they should get there. Worse, the only show which consistently deviates from the naturalness of incarceration is The Punisher, which suggests the better alternative to prisons might be revenge killings. 

In discussing “the hero mindset,” Bassichis, Lee, and Spade discuss, essentially, the pitfalls of neoliberalism and argue that “stories of mass struggle become stories of individuals overcoming great odds,” and give the example of narratives which center Rosa Parks as “sparking” the Montgomery Bus Boycott through a solitary (“lonely”) act while obscuring the reality that she was an experienced civil rights activist acting in part of a series of civil disobediences (26). This is a general problematic of the superhero (and especially “vigilante” hero) genre, and it becomes particularly relevant in shows such as Luke Cage and Jessica Jones which are addressing systemic issues like racism, the prison industrial complex, and sexual assault/abuse in important (if imperfect ways). Superheroes, especially vigilante heroes, predominantly work alone; when they do team up it’s typically only with one or two others (Jessica working with Trish), short-lived (The Defenders), or both (Jessica sometimes working with Luke, Malcolm, and/or Erik). What’s important, is that they are vigilantes, working outside of structures or movements; while operating outside structures can have the potential to suggest alternatives solutions to the structures (ie the way that prison abolition looks to find solutions outside of policing/prisons), it also centers the solution (and problem) on individuals in ways which obscure the realities of broader structures. Even in these limited “team-ups” there is little to no potential for meaningful coalition between individual heroes and organizations/activist communities to address the broader inequalities which are being addressed/acknowledged. 

This plays out in the third season of Jessica Jones in the way that it centers on a binary logic which runs: prisons or vigilante-justice through murder. The audience is told that the police don’t cut it, they can’t always know who's a “good” person or a “bad” person, and because of that “good” people are vulnerable and “bad” people walk free. The initial antagonist is a psychopathic serial killer making it easy to subscribe to this model. While it is perhaps better that the solution isn’t for Jones to kill him (again, this is the solution suggested in The Punisher), the problem is not only a reification of the prison, but that in order for this solution to be realized, Jones must take on a heightened policing role, following him, illegally searching his house, and chasing down leads the police overlooked. As Bassichis, Lee, and Spade point out, “the violence of imprisoning millions of poor people and people of color, for example, can’t be adequately explained by finding one nasty racist individual, but instead requires looking at a whole web of institutions, policies, and practices that make it “normal” and “necessary” to warehouse, displace, discard, and annihilate poor people and people of color” (23). The binary is further traced through Trish Walker, who herself becomes a (vigilante) murderer; she is partially excused (morally/as a character) of the murders, because her first two kills are assaults that go to far because she flashes to her mother’s murderer, and the third is her mother’s murderer. Furthermore, her role as a vigilante is contextualized through her own experiences of powerlessness as the victim of abuse. However, even as Trish represents a more morally ambiguous case for the need for prisons, the solution (prison) never addresses the issues we are told shaped her actions, nor any potential for other outcomes.

[fightmeyeats]

Wrath Month: Probably Not Gonna Calm Down

I feel very frustrated by @taylorswift​’s “You Need to Calm Down” (currently “#3 On Trending” on youtube). This is not a particularly hot take.

Corporate pride tends to be highly contested in general: on the one hand, some argue that it's helpful to LGBT+ youth to see themselves represented in the hegemony and suggest that maybe it’s better that corporations are courting LGBT+ dollars over the money of homophobes; on the other, normalization (especially normalization through capitalist/corporate interests) has historically been complicit in the further marginalization of many queer folks--especially trans women of color. To some, “You Need to Calm Down” is simply one example of corporate pride, and therefore represents the same potential for an ambiguous reading. Personally, I have tried to imagine whether this song would have meant anything useful to me as a closeted queer teen; I remember looking desperately for queer themes in “straight” music, and I remember being slightly older (18, maybe?) watching Hayley Kiyoko’s “Girls like Girls” on a loop and how much my first exposure to actually queer music produced by actually queer artists meant to me, and I don’t think even that version of me would have felt connected to Taylor Swift’s attempt to reconcile her experience as a celebrity who has literally capitalized off of internet drama to the harassment queer folks experience daily for existing as themselves.

The Onion’s article “Taylor Swift Inspires Teen To Come Out As Straight Woman Needing To Be At Center Of Gay Rights Narrative” does a great job of simplifying why exactly this video and song is so exhausting to me and many other LGBTQ+ folks: the author argues that Taylor Swift uses “LGBTQ iconography to advance her career” and that, rather than letting people speak for themselves and control their own narratives, she’s making Pride Month about herself. The Atlantic and Vox both have run more in-depth articles breaking down the multitude of reasons why this song is deservedly coming under fire, which I highly recommend reading.

One counter argument I’ve seen here and there is that Taylor Swift is actually not a straight woman centering a gay rights narrative around herself--now that she’s said the word “gay” in a non-negative way in a song, its only a matter of time before she comes out! So one of the things I want to emphasize here is that while I personally don’t believe she’s queer (and per Swift’s own tumblr post explaining why she didn’t kiss Katy Perry in the music video where she says “To be an ally is to understand the difference between advocating and baiting. Anyone trying to twist this positivity into something it isn’t needs to calm down. It costs zero dollars to not step on our gowns.” she doesn’t seem to anticipate coming out either), regardless of whether or not she turns out not to be straight, this song and its lyrics are appropriating LGBTQ iconography to advance her career, and Swift is using queer folks as accessories to perform “wokeness” and draw parallels between herself and actual marginalized communities for her own gain. She may end the music video with directions to sign her petition for Senate support of the Equality Act, but the links in the song description are all promotion for her song, her merch, and her social media accounts. She does not even follow through on the optics of social justice.

The main way I want to trace this argument is through her fundamental misunderstanding and, more significantly, misrepresentation of what homophobia is.Throughout the song/music video Swift is consistently trying to render compatible her own supposed experiences with being bullied/criticized on the internet to the violence of homophobia which is, quite frankly, fucking wild. She sings: “Say it in the street, that's a knock-out / But you say it in a Tweet, that's a cop-out.” What seems to be the intended interpretation of this line is that negative interactions online are cowardly, because people are “hiding” behind usernames and icons, rather than being “brave” enough to offer direct criticism and publicly/visibly own their words; I am not going to go into the potentials of this line of conversation, because I do think in another context (and said by other people) real conversations about the potentials and pitfalls of online culture in regards to purity/call-out culture, social activism/organizing, and bullying can be and are already being had. What I want to point out here is the cognitive dissonance: who can say anything in the street to someone as rich, privileged, and insulated as Taylor Swift? If Swift only accepts criticism delivered in person, she doesn’t accept criticism and she might as well own up to that. And when she is trying to tie this into a commentary on homophobia, maybe she should have considered for two seconds the kind of actual danger queer folks (especially trans and gender non-conforming) are actually in on the streets every day while she’s in a mansion/penthouse apartment (and to that extent, the gentrified trailer park imagery didn’t sit to well with me either, but I’ll get into the discussion of class later on). Queer folks really are getting knocked-out in the streets (1, 2, 3). Furthermore, in her desperate attempt to center her psuedo-discourse on homophobia and queer liberation around herself, she sings the lines: “But I've learned a lesson that stressin' and obsessin' / 'bout somebody else is no fun / And snakes and stones never broke my bones”. I’m not really surprised that it doesn’t “break her bones,” given how successfully she has marketed and monetized her feuds and her own victimhood; this is just a newnother rebranding of said victimized persona, and even though she may not be bothered, there are real stakes to it beyond the “lack of fun”.

So let’s get into it. As I said before, Swift is dangerously misrepresenting what homophobia is and what it looks like, namely through the use of a progress “wrong side of history” narrative. The lines run “Why are you mad when you could be GLAAD?...Sunshine on the street at the parade / But you would rather be in the dark ages” and the music video shows what Kornhaber, writing for The Atlantic, aptly describes as “an unwashed-looking mob” holding childish signs with misspellings and the all-time classic “Adam + Eve Not Adam + Steve.” Korhnaber points out the more common use of “God Hates Fags” signs; personally, I’ve also seen a lot of the “HolyBible” “After Death, the Judgement” signs. In Swift’s narrative, homophobia looks like the obvious, regressive, primitive villain; the already defeated. Perhaps worse, it looks like the rural poor, against the backdrop of rich queer celebrities. This narrative works to render invisible the poor-and-queer, and it undermines the real dangers homophobic violence poses by imagining homophobia has already lost. Imagining homophobia as thirteen unwashed rural poor people who can’t spell the word “moron” obscures the reality that there are also the Mike Pences and the Philip Anschutzs and the laundry list of other rich and connected anti-LGBT politicians, activists, and donors who have very real effects on the lives of the disabled, people of color, women, LGBTQ+ folks, the poor, immigrants, and all the intersections thereof. This also ties into the way Swift puts forward the solution “You just need to take several seats and then try to restore the peace / And control your urges to scream about all the people you hate.” As meaningless as these lines are overall, the insinuation that there is a “peace” that we can be “restored” to that would benefit the marginalized and oppressed is ridiculous and harmful, and again misrepresents the problem. Moreover, it suggests the problem could be understood as one of bodily discipline: if homophobes “controlled” themselves better, didn’t scream so much, there wouldn’t be a problem--this gets us back to the problematics of representing homophobia as exclusively the undisciplined poor, rather than the rich and connected. It also leaves room for the potential insinuation that everybody who is angry on the internet needs to calm down; I’ve seen a lot of jokes that this Pride Month, the 50th anniversary of Stonewall, we’re returning to our rebel roots and also celebrating Wrath. I certainly don’t plan to calm down, thanks anyway, Taylor. 

In this same vein lets consider the much quoted line: “'Cause shade never made anybody less gay”. This was the first line I heard from the song, and my immediate problem with it was, as Korhnaber also points out, that throwing shade comes from queer communities of color, and “there are many ways to describe a parent who disowns a trans kid, or a lawmaker who tries to nullify same-sex marriages, or a church member who crashes a gay soldier’s funeral. Shady isn’t one.”

Swift hides from potential criticism/backlash behind a psuedo-feminist “female solidarity” with lines such as: “And we see you over there on the internet / Comparing all the girls who are killing it / But we figured you out / We all know now we all got crowns.” While there certainly are people who try to pit women against each other on the internet, again this is something which Taylor Swift has directly utilized multiple times to make herself money. I’m glad celebrities know they’ve all got crowns, but in what world does this benefit the non-rich and famous?

[fightmeyeats]

Jeff Bezos owns the Washington Post and I SEE HIM