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  • Andrew Zimmerman — Decolonizing Decolonization (Review of Adom Getachew’s Worldmaking after Empire)

    Andrew Zimmerman — Decolonizing Decolonization (Review of Adom Getachew’s Worldmaking after Empire)

    by Andrew Zimmerman

    A review essay on Adom Getachew, Worldmaking after Empire: The Rise and Fall of Self-Determination (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2019).

    In Worldmaking after Empire Adom Getachew demonstrates how scholars might decolonize political theory by examining the political theory of decolonization. She works against the narrative, widespread in both popular and scholarly discourse, in which decolonization ironically completes, rather than rejects, the colonial project. It is a narrative in which colonized Africans, Asians, Indigenous Americans, and Pacific Islanders learn to demand national self-determination only from their colonizers, learn from those who oppress them to demand their freedom. By winning national sovereignty and independence, this common narrative suggests, colonized people did not overthrow but rather completed their European tutelage.[i] That narrative ultimately extends the colonial misrepresentation of conquest, oppression, and exploitation as beneficence. Worldmaking after Empire rejects this false and pernicious account. Its important contribution is then to analyze a body of decolonial political theory without recapitulating what Dipesh Chakrabarty has called the “‘first in Europe, then elsewhere’ structure of global historical time.”[ii]

    Eurocentric misrepresentations of decolonization typically credit US President Woodrow Wilson with the call for national self-determination, though this portrayal strains even so basic a feature of historical interpretation as chronology. Wilson, rather, appropriated Lenin’s earlier call for national self-determination in an effort to replace communist decolonial solidarity with a warmed over colonial “civilizing mission” perhaps best embodied in the “mandates” of  the League of Nations in Africa, the Middle East, and the Pacific. This has been clear even to scholars in the Global North at least since Arno Mayer’s 1959 Political Origins of the New Diplomacy and Gordon Levin’s 1968 Woodrow Wilson and World Politics, though it was, of course, obvious to intellectuals and activists in the Global South from the beginning.[iii] Wilson’s anti-Black racism, including his drive to introduce segregation into the U.S. Federal Government, was no anomaly to an otherwise consistent democratic internationalism. Whatever the shortcomings of Lenin’s own vision of decolonization and anti-racism, Lenin’s Marxism and his writings on the national question remained central to decolonial and anti-racist struggles around the world at least through the twentieth century.[iv]

    Who today could look for the origins of global anti-imperialism and anti-racism in the liberal internationalism of Woodrow Wilson and South African Jan Smuts rather than in the Black internationalism of Marcus Garvey, W.E.B. Du Bois, and so many others? Who would today see the League of Nations, with its declaration that the territories of the former German and Ottoman Empires would be placed under a “sacred trust of civilization” as anything but a cruel parody of decolonization? Many scholars, in fact: the Eurocentric view of decolonization that these views embody remains powerfully entrenched in ongoing neocolonial projects by the Global North. The United Nations, moreover, continued much of the frankly colonial internationalism of the League until enough colonies won their independence to use their voting powers as independent states to transform the United Nations, at least in its pronouncements.

    It is in this moment, Getachew shows, that intellectuals of the Global South, building on the longstanding, intertwined anti-imperialist traditions of Black and Communist internationalisms, worked out a theory of colonialism and decolonization that colonizers could not, as Wilson had done, assimilate to their own racial, political, and epistemological order.

    Getachew laid out her decolonial approach to theory in an important 2016 article on interpretations of the Haitian Revolution. She showed how the common view that the Haitian Revolution universalized the republican ideals of the French Revolution does so only by rendering the Haitian Revolution “neither Haitian nor revolutionary.”[v] This still common view strips the Haitian Revolution of much of its history in order to serve as the ironic completion of some other history, the history of its former colonizers and enslavers. That narrative of ironic completion is also the one that Getachew overturns in Worldmaking After Empire, in which decolonization completes, rather than overthrows, the project of colonial tutelage. In fact, as Getachew argues, the anti-racist universalism of the enslaved was a rejection of, and remains an alternative to, the racist universalism of the enslavers.

    In  a similar vein, Worldmaking After Empire presents the decolonial internationalism of the Global South not only as historical challenge to the imperialist world system, but also as a model of continuing importance for decolonizing the broad tradition of Eurocentric theory that emerged with that imperialist world system. The book reveals, moreover, the way thinkers of decolonial internationalism drew on the earlier anti-racist universalism of the enslaved

    Worldmaking After Empire focuses on a cohort of decolonizing intellectuals, most of whom became heads of post-colonial states. These philosopher sovereigns and internationalists include Nnamdi Azikiwe of Nigeria, Kwame Nkrumah of Ghana, Eric Williams of Trinidad and Tobago, Michael Manley of Jamaica, and Julius Nyerere of Tanzania. For each of these thinkers, decolonization did not mean full participation of their nations within the world system of European imperialism, for they already fully participated in that world system — as colonies. The imperialist world system, that is, already included their nations as subordinate members and was even predicated on that subordination. The politics of decolonization called, rather, for the creation of a fundamentally different world system, one predicated on equality rather than inequality, cooperation rather than exploitation, emancipation rather than oppression. Decolonization, Getachew agrees with much recent scholarship, did not aim at national autarky; it only appeared to do so to those who could not imagine an international system other than imperialism.

    The first transformation that Getachew focuses on is UN Resolution 1514, passed by the new postcolonial powers over the abstentions of the United States and other European colonial powers. The Resolution transformed the “principle of equal rights and the self-determination of peoples” from a distant goal, avowed but not pursued by the UN, into a language of sovereignty for present-day anti-colonial fighters and leaders. Resolution 1514 declared “the subjection of peoples to alien subjugation, domination and exploitation constitutes a denial of fundamental human rights.” This did not simply force the United Nations to endorse immediate decolonization but also transformed the meaning of decolonization. Colonialism was no longer just rule by a foreign nation. It also included domination and exploitation, the racist order of colonial rule. The framers of Resolution 1514 and the other thinkers of decolonization whom Getachew analyzes understood colonialism as a world system whose dismantling involved the transformation of regional and international economies.

    Getachew offers an illuminating analysis of two efforts to put this this decolonial internationalism into place: the first were the efforts at creating regional federations spearheaded by President Kwame Nkrumah of Ghana and Prime Minister Eric Williams of Trinidad and Tobago. These projects foundered on concerns of potential member states to protect their own sovereignty and the sovereignty of minority nationalities within multiethnic states. The second project was that for a New International Economic order (NIEO), which would have replaced the unequal exchange characteristic of the colonial world order with a decolonial system of equal exchange. This led to two important intellectual centers of decolonial thought: the New World Group of Jamaica and the Dar es Salaam school of Tanzania. But, drawing on work of Johanna Bockman, Getachew shows how the kinds of structural adjustments to the world economy that the NIEO demanded were undermined by IMF-imposed structural adjustments that drove Jamaica and Tanzania and much of the Global South into new forms of poverty and dependence.[vii]

    But while neither of these attempts succeeded in realizing a democratic, decolonial world system, the project of decolonizing political theory, including its original analysis of colonialism, remains as valid and urgent as ever. By revealing the profound and original political thought at the heart of these particular decolonial projects, Getachew makes clear that particular shortcomings of particular initiatives do not mean that decolonization was itself a failure, though this is a staple of much hegemonic thinking in the Global North. In this, World Making after Empire also participates in the project of decolonizing political theory.

    Getachew shows how decolonial theorists employed the history of Atlantic slavery to support their argument that colonialism was not simply foreign rule, but rather the global systems of racism and exploitation that continued even after formal decolonization. Works such as C.LR. James’s Black Jacobins, Eric Williams’s Capitalism and Slavery, and W.E.B. Du Bois’s Black Reconstruction make the history of the overthrow of slavery in the Americas central to anti-colonial struggles. The history of Atlantic slavery was also important for the colonial internationalism of Woodrow Wilson, as his own white supremacist history of the Civil War and Reconstruction makes clear.

    Getachew reveals, in one of the more surprising turns in her account, the important role that the history of the United States played in decolonial internationalist thought. One would hardly expect the thinkers Getachew discusses to look for positive models in the history of a nation that was arguably the most powerful enemy of the decolonial internationalism they advocated, and certainly one of the longest-lived and most powerful slave societies in the Americas. But, as Getachew shows, Nkrumah and Williams in fact turned to the U.S. Federalists and the U.S. Constitution for models of the federation of their own formerly colonized states.

    For Getachew this was neither Eurocentrism, nor an attempt by Nkrumah and Williams to defend themselves against one of their likely enemies by clothing their own projects in its stated ideals. Nkrumah and Williams figured, in Getachew’s words, “the postcolonial predicament as a recurring political problem and the federal idea as replicable answer.”

    But the anti-Black racism of the United States also continued to play a role in fighting against the democratic internationalism of decolonization. We thus see Daniel Patrick Moynihan, turning from his infamous culture of poverty account of supposed African American matriarchy to a screed against decolonization that is perhaps equally worthy of infamy. Neither the colonizers nor the decolonizers were pro- or anti- American, for the interpretation of the Americas was an agonistic field in which imperialists and anti-imperialists struggled.

    Getachew describes an anti-imperialist political theory that posits a world system that is neither a particularistic “no” nor a universalizing “yes” to the imperialist world system. Worldmaking after Empire proposes a number of interpretive tools to help understand decolonization instead as a form of global political thought that is different but not derivative from imperialist globalization. Rather than completions and universalizations of European theory, we see a struggle of appropriations and counterappropriations: Wilson appropriating from Lenin, the framers of Resolution 1514 appropriating from the UN, Nkrumah and Williams appropriating from the Federalists, for example.

    Getachew is of course not the first scholar to call for decolonizing theory. It is worth contrasting her approach with the earlier, and still influential, approach of the Subaltern Studies Group. Ranajit Guha and Dipesh Chakrabarty have each called on scholars to refuse to place popular, subaltern politics, into either the colonizers’ narrative arc of modernization or the decolonizing elites’ narrative of national liberation.[viii] Getachew reminds us that the two competing narratives should not be characterized as  imperialist internationalism and anti-imperialist nationalism, but rather as competing internationalisms on an agonistic field defined by racism and anti-racism, appropriation and counterappropriation. But, to borrow a question from Gayatri Spivak, can the subaltern speak in the political-theoretical landscape that Getachew offers?[ix] That is, is there a place in the intense struggle between colonial and decolonial internationalisms for varieties of subaltern politics that are amenable neither to the colonial nor the postcolonial elites? There is, of course, no necessary contradiction between the two approaches to decolonizing theory, Getachew’s and that of the Subaltern Studies Group. They are, perhaps, supplemental and mutually illuminating partial accounts.

    Decolonization was never, of course, political theory in isolation. Decolonial war making has always accompanied decolonial “Worldmaking.” Frantz Fanon argued that attempts “to settle the colonial problem around the negotiating table,” without combat, preserve the colonial class and international structures that true decolonization requires.[x] But by showing the ways that anti-colonial political theory offered a world diametrically opposed to the world of the colonizers, not simply a nationalist rejection of that world, Getachew suggests that even around Fanon’s “negotiating table” there was already a fundamental enmity. That is what makes this theory political.[xi] By decolonizing decolonization, Adom Getachew not only offers an important analysis of a group of political theorists who continue to be marginalized in our Eurocentric academies, but also calls on us to continue their projects of decolonial worldmaking.

     

    Andrew Zimmerman is professor of history at the George Washington University. He is the author of Alabama in Africa: Booker T. Washington, the German Empire, and the Globalization of the New South (Princeton, 2010) and the editor of Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels, The Civil War in the United States (International Publishers, 2016). He is currently writing a history of the US Civil War as a transnational revolution titled “A Very Dangerous Element.” Many of his publications can be found here.

     

    [i] Perhaps the best recent version of this common narrative is Erez Manela, The Wilsonian Moment: Self-Determination and the International Origins of Anticolonial Nationalism (New York: Oxford University Press, 2007). Getachew discusses this text on 192n19.

    [ii] Dipesh Chakrabarty, Provincializing Europe: Postcolonial Thought and Historical Difference (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2000), 7.

    [iii]Arno J. Mayer, Political Origins of the New Diplomacy, 1917-1918, Yale Historical Publications. Studies 18 (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1959); N. Gordon Levin, Woodrow Wilson and World Politics: America’s Response to War and Revolution (New York: Oxford University Press, 1968). On the decolonial response to the version of national self-determination offered by Wilson and the League, see Marilyn Lake and Henry Reynolds, Drawing the Global Colour Line: White Men’s Countries and the International Challenge of Racial Equality (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008).

    [iv] See, for one account spanning much of the century, Harry Haywood’s splendid Black Bolshevik: Autobiography of an Afro-American Communist (Chicago: Liberator Press, 1978).

    [v] Adom Getachew, “Universalism After the Post-Colonial Turn: Interpreting the Haitian Revolution,” Political Theory 44, no. 6 (December 1, 2016): 821–45, 823.

    [vii] Johanna Bockman, “Socialist Globalization against Capitalist Neocolonialism: The Economic Ideas behind the New International Economic Order,” Humanity 6, no. 1 (March 16, 2015): 109–28.

    [viii] Ranajit Guha, “On the Prose of Counter-Insurgency,” in Selected Subaltern Studies (New York: Oxford University Press, 1988), 45–86; Chakrabarty, Provincializing Europe.

    [ix] Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak, “Can the Subaltern Speak?,” in Marxism and the Interpretation of Culture, ed. Cary Nelson and Lawrence Grossberg (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1988), 271–313.

    [x] Frantz Fanon, “On Violence,” in The Wretched of the Earth, trans. Richard Philcox (New York: Grove, 2004), 1–62, 23.

    [xi] In the sense of the political put forward by Carl Schmitt, The Concept of the Political, trans. George Schwab (1932; Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2007).

  • The Global Plantation: An Exchange between Adom Getachew and Christopher Taylor

    The Global Plantation: An Exchange between Adom Getachew and Christopher Taylor

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

    In the Spring of 2019, Adom Getachew and Chris Taylor co-taught a seminar on “The Global Plantation.” In the following exchange, Getachew and Taylor consider the pedagogical, disciplinary, and theoretical challenges that emerge out of attempts to think about the plantation an adequately global, transnational, or postcolonial fashion.—Leah Feldman

    Dear Adom,

    I hope you are in good health. Let’s talk about the plantation.

    I want to begin with a question that is at once pedagogical and conceptual. In our course, we read key texts and concepts of canonical European political theory alongside various histories of, and historical material drawn from, the plantation. Under the rubric of “Property,” we spent a class on Locke’s Treatises; in subsequent classes we read Walker’s Appeal, John Jea’s slave narrative, scholarship on colonial property relations, and so on. One of the things that struck me, across all of our units, is the minimal presence that the plantation as a nameable institution maintains in the European political-theoretical texts that we selected to emblematize concepts. Locke, for instance, doesn’t use the term once in the Second Treatise. And I think that this observation can be scaled up: the plantation really isn’t a named object or institution in European political theory through the eras of slavery and emancipation. The terms “planting” or “plantation” do pop up to name the sovereign act of establishing colonies, as in Bacon or Harrington; in Gonzalo’s speech in The Tempest, “plantation” names the possibility of founding utopia. But, generally speaking, European political theory through the eras of slavery and abolition doesn’t really think about, think from, or refer to the institutional form or political-social relation of the plantation, and certainly not with anything like the robustness with which it will think about and from topoi such as the family, say, or civil society. This is perhaps an ongoing problem; consider the frequent Caribbeanist complaint that Agamben takes the camp, not the plantation, as the paradigm of modernity.

    Obviously, any given corpus of texts won’t talk about lots of things, and I’m not interested in saying that European political philosophers should have thematized the plantation—as if, say, Hegel’s Philosophy of Right is fatally compromised because the plantation doesn’t appear as a moment in the development of the ethical state. I’m not lamenting or castigating an absence, or diagnosing a disavowal. My question is more something like this: Once we posit (or accept) the exorbitance of the plantation from the referential world of European political theory, what nonetheless can be thought or is made thinkable through a staging of their encounter? This was, I suppose, the premise of our course, but it was a hard premise to maintain in pedagogical practice. Generally, we thought about the plantation via a metonymy, through political theory’s omnipresent figure of the slave. I think this caused a kind of pedagogical wobble in our class, inasmuch as its object continually risked replacement. But I’m curious how you—if you agree with my rather inflationary claim—think about the plantation’s minimal referential place in European political theory from the eras of slavery and abolition. One set of questions I could pose would be broadly symptomatic: What might this absence tell us about political theory, its composition of its proper objects, and perhaps the composition of its canon? I don’t think these questions adequately get at what interested us in the course or what interests us in our research. So, maybe the better question to pose to you: What analytic, methodological, conceptual, or political possibilities are opened up by this absence? What happens to our reading practices when we force a relation despite a deficit of reference?

    Best,

    Chris

    **

    Dear Chris,

    Hope you are doing well.

    Thanks for getting us started.

    You raise important questions about the absence of the plantation in the history of European political thought. I want to first take up the problem of cannon composition and the reading practices that emerge alongside this composition. It is first important to note that both the subfield of political theory and its canon from roughly Plato to Nietzsche are very much products of the mid-twentieth century. Think here of the books that inaugurated the canon and the field—George Sabine’s History of Political Theory (1937), Leo Strauss’s Natural Right and History (1953), and Sheldon Wolin’s Politics and Vision (1960). (I leave aside here Quentin Skinner’s Foundations of Modern Political Thought (1978) both because it is later and because I think it is responding to this earlier set of framings.) I think the construction of the canon does a number of things to the kind of reading practices we employ. We are taught (and often also teach) the texts of this canon as part of a tradition that has as its primary object questions of order, justice and legitimacy within a bounded political unit. We also read these texts for a straightforward set of prescriptions or to identify what they authorize or don’t authorize. We discussed this most concretely in the case of Locke and slavery and the long-standing debate about whether one can find support for or against the transatlantic slave trade and chattel slavery in the Second Treatise. As you show in your forthcoming article “Divine Servitude against the Work of Man: Dispossessive Subjects and Exoduses to and from Property,” however, we might be better served by thinking through the connection between chapter 4 (on slavery) and 5 (on property) of the Second Treatise. In this exercise too we will not find a justificatory theory of slavery, but we can locate a way of thinking about self-ownership and property that came to dominate debates about slavery.

    There has been currents in the field of political theory that have resisted the set of approaches I identify above and for these last two decades this has inaugurated a whole body of scholarship on the place of empire and the extra-European world in canonical texts.[1] I think these interventions have done much to reconfigure the cannon to show how conquest, enslavement and colonization were central preoccupations for canonical figures and to diagnose the rhetorical and ideological strategies by which this centrality was also occluded.

    We took a different approach. We didn’t read Locke, Hobbes, Hegel and Marx because approached in the right way or with the right frame the plantation would appear. Instead we read these authors as figures who wrestled with the concepts of property, sovereignty and labor alongside the historical development of the colonial plantation an institutional form that also was a site in which these same concepts emerged and were contested. Rather than think of this historical parallelism as an occasion to unearth a tighter connection, we took it as an invitation to read these two spaces together. The consequence for our reading of canonical texts of political theory was to resist reading them as instantiations of a fully articulated systems of thought, but as also sites where these concepts are worked over and contested. Like the plantation itself, these texts of political theory were scenes of conceptual instability, rhetorical effects, and theoretical generativity.

    In my view our class was less concerned with reading for a theory of the plantation than reading around the plantation. What I mean by this is that we were really interested in maintaining the plantation as a concrete form while attending to the set of theoretical conundrums and possibilities it opened. At its core, the plantation as a concrete form is an institution for the large-scale production of agricultural commodities. But beginning from this, the plantation emerged from the first day of class as a complex politico-economic unit. Reading around was a strategy of taking up one dimension of the plantation say the ways it structures labor and thinking through how this reframes or reorients out conceptualization of the plantation. The upshot of reading around was to be theoretical promiscuous, to draw from a variety of genres, disciplines and historical moments in ways that helped us theorize its place in the development of the modern world and the specific kinds of political conundrums and possibilities it makes visible. With regards to the canonical texts of political theory, viewing them as one set of resources that are enabling in certain respects and require supplementation in other ways is a refreshing and I think liberating approach to the study of the history of political thought.

    I don’t mean to suggest that this strategy was very stable or fully realized in the course. At its center was this effort to simultaneously maintain concretion and theoretical abstraction. I should pause and say that insisting on the plantation as a concrete institution was an effort to avoid a tendency to read it as a metaphor or metonym for racialized enclosure. At the same we turned to the plantation for its theoretical generativity, for the ways that it could offer new ways of conceiving property, sovereignty or labor.

    Perhaps the instability of this exercise or the limits of a “reading around” contributed to our falling back on to the figure of slave—a figure that perhaps due to its omnipresence in political theory makes the encounter between concretion and abstraction less like an encounter. (Though that too might generate its own dilemmas.) In our course this reversion back to the figure of the slave took a couple of forms. First many of our texts were drawn from the Anglophone Atlantic world of the late 17th to the early 19th century. Second, within this focus the plantation itself often dissolved as the object of analysis. Our most productive conversations centered on texts like Maria Stewart’s “A Lecture on African Rights and Liberty” and David Walker’s Appeal, article IV, John Jea’s The Life, History, and Unparalleled Sufferings of John Jea and James Williams’s A Narrative of Events and Robert Wedderburn’s Axe Laid to the Root. To varying degrees, but in all of these texts, the plantation itself is not the site of extended reflection or critique.

    Beyond the question of text selection, the way in which the plantation collapses into the slave raises two questions. The first is about the relationship historical and otherwise between the plantation and chattel slavery. On the one hand, the plantation lives on well after the abolition of chattel slavery. At the same time, there is perhaps ways in which its emergence with chattel slavery in the Americas structures the plantation in ways that we are constantly drawn to this historical instantiation. Second, I wonder about the conceptual incoherence or instability of the plantation itself. Does falling back to the slave index the theoretical slipperiness of the plantation?

    One place though where this displacement didn’t occur is our engagement with the New World Group. Our mutual interest in the work of figures like Lloyd Best, George Beckford, and Kari Polanyi Levitt prompted the course and our ongoing conversations. In their work you find a very explicit effort to theorize the plantation and you find often a recourse to Weberian ideal type theorization. (You see this earlier too in Edgar Thompson’s The Plantation.) I find the parsimonious conceptualization really attractive. It trains us to stay with the plantation itself, to think concretion and abstraction simultaneously. I take one of the central aims of their project to be building social and economic theory that can be generalizable from specific experiences and trajectories of the plantation economies of the Caribbean. This work comes out of a 1960 critique of the limits of development economics and so much of their work stays within the frame of economics. But as Best himself, notes at the end of his 1968 essay “Outlines of a Pure Plantation Economy,” theorizing plantation societies requires not only a reconsideration of the economics, but a “drastic lowering” of the disciplinary boundaries between sociology, economic history, political science, economics, anthropology. What do you make of the New World Group’s commitment to producing a theory of the plantation, to generating conceptual coherence? What do you find productive and limiting in their approach to the study of the plantation? What kinds of questions does the humanistic study of the plantation elevate or make available that might otherwise be occluded?

    Look forward to hearing your thoughts,

    Adom

    **

    Dear Adom,

    Please excuse my delayed reply. I want to pause on a phrasing you used to describe how we tried to read: We weren’t “reading for a theory of the plantation” so much as we were “reading around the plantation.” I think this is right on, and I guess my recourse to perhaps dead-end questions of canon or disciplinary formation owes to my excitement over and frustration with the necessity of reading-around. Reading-around might be something like an ecological hermeneutic, a way of thinking about what happens to political-theoretical or politico-economic concepts when they are environed within the uncited scene of the plantation. This doesn’t require assumptions about logical or chronological priority: e.g., the plantation provides the paradigm of sovereignty, the plantation developed the modern regime of property, and so on. The idea was rather more like: What happens to a particular conceptualization of X when planted in this soil? The work of this interpretive mode is, as you say, much different than reading through concepts for the plantation, or some component of the plantation world. Reading-for is, I think, fated to a methodology that is by turns hyper-historicist and allegorical. Hegel was reading this newspaper through these dates; “Lord and Bondsman” should thus be read as an abstracted encoding of the Haitian Revolution. Locke was writing chapter five of the second treatise in the summer of 1682, when he was also at work on the constitution of the Carolinas; his theory of property is thus always already a colonial theory of property. It’s not that I think such arguments are wrong, or that such endeavors are valueless. My issue is that this method or mode always risks reproducing a still-entrenched division of labor wherein (post)colonial worlds acquire epistemic value only upon mediation or filtration through the pen of a European Master Thinker—a situation of metropolitan value-addition that Lloyd Best called the “Muscovado Bias.” Reading-around creates space for thought to happen elsewhere, even if our thinking with or recomposition of this thinking is almost irreducibly speculative.

    There’s something else I want to emphasize and open up in your account of reading-around, and the way the mode wants to conjugate the concrete and the abstract. You want to “insist” on the plantation as a concrete institution,” and this insistence on the concrete entails a definitional insistence, too. “At its core,” you write, the plantation “is an institution for the large-scale production of agricultural commodities.” You make these two points—that the plantation is a concrete institution, and that its purposive priority is extensive agricultural commodity production—“to avoid a tendency to read it as a metaphor or metonym for racialized enclosure.” This stood out to me for a couple of reasons. Part of what you’re marking, I think, is a hiatus between politico-moral uses of history and the study of it. I’m thinking here, in part, of the lowkey debate between Angela Davis and Ruth Wilson Gilmore, with the former seeing the prisoner as metaphorically and materially continuous with the slave and the latter refusing that identification, for various compelling reasons. Gilmore refuses the identification because it risks obfuscating the local, quite recent developments that spurred mass incarceration; at the same time, she wants us to see the prison as the punitive institution of non-work, as a kind of warehousing of human surplus. To an extent, then, Gilmore’s strategy is to relinquish the moral and affective charge the comes through the metaphorical identification or metonymic re-placement of slave and prisoner, and she wants to do this so that we may better specify the institutional dynamics and meta-institutional logics that produce and reproduce the golden gulag. What’s at stake for you in holding onto the plantation in its concreteness, as an institution oriented toward mass commodity production undertaken by racialized and generally bonded laborers? What’s at stake for you in differentiating this institutional form from the other kinds of racialized enclosure for which it might serve as a metaphorical figure or metonymical antecedent?

    I’m asking this question to get at another that you raised. We wanted to read around the plantation, to stay within its concrete space, but we really wound up spending a lot of time theorizing (through) slavery. I’m not sure if this classroom recourse indexes anything about the conceptual coherence or stability of the plantation, to be honest. Most people in a US seminar room will have a repertoire of images, ideas, and thoughts about slavery, whatever the adequacy of this repertoire to histories of slavery. The representational repertoire around the plantation is much smaller, and likely to be tethered to slavery anyhow. Shifting from classroom expedients to just knowing things, though, I don’t think that the plantation is a slippery analytic object, provided that one doesn’t take it as an object susceptible to simple indicative predications. It becomes slippery, I think, the moment one wants to say something like, “The plantation is a unit of enterprise that produces primary agricultural goods for a foreign market with coerced labor and low levels of technical investment.” I think confusion becomes inevitable at that point; the is is too static. The world system moves, and the plantation moves with it—at least, that’s what I read Tomich as arguing. And, yeah, in this regard, the New World Group is indispensable. As you put it in your forthcoming essay on the New World Group and Walter Rodney, the NWG group worked with two methodological aims in mind: specification (of the Caribbean plantation economy) and comparativity (to non-Euro-American, Third World sites and histories). Like you, I tend to find the ideal-type constructions limiting, but I get it: the desire is to stabilize the outlines of an analytic object in time. When we did Best’s “Outline of a Pure Plantation Model,” I think all of us in the room tacitly maintained a compact that we would not even try with the symbolic logic stuff. But, you know, at the end of the essay Best self-mockingly—but for me productively—restates his text’s method of presentation: “The foregoing statement has been cast roughly and with some inconsistency and repetition, in histoire raisonnée, in an accounting formulation and then in slightly more formal economics.” That is, he more or less serializes three forms of representation in order to specify the shifting constraints, imperatives, and dynamics that compose the plantation (and a broader plantation economy) through time. I think what we get here is an image of the plantation as an institution that’s continuously transforming, whether from immanent or world-systemic pressures, and rarely in directions of its own choosing. The representational schema might seem abstracted (at least, to me), but they illuminate moments in the concrete life of the plantation, how it grows with (concrescere) and decomposes within the world-system due to various forces it can’t control.

    One of the things that I love about their mode of theorizing is the extent to which the NWG displaces the decades-old scholarly problem regarding the capitalist character of the plantation. In Best’s hands, I think, one sees that the plantation economy is installed within a broader capitalist world-system but is unable to operate within that world-system as other firms or regional economic blocs might. So, I think the ideal-typical thrust of their modeling allows us to see the law-like regularities that shaped the dynamics of an institution central to the life of capitalism in the “hinterlands” of the world-system–which is to say that it allows us to see the plantation as structurally subordinated to the global law of value but structurally precluded from adapting to it as either imperial/national economies or individual firms in the core might, would, or could. For me, this clears a great deal of epistemic space, and allows us to think about how capitalism’s mode of appearance shifts in the plantation world without altering the capitalist character of the plantation. For instance, as I argue in Empire of Neglect, the fantasy of the chivalrous, hospitable, paternalistic planter was not in any way antithetical to capitalism; the supplementary presence of the planter was required to offset the conditions of incalculability (per Hall) that made a mess of any attempt to generate a rational accountancy of the plantation. Planter paternalism (an ideology that wasn’t nearly as developed in the British West Indies as it would be in the US) is a thin moral corollary to a far more robustly articulated planter hyper-empiricism, which was itself just the epistemological transcription of a managerial and accountancy problematic: for a variety of reasons, planters couldn’t rationally plan, couldn’t systematize things, and so someone had to be there to embody flexible authority and responsiveness. Pulling back, the NWG offers humanists a structural but dynamic account of the weird, dual character that plantations inhabit in the works of planters, pro-slavery ideologues, and abolitionists alike. I think of it as the planter’s two bodies: unfailingly sovereign, irreducibly precarious.

    Let me end by going back to the conclusion of Best’s essay. Like you, I love his insistence that the plantation requires an interdisciplinary approach. Part of his writ for this claim is that the plantation scrambles scales: “the distinction between macro and micro dissolves. The firm incorporates into its behaviour the properties of the general institutional framework and the resource situation, etc.; and the relations of the typical firm with the outside world describe the market form. Thus, for the Caribbean, at any rate, the theory of the firm, the theory of international economy and the theory of growth and development seem to require a single cogent statement. Related to this, the barriers between sociology, political science, economic history, anthropology and economics, as such, need a drastic lowering.”

    This strikes me as a singularly important insight. Tethered to it is his demand that academic economics be rethought on the pedagogical level; economic history and the history of economic thought, he insists, needs to acquire a greater prominence in postcolonial economics classrooms. So, there are two things at work here. First, Best wants–or plantation economy requires–a genuinely political economy. Second, the capacity to articulate this theory requires a refamiliarization with economic history and, as he will continue, with the history of economic thought. Within our institution, I don’t think either of us has the fantasy that the econ department is going to really turn to history any time soon. But we both work with economic history and the history of economic thought. How are you thinking about and with the plantation in the new research you are conducting? How does it draw upon or depart from the NWG’s aspiration toward a cohering account of The Plantation?

    looking forward!

    Chris

    **

    Hi Chris,

    Thanks for pushing on the discussion of concretion, especially through the debate between Davis and Gilmore. Partly at stake for me too is holding open a space between, as you put it, the “politico-moral uses of history and the study of it,” especially in the context of the classroom. Many of our students came to the class with an interest and investment in the ways the plantation can be thought as an antecedent or metonym for racialized enclosure more broadly and the contemporary carceral state, in particular. I don’t think this is necessarily wrong and I certainly identity with the political project it seeks to ground, but two things worry me about the move. First, when viewed primarily as the ur-form of racialized enclosure, the kinds of politically and theoretically generative tensions that Best and others open are harder to make visible and take up. Against their effort to stay (analytically) with the plantation, to specify the object in time, the metaphoric invocation of the plantation tends to draw us to the task of mapping various forms of exit from the plantation. In staying with the plantation, we can better track the simultaneous sovereignty and precarity the total institution of the plantation engenders or the combination of its being embedded in a global economy, while relying on demonetized subsistence farming, which open up ways to read the plantation beyond enclosure. The thing I have learned most from your work, especially your article, “The Plantation Road to Socialism,” is that attending to the competing and conflictual dimensions of the plantation illuminates modes of black futurity that exceed the idioms of escape and exit. I will come back to this. Second, I worry that when framed as an antecedent or metaphor for the carceral, its contemporaneity and co-presence disappear. A couple of months before we started teaching the class, In these Times reported on labor struggles in Honduran plantations where workers demanded union rights and compliance with domestic and international labor standards.[2] The worry here is that the plantation’s persistence as a site of a particular regime of labor process is occluded when the carceral is posited as its current iteration or instantiation. I think this also grounds my questions around the relationship between the plantation and chattel slavery as least as taken up in our class. Our mutual interests and orientations gravitated the course toward the Anglo-Atlantic world and we were clear we didn’t want to do an area studies inflected approach where the ‘global’ of our title would mean tracking as many geographic and historical iterations of the plantation as possible. Still, I wonder how we might have better captured or incorporated the durability of the plantation and its labor processes.

    Embedded in the Davis and Gilmore debate, as I read it, is not only a distinction between the study of history from its moral-political invocation but also a question about what forms of narration and what choices of historical rendering might best serve their shared political project of abolition. I take Gilmore to be pointing not just to the disanalogies between slave and prisoner, but also arguing that however morally powerful such an analogy might be, it comes at the expense of distorting the specific political and economic conundrums that attend the carceral state (especially the problem of institutional “non-work”). In other words, the concern here is that the analogy constrains our political imaginaries by obscuring what the moral and political problem of the carceral is. This is just to say I am not wedded to a strict separation between moral-political use and the study of history as such. I think ultimately such a strict separation is not really possible so the question then is how to think about the relationship between the two. I think what opening space between them offers is an occasion to consider more systematically and explicitly the imaginative and strategic choices involved in the emplotment of history and its mobilization.

    This leads me in a roundabout way to the New World Group. Largely situated within development economics and writing at a moment when the developmental postcolonial state is already in crisis, their intervention is in part an effort to disrupt a set of analogies that grounded the developmental model. Whether in the anti-communist, Cold War rendering of W.W. Rostow’s Theories of Economic Growth or in Arthur Lewis’s more considered “Economic Development with Unlimited Supplies of Labour,” the developmental model located the postcolonial world as an antecedent to the North Atlantic, on the path to replicating a universal model of development. What the NWG offers in this context is a specification of the emergence of plantation economies that undoes this historical modeling. This to be sure is a project they share with the interventions of dependency and world systems theorists. But through an exploration of the plantation, they show us how one specific vector of unequal integration in the world system generates divergent trajectories from the North Atlantic as well as for plantation societies across the Third World. Key to this move, as you note, is that they point us toward a view of “the plantation as structurally subordinated to the global law of value but structurally precluded from adapting to it as either imperial/national economies or individual firms in the core might, would, or could.”

    I am drawn to the NWG for their commitment to building social and political theory from the postcolonial world. Their journal, New World Quarterly, which was published between 1963 and 1972, exemplifies this commitment. Though concerned primarily with the Caribbean, it featured articles from across the Americas and Africa. In its pages, they strove to simultaneously take up the shared predicaments of decolonization and they did so in the model of interdisciplinarity that Best recommends at the end of his essay.

    Working within political theory, the idea of political theory from the postcolonial world is still a much-needed intervention. The discipline tends to take its categories of analysis as universal and imagines the global preponderance of its terms (sovereignty, for example) and institutions (the state) are proof of that universality. But this misses the imperial process that produced an uneven and differentiated integration into the world system, the ways for instance that the historical development of the postcolonial state disrupts our assumptions about the relationship between domestic and international. When imperial entanglements are more squarely examined as they have been over the last two decades, the field still takes it primary referent or addressee to be European political thought. You have already pointed to the limits of approaches that tend toward the historicist or allegorical. But even where Caribbean thought is brought to bear, for instance in the invocation of Eric Williams’s Capitalism and Slavery or C.L.R James’s Black Jacobins in the new histories of capitalism, the central question remains explicating the colonial origins of British/European industrialization and modernity.

    To some extent, my first book, Worldmaking after Empire, exemplifies the pitfalls of this strategy. It employs anticolonial thought and a recasting of the history of decolonization to primarily engage contemporary normative theorists of international order. There were a variety of theoretical, political and professional reasons that led me to this set of choices, but as I now contend with the ways the book has been taken up, I wonder about the costs of such an approach. Namely, I think that what got lost was an effort to grapple with the legacies and afterlives of decolonization for the postcolonial world itself. I encountered the New World Group as I was finishing the book and what they modeled for me was an effort to conceptualize on their own terms the processes that have given rise to the political predicaments of the postcolonial world. Just as Best writes he has “taken the view that economic theory in the underdeveloped region at any rate, can profit by relaxing its unwitting pre-occupation with the special case of the North Atlantic countries,” I wonder what political-theoretic question might be opened for me if I were to forgo my unwitting preoccupation with speaking back to the field of political theory.

    I think of the NWG as part of a broader project of mid-twentieth century Third World social science, which includes institutions like the University of Dar es Salaam, and the Council for the Development of Social Science Research in Africa, based in Dakar. In each of these contexts, social theorists grappled with the limits of inherited categories and sought to develop a theoretical vocabulary adequate to the distinctive trajectories of the postcolonial world. The neoliberal counterrevolution that marked the collapse of radical social and political projects in the Third World would also have devastating consequences for these emerging efforts to outline a new social and political theory. This cartography of mid-century Third World social science—its nodes of convergence, networks of circulation, and theoretical insights—has yet to be mapped. Ultimately, I think recovering these intellectual genealogies allows us to reimagine what a global political theory requires. Rather than a debate about the expansion of canon to include non-Western thinkers or to locate the global/imperial within the history of political thought (both important debates in their own right), the example of the NWG orients us toward the aim of theorizing the specific histories and trajectories of non-Western politics.

    As I turn to a new project, I am interested in following the NWG’s lead on this question of specifying the processes, institutions and ideology by which the unequal integration of the postcolonial world in a global economy was effected. In Worldmaking, I argued that we should understand empire as less a question of alien rule than a structure of unequal integration that produces a racialized form of international hierarchy. Yet, I squarely focused on sovereignty as the primary site on which the structure of unequal integration is enacted. I want to turn in future work to the terrain of political economy and especially to the labor question. Picking up an under-explored thread, an anticolonial argument that labor conditions in African colonies amounted to an extension of slavery, I want to return to the nineteenth century to excavate the emergence of the colonial labor regimes that would be the object of this anticolonial critique. Specifically, I want to think with the chronological overlap between emancipation in the Americas and imperial expansion in Africa in order to examine the distinctive form of empire that emancipation engendered. I start with the justification of British imperial expansion in Africa as an anti-slavery and humanitarian project. Rather than focus on the false or flawed universalism of this justification, I am interested in thinking through its effects—a position you also take in Empire of Neglect. At this early stage, I think this will involve tracing how ideologies and strategies from the transition to free labor in the Americas were appropriated and taken up for the project of fashioning African colonial subjects as productive laborers. One vector of this transmission was the transposition of the plantation in new colonial contexts. Writing about colonial Tanzania, Rodney writes, “plantation production of sisal, rubber and cotton constituted the earliest and most important of the colonial economic activities of German East Africa.” The post-emancipation global life of the plantation, as reconstructed in an essay by Kris Manjapra, is, I think, a key component to understanding the political economy of unequal integration. But, this project will also require attending to contexts where plantations did not take root. For instance, unlike in German (and later British) East Africa, the colonial state and private corporations were never able to establish plantations in British west African colonies like the Gold Coast where peasant production of cocoa remained dominant. Still even here, the NWG models a way of examining peripheral economies as sites that are subsumed in the global economy while also containing competing and alternative trajectories.

    If I am focused on the structures of conscription to a global economy that the plantation engenders, I read you as trying to work out how the plantation’s uneven relationship to the world system also makes it a fruitful terrain to trace radical and subaltern alternatives to capitalism. You have developed this line of argument in the “The Plantation Road to Socialism” and in “The Refusal of Work.” How did you come to see political possibility in the plantation? What’s at stake for you in recovering these possibilities? And how do you think about something like the plantation road to socialism in relation to the renewed attention to visions of black freedom centered on flight and marronage?

    Adom

    **

    Hi Adom,

    I so want that mid-century cartography of Third World social science to be mapped, and then the map to be disseminated. You know, I was trying to quickly recall what George Beckford’s BA was in, only to quickly encounter the fact that he doesn’t have a Wikipedia page. (A different set of Beckfords with a much different set of ties to Jamaica, however, do.) Epistemic loss—or maybe episticide, really—is such a weirdly compounding phenomenon.

    My interest in thinking about the political possibilities of the plantation comes from two problematics, I think. As I noted previously, I am drawn to the NWG for the ways that their work displaces or suspends the historico-theoretical desire to specify the genetic relationship between capitalism and slavery. This is a personal shorthand for the fact that I am increasingly frustrated with the scholarship grouped under the brand of “the new history of capitalism.” My frustration owes in part to the very claim to novelty, which Peter Hudson has blisteringly addressed. But I’ve come to realize that the real source of my frustration is that I have a hard time figuring out the political aim or uptake of this work. These genetic accounts of capitalism are, in so many ways, reproducing the various kinds of transition debates that have flared up throughout the global intellectual history of Marxism and that are, really, coextensive with the development of Marxism. These debates, as scholastically Marxological as they might have been, were almost always oriented toward practical political questions that various Marxist and socialist and communist parties confronted in determining paths forward, coalitions to build across sectors and classes, strategies for national or regional linking or delinking, and so on. It is hard for me to emplot the new histories of capitalism within a similar field of political contention or ambition. Of course, that owes in part to the absence of anything like a robust, power-wielding commie left in the US, and it’s symptomatic that the sole political demand that can come out of this work is that of state-backed reparations. I am entirely for reparations, but I don’t think such a measure is in any way dependent upon tethering capitalism’s origins to slavery. In a kind of flat, silly way, my desire to think the plantation and its once-possible socialist futures is a desire to recall the actual political stakes of previous transition debates: to identify capitalism’s trajectories in order to develop strategies for dismantling it. Capitalism might be a narrative endpoint in left historiography, but it should never be the epistemological or political terminus of the story one tells.

    The second source of my interest in thinking through the political possibilities of the plantation comes from my weird reading of a long line of anthropologists, economic historians, and theorists who take up the topos of enslaved people’s provision grounds or plots. Sylvia Wynter’s “Novel and History, Plot and Plantation” has always been one of my favorite essays, and, for Wynter, the figures of plot and plantation mark an agon between use value and exchange value, between relatively autonomous labor and racial-capitalist domination. Wynter describes the plot as fostering a use value-centered “folk culture,” one that “became a source of cultural guerilla resistance to the plantation system.” I think that’s probably the standard way of thinking about the function of the plot: it’s a space of fugitive independence, of self-direction. What I find interesting, though, is that, for Wynter, this agon between plot and plantation cannot assemble itself into a perfect opposition. Describing plot and plantation as “two poles which originate in a single historical process,” Wynter inscribes the enslaved or the emancipated agricultural prole in a space of ambivalence: “Since he worked on the plantation and was in fact the Labour, land and capital, he was ambivalent between the two.” Ken Post (another woefully under-appreciated thinker) makes a similar point. For Post, the slave plantation “in fact articulated two complementary (but antagonistic) modes of production,” planter-directed cash-crop production and enslaved-directed provision production. In the wake of emancipation, and on the basis of the provision ground system, “a free peasantry came into existence before any fully-articulated capitalist social formation had replaced that of slavery,” “a non-capitalist element within a capitalist articulation.”

    I find all of this brilliant; and it’s on the basis of this brilliance that I think the plantation should be rethought. The plot, as Wynter and Post both suggest, cannot simply be opposed to the plantation because 1) it was posited by the plantation as the latter’s means of demonetizing subsistence and because 2) it provided the material scaffolding of the plantation. This is to say, then, that the plantation, as an ordinary part of its functioning, as a necessary part of its reproduction, immanently generated “a non-capitalist element.” We don’t normally think of the plantation in these terms—especially when the critical emphasis of the new history of capitalism is on North Atlantic capital formation and accumulation through the plantation. Meanwhile, the currency of keywords like “marronage” and “fugivitity” tend to presume that black political thought begins with the negation of the plantation, in a spatial and cognitive elsewhere. And that is absolutely a fair presumption. But I found myself drawn to a question: Is there a tradition of black political thought that strives to expand and generalize the non-capitalist elements immanently generated within the plantation system? Is there a tradition of black communist or anarchist thought that refuses the sequence of plantation slave to peasant producer to agrarian proletariat to some communist society to come, one that wants to leap from the plantation to the commune?

    In a certain sense, then, I’m wondering if it is possible to think the plantation, or the plantation/plot assemblage, in ways similar to that of the late Marx on the Russian peasant commune or Mariategui on the Incan allyu—as a material and social form that contains immanent potentials, different than those of a world subsumed into liberal property relations, for communization. Robert Wedderburn is the punchiest pre-emancipation thinker on this, I think: he imagines emancipation as the scaling up of the provision plot, but also as the abolition of private property, the wage-form, and, in general, the mediation of access to goods through labor time. Wedderburn was a Spencean socialist (even as he radicalizes Spence), but I think one can also glean the existence of a plantation imaginary in post-emancipation subalterns as well. In my “Plantation Road to Socialism” piece, for instance, I look back at the petition from the peasants of St Ann’s Parish in Jamaica, the one that prompted the disastrous “Queen’s Advice” missive that in turn helped catalyze the Morant Bay Rebellion. I first returned to the petition after many years, as I was considering opening Empire of Neglect with what I remembered as the petition’s staging of empire loyalism. The loyalism is absolutely there, but the substance of the petition kind of shocked me: What the petitioners more or less requested was land and capital to form a plantation, one that would be collectively labored upon and collectively run. So, I’ve found myself becoming more and more interested in black collectivization movements in the post-emancipation world, trying to think about how this tendency toward collectivization sublated and sought to repurpose elements of the plantation order. Katherine’s Franke’s Repair is quite solid on this, and she lets us think about the post-emancipation order as heavily marked by the state’s active interdiction of black movements toward collectivizing land holding—which might be to say, the state’s active interdiction of the black counter-plantation.

    Part of what’s at stake for me here is my desire to build a genealogy of black refusals of the equation of freedom with “free labor,” waged labor, market-mediated exchange, and even smallholding. I’m hardly the first to do this, and I won’t be the last, but I think recalling that possessive individualism was not the sole horizon of enslaved and freed people’s expectations of freedom is a good thing to do regularly. Moreover, I’m interested in building a genealogy of black refusals of possessive individualism in a way that is neither voluntarist nor mystical but is rather articulated to a different political-economic ordering, or at least a vision of a different political-economic ordering. Part of this vision, I’m suggesting, drew upon and repurposed elements of the plantation. This is most visible in the kinds of collectivization efforts I discussed above, but it also percolates through various strata of post-emancipation history. Consider, for instance, the kinds of plantation nostalgia that get articulated with what seems like a strange frequency in the WPA slave narratives. A lot of this nostalgia is tethered to the plantation’s recollected satisfaction of subsistence needs and desires. It doesn’t really matter to me if any given plantation in fact provided the alimentary satisfactions that, say, Henry Barnes of Alabama recalls when he wistfully declares, “Sometimes I wishes dat I could be back to de ol’ place, ‘coze us did hab plenty to eat[.]” Rather, what I see here is the figure of the plantation being invested as an alternative moral and distributive order—one that strongly and starkly contrast to the New Deal state’s exclusion of agricultural laborers from its redistributive remit.

    My new work on the plantation is weird in part because I’m holding onto the term and thinking about the institution’s imbrication in freedom imaginaries in the Americas–even as, per Tomich, and really almost anyone, the coercion of labor is the “lowest common denominator of all plantation labor.” Your new work is shifting, conceptually, from concerns of sovereignty and state autonomy to labor and coercion, which, for me, puts the conceptual problem of freedom on the table. What happens to the freedom concept as colonial agents attempt to world African colonial space through post-emancipation American institutions? Is freedom a meaningful concept for you here? At the same time, I’m wondering where your thinking is on the plantation, unequal integration, and racial formation. How does thinking about the plantation’s transnational diffusion as a mechanism of colonial governance shift our understanding of the processes of racialization–regionally, nationally, globally?

    **

    Hi there,

    This is really great. The idea that the plantation “immanently generated ‘a non-capitalist element’” helps me think beyond earlier debates about the capitalist or non-capitalist character of the plantation (Laclau, Mandle, etc) and the recent return to the concept of primitive accumulation in which some of those earlier debates are restaged. Stuart Hall, partly responding to Laclau and others, argues for reading colonial and postcolonial context as “an articulation between two modes of production structured in some relation of dominance.” I find articulation a helpful way to think about the co-constitution and co-dependence of capitalist social relations and non-capitalist social forms but this formulation still suggests an exteriority usefully overcome in your reading of Post and Wynter where the non-capitalist element is not only internal to the plantation but also generated by it. I think this view can only really hold in the New World and the Caribbean in particular which Lloyd Best characterizes as a pure-plantation model. This might not hold in South Asian and African societies where the plantation did not fully displace existing social relations but was parasitic on them. This potential difference indicates what could productive about a genealogy of Third World social science. Beyond overcoming episticide, it can offer conceptual resources to trace the multiple trajectories of an institution like the plantation across the global south.

    One of my aspirations in turning to the plantation’s global diffusion and working through labor instead of sovereignty is to rethink the history of race and racialization. As you know I have been teaching Equiano regularly for the last couple of years and I am always struck by the moment he first names blackness. It occurs when he encounters the Atlantic Ocean for the first time and is brought on to a slave ship. Equiano describes being “filled with astonishment” at the sight of the sea and the ship. Reversing the tropes of colonial discourse, he worries that “those white men with horrible looks, red faces, and loose hair” might be cannibals. And he comes to understand himself as part of the “multitude of black people of every description chained together.” Hazel Carby offers a great reading of this scene as complex account of racialization and racial consciousness in a 2009 essay “Becoming Racialized Subjects.”

    But influenced by Jemima Pierre’s work, I wonder about the ways in which this scene and its various iterations in black letters sutures race and blackness in particular to the site of the ship and the moment of diaspora. Not in an effort to displace this moment, but rather to expand the sites of racial formation, I want to think about the ways the plantation functions as a race-making institution. I want to follow Equiano back to the African continent to the brief moment where he imagines the colonization scheme in Sierra Leone and the deployment of “free” African labor on plantations as a possible alternative to new world slavery.

    In thinking this question through the collusion of emancipation and imperial expansion, I am deeply influenced by the work of Thomas Holt, Saidiya Hartman, Andrew Zimmerman and others who have, in different ways, examined the remaking of race and racialized coercion after the end of slavery. As Hartman puts it in Scenes of Subjection, black labor is produced through modes of coercion that “exceeded the coercion immanent in capital labor relations.” For imperial administrators and international civil servants between the late 19th and mid-twentieth centuries, the deployment of extra-economic coercion was both justified as necessary in the tropics and rhetorically distanced from chattel slavery. I am interested in the ways that race emerges from the structures of coercion and also serves to stabilize them. I also want to return to the what where anticolonial critics like W.E.B Du Bois, George Padmore and others tried to name this specificity of black labor by returning to and rewriting the history of slavery. I am struck by chapter 1 of Du Bois’s Black Reconstruction—the Black Worker where he grasps to name what made black labor a distinctive form. Asking “What did it mean to be a slave?” he finds “its analogues today in the yellow, brown, and black laborer in China and India, in Africa, in the forests of the Amazon…” He makes this connection even more explicit in Darkwater where he writes, “Today instead of removing laborers from Africa to distant slavery, industry built on a new slavery approaches Africa to deprive the natives of their land, to force them to toil, and to reap all the profit for the white world.” The “Negro Worker” of Padmore’s journal would in this come to name discrepant and raced categories of labor that could not full assimilated to the figure of proletariat.

    Though I am not sure exactly where it will lead, I want to think through how one might plot different visions of freedom from the subject position of the Negro Worker. I hope to pursue the question with three guiding orientations in mind. First, having left the terrain of formal international politics and state sovereignty, I hope to be more attuned to freedom projects that are articulated on “a lower frequency” that might not take the form of organized and institutional politics, that while ephemeral and fleeting offer conceptual resources for reimagining freedom. If in Worldmaking, I charted how critique of colonial labor as slavery grounded project of postcolonial statehood, this project opens up space to consider the alternative trajectories of such a critique and to offer a critical vantage point on the ways the postcolonial states deployed and reinforced the coercive logics it inherited. Second, I want to attend more closely to the erasures and lapses that made available the category of Negro Worker. I want to attend more closely to the underlying assumption about politics and economic transformation that underwrite the projects of Du Bois and Padmore. This too informed by Hartman who illustrates that the heroic vision in Du Bois’s general strike obscures black women’s sexual and reproductive labors. Finally, after rereading Andrew Sartori’s Liberalism in Empire in our class, I want to try and hold at bay my own desires to find certain kinds of resistance among my subjects, to be open to the multiple ways colonized people secured something akin to freedom even if compromised and limited.

    I hope this gives you a sense of the questions and framing I am thinking with even if the substance of the project has yet to be fill. Ultimately, I would like this examination of colonial labor and its legacies to inform the on-going debates about the contemporary transformation of work. By provincializing the proletariat as the primary or dominant figure of labor, it attunes us less to the decline and crisis of the wage laborer than to the prior problem of dispossession and thereby makes it possible to chart the multiple ways that that dispossession is lived.

    That’s all from me for now. Look forward to picking up the threads here in person soon.

    Adom

    Adom Getachew is a Neubauer Family Assistant Professor of Political Science at the University of Chicago, and author of Worldmaking after Empire: The Rise and Fall of Self-Determination.

    Chris Taylor is associate professor of English at the University of Chicago, and the author of Empire of Neglect: The West Indies in the Wake of British Liberalism. Taylor is currently working on a book project entitled: The Voluntary Slave: Atlantic Modernity’s Impossible Subject.”

    [1] The study of empire now forms a rich subfield of political theory. Early texts in this field include Richard Tuck, The Rights of War and Peace: Political Thought and the International Order from Grotius to Kant (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999); Uday Mehta, Liberalism and Empire: A Study in Nineteenth Century British Liberal Thought (Chicago: University of Chicago, 1999), Sankar Muthu, Enlightenment against Empire (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2003); Jennifer Pitts, A Turn to Empire: The Rise of Imperial Liberalism in Britain and France (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2005), Karuna Mantena, Alibis of Empire: Henry Maine and the Ends of Liberal Imperialism (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2010).

    [2] See: http://inthesetimes.com/working/entry/21743/honduras_farmworkers_plantations_fruit_fyffes_labor_irish_fair_trade

  • Diletta De Cristofaro — ‘Every day is like Sunday’: Reading the Time of Lockdown via Douglas Coupland

    Diletta De Cristofaro — ‘Every day is like Sunday’: Reading the Time of Lockdown via Douglas Coupland

    This essay is a part of the COVID-19 dossier, edited by Arne De Boever.

    by Diletta De Cristofaro

    We’ve all seen a number of quarantine reading lists recommending post-pandemic novels for their resonance with the present moment and uncanny foreshadowing of the coronavirus. And yet, despite having access to a vast repertoire of these narratives – I’ve spent the last ten years researching and writing about post-apocalyptic fiction – the post-apocalyptic image I keep returning to is less about eerie parallels between a fictional pandemic and COVID-19 and more about capturing the lived experience of the crisis, specifically, the lived experience of time in lockdown.

    In Douglas Coupland’s post-apocalyptic novel Girlfriend in a Coma (1998), a pandemic of deadly sleep kills everyone except for a group of friends. Their life becomes so monotonous that time blurs into a perpetual Sunday, an image that Coupland draws from Morrissey’s ‘Every Day Is Like Sunday’, a song about walking on a beach after a nuclear war. As a character explains,

    Every day is like Sunday. Nothing ever happens. We watch videos. Read a few books. Cook food that comes out of boxes or cans. No fresh food. The phone never rings. Nothing ever happens. No mail. The sky stinks – when everybody died, they left the reactors and the factories running. It’s amazing we’re still even here.

    Feeling stuck in an undifferentiated time that doesn’t seem to flow, the boredom and restlessness produced by the endless repetition of mundane routines, an ominous threat encroaching – these elements capture the essence of how time feels in lockdown. Coupland himself, commenting on life in lockdown in March, has gone back to this image, posting a tweet in the style of his ‘Slogans for the Twenty-First Century’ that reads ‘Every day of the week is now Sunday.’

    As is the case with all resources under capitalism, time is, of course, unevenly distributed. Some might have more ‘free’ time in lockdown. Others, especially those juggling a full-time remote job with full-time childcare, might experience intense time pressure. And yet, there is a widespread feeling of the lockdown as a time that is not only undifferentiated but stagnating, a waiting time between the pre- and the post-pandemic world (whatever shape this might take) that stretches indefinitely and slows down, almost unbearably. Capturing this feeling, a popular tweet speaks of March – the month in which COVID-19 brought about lockdowns in most countries – in geological terms: ‘Experts say we may be as little as two days away from finally leaving the March Age. The next epoch is provisionally being called “April,” and is also expected to last 5-10 million years’.

    Time in lockdown feels stuck, as, to go back to Coupland’s image, nothing of note ever seems to happen inside our homes (and indeed, we hope that some things will carry on not happening, like being infected, losing loved ones, or our job). Filled as we are with mounting dread and grief over the virus and its consequences, the time of the lockdown is a time that we can only attempt to kill, more or less successfully, through activities that resemble those carried out by the characters in Girlfriend in a Coma. They ‘watch videos. Read a few books. Cook food’, just as we do yoga with Adriene, read the classics, or bake sourdough bread.

    This feeling of the lockdown as an amorphous and stagnating stretch of time is the product of a traumatic duration with no clear end in sight. As Frank Kermode discussed in The Sense of an Ending, we use endings to give structure and meaning to time but, at present, endings are hard to fathom. Nobody knows how long the COVID-19 pandemic will last and, even if lockdowns were to be relaxed in the near future, as indeed it’s beginning to happen in some countries, they might have to be reinstated further down the line because of new waves of infection. In this indeterminate duration, the only certain thing is that many will die and suffer, and not only from the virus itself, but from conditions it produces or exacerbates, such as domestic violence, mental health difficulties, unemployment, and the many ramifications of the economic downturn. ‘We are in the middle and the end is not in sight. We are waiting, which is among most people’s least favorite thing to do, when it means noticing that you have taken residence in not knowing’, Rebecca Solnit has recently observed.

    But what Coupland’s ‘Every day is like Sunday’ image also offers is a prompt to reflect on how we structure and value time under late capitalism and, in turn, on how the structures and values we attach to time in contemporary everyday life may help us understand our unease with time in lockdown.

    Coupland returns to the uncomfortable feeling of time blurring into a perpetual Sunday in the glossary that closes another of his post-apocalyptic novels, Player One (2010). Originally delivered as Massey Lectures, Player One is a novel in five hours that takes place as a peak oil apocalypse unfolds and that is inherently concerned, as much of Coupland’s oeuvre is, with exploring the contemporary condition. In the entry ‘Dimanchophobia’ (from ‘dimanche’, French for Sunday), Coupland discusses our society’s ‘Fear of Sundays, not in a religious sense but, rather, a condition that reflects fear of unstructured time’. Dimanchophobia is sometimes referred to as Sunday neurosis by psychologists like Viktor Frankl who, in Man’s Search for Meaning, writes of ‘that kind of depression which afflicts people who become aware of the lack of content in their lives when the rush of the busy week is over and the void within themselves becomes manifest’. Coupland maintains that dimanchophobia is a ‘mental condition created by modernism and industrialism’. Thus, we can infer that the ‘unstructured time’ at the core of the condition diagnosed by Coupland is the time not geared towards work and capitalist productivity.

    Sundays, and by extension weekends, are, after all, typically supposed to be time for rest, for recreation, free from the structures – and strictures – of labor. As Craig Harline writes in Sunday: A History of the First Day from Babylonia to the Super Bowl, ‘after 1800 or so, when industrialization introduced its long and rigid hours, its fixed workplace, and its discipline of the clock, the line between work time and free time became more distinct, and it was basically drawn around Sunday’.

    But in contemporary society, which celebrates productivity as its core value and worships hustle culture, the line between work time and free time is becoming increasingly blurred, courtesy also of digital devices that allow us to take work with us everywhere we go and be always available. Sunday time, understood as a stand-in for free time, is exactly the type of time that we are encouraged to see, at worst, as meaningless or even a hindrance and, at best, as valuable only insofar as it is allows us to recharge and prepare for the busy week ahead through leisure activities (the more these are aimed towards self-improvement the better), as well as activities of maintenance (e.g. cleaning the house, batch cooking) and care (e.g. family time). Maintenance and care are of course work too but, by virtue of being often unpaid, racialized, and gendered activities (the second shift discussed by Arlie Russell Hochschild), they are more easily relegated into the less meaningful and valuable sphere of ‘free’ time. Coupland’s dimanchophobia thus speaks to an entrenched sense that only productive time – time as organized by, and for, paid labor, or at least labor that carries with it the promise of future profit – is valuable and meaningful.

    Despite seemingly paving the way for capital’s dream of labor taking over every aspect of our lives, since we now do all of our work and non-work activities in the same few rooms and, with spatial boundaries collapsing, temporal boundaries between work and leisure should be more easily eroded too, the lockdown is a time that resists being organized primarily by, and for, labor. This is a time of widespread sickness, furlough, redundancy, and unemployment, where many are prevented from working, and even those who are working remotely face different rhythms. Full-time jobs clash with full-time childcare for some. Others are forced to live 24/7 in cramped spaces that are simply not conducive to work at all. Not to mention the psychological toll the pandemic is taking on all of us, which is inevitably affecting our ability to focus on work.

    Coupland’s ‘Every day is like Sunday’ image captures how the lockdown confronts us with a time that is less structured by labor and populated by activities that typically characterize our ‘free’ time, but also helps us frame our ambiguous feelings, dimanchophobic as it were, towards this time. We feel stuck in an unending Sunday-esque time that we have been conditioned to ‘fear’ and consider less meaningful and valuable than work time.

    We might even feel guilty about our lack of focus and productivity during the lockdown. Hardly surprisingly, a society that seeks to condition us to ‘fear’ Sundays and value time only when productive and judiciously invested in making us better late-capitalist subjects is now keen to instill in us the fear of the lockdown as potentially wasted time. Tips on how to work from home more effectively and lists of productive things to do with our newly-found ‘free’ time abound. All the while, supposedly inspiring social media posts remind us that Shakespeare wrote King Lear and Newton invented calculus under quarantine, and that ‘If you don’t come out of this quarantine with: (1) a new skill, (2) your new side hustle started, (3) more knowledge – You never lacked time, you lacked discipline!’.

    Resisting these calls for productivity and the dimanchophobia they reinstate is important. Dimanchophobia is instrumental in bringing about what Coupland terms ‘jeudism’ (from jeudi, French for Thursday) in The Age of Earthquakes: A Guide to the Extreme Present (2015), written with Shumon Basar and Hans Ulrich Obrist. ‘In the future every day will be Thursday’, Coupland posits, ‘We’re all working to the grave, and life will be one perpetual fast-food job of the soul. The weekend? Gone. And we all pretty much know it in our bones’. Jeudism evokes the terrifying prospect of a future of perpetual work as the logical culmination of late capitalism’s pervasive precarity and erosion of the boundaries between work and leisure time, an erosion that dimanchophobia only facilitates.

    For a while now, I’ve had as my laptop’s background one of Coupland’s ‘Slogans for the Twenty-First Century’ recently exhibited at Somerset House’s ‘24/7: A Wake-Up Call for Our Non-Stop World’. Against our non-stop world’s imperatives for incessant productivity, the slogan uncompromisingly demands ‘I want my time back’. I first came across this slogan as I was preparing to take part in UK Higher Education’s 2019-20 industrial action. ‘I want my time back’ encapsulated my main reason for joining the strike: excessive workloads, made only worse by the pressures placed on those who, like me, are part of the sector’s increasingly precarious workforce, make it very hard to have time for anything other than work. The final few days of the 2020 wave of industrial action took place just as COVID-19 was declared a pandemic, with pickets and rallies being called off. Yet, if we are to transform our world for the better after COVID-19, it will be important to continue this fight beyond Higher Education and demand free, non-commodified, and unproductive time back against capital’s imperatives and dimanchophobia.

     

    Diletta De Cristofaro is an academic based in the UK and the author of The Contemporary Post-Apocalyptic Novel: Critical Temporalities and the End Times (Bloomsbury). You can find out more about her work on her website.

  • David Lloyd — Justice Deferred: Palestine, Settler Colonialism and International Law (Review of Ronit Lentin’s Traces of Racial Exception and Noura Erakat’s Justice for Some)

    David Lloyd — Justice Deferred: Palestine, Settler Colonialism and International Law (Review of Ronit Lentin’s Traces of Racial Exception and Noura Erakat’s Justice for Some)

    by David Lloyd

    Review of Ronit Lentin, Traces of Racial Exception: Racializing Israeli Settler Colonialism (London: Bloomsbury Academic, 2018). ix + 268 pp. and Noura Erakat, Justice for Some: Law and the Question of Palestine (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2019). xiii + 331 pp.

    For some decades now, Israeli propaganda (or hasbara) has managed to keep in play two quite contradictory self-descriptions that serve at once to obscure and to legitimate its ongoing subjugation of Palestinians through occupation, strangulating siege, dispossession and settlement, discrimination and collective punishment, not to mention its regular use of lethal force. Though each and every one of these routine practices has been found to be in violation of a panoply of international laws and human rights conventions, Israel and its supporters continue to repeat, with increasing vociferousness the more the facts challenge them, their shopworn incantation of these bipolar narratives: Israel is a normal (if admittedly “flawed”) democracy, indeed, the “only democracy in the Middle East”; Israel is an exception, claiming the right to exceptional allowances because of its precarious location in what President Obama liked to call, with the folksy affectation with which he was wont to disavow the racist formations of his post-racial epoch, “a very tough neighborhood” (Obama 2010). At other times, Israel also claims to be an exception because of its miraculous dispensation, as an improbable achievement that must be treasured as no other state on account if its fulfillment of a centuries-old desire for return enshrined in biblical prophecy. Less often openly acknowledged is that Israel maintains a perpetual state of exception, in its exercise of brutal sovereign power over its Palestinian subjects, deploying a variety of special or emergency powers some of which date back to the British Mandate and the origins of the Zionist settlement, while others are its own inventions.

    Ronit Lentin and Noura Erakat pull apart these familiar myths about Israel in two very different but often converging books. In Traces of Racial Exception: Racializing Israeli Settler Colonialism, Lentin explores at length the nature of what she understands as Israel’s racial state, bringing to bear a succession of intersecting analytical approaches, from the theory of exception to settler colonial and race critical paradigms, testing the extent to which Israel, far from being an exception, conforms to and largely reproduces quite typical elements of the settler colonial and racial state. Her extensively documented book, which draws on the now vast body of scholarship on Palestine/Israel and Zionism as well as on detailed and exemplary accounts of specific Israeli actions against Palestinian communities, synthesizes those approaches into a compelling account of “Israeli-Zionist rule over Palestine.” This account presents “a three-pronged critical engagement with Israel’s settler colonial racial regime in Palestine: first, a state of exception; second, a racial state; and third, a settler colony”, a triad to which, in Chapter 5, she adds a critical gender analysis that undoes that equally perduring myth of Israel as a model of gender equality and LGBTQ rights.

    A “normal” state of exception is understood as a temporary suspension of the rule of law to deal with one or other emergency. When Walter Benjamin famously noted that for the oppressed, the “state of emergency” is the rule, he may not have had Palestine in mind (Benjamin 2003: 392). But Lentin persuasively shows in her first chapter that, in relation to its Palestinian subject population, “Israel has been in a permanent state of exception, which means that in Israel exception is the rule.” [31] This leads her to find the standard accounts of the state of exception as “a space devoid of law” [47], largely drawn from Giorgio Agamben’s readings of legal theorist Carl Schmitt, to be “ultimately inadequate to theorize the state of Israel.” [31] In the first place, “the law, far from being suspended, actually works in the service of the racial state.” [30] By the same token, she later points out, “theories of exception and bare life are inadequate in theorizing the embodied centrality of race in the Palestinian context.” [119]

    Thinking of Israel not simply as enacting a state of exception in order to deal with security issues—as its advocates usually claim—but as a systematically racial state that regulates its subject population by way of racialized categories allows Lentin to show how the Israeli exception works not by the suspension but by the proliferation of laws. The military regime of occupation in the West Bank, indeed, daily performs “the constant production of exceptions” and the arbitrary use of categorizations such as “security threats” that make precarity and unpredictability the norm for Palestinians. Her analysis interestingly corresponds to the late Nasser Hussain’s theses in “Hyperlegality”, where he showed that far from representing a state of exception, the current global war on terror—for which Israel has offered a prime laboratory—should be seen as in continuity with colonial practices that constantly generated legal categories for its subject people, like “criminal tribes”, in order to manage and control whole populations (Hussain 2007). “Security threats”, “infiltrators”, “absentees” all function similarly to subject Palestinians to a regime of ongoing collective punishment, both within Israel and in Gaza and on the West Bank.

    The regime of military occupation and of domestic discriminatory laws within Israel[1] clearly does not apply to Israel’s Jewish citizens, including the settlers illegally located on the West Bank and in occupied East Jerusalem. At the end of this chapter, Lentin briefly considers the question as to whether Israel is an apartheid state, given its own policies of Hafrada (separation or segregation).  It’s important to note, since quibbles about the applicability of the comparison with South Africa have often deliberately confused the issue, that the question depends not on a loose or strict analogy with that apartheid regime, but on the legal definition of apartheid as a crime against humanity given by the Rome Statute of the International Criminal Court, that is, “inhumane acts … committed in the context of an institutionalized regime of systematic oppression and domination by one racial group over any other racial group or groups and committed with the intention of maintaining that regime” (Rome Statute 2002).  By that definition, as Noura Erakat shows at greater length in Justice for Some [213-8], Israel’s is indubitably an apartheid regime, whether or not its practices coincides in every respect with those of South Africa under white supremacist rule.

    In some respects, it could be said that to speak of the modern state as a “racial state” is virtually an oxymoron: almost every modern state governs through categories that are either racial or function in quasi-racial ways. Lentin seeks to define more precisely what kind of racial state Israel is, and the logic behind its “dehumanizing racial classifications [that] emanate from the aim of ensuring that Jewish Israelis live at the expense of the Palestinian other(s).” [88] Although she acknowledges that  this dehumanization is based on “separation, segregation and self-segregation” [88], Lentin’s emphasis falls more on the analysis of Israel as a settler colonial entity, beginning with early Zionism’s explicit understanding of its enterprise as a colonial project of settlement and expansion down to currently ongoing efforts to dispossess and displace—or “transfer”, as the Israeli euphemism has it—the indigenous Palestinian population.[2] Her devastating account of the origins of Zionism within the context of European racial nationalism not only substantiates her argument about “the centrality of race to theorizing Zionist settler colonialism”, but also brings out the eugenicist obsessions that underlie its ideology. This clearly informs Israel’s virulent anti-Arab racism, but Lentin shows that the Zionist belief in the necessity for the colonization of Palestine “to ‘regenerate’ diaspora Jewry by creating the racially superior ‘New Jew’” [84] persists in the continuing racial discrimination against the Mizrahim or Arab Jews and African-origin Jews in Israel. As Lentin also shows in Chapter 5, this eugenicist logic also informs the profoundly masculinist features of contemporary Israeli society that persist in the face of its official proclamations of gender equality and LGBTQ friendliness. Ironically, even as critics of Israel or anti-Zionists are accused of anti-Semitism [101-3], Zionism itself turns out to have a deeply embedded disdain for “Jewish characteristics”—as one early Zionist put it, “in order to be a good Zionist, one has to be a bit of an antisemite.” [97]

    Of course, the notion that colonization carries a regenerative force both for the colonizers and for the land itself is a widespread tenet of settler colonial ideology. Lentin’s analysis of Israel as a settler colony is persuasive precisely because it shows so well how the typical dynamics of settler societies account for Israel’s peculiar, but hardly exceptional, intertwining of eugenicist racism, segregation, and legalized discrimination. Apartheid is fundamental to settler colonial domination as is the dispossession and displacement of the native population. Lentin’s careful genealogy of the application of the settler colonial framework to the case of Israel is exemplary in its acknowledgement of the pioneering Palestinian contribution to that theorizing, from the insufficiently known Constantine Zurayk to Fayez Sayegh’s crucial Zionist Colonization in Palestine [62-4], even as she draws on the more recent theoretical work of Patrick Wolfe and Lorenzo Veracini. Despite the outrage that naming Israel’s identity as a settler colony arouses in some circles, early Zionists, as Lentin shows, would scarcely have disavowed the appellation. Despite the old canard about “a land without people for a people without a land”, Zionists have always been committed to that essential aspect of settler colonial projects, the deliberate displacement, or, as Wolfe famously put it, the elimination of the native. While some settler colonies, like Algeria or South Africa, required the native population to work the land and resources from which they had been displaced, Israel—not least on account of its ethno-majoritarian ideology—has constantly sought the disappearance or erasure of the Palestinian demographic majority. Its belated arrival on the colonial scene, just as the decolonizing movement was taking shape around the world, hampered and delayed its execution of that project, but, as Lentin shows in great detail throughout Traces of Racial Exception, the gradual but determined displacement of Palestinians from their own historic lands continues apace. One might say, indeed, that if Israel does indeed impose a permanent state of exception on the Palestinian people, that may be precisely what makes it a typical settler colony: the settlers, no matter how powerful they may be, retain the siege mentality that their determination to eliminate the native as an existential threat generates and sustains. As Memmi long ago observed, that also explains the inexorable rightward drift of the settler society: “every colonial nation carries the seeds of fascist temptation in its bosom” (Memmi 1967: 62).[3]

    Lentin’s work, indeed, has the great value of exemplifying how theoretically stringent work that seeks to furnish a framework for understanding complex but hardly incomprehensible phenomena also carries with it a certain predictive power: her painstaking supplementation of given theoretical models with other ones gradually assembles an analytical framework that combines, not eclectically but systematically, the means by which the “Israeli exception” can be comprehended. But she also allows us to see the rationale for tendencies that, for example, liberal Zionists may lament but cannot explain. If one buy the line that Israel is a modern democracy, flawed as it may be, its actual practices and steadily expansionist drive to dispossess the Palestinians—currently heading toward full annexation of the West Bank—can only seem like aberrations wishfully hoped to be temporary. Lentin’s analysis allows us to see how they emerge quite logically from the nature of the Zionist settler colonial state. That makes Traces of Racial Exception a work that will become indispensable to anyone seeking to understand and, optimally, to organize against Israeli apartheid.

    While Lentin emphasizes throughout Traces of Racial Exception the proliferation of legal terms and measures through which Israel maintains its settler colonial regime, Noura Erakat’s Justice for Some: Law and the Question of Palestine unfolds the terrain of international law on which the struggle for legitimacy has been fought for over a century. While its focus on the legal history that so deeply informs the fate of Palestine may make it seem daunting to the lay person, it is in fact a rich and compelling work that unfolds a story that at times has all the fascination of a court room drama. That is especially so in its chapters on the PLO’s legal maneuvers to achieve UN Recognition—the high point of the narrative from the Palestinian perspective—or the dismal account of the Oslo Accords that shows how abysmally the PLO leadership failed to understand the US and Israel’s maneuvering and, worse still, its reluctance to listen to the expert advice of its own legal counsel. The story that Erakat tells across this brilliant and finely documented book is crucial for anyone concerned with the Palestinian struggle and its outcomes to read. In general, the defense of Palestinian right against their constant violation by Israel, and in particular the claims of the BDS movement, have largely been articulated through appeals to international law and humanitarian conventions. But it is not always the case that the uses and, possibly more importantly, the pitfalls of the legal arguments are well understood. In that respect, Erakat’s painstaking accounting of Palestinian and Israeli legal and extra-legal maneuvers makes for an invaluable cautionary tale, alerting us to “the potential risks, and benefits, of appeals to international law.” [4]

    The risk of any appeal to international law, less as a body of doctrine—as Erakat shows throughout—than as the framework for a set of practices and negotiation, lies in its status as “a derivative of a colonial order”, a “sordid origin” that both ensures “an asymmetry of rights and duties among international actors” and makes it “structurally detrimental to former colonies, peoples still under colonial domination, and individuals who lack nationality or who, like refugees, have been forcibly removed from their state and can no longer invoke its protection.” [6-7] Nowhere is the maxim that “the rule of law is not synonymous with justice” [5] more telling than in the case of the Palestinians, who continue to insist on their rights under the law in face of decades of legally sanctioned erasure as a people with sovereign rights. This is not least because the peculiar modes of exceptionality that Israel has over and again claimed for itself constitute (as Lentin also observes), less a suspension of law than—to invoke Walter Benjamin again—a form of law-making violence (Benjamin 1996: 240-1).  Israel regularly asserts “that its unprecedented conditions authorize it to create new law for itself and everyone else” [183]. Israel’s capacity to make law in its very breach is one of the patterns that this book illuminates, but the lesson it offers is not for all that a counsel of despair in the face of massive disparities of power and access to rights; it is, rather, that in spite of the asymmetry of their respective positions both Palestine and Israel have succeeded at different moments in using international law to open up “legal opportunities” [4]. The condition of doing so is the recognition of “the imbrication of law and politics” [4]: without generating autonomous political movements and mobilizing the force they can exert, the weaker party cannot seize and exploit whatever legal opportunity the framework of international laws and conventions may offer.

    The ramifications of the asymmetry in the Palestinian case stem most evidently from the fact that Israel has been recognized as a state whereas Palestine has yet to gain that status. This enables Israel to declare, in various forms and at different times, the sovereign exception that constitutes “a zone of exceptional lawmaking wherein political necessity determines applicable law.” [15] But the inverse of that condition is that Palestinians, long “erased”, as Erakat puts it, both by British Mandate policies and by Zionist denials of their “juridical status” as a nation-people [39], could also be rendered legal non-subjects. As she shows in some detail in Chapter 2, in consequence of the post-1967 occupation of the West Bank, “the Palestinians would be suspended in limbo as non-citizens of Israel and as non-sovereigns under occupation, completely subject to Israel’s discretionary whims.” [63] Israel’s insistent claim that its actions are justified by “political necessity” continually trumps in practice the global consensus that it has in multiple ways violated international law and that its regime of occupation is in fact subject to the terms and regulations of the Geneva Conventions. Since there is “no general enforcement mechanism in the international sphere” [82], Israel’s capacity, with US backing, to continue to create and impose “facts on the ground”, whether through direct military violence or “under the veneer of legality” and special regulations [84], continues unabated alongside its steady incorporation of the occupied territory.

    Nonetheless, Palestinians have not been without agency in the sphere of international law and two chapters of Justice for Some relate the ways in which the PLO proved able both to seize and to squander legal opportunities. Chapter 3, tellingly entitled “Pragmatic Revolutionaries”, shows how the PLO under Yasser Arafat firstly succeeded in modifying international and humanitarian law regarding armed conflicts in order to establish the legitimacy of its own use of force and thus “to challenge the criminalization of its armed struggle”. This in turn led to its ability, through its diplomatic work with the UN, “to establish itself as an embryonic sovereign with the ability to exercise a monopoly on violence and a right to use it on behalf of an entire people.” [109] This considerable victory, largely won in the context of and in solidarity with recent and ongoing decolonizing struggles, would in turn open the way to General Assembly recognition, in the 1974 Resolution 3236, of ‘the Palestinian right to self-determination and to ‘national independence and sovereignty,’ as well as the right of refugees to return to their homes and property.” [120] Affording to Palestine non-member status at the General Assembly, the subsequent Resolution 3237 “definitively settled the question of Palestinian peoplehood” and its representation by the PLO, thus effectively reversing Israeli efforts to erase the Palestinians as a nation. [121]

    The successful passage of these resolutions in the face of major-power resistance, Erakat argues, not only demonstrated both the Palestinian capacity to create new international law and “the lawmaking authority of the global South” [122], but also the effectiveness of grounding legal strategy in political struggle and organizing. Nonetheless, she is alert to the dangers secreted in the ends achieved by the PLO: its legal work at the UN “exacerbated the tension between its vision for revolution and the vision for statehood” [111] That tension would play out catastrophically in the tragedy of the Oslo Accords nearly twenty years later, as Erakat shows in her dismaying account of the negotiations that led, in the view of many Palestinians, to the sacrifice of a struggle for liberation that had been significantly advanced by the First Intifada and its decentralized networks of popular initiatives, all for the sake of nominal political recognition and authority. In her view, in entering the peace process, a much-weakened PLO with diminished legitimacy “strove to save itself.” [139] The subsequent 25 years of endlessly deferred “final status” negotiations that have enabled Israel’s covert annexation of increasing segments of the West Bank, let alone the continuing violence of its occupation and siege of Gaza, have sufficiently borne home the fiasco of Oslo. Erakat analyzes in painful detail the now familiar concessions that the PLO made along the way, but also offers a compelling analysis of the willful failures of its legal and political strategies, “failures that reflected its leadership’s lack of appreciation for the law, and particularly for the law’s strategic malleability.” [159] Furthermore, what the PLO in effect sacrificed, to obtain a “ghettoized sovereignty” [171] and “a patchwork arrangement over Palestinian civil affairs and natural resources” [163], was its capacity to continue to appeal to international law. In effect, it returned the Palestinian cause to the purview of a “sovereign exception”, engendering “a specialized legal framework” that “suspended all applicable international law and norms in order to achieve an unfettered political resolution” from which Israel alone would benefit. [164] Subsequent decades have shown just how capable Israel has been in exploiting the legal and political opportunities that Oslo opened up for it.

    If the PLO proved for a moment capable of creating new international law, the Oslo Accords largely ceded that initiative to Israel. Chapter 5, “From Occupation to Warfare” focuses on the ways Israel has succeeded in delegitimating the hard won recognition of the Palestinian right to resistance [180] and in legitimating its own, increasingly regular violence against its subject populations, including its “extralegal, arbitrary, and summary executions, which are prohibited in law.” [178] The main and highly instructive logic that Erakat unfolds, a logic that goes not only to Israel’s conduct under the cover of “anti-terrorist” actions but also to the counter-insurgency tactics of the United States and other major powers, is summed up in a succinct subtitle: “The Malleability of Law: A Violation Can Also Be a Proposition.” [183] Having first “exceptionalized its in fact nonexceptional confrontations with Palestinians” [180], whose occasional and sporadic resort to violence fell far short of formal armed conflict, Israel was able to expand its right to use force outside the restrictive framework of existing laws of occupation. It did so by claiming to be in a conflict with terrorism “analogous to war” [181], an imprecise terminology that permitted it to claim “that no existing body of law had adequately contemplated the conflict between states and terrorists.” [182] In the upshot, its assertion “that its unprecedented conditions authorize it to create new law for itself and everyone else” [183, my emphasis] throws a critical light on “the nature of international law as a living instrument that is continually made, implemented, broken and remade.” [183] As Erakat goes on to show in examining the legal as well as military collaboration between the United States and Israel in the “global war against terror”, they together “shaped the customary [international] law regulating the use of force against terrorism” [191] thus seeking to “determine the law for all other states.” [193] Violations become customary practices and eventually constitute new customary norms. It has long been remarked that Israel wantonly exploits Palestine as a laboratory for counter-insurgency techniques and military hardware; Erakat shows that in its lawless use of violence it has been no less successful as a laboratory for international law in the service of colonial domination.

    Like Lentin, Erakat concludes her book with reflections on the failure of that framework for the peace process to which the international community has for so long paid lip service, the two-state solution that projects an independent sovereign state of Palestine on a much reduced land-base alongside that of Israel. As she says, that prospect is “obsolete”. [211] In practice, Israel’s legal maneuvers have had “an unintended consequence: it oversees an apartheid regime.” [213] In this, clearly, she agrees with the analysis that Lentin offers, including in her recognition that apartheid is the logical “consequence of Israel’s settler colonial ambitions.” [217] And, like Lentin, she recognizes in the BDS strategy a possible alternative to the armed struggle which, although it “remains available to occupied Palestinians as a matter of legal right” is, “as a matter of strategy … counterproductive and dangerous.” [227] BDS has shaped “new political space” precisely by deploying nonviolent tactics that appeal to international law and human rights norms. In other words, it supplies the political campaign that Erakat has shown to be essential to any legal strategy. At the same time, she perceives BDS as “a necessary but insufficient tactic” in a liberation movement that cannot be only for equality, but must entail “a struggle against settler-colonial dominance.” [231] This requires, she argues “a discerning political program” if the movement is not to confuse “the equivocating tendencies of a human rights framework with a practice of decolonization.” [233]

    This is by no means to abandon the still essential work of the boycott movement, but it is to ask that we see in the moral force that it exerts a counter-violence that reaches beyond the framework of law and rights it draws on. Such a line of argument leads her to differ from Lentin’s commitment to “one truly democratic state for all” [170] and to argue—in a way that extends her perception of the tension between a vision of decolonization and a vision of statehood—for a process of decolonization that would displace any outcome framed within the limits of the state form. Erakat’s final pages compellingly force the question as to whether “a state-centric legal order that sanctifies the sovereignty of settler states [can] rectify and stem ongoing possession and native erasure”. [235] That is the urgent task this crucial book prescribes to anyone, and not only to Palestinians, who feels the limits of state-sanctioned conceptions of law and their remoteness from any effective concept of justice. It asks us to imagine and shape a political future beyond anything that the nation-state can offer. Palestine has always offered radical hope to those engaged in emancipatory struggles globally in the form of samud, its persistence in resistance. Erakat suggests that, beyond the often dismal horizon of the present, it also offers a vision and a means to life in common forged in the crucible of dispossession and abandonment. This is a vision worth carrying forward and a project that demands to be pursued.

     

    David Lloyd is Distinguished Professor of English at the University of California Riverside. His most recent book is Under Representation: The Racial Regime of Aesthetics (New York: Fordham University Press, 2019).

     

    Works Cited

    Adalah, “Discriminatory Laws in Israel”, https://www.adalah.org/en/law/index. Accessed April 15, 2020.

    Benjamin, Walter, “Critique of Violence,” translated by Edmund Jephcott, in Selected Writings, vol. 1, 1913–1926, edited by Marcus Bullock and Michael W. Jennings. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1996,  236-252.

    Benjamin, Walter. “On the Concept of History”, Harry Zohn, trans, in Selected Writings, Volume 4, 1938-40. Edmund Jephcott and others, trans. Howard Eiland and Michael W. Jennings, eds. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2003, 389-400.

    Hussain, Nasser. “Hyperlegality”, New Criminal Law Review, 10.4 (2007): 514-531.

    Memmi, Albert. The Coloniser and the Colonised, trans. Howard Greenfield (Boston: Beacon Books, 1967).

    Obama, Barack, “Interview of the President by Yonit Levi, Israeli TV”, July 7, 2010. https://obamawhitehouse.archives.gov/the-press-office/interview-president-yonit-levi-israeli-tv  Accessed April 15, 2020.

    Rome Statute of the International Criminal Court. 2002.  https://www.icc-cpi.int/resource-library/documents/rs-eng.pdf. Accessed April 15, 2020.

    [1] Adalah,  the Legal Center for Arab Minority Rights in Israel, maintains a database of  over 60 such laws, “Discriminatory Laws in Israel”: https://www.adalah.org/en/law/index. Accessed April 15, 2020.

    [2] Article 7 of the Rome Statute also defines “Deportation or forcible transfer of population” as such a crime. https://www.icc-cpi.int/resource-library/documents/rs-eng.pdf

    [3] Given that the United States functions as Israel’s current mother country”—a function that Zionists have historically sought to supply through alliances with the dominant imperial power of any epoch, we might do well to attend to Memmi’s warning that “the colonialist is the seed of corruption in the mother country” (Memmi 1967: 64). Lentin discusses the close alliance between Netanyahu’s Israel and contemporary US white supremacist and ethno-nationalist movements, and with right-wing governments globally, on pp.  99-101.

     

     

  • Mimi Howard — Ontology’s Exhaust (Review of Fred Moten’s consent not to be a single being)

    Mimi Howard — Ontology’s Exhaust (Review of Fred Moten’s consent not to be a single being)

    This essay has been peer-reviewed by the b2o editorial collective

    by Mimi Howard

    In Freiburg 1919, Martin Heidegger explained in a lecture on phenomenology that everyone in the room had a functional relationship to a lectern that stands before him. It is not simply a box but an object that occasions a particular etiquette, something that calls forth certain rituals of social conduct. In a boiler-plate illustration of perspectivism, Heidegger then asked the room to imagine that a “Senegalese Negro” is suddenly planted before them. This troubles the whole arrangement, Heidegger claimed, because he would not know what to make of this lectern at all. Further, there is no way for Heidegger to access his perception, given that “my seeing and that of the Senegalese Negro [Senegalneger]  are totally disparate [grundverschieden]” (Heidegger 1987, 72).

    The German lectern, a neat stand-in for the enterprise of knowledge production, is possibly meaningful, is a possible object of phenomenological description, only because its value is culturally determined according to pre-existing conditions into which ‘we’ have been ‘thrown’. But something else is at work here. When Heidegger performs this self-imposed delimitation of phenomenology’s remit, blackness gets figured as the horizon-line of philosophical inquiry, marking out a constitutive edge where the study of ‘things in themselves’ falls short, fails to answer a question, or ceases to formulate one. Such epistemic failures flag up the relation between phenomenology and ontology, the region of inquiry towards which Heidegger’s would turn in later work, largely in attempt to address precisely the fundamental underlayers of experience that are resistant, or unavailable, to phenomenological description.

    In the past years, Fred Moten has been concerned with parsing the interrelation between blackness and ontology, tacitly interrogating the legacy of Frantz Fanon’s famous claim that “ontology—once it is finally admitted as leaving existence by the wayside—does not permit us to understand the being of the black man” (Fanon 1986). Fanon’s insights have been a provocative starting point for black studies in recent years, particularly for Afro-pessimist thinkers like Jared Sexton and Frank B. Wilderson. According to their purview, blackness is contained precisely within the impasse that Fanon described, within a “political ontology” whose ground is always-already constituted by a refusal of the “being of the black man.” As Wilderson has put it, black people are thereby assigned to “a structural position of noncommunicability” that countersigns the safeguarding of ideal subject-citizens (Wilderson 2010).

    The Afro-pessimistic appeal to political ontology has arisen alongside similar tendencies in ‘continental’ political philosophy. Since at least the end of the post-war period, political theorists have struggled with the problem of how to ground their analyses after the expulsion of God, progressivist history, and Enlightenment reason from the philosophical toolkit. In th­­­­­e intervening decades, the task at hand has been to cobble together a framework that holds onto some faith in political praxis while rejecting the predication of that praxis on some transcendental a priori. Heidegger’s ontology has been revived as an antidote to this absence of bannisters (to use Hannah Arendt’s famous phrase). His schematization of groundlessness, contingency, and non-identity of the subject has proven a powerful paradigm for partisans of post-foundationalism. This resurgence of Heideggerian ontology has gained traction enough to have some declare an ‘ontological turn’ (Marchart et al., 2017).

    Political ontology has been especially attractive to some anti-liberal theorists for a few reasons. (As Bruno Bosteel’s has noted, though many political ontologists claim to be leftist, there is nothing formally emancipatory about an ontological approach to politics.) From a methodological perspective, toward traditional questions about liberty, justice, or the good life, a political-ontological framework allows for spontaneous human action to become the center of analysis. Ontology ostensibly shifts the political-philosophical gaze towards the conflictual, dynamic, and improvisatory nature of politics ‘on the ground’, serving as rejoinder to liberal political philosophy and its hawk-eye view of the State and its Citizens. In contrast to this liberal paradigm, political ontologists declare a low threshold for what constitutes political action, and thereby pluralize the kinds of possible political subjects. In the words of one if its preeminent theorists: “Every action becomes politics when it at least is touched by antagonism” (Marchart 2010, quoted in Saar 2012).

    The ontological character of antagonism is equally important to the Afro-pessimistic framework. According to Wilderson’s influential paradigm, the historical appearance of slavery develops a new “ontological category” whereby political discourses became predicated on grammars of antagonism, “forging a symbiosis between the political ontology of the Human and the social death of Blacks” (Wilderson 2010). Ontology’s refusal to think blackness is thereby inextricable from structural, historical anti-blackness. Yet, in agonistic tandem, Moten has wondered whether the turning of Fanon’s insight into the basis of a ‘political ontology’ has a productive function; if it boxes itself into, and to some extent supports, the world of the “artificial, officially assumed position” it would want to rebuke (Moten 2013a, 741).

    To endorse a political ontology that describes the refusal of black being is to support an epistemological regime that participates in co-creating the world after political theory’s image (citizens, power, sovereignty, etc.). Without throwing Afro-pessimism’s envisioning of anti-black racism by the wayside, Moten asks if it is possible to depose the reigning political-ontological framework, a framework wherein “blackness and antiblackness remain in brutally antisocial structural support of one another like the stanchions of an absent bridge of lost desire.” (Moten 2013a, 749). Ontology, from Moten’s standpoint, is not just unable to think antiblackness, but rather produced and given by that incapacity. His task, contra Fanon and contemporary theorists, is then to “refuse subjection to ontology’s sanction against the very idea of black subjectivity,” by exhausting ontology itself (Moten 2013a, 749). What would it mean, Moten asks, “to desire the something other than transcendental subjectivity that is called nothing?” (Moten 2013a, 778)

    This intervention, and injunction, to ‘exhaust’ ontology’s special claim to ‘the political’ is sustained by Moten’s approach to a form of theoretical writing that re-formulates the task of critical philosophy, while also contesting political ontology’s ‘pessimistic’ aversion to Marxist tradition, showing that one need not dispense with dialectics in favor of static Manichaeism. The following review attempts to trace (by no means comprehensively) how Moten has continued to unfold this argument over the course of more than a decade of writing, collected in the recently-published three-volume series consent not to be a single being (2018), paying particular attention to the way that he intervenes in debates in contemporary political and critical theory.

    ***

    consent not to be a single being, titled after a phrase of Édouard Glissant’s, ranges across an impressive number of disciplines: black studies, performance studies, aesthetics, phenomenology, ontology, ethnomusicology, jazz history, comparative literature, critical theory, etc. Without announcing its intervention as interdisciplinary–Moten deftly renders discipline beside the point. Instead, his “devotional practice” explicitly proceeds with heart, not quite stopping long enough to fix upon, objectify, or possess the shifting locus of study. The goal, in fact, is the contrary. As he writes in the preface to the trilogy’s opener Black and Blur, this is a celebration of the “animaterial operation-in-exhabitation of diffusion and entanglement, marking the displacement of being and singularity” that is blackness (BB, xiii).

    As Deleuze and Guattari would have it, liberated desire is difficult to pin down. Unlike popular desire, encoded by the flows of capitalism, liberated desire eludes authority and escapes the “impasse of private fantasy” (Deleuze & Guattari, 2009). Desire’s amorphous capacity is its genius—to get plugged into different outlets, to reemerge through collective expression. You know it, in other words, when you don’t see it. Moten’s books capture something similar. His is a language that resists appropriation but has, paradoxically, become companionable to a great many projects. (One wonders how many reading groups have indebted themselves to Moten and collaborator Stefano Harney’s idea of the “undercommons”; few figures are as dear to activists, academics, and artists alike.) Ultimately, the zeal for Moten says as much about him as it does about our moment—desire for a politics beyond sanctioned discourse, sociality salvaged from social media, and, maybe most of all, some vindication that the lives we create under the noses of capital might already imagine another world.

    Harney and Moten’s The Undercommons (2013), a widely shared and beloved book, was marked by an activist lyricism (“I just need you to recognize that this shit is killing you, too, however much more softly, you stupid motherfucker”). The essays of cntbsb similarly pair philosophical questioning with sonorous phrasing. Though Moten aligns himself with the black radical tradition, his particular voice is reminiscent of none of its famous luminaries. Thankfully the right to write like he does is never made the subject of its own analysis. Unlike with Derrida or Spivak or Lacan or Heidegger, resistance to clarity is not in the service of a meta-point about the trace of writing, or the restaging of knowledge’s limit. Rather, as with the jam session, everything is already going on at once. As readers, we’re along for the ride; feeling out the repetitions until they become concepts behind our backs, carrying provisional definitions until they get displaced, rejigged, and transformed anew from page to page.

    On the whole, the series is a veneration of friendship and the unproprietary nature of thought. Moten continually lays his cards on the table, and his co-conspirators are called out in the body of the text: he’s “thinking along with” Hartman, “moving by way of” Mackey, “being taught” by Miyoshi and José (Muñoz)—indeed, in an interview, Moten has called this writing a form of name-dropping (Moten 2004).[1] But it’s also an ode to adversaries. We’re told at one point that “Mingus was a genius at showing contempt” (BB, 88) and perhaps the same can be said of Moten himself. Contemporary thinkers like Bryan Wagner, Catherine Malabou, and Eric Santner, Giorgio Agamben are put at affable risk. Paul Gilroy receives exasperated rebuttal in a particularly memorable footnote. Neither do earlier thinkers like Immanuel Kant, Hannah Arendt, Emmanuel Levinas, and Fanon emerge unscathed. They do emerge, however, irreparably transformed.

    cntbsb is not the product of one Fred Moten, but the result of an evolution across fifteen-odd years, written for a variety of academic and artist publications that display Moten’s ability to shift genre. Still, each of the books have, if not a particular focus, then something of a mood. Black and Blur concerns the status of creative life (especially visual and musical art) under capitalism. Stolen Life breathes force into the philosophy of subjectivity and acts as a sustained struggle with the kinds of philosophical questions that also animate a range of black thinkers. The Universal Machine offers a rigorous deconstruction of post-war phenomenological thought, pivoting around brilliant engagements with Emmanuel Levinas, Hannah Arendt, and Frantz Fanon. Taken together, the series amounts to a powerful argument for black study—as an analytic, an impetus, a mode, the collective shout from a radical vista, whose bellow requires nothing less than “passionate response” (Moten 2003).

    ***

    Primarily concerned with art, literature, music, performance, and the black radical tradition, Moten’s Black and Blur picks up where In the Break: The Aesthetics of the Black Radical (2003) left off. There are certainly some points of overlap—Cecil Taylor, Charles Mingus, Cedric Robinson and Immanuel Kant are important figures in both. But Black and Blur is not just a continuation, it’s also a corrective. Moten tells us at the outset that the essays collected in the entire series are an attempt to figure out what’s wrong with the opening sentence of In the Break: “the history of blackness is a testament to the fact that objects can and do resist.” That sentence, over which Moten claims to have suffered in the intervening fifteen or so years, should have read: “Performance is the resistance of the object. The history of blackness is a testament to the fact that objects can and do resist.”

    What exactly has changed here? Parsing the difference brings us back to the disagreement that Moten has staged with Afro-pessimism. Moten concedes that his original statement “blackness is x” submits to the claim that the study of blackness must necessarily move within the political-ontological field that has already defined blackness as objectivity. In the Afropessimist Frank Wilderson’s words, there is an unbridgeable gap between the ontological status of “the Human as an alienated and exploited subject” and of “Blacks as accumulated and fungible objects” (Wilderson 2010). This realist dichotomy necessarily undergirds any study or analysis of black life. Moten doesn’t totally disagree. He says that the “weight of anti-blackness upon the general project of black study” is also the very thing that animates and enables the “devotional practice” that he wants to put forth (BB, viii).

    Still, this is something more than devotional practice. Moten writes:

    to be committed to the anti- and ante- categorical predication of blackness—even as such engagement moves by way of what Mackey calls “an eruptive critique of predication’s rickety spin rewound as endowment,” even in order to seek the anticipatory changes that evade what Sadiya Hartman calls “the incompatible predications of the freed”—is to subordinate, by a measure so small that it constitutes measure’s eclipse, the critical analysis of anti-blackness to the celebratory analysis of blackness.” (B&B, viii, emphasis added).

    Herein lies the double movement of Moten’s (corrected) project. First he treats critically, and committedly, the way in which blackness is predicated through anti-blackness, but also turns (as Marx did Hegel) that construction on its head. What if, after Nathaniel Mackey, predication was spun back around, so that the ground of the political ontology that gives blackness through anti-blackness could be shifted? This inversion consists in subordinating Afro-pessimism (the critical analysis of anti-blackness), to Moten’s black optimism (the celebratory analysis of blackness). Celebration, then, means seeing how black art predicates. “Mobilized in predication,” Moten writes, “blackness mobilizes predication not only against but also before itself” (BB, viii). One need not begin with the ontological given of anti-blackness then, but see how blackness comes prior to the givenness, how it gives the given.

    Illustrating this ‘anoriginality’ by way of movement through black art, literature, and music propels the book forward. The opening chapter “Not-in-Between” is representative here, a kind of synecdoche that contains threads of the argument that are woven through the rest of the text. He moves through Patrice Lumumba, C. L. R James, and Cedric Robinson to outline nothing less than a new post-colonial philosophy of history. Moten takes James’s The Black Jacobins as a form of history-writing that theorizes its own limits by interweaving lyric with the official discourse of historical narrative. James’s lyricism marks the entry of a kind of black radical corrective to Hegelian historical struggle—a transfiguration of “dialect into dialectic.” Moten argues that James’s historico-radical writing is embodied in such “ancient and unprecedented phrasing,” which mark the impossibility of a “return to Africa that is not antifoundationalist but improvisatory of foundations” (BB, 13). Of course, Moten is describing his own combination of verse and prose here too, employing form to ask how one can tell a story without origins, without grounds (and without ontological predication).

    Unlike the other two books in consent not to be, Black and Blur consists of many short chapters, some of which were originally written as essays for artist monographs. It’s no coincidence that this is the book has already been taken up by the art world—understandably hungry for something different amidst the long reign of Adorno. Thankfully, Moten has a lot to offer by way of new theoretical horizons, and Adorno explicitly forms the antagonistic point of departure. In one chapter, Adorno’s dismissal of popular music as the functionalist “culinary” byproduct of capital is swallowed up by Moten’s analysis of two cultural products: “Ghetto Superstar” (1998), a single performed by Pras, ODB, and Mya, as well as an attendant novel co-written by Pras and kris ex. The book version contains a scene that mimics almost precisely Louis Althusser’s famous description of interpellation. The protagonist Diamond St. James recognizes an old security guard at his high-school, now community cop, but doesn’t allow himself to be ‘interpellated’ and gives the officer a fake number. In this refusal, Moten argues that Diamond is the “sentient, sounding object of a powerful gaze” and as such a prime example of what Moten has been interested in since In the Break: the “becoming-object of the object, this resistance of performance that is (black) performance.” (BB, 33).

    This celebration of the object’s resistance forms the basis of Moten’s disagreement with Adorno. Moten later contests Adorno’s distaste for the infiltration of cinematic qualities–repetition, syncopation, and sequence–into music with an appreciation of Glen Gould’s “montagic” performance an actor and pianist. Yet another chapter continues this line of thought, but this time in tandem with photographic representations of black female bodies. Here Moten takes issue with Adorno’s definition of music as the only ‘temporal’ art, aiming to show how the resistance of the photographic subject embodies the lapse of time through fugitivity. Summing up the thrust of both his debt and contest to Adorno’s aesthetics, Moten responds to Adorno’s famous distaste for jazz exclaiming: “How unfortunate for Adorno that the music one most loathes might best exemplify the fugitive impetus one most loves!” (BB, 85)

    After the first half of the book, a kind of breakdown occurs—signaling that the contestation with Adorno is over and we’ve moved (by measure’s eclipse) from the critique of anti-blackness into celebration. The pace runs a bit quicker, with a new numbering scheme that unites subsections through chapters, and formalizes the assembly-like character of the whole enterprise. Now come texts dealing more particularly with the artwork, music, and literature of contemporary figures: Theaster Gates, Thornton Dial, Adrian Piper, Oscar Zeta Acosta, Ben Hall, Rakim, and many others. This is where the party begins, and where Moten is dealing explicitly with what celebration means: “Celebration lets being-special go, but under an absolute duress” he writes. Moten argues that the artwork has no tendency towards redemption, promises no final salvation. Rather art’s worth lies in the permission it grants to cross oneself out, to activate and realize Marx’s living commodity in a way he never imagined—to be, or become, “a changing object called object changers” (BB, 222).

    Is this perhaps too optimistic, too crudely dialectical a view of what black art can do? Moten anticipates such contentions in the preface. Speaking to his (pessimistic) detractors, he writes:

    Some have been content to invoke the notion of the traumatic event and its repetition to preserve the appeal to the very idea of redress even after it is shown to be impossible. This is the aporia some might think I seek to fill by invoking black art. Jazz does not disappear the problem; it is the problem, and will not disappear. (BB, xii)

    Black & Blur is not about recovery, redress, and rejoicing. It is certainly not about ‘uplift’ (the idea is a focus of a chapter in Stolen Life). It is about dwelling in the aporia of slavery as a “philosophically-induced conundrum,” a problem that has been made so by unjustifiable “metaphysical and mechanical assumptions.” Blackness is a problem, Moten tells us, which derives not from “redress’s impossibility” as Afro-pessimists would have it, but rather from the obliteration of commonplace formulations, the overall inordinacy of thought’s self-expression. It is art’s task to illuminate that inordinacy; and it’s the duty of black study to celebrate its effort.

    ***

    Stolen Life takes thought’s limitation as its starting point. After Cedric Robinson’s definition of the black radical tradition as a contestation of Enlightenment, Moten moves through an interrogation of staid philosophical standards to unleash a “radical social imaginary” that flies in the face of traditional political theory. As he writes, wants to effect “the reversal of an all-but-canonical valorization of the political over the social” (SL, xii). Much of the book has to do then with sociality and learning, including an essay drawn from a letter to one of his classes. Another concerns the task of black study. Another powerfully asserts the role of the academy in the Boycott, Divestment, Sanctions movement.

    A rare low moment in the series occurs with Moten’s Derridean paean to Avital Ronell. Moten presents fragments of their near-misses and close calls; first as colleagues at Berkeley and, flashing-forward, today at New York University (where Ronell will, amid protest, resume her position this Fall). There is an explicit uneasiness thematized here, and one wonders toward what end, exactly? Moten notes that he’s “embarrassed” to be talking about himself when he should be writing about Ronell, but he’s “incapable of that separation” between him and her. Comparisons between Ronell and his mother abound, complete with Freudian slippages. “All that was just to say that I never have been and never will be either willing or able to separate myself from this paragraph,” Moten writes in close before quoting Ronell’s Telephone Book (SL, 239). Even disregarding the recent revelations of Ronell’s abuse of professorial power, there’s something unsavory here. Surely lots of Moten’s project has to do with the attempt to inject something like care into intellectual life – but at what cost? The essay serves as a reminder that Moten’s intervention takes place against the backdrop of systemic complicity and corruptions in academia; something can’t simply be addressed with “embarrassed” Derridean adoration, but with institutional safety and support that explicitly refuses charismatic models of intellectual intimacy.

    Nonetheless, the Ronell episode does not detract much from the main event. If Adorno was the primary target of Black & Blur, Moten is more occupied with Kant’s legacy here. Phantom-like, he also occupies Kant, moving within him to tease out his grittiest internal contradictions and limits, showing the breakage of the outside into his system of philosophical criticism. Moten speaks to the legacy of modern philosophy more generally, with its concomitant models of freedom, justice, knowledge, transcendental subjectivity, cosmopolitanism—the “metaphysical and mechanical presuppositions” whose overturning were prepared in Black and Blur. As he writes in the preface, blackness “anticipates and discomposes the harsh glare of clear-eyed (supposedly, impossibly) originary correction, where enlightenment and darkness, blindness and insight, hypervisibility, converge in the open obscurity of a field of study and a line of flight” (SL, x). Philosophical tradition can be neither corrected nor redeemed; but it can be probed to open out the lines of flight, forms of resistance, that emerge from the parallaxing gaze of black study.

    Moten richly thematizes this interplay in the remarkable first chapter “Knowledge of Freedom,” altered from an article originally published in 2004. Following the work of Winfried Menninghaus, he looks at how Kant’s definition of reason admits the existence of an irrational surplus; a notion of rational understanding that requires we “clip the wings” of imagination. According to Moten’s gloss, this sacrifice leads Menninghaus to identify a “politics of curtailment” and policing in Kant that shows how the latter also apprehends “the prior resistance (unruly sociality, anarchic syntax, extrasensical poetics) to that politics it calls into being” (SL, 2). Moten is interested in how Kant is playing himself. He writes:

    To engage Kant, our enemy and our friend, is to be held and liberated by the necessity of alternative frequencies, carrying signal and noise, that thinking blackness–which is what it is to be given to the reconstruction of imposition–imposes upon him as well. An already-given remix of the doctrinal enunciation of the end is amplified and he becomes our open instrument. (SL, 10)

    How does blackness put pressure on Kant, and how is that pressure self-imposed and presupposed by Kant himself? Sitting with Kant’s philosophy of race can release an alternate frequency of blackness that enables another possible definition of freedom, one that acts in resistance to critical regulation. There is, Moten proposes, a “radical sociality of the imagination” that acts as the spectral prelude to Kant’s carceral philosophy.

    By ventriloquizing a “black chant” through Kant, Moten puts forth a vision of what critical theorists might call immanent critique. As Titus Stahl has recently put it, this is the kind of critique that derives “the standards it employs from the object criticized,” an attractive tool of successive generations of Critical Theorists given that it does not need to theorize norms into existence. Thus, immanent critique does not imbue the theorist with the superpower of an Archimedean moral vantage point, but rather uses those immanent to society as a way to parcel out critical judgements (Stahl 2013). Moten writes, in echo: “all that intellectual descent neither opposes nor follows from dissent but, rather, gives it a chance.” We would do well to see the ways in which our inherited concepts give us the tools for dissension.

    Moten is, however, resistant to the ways in which critique has also been a vehicle for “sovereign regulation and constitutive correction.” As he writes in the preface, “certain critico-redemptive projects” are content to “submit to a poetics of condensation and displacement when blackness, which already was an was always moving and being moved, stakes its claim as normativity’s condition” (SL, x). In riposte to critical theory, and to Kantian criticism, Moten is asking us where normativity comes from, and if we should truly like to use it as a moral measure. As he states powerfully throughout the book and series, the very conditions for norms and values are predicated and figured through the thought of blackness as pathogen, generativity, irrationality and formlessness. The question then, is of seeing “how the generative breaks into the normative discourses that it found(ed)” (SL, xi), of seeing the escape, insurgency, and “irreducible sociality” of black life which both disrupts and gives the given paradigm.

    Moten sharpens this point by pitting himself against historicizing theorists like Bryan Wagner, who has looked at what blackness comes to mean against the backdrop of the law. Wagner has argued that blackness indicates a certain set of qualities that appear when looking at its juridical regulation. As with the appraisal of Afro-pessimist political ontology, Moten argues that there is a category mistake going on. “Being black in Wagner’s more self-contained Fanonian formulation is an anti- or non-subjective condition” that precludes one from having standing in the world system (SL, 24). According to Moten, Wagner et al. have forgotten what Heidegger called the ontological difference between Being and beings, or more precisely, what Chandler calls the paraonotological difference between blackness and black people. “Wagner writes,” Moten says, “from a position that many contemporary critics now occupy, a position structured by this presumed incapacity for ontological resistance.” Such a presumption, or assumption of rigidity, allows theorists to suspend the analysis of ontology and forego any inquiry into “the pressure that blackness puts on both ontology and relation” (SL, 24).

    To get at this pressure, Moten invokes Chandler’s paraontological difference to show that the actual standing (the “facticity”) of black people is not the same as the ways in which blackness is seen through the eyes of the state. “The history of blackness,” Moten writes, “can be traced to no such putatively, and paradoxically, originary critical or legal activity. (SL, 28). Following Frege and Mackey’s “eruptive critique of predication’s rickety spin rewound as endowment,” Moten suggests that there is instead something called blackness “that has, itself, in turn, been altered by that to which it refers”—a referent that exists before its naming, a primordial and shifting being – of displacement, generativity, and fugitivity (SL 23). Amid a long lineage of debates in black studies about the status about what kind of ‘thing’ blackness ‘is’, whether it is in Michelle Wright’s words “in the eyes of the beholder or the performer,” Chandler’s paraonotological difference permits both readings simultaneously (Wright 2015).

    Still, an unfathomable task remains; that of trying to imagine a phenomenology that moves beyond the relational polarity between self and other, subject and object, sovereign and citizen. These are the binaries that also organize political philosophy, and the ways in which we can possibly imagine ‘agents’ in the first place. Moten notes that the dismantling of such categories has been the focus of a number of thinkers, including Fanon and Merleau-Ponty, Agamben, and most recently Catherine Malabou. Malabou (along with others in the New Materialist vein) has sought to dethrone the concept sovereignty from political philosophy by collapsing the split between the “King’s two bodies,” between the material and transcendental. Yet as Moten persuasively argues, Malabou’s reliance on biology or neuroscience has also inadvertently allowed her theory of “plasticity” to reinscribe the brain as ‘sovereign’ over the body. Who gets to have a body in any case? Who are the ‘we’ who possess ourselves over and against our own bodies? Borrowing instead from Hortense Spiller’s distinction between the body and the flesh, Moten presents a notion of flesh-in-displacement, a kind of reinvigoration or reanimation of (a warily-) humanist materialism. Perhaps we don’t need new-fangled philosophical tools at all, but rather a phenomenology that could finally take seriously the so-called thing in itself that it claims to study.

    ***

    The Universal Machine sets the task of re-imagining post-war phenomenology. It is, in Moten’s words, a “monograph discomposed,” a (Deleuzian) “swarm” containing three essays on Levinas, Arendt and Fanon (UM, ix). In a lucent intervention into the history and legacy of twentieth-century philosophy, Moten returns to those thorny subjects and objects that had troubled him in Stolen Life, whittling phenomenology into an estranging shape rather than discarding it completely. Mobilizing an idea of swarm—an composite of ontology, phenomenology, and politics—Moten’s aim is then a semi-reparative one: “not so much antithetical to the rich set of variations of phenomenological regard; rather, it is phenomenology’s exhaust and exhaustion” (UM, ix).

    Moten gives exhaust provisional form. It is embodied by figures who have put forth a “dissident strain in modern phenomenology.” Edmund Husserl, he claims, is phenomenology’s exhaust, so too are Levinas, Arendt, and Fanon. That’s to say that their thinking takes place beyond subjectivity’s pale; they “operate under the shadow of a question concerning humanity that they cannot assume” (UM, xi). As with his critique of Kant’s legacy, Moten argues that phenomenology provides us with all the tools we need to think otherwise. It’s just a matter, after Deleuze’s explication, of exhausting the possible through the art of “the combinatorial” (Deleuze 1995).

    The opening chapter of the book takes flight from a remarkable epigraph. In an interview concerning his relation to Heidegger and the phenomenological tradition, Emmanuel Levinas remarks that “the Bible and the Greeks present the only serious issues in human life; everything else is dancing. I think these texts are open to the whole world. There is no racism intended” (UM, 1). In keeping with Deleuze’s combinatorial spirit, Moten considers the implications of this claim in several different directions. First, he asseses Levinas’s Eurocentric conception of the Other, which is tethered to Levinas’s tautological belief in the heritage of the Bible and the Greeks. Levinas’s famous face-to-face encounters, Moten writes, “are mediated by a highly circumscribed textual canon and by whatever force is deployed to open the world to the texts that he declares are open to the world.” (UM, 19).

    Moten further explores the consequences of Levinas’s “unintended racism” by looking at the very status of intention in phenomenology. Though phenomenology usually concerns the ‘intentionality’ of human consciousness towards an object – were are always conscious ‘of’ something, or have an experience ‘of’ something – Moten argues that racism resides precisely in a “fundamental unintendeness,” or the failure of phenomenology to attend to the humanity of things (UM, 17). Moten’s injunction to ‘return to the thing’ thereby draws upon other recent attempts to overcome a supposedly recalcitrant Cartesian dualism, especially among theorists working on the proximity between human and animal life like Giorgio Agamben and Eric Santner.

    Yet Moten objects to what Santner has conceptualized as “creaturely life”:

    If Agamben and Santner are right to suggest an interplay, at the border, between inside and outside, then perhaps it would be, as it were more right to consider that the internal and the external presuppose one another within the general field—or, if you will, the borderless surround, the common underground–of the out from outside. My point is the necessity of imagining a productive difference, a political differing, a differential city or city-ing, that is irreducible to the distinction between friend and enemy. (UM, 41)

    Santner, pace Agamben and Heidegger, views the creaturely as the “threshold” at which point life takes on a biopolitical intensity. Moten, in contrast, wants to “identify not with the creaturely life but the stolen life of imagining things” (UM, 57). Moten’s identification permits a different vision; not of a life animated by its entrance into ‘the political,’ but a life that refuses being called into being by a sovereign power. “There is,” he writes, “an insistent previousness that evades the natal occasion of the state’s interpellative call” (UM, 44). In rehearsal of his general dissatisfaction with political ontology, Moten is interested, he clarifies, in “what there is before the throw, before the call” (UM, 34), and demonstrates that this prior refusal  is thinkable by engaging with the black radical tradition, conspicuously absent from Agamben’s corpus.

    By way of Moten’s discussion of natality, the space of the political, friends and enemies, we also move, necessarily, towards Hannah Arendt. The second chapter presents a vision of her blurred beyond recognition. Building on recent work concerning the force of racism in Arendt’s thought, Moten’s criticism of Arendt is roughly organized through two sets of letters written by her. The first is to Mary McCarthy, in which Arendt privately bemoans the threat posed when “Negros demand their own curriculum without the exacting standards of white society” (UM, 72, letter quoted in Young-Bruehl 2004). This sentiment was also given public form in Arendt’s 1959 essay “Reflections on Little Rock,” which she opens by discussing the famous image of Elizabeth Eckford on her way to school. Arendt writes (and Moten claims we ought to speak of her in the present tense given her hold on American intellectual and political life today), “Under no circumstances would I expose my child to conditions which made it appear as though it wanted to push its way into a group where it was not wanted” (UM, 75).

    Moten discusses Eckford’s performance in relation to a performance piece by artist Adrian Piper in 1970, in which she entered famed art bar Max’s Kansas City, letting herself be absorbed into the environment as a “silent, secret, passive object” (Piper quoted in UM, 81), Moten shows that Arendt is incapable of thinking the transformative capacity of dwelling, as Piper does, in a “sly alterity.” What Arendt opposes, and refuses to see, in short, is black study. This was made explicit in On Violence when she expressed a distaste for so-called “soul courses.” But, as Moten argues, this is not just a curricular dispute. Arendt’s opposition is also connected to the ways in which she valorizes and emblematizes a certain kind of intelligence. She insists being intelligent is a moral matter—as she famously said, we have to “think what we are doing.”

    This insistence, Moten claims, is connected to yet another: Arendt’s dogged belief that there is something called “politics” that it needs to be thought of in particular ways. A letter written to James Baldwin, in the aftermath of the publication of his “Down at the Cross: Letter from a Region in My Mind” in the 1960s illustrates this. Despite calling his essay a “political event of a very high order,” Arendt claims that Baldwin’s faith in love is misplaced— “in politics,” she writes, “love is a stranger” (UM, 84). Love is not a political concept, Arendt argues. Moten retorts: Baldwin was not a political theorist.

    By this point, we are unsure if something called politics can possibly exist, a practice and ritual that would be unthinkable without the presupposition of the modern liberal paradigm. As Moten asks, can political theory ever be severed from Kantian categories—from a critical, critically-delimited notion of what reason itself can do aside from ‘putting itself on trial’? What if our frameworks for interpretation are presumptive beyond repair? The breakdown of all of these questions resounds in a powerful denouement. Moten shifts from the Arendtian polis to the undercommon social realm, by way of a formal innovation that he sometimes calls aesthetic/poetic sociology, or social poetics. It is a turn towards appreciating and celebrating the activities which occur at the “underbreath” of the polis, activities that threaten the “normative order the city can be said to have agreed upon” (UM, 103).  It is a science (or art?) of looking at relations of nonrelationality.

    I’m wary, at moments, that Moten’s aesthetic-sociological backdoor depends upon the strawman of a totalizing ‘political sphere’ as its counterimage, presented here in terms of rhetorical reliance upon, or a willful caricature of, Arendt as its systematic theorist. This leaves Moten to the simple task of transvaluating the values, flipping Arendt’s hatred of sociality into the non-normativity we should celebrate. (If we want to do away with political ontology, let’s do away too with the idea of an ontological polis!) We are perhaps left to wonder if this approaches a dichotomous political order, achieved in a similar if anterior way to the political ontological equilibrium of Afro-pessimistic realism. If phenomenology is the thing to be revived here, the relation between law and lawlessness, polis and undercommon, could stand to be a bit more dialectical. Does Moten’s thought have room for Geist, or has he rejected a speculative moment in favor of reflection, or perhaps what he calls celebration—the (non-relational) movement, as Hegel described it, from nothing to nothing?

    In his embrace of sociology, Moten’s enters into a tradition stretching from Simmel, through Lukács, Adorno, and Habermas, that, as Gillian Rose has pointed out, is haunted by a problematic Kantian-esque construal of ‘the social’ as a value (Wert) in and for itself. By focusing instead on the production of subjective meanings that re-present  actuality, sociology (aesthetic, Marxist or otherwise) suppresses the capacity to present actuality; lacking a concept of material contradictions (in law, media, or property relations), it forecloses upon the possibility of conceiving transformative social activity (see Rose 1981).

    Moten seems mostly to sense the threat of a non-transfromative sociological pitfall, particularly in the final chapter of the book on Frantz Fanon. In contradistinction to Fanon’s “sociogeny,” the phenomenological tracing of development through social factors, Moten claims his “sociology” (taking after Du Bois) is explicitly about the “sociopoetic cognizance of the real presence of the people in and at their making, where that retrospective ascription of absence that Fanon’s inhabitation of the problematic of damnation…is given in and to a lyrical, analytic poetics of the process of revolutionary transubstantiation” (UM, 228). Sociology as analytic poetics, rather than social analysis full-stop, would seem somewhat to resolve Rose’s concerns about transformative (or transubstantive) activity, but perhaps by falling back on an aestheticized notion of political process (which has a problematic history of its own).

    Moten’s discussion of Fanon here is a lightly amended version of his 2013 essay on Afro-pessimism. It groups together the most urgent concerns in the book, if not the series on the whole: the interrelation of ontology, (stolen) social life, and the resistance of the object. Beginning with Fanon’s project of “narrating the history of his own becoming-object,” Moten argues that Fanon disturbs the Heideggerian distinction between das Ding and Dasein. Moten, however, is “most interested in” the beings that are always escaping the ontological binary, who unsettle the very possibility of being accounted for. Moten, in other words, wants to argue for that the problem of the inadequacy of ontology to blackness is actually a problem about the inadequacy of “already given ontologies” (UM, 150). The lived, ontic, social life of blackness is, Moten argues, in constant demand for a different way of articulating being that lives in the impossibility of origins.

    Moten’s capacious thinking in this final volume of his series—about foundations, origins, “the political,” Schmittian residues, the impossibility of political theory, and Heidegger’s legacy—also dovetails with recent trends in contemporary European political thought that I mentioned at the beginning of this essay. By way of conclusion, I consider how cntbsb provides powerful critique of some of those tendencies.

    ***

    Despite the flurry of interest, there has been little consensus about what political ontology stands for. Its usage remains broad, having been applied to thinkers like Judith Butler and Charles Taylor alike; it can also appear in ‘strong’ or ‘weak’ forms depending on who you’re looking at. In an attempt to weld together some common traits, Marchart has argued that political ontology, at a metaphilosophical level, inquires after the “fundamental ontological presuppositions that inform political research and theory” (Marchart 2018). It appears, more particularly, when thinkers claim that politics has a structural analogy with Heidegger’s “ontological difference” between Being and beings (Sein and Seinendem).

    Pace Carl Schmitt, thinkers like Jean-Luc Nancy, Alain Badiou, Ernesto Laclau, and Giorgio Agamben argue that there is a difference between ‘the political’ and ‘politics’ (le politique/une politique, das Politische/die Politik). Like Heidegger’s Sein, ‘the political’ is what is ineluctably given; it is marked by conflict, exclusion, or better yet by “antagonism” (the term Marchart prefers). Thus, any action against the given or ‘the political’, thinking included, constitutes a political intervention, and constitutes a political subject. In this regard, political ontology emphasizes the latent political nature of every social being.

    In compendiums on political ontology, or in the work of theorists they describe, there has been no mention of a similar turn to political ontology in black studies, and its critical function in Afro-pessimism. When political ontology is said to have any relevance to ‘ontic’ matters it is usually, following Heidegger, linked ecological concerns only. How one can think antagonism without centering that concept around an analysis of race, gender, or class is a question that proponents of political ontology have yet to satisfyingly answer, and maybe one that they don’t want to get tied up in at all. One of the self-proclaimed advantages of political ontology is, apparently, that it can transcend the “relativism” and “identity politics” that have taken hold of leftist imaginary in recent years (Strathausen 2009).

    Excepting its distaste for the ontic, Moten’s intervention illuminates yet another reason that we might want to be skeptical of political ontology. If Marchart is concerned with the ontological presuppositions that undergird political theory, Moten is concerned with the inverse. How does political theory, or ‘politics’, as a mode of thought concerned with regulating difference, antagonism, the production of an Other, give ontology its grounding? To re-appropriate Heidegger, how is ontology occasioned by a phenomenological refusal to understand Black being? If ontology cannot but move from its denial of world, perhaps its absorption into politics does nothing more than preserve the “officially assumed position.”

    This is not to fully discount political ontology in either its continental or Afro-pessimisitic iterations. From Moten’s perspective, there is at least value there as a descriptive framework, as a way of illuminating projects of emancipation that fly by the official eye. But, must political theory – understood properly as: “the remains of hope” – be content to simply interpret the world? Political ontology stalls within the realm metatheoretical description, securing itself as tantamount to an emancipatory opening. Moten offers, on the other hand, a necessarily partial, unfinished conception of theory that can only be met on another side by aesthetics, by poetry, by praxis. For Moten, Marx’s old distinction between interpretation and change remains at play; political ontology clings glibly onto one side of the phrase.

     

    Mimi Howard is a PhD candidate in Politics at the University of Cambridge, writing a dissertation on method and critique in 20th-century German political philosophy.

    Acknowledgements

    To our Lesekreis “Rehearsal” (Berlin), and to Merve Fejzula for her insightful thoughts and edits.

     

    Works Cited (aside from reviewed work)

    Agamben, Giorgio. 2017. The Omnibus Homo Sacer. Stanford: Stanford University Press.

    Deleuze, Gilles and Felix Guattari. 2009. “Capitalism: A Very Special Delirum.” In Chasosophy ed. Sylvere Lotringer. New York: Semiotexte.

    ———. “The Exhausted.” 1995. Trans. Anthony Uhlmann. SubStance 24. 3: 3-28.

    Chandler, Nahum Dimitri. 2000. “Originary Displacement.” boundary 2 27.3: 249-286.

    Fanon, Frantz. 1986. Black Skin, White Masks. Trans. Charles Lam Markmann. London: Pluto Press.

    Heidegger, Martin. 1971. “…Poetically Man Dwells…” in Poetry, Language, Thought, trans. Albert Hofstadter. New York: Harper & Row.

    ———. 1987. Zur Bestimmung der Philosophie: Gesamtausgabe 56/57. Frankfurt am Main: Vittorio Klostermann.

    Marchart, Olivier. 2018. Thinking Antagonism: Political Ontology after Laclau. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press.

    ———. and  Mihaela Mihai, Lois McNay, Aletta Norval, Vassilios Paipais, Sergei Prozorov, Mathias Thaler. 2017. “Democracy, critique and the ontological turn,” Contemporary Political Theory 16.4: 501-531.

    Moten, Fred and Charles Henry Rowell. 2004. “’Words don’t go there’: An Interview with Fred Moten,” Callaloo 27.4: 954-966.

    ———. 2013a. “Blackness and Nothingness (Mysticism in the Flesh),” The South Atlantic Quarterly 112.4:  737–80.

    ———. and Stefano Harney. 2013b. The Undercommons: Fugitive Planning and Black Study. Brooklyn: Autonomedia.

    Rose, Gillian. Hegel contra Sociology. 1981. London: Athlone.

    Saar, Martin. 2012. “What is Political Ontology?” Krisis 1: 79-83.

    Stahl, Titus. 2013. Immanente Kritik. Elemente einer Theorie sozialer Praktiken. Frankfurt am Main: Campus Verlag.

    Strathausen, Carsten ed. 2009. A Leftist Ontology: Beyond Relativism and Identity Politics. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press.

    Taylor, Paul C. 2013. “Bare Ontology and Social Death.” Philosophical Papers 42.3: 369-389.

    Wilderson, Frank B. 2010. Red, White and Black. Durham & London: Duke University Press.

    Wright, Michelle W. 2015. Physics of Blackness: Beyond the Middle Passage. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press.

    [1] “In the end, that’s probably all my writing is—dropping names and droppin’ things, like Betty Carter.” In Charles Henry Rowell and Fred Moten, “’Words don’t go there’: An Interview with Fred Moten,” Callaloo 27.4 (2004), 954-966.

  • Jonathan Ratcliffe — Rebooting the Leviathan: NRx and the Millennium

    Jonathan Ratcliffe — Rebooting the Leviathan: NRx and the Millennium

    Jonathan Ratcliffe

    This essay has been peer-reviewed by “The New Extremism” special issue editors (Adrienne Massanari and David Golumbia), and the b2o: An Online Journal editorial board.

    Recently something rather unexpected happened. Curtis Yarvin began writing again. A decade ago, back in the spotty youth of the internet when blogs meant something, Yarvin, a Silicon Valley computer programmer, made a cult name for himself under the nom de plume of reactionary political philosopher Mencius Moldbug. Often memed, frequently cited as an important ancestor of the “alt-right” (but largely left unread) and father of the online political movement known as NRx/neo-reaction (which has been declared dead endlessly since at least 2013), Moldbug may well be the only notable political philosopher wholly created by and disseminated through the internet.

    In his journey from Austrian Economics to attempting to update early modern absolute monarchy for the information age, Yarvin regularly churned out tens of thousands of word screeds on his blog Unqualified Reservations (UR) about the need to privatise the state and hand it over to an efficient CEO monarch to keep progressives out, the Christian roots of progressivism, and encomia to nineteenth century Romantic Thomas Carlyle. All of this was so liberally coated in rhetorical irony and Carlylean bombast that it was often difficult to tell what was supposed to be serious and what was not. Moldbug was among the first to discover the power of reactionary post-irony, though these days of course, playing long-read rhetorical games to affect ideological change seems a rather primitive affair. The work of post-irony can now be compressed into a couple of memes very easily.

    Between 2007 and 2010 Moldbug was immensely prolific. Thereafter UR petered off as Yarvin turned his efforts increasingly towards developing a blockchain-based data-storage scheme called Urbit.[1] By 2014, when Moldbug began to become a household name across the internet as the social media platforms were increasingly politicised, Moldbug was pretty much finished writing. In April 2016 UR was wrapped up with a “Coda” declaring that it had “fulfilled its purpose.” The same month attendees threatened to withdraw from the LambdaConf computing conference because the “proslavery” Yarvin would be speaking at it (Towsend 2016).[2] To this Yarvin (2016a) wrote a reply insisting on the innocence of his Moldbuggian stage as simply a matter of curiosity about ideology. The same year in an open Q&A session about Urbit on Reddit, Yarvin (2016b) was more than happy to answer some questions about Moldbug and defend both projects as parts of a dual mission to democratise the current monopolies controlling the internet and to dedemocratise politics for the sake of enlightened monopoly.

    In early 2017, following Trump’s election, rumours began to circulate that Yarvin was in communication with Steve Bannon, though nothing came of this (Matthews 2017b). Around the same time Yarvin was quoted as supporting single-payer healthcare (Matthews 2017a). News also surfaced that Yarvin was on a list of people to be thrown off Google’s premises, should he ever make a visit (Atavisionary 2018). Then, early in 2019, Yarvin (2019a) quit Urbit after seventeen years on the project, causing some to wonder whether Moldbug might now make a return. Old rumours also began to get about the place that Yarvin was behind Nietzschean Twitter reactionary Bronze Age Pervert (BAP), especially after Yarvin passed a copy of BAP’s book Bronze Age Mindset to Trumpist intellectual Michael Anton (2019) with the insistence that this was what “the kids” are into these days. And now Yarvin has started publishing again, under his own name, a decade on from the salad days of UR. On the 27th of September 2019 the first of a five-part essay for the conservative Claremont Institute’s The American Mind landed, titled “The Clear Pill.”

    If Moldbug/Yarvin is famous for one thing, it is that he’s the fellow who put the symbol of the “red pill” into reactionary discourse. The “Clear Pill” promises to be a reset of ideology in which progressivism, constitutionalism and fascism will each receive an “intervention” through their own language and values to show up how “ineffectual” each is (Yarvin 2019b). Thus far this “clear pill” sounds all rather typically Moldbuggian–for Yarvin it has always been about resetting the state and the rhetoric of undoing brainwashing. Anyone passingly familiar with the oeuvre of Moldbug knows that Yarvin is more than capable of speaking all three of these political dialects reasonably well, even if, as Elizabeth Sandifer (2017) astutely notes, Moldbug is so deep in neoliberal TINA, he is unable to take Marxism seriously as a contemporary opponent at all. For Moldbug the American liberal pursuit of equality was always more “communist” than the USSR, which is to say, paranoid reactionary hyperbole aside, that he only ever regarded Marxism as an early phase of progressivism.

    And yet, six months on from the first part of the “Clear Pill”, only a second of the promised five parts has thus far been published. Part two (Yarvin 2019c), or “A Theory of Pervasive Error” appeared on the 25th of November, and, so one might surmise, even the most die-hard Moldbug-fans must have found it somewhat lacking. The initial purpose of the piece seems to be to outline a theory of human desire that utilises the Platonic language of thymos (courageous spirit), but ends up sounding far closer to a Neo-Darwinian Hobbes than anything else. Human beings are petty and selfish beasts, we are encouraged to believe. The essay meanders on until it finally arrives at the simple old Moldbuggian point that because liberal “experts” in governance and science have a touted monopoly on truth, they should not automatically be trusted. That’s it. By taking such the long way around to say something so simple and banal, the result is more than a little anticlimactic. Perhaps after all these years the bounce has gone out of Yarvin’s bungy; his lemonade has gone flat.

    The only other piece to appear on The American Mind from Yarvin since “A Theory of Pervasive Error” has not been part of this “Clear Pill” series, but a stand-alone essay published on the 1st of February 2020 titled “The Missionary Virus”. In this Yarvin argues that the recent coronavirus pandemic offers an unparallel opportunity to dismantle American “internationalism” and reboot a politically and culturally multi-polar world while economic globalisation continues. Imagine, Yarvin asks the reader, what it would be like if the virus did not go away and the travel bans lasted not a month, but a decade, or centuries. One thing can be said about this essay that cannot be said of the “Clear Pill” so far – at very least it is entertaining. Perhaps parts three to five of the “Clear Pill” will actually say something interesting after all.

    Indeed there are all sorts of questions that are still left unanswered. Will the crescendo of part five simply restate the need to privatise governance and let the market system work? Will Yarvin take some drastic new turn or even disown Moldbug? Will he finally acknowledge eccentric death-cultist Nick Land, who, for the best part of this decade has largely been the “king” of NRx as a political ideology? We must wait and see.

    ***

    Obviously, a great many people of all manner of political bents will be lining up to release their takes on the “Clear Pill” when it is finally done and dusted. I most certainly will be among them because, sad to say, I’ve been trying to work out Moldbug/Yarvin for years now. It’s very easy to brush him off as something archaic and nasty and even structurally predictable–a little racist ghoul who wants a CEO emperor–a desublimation of the Silicon Valley unconscious, a monstrous giving the game away about the fears and imperial pretensions of our techno-optimist masters. On this account Moldbug is very, very important indeed. Ten years ago, for Moldbug the solution was as simple as handing over California to Steve Jobs to run as a business, because Steve Jobs is very good at solving problems. The Moldbuggian wedge (esp. 2008a) was the belief that in the US, the two elite groups are “Brahmin” progressive intellectuals (who are bad) and the pragmatic businessmen (who are good), which is bizarrely very close to the recent terminology (but not ideology) of Thomas Piketty’s research (2018) on American and European elites in the Post-War Period.

    Nevertheless, today the remnants of Moldbuggery as an ideology seem to spend their time bemoaning “woke capital”–that those with the talents and power to make something like Moldbug’s “patchwork” of privatised city states come true all seem to be believers in the various progressive gender and racial talking points of the present. But here’s the thing–Moldbug was never one to spend his time huffing and puffing about gender politics like just so many of his tradcath monarchist and other old school reactionary fans do, who somehow seem to imagine him as some new Joseph de Maistre. In spite of his night terrors about ghetto warlords and migrant invasion (see: Moldbug 2007d, 2008a), Moldbug/Yarvin always made efforts to appeal to “open-minded progressives”–there will always be room in the “patchwork” for dope and death metal (2008c); a privatised California’s welfare system of dividends would be so good it’d give the sick bionic wings (2008b: 99); prison in the future will be replaced by being put to sleep forever in VR (2009e); the American Empire sucks because it pretends that the world is made of independent countries, but rather than improving things, it keeps them as quashed clients and puppets (esp. 2008b).

    But what if Moldbug always-already was “woke capital?” As I have written at length elsewhere (Ratcliffe 2018a, 2018b), the godawful possibility is that Mencius Moldbug was a kind of political basilisk that once thought, cannot be unthought–that he is a left liberal arriving from a cursed future, the obscene image of the juggernaut of hyper-capital with a human face haphazardly sutured to the front of it, like one of those awful homemade Thomas the Tank animations one finds at the bottom of YouTube at three in the morning. Although she doesn’t mention Moldbug, Vicky Osterweil’s diagnosis of a Silicon Valley liberal “left fascism” decidedly hits the nail on the head concerning certain aspirations of Amazon and friends to buy up whole towns and to remake the globe:

    Rather than invoke Herrenvolk principles and citizenship based on blood and soil, these left fascists will build nations of “choice” built around brand loyalty and service use. Rather than citizens, there will be customers and consumers, CEOs and boards instead of presidents and congresses, terms of service instead of social contracts. Workers will be policed by privatized paramilitaries and live in company towns. This is, in fact, how much of early colonialism worked, with its chartered joint-stock companies running plantation microstates on opposite sides of the world. Instead of the crown, however, there will be the global market: no empire, just capital. (Osterweil 2017)

    Does this not sound so terribly Moldbuggian that it makes the skin itch? Against this sort of thing what is needed is a healthy combination of strong local communities committed to telling Google and Amazon to shove it–or whatever else it is that might succeed them–matched with commitments by governments to break up these companies and prevent private police forces. Even better would of course be nationalisation of these companies and handing them over to worker-control. Nonetheless, the dismal old Guild Socialist localist in me finds contemporary dreams of simply nationalising the miserable and soulless infrastructure of our present, such as we find in recent texts like The People’s Republic of Walmart (Phillips and Rozworski 2019), not only supremely vulgarian, but at present as unlikely as the possibility that the neo-reactionaries will ever get their future of a consciously reactionary world governed by Megacorps.

    For now, at least, we’re all stuck with the political and corporate monopolies we let happen–none of us can “head for the exit,” not even the Zuck. We’re all locked in the same room together. Leviathan is not going to be letting anyone’s people go, not for all the hyperstitional meme magic of a couple of cut-price Twitter occultists thinking that NRx v.2.0 is simply supporting all secession movements and waiting for a rich papa to make the private state a reality. Liberalism is a jealous “Mortalle God,” as its primordial violent father Thomas Hobbes would say. As we will see later, Hobbes remains the most important figure for understanding NRx, its “woke” corpocratic mirrored other, and liberalism in general.

    The possibility of the “left fascist” Moldbug draws out attention to the oft-overlooked fact that there was more than one Moldbugpolitik outlined on UR over the years. I think I’ve managed to isolate at least three strains thus far. Moldbug 1 is the Moldbug we’ve been talking about. This is the “neocameralist” of the 2008 “Open Letter to Open-Minded Progressives” who is simply trying to make anarcho-capitalist Hans Hermann Hoppe’s “patchwork” of private states sound cooler by adding some extra monarchy aesthetics and criticism of the American Empire (Moldbug 2008b). This is the Moldbug from which (with an added injection of race and IQ sorcery and the removal of Carlyle in favour of Malthus) Nick Land builds his variant of NRx. You have ideology as a parasitic virus, the powerlessness of populist reaction, open borders chaos, shiny futuristic city states. While this Moldbug might on the surface look like he is all about the sovereign One–the single absolute ruler–the “king” is of course simply someone hired by a body of shareholders to get their city to make money. If the mediaeval Christian monarch had “two bodies”–one mortal and the other his immortal perpetuation down the generations–then the immortal body of the Moldbuggian CEO is that of the corporate personhood of the joint stock company behind the scenes. You may go to sleep for hundreds of years, but when you wake up Wayland-Yutani will still be there.

    Moldbug 2, from the “Gentle Introduction,” on the other hand, is the Moldbug (2009d) of what its section 9d calls “The Plinth”: an unabashed attempt to theorise a vanguard party like Hitler’s or Lenin’s with cells everywhere and then simply taking over government. This is the “populist” Moldbug that Nick Land doesn’t want you to know about, though some of the more “trad” reactionaries have been interested in it, as I have discussed in the past on my Mechanical Owl blog (Ratcliffe 2018a, 2018b). Moldbug 2 is a total departure from Moldbug 1 because the earlier version seemed so adamantly convinced that popular reaction in America is instantly crushed by the liberal media: it is “a mile wide and an inch thick … like taking on the Death Star with a laser pointer” (2008b, 116). One wonders what Moldbug 2 thinks of Trumpism and its effectiveness thus far.

    Then we come to Moldbug 3. This is a strange theocratic Moldbug (2013) we find in a single late post on UR, in which he praises the political coherence and mass appeal that Christian reactionaries in the US such as Lawrence Auster sometimes seem to possess. We are told by Moldbug that because of this it is highly likely that “when our dark age ends and the kings return, if ever, it will be under any banner but the Cross,” which of course the tradcaths have endlessly cut and pasted across the internet without context. What is most interesting about Moldbug 3 is that Moldbug/Yarvin is an avowed atheist “secular humanist.” In the post in question he even writes about telling his daughter that God is just Santa for grown-ups. It is, however, not so uncommon to find atheist reactionaries who believe that Christianity has an important utility as a “social technology”–whether for supporting patriarchy, keeping Islam at bay or providing a collective myth that can be used to bolster nationalism.

    Nonetheless, this Moldbug 3 stands in stark contrast to the main Moldbuggian discourse we find in the 2007-8 Moldbug 1 in which Christianity is found historically to be the root behind “progressivism.” Moldbug 1 (2008b, 58 & 104-7) is especially fond of colourful language about American political history as “creeping Calvinism,” “Quaker thuggery” and “applied Christianity” concerning the pursuit of equality and universalism. This is perhaps why I keep coming back to Moldbug and giving him the time of day. Moldbug 1’s only truly remarkable idea was his grand narrative about millenarianism and modern liberal politics. Millenarianism is the idea of the imminent (and immanent) arrival of a “Third Age” of Christianity in which the world becomes a realm of plenty and universal equality after the old order is scoured from the Earth by the Apocalypse. As Revelation 21:4 promises: “And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away.” As we will see below, such notions have had a profound formative effect on the progress narratives of modernity.

    Moldbug 1 avidly believed that progressivism is the mainstream American political tradition, a “W-Force” child of Calvinist and Quaker universalism that developed through the seventeenth century British Whigs. In a very early blog entry entitled “Universalism: Post-War Progressivism as a Christian Sect” Moldbug claims:

    Universalists, as descendants of Calvin’s postmillenial eschatology, are in the business of building God’s kingdom on Earth. (The original postmillennialists believed that once this kingdom was built, Christ would return–a theological spandrel long since discarded.) The city-on-a-hill vision is a continuous tradition from John Winthrop to Barack Obama. In Britain, the closely-related Evangelical movement used the term “New Jerusalem,” which I’m afraid never really made it across the pond, but expresses the vision perhaps best of all… What’s really impressive about Universalism is the way in which this messianic teenage fantasy power-trip has attracted, and continues to attract, so many people who don’t believe at all in the spirit world, only smoke weed on the weekends, and think of themselves as sensible and down-to-earth. Of course, the belief that all Universalist ideals can be justified by reason alone is a necessary condition. But Christian apologists have been deriving Christianity from pure reason since St. Augustine. You’d think these supposedly-skeptical thinkers would be a little more skeptical. (Moldbug 2007a)

    Moldbuggian rhetoric aside, it is difficult to find anything shocking about the millenarian ancestry of progressive thought. But then again it is not 2007 and thankfully our collective social neck is not quite as gormlessly bearded as it once was. I think it is a dashed good thing indeed that there is a long history of marvellous radical Christians like the Baroque Levellers and Diggers of the Civil War who “turned the world upside down” (Hill 1991), the Anabaptists of Thomas Müntzer who called for the princes to be killed (Cohn 1962), and even earlier, mediaevals like John Ball, who famously asked during the Peasant’s Revolt “When Adam delved and Eve span, who then was a Gentleman?” One cannot do nigh on two millennia of something and not have it rub off in a myriad of strange ways, even if the End always seems to defer and remain not yet. America especially is no exception to this.

    As Jonathan Kirsch (2006, 185) in his astounding History of the End of the World pertinently puts it, America is the land of two millenarian “tectonic plates” that developed out of the radical protestant belief that the New World was where the New Israel would be built. The first plate, that of aspirations towards theocratic “dominionism” and purchasers of rapture insurance is the obvious one and remains primordial. The other, however, increasingly secularised from the 17th century under the belief that America was the exceptionalist future land of techno-commercial and social progress. The “two plates” give us all the worst parts of Moldbug 3 and Moldbug 1, the theocrat often predictably accompanied by the vilest forms of prosperity theology and racism and so too the Silicon Valley techno-optimist. But this weird mutant geology also gives us the only force Moldbug could really be scared of, the ghost of a radical “applied Christianity.” The gap between Moldbug 1 and Moldbug 3 must be drawn out in consideration of hidden theological core of NRx itself. So too will I suggest that to attempt to recuperate and come to love the Moldbuggian accusation of “Quaker thuggery” might be a very useful idea indeed.

    ***

    There is nothing odd at all about the notion that a great deal of modern values are secularised theological ones. Nearly a century ago now Max Weber (1976) and R. H. Tawney (1948) famously had a great deal of insightful things to say about Anglo-American Calvinism, the protestant work ethic, and the spirit of capital. Moldbug, curiously, mentions Weber only once to my knowledge, concerning the ruler and “charisma” (Moldbug 2009a), yet somehow manages to avoid having to talk about the theological ancestry of his own very American arch-capitalist belief system. For that matter, he never says anything about one of the most frequently-cited (but generally rather shallowly analysed) heroes of monarchist reactionaries, Carl Schmitt.[3] In the 1920s Schmitt (2005) launched the field of juridical genealogical investigation called “political theology” that declared that the modern secular ruler is modelled on the voluntarist God of Ockham who acts with trans-rational potentia absoluta (absolute power) to create a miraculous “state of exception” during emergencies.

    Through leftist thinkers such as Giorgio Agamben (esp. 2011) and Roberto Esposito (2015) “political theology” has undergone a revival in recent years, exploring the political-theological genealogies of subjects such as neoliberal economism, personhood, human rights, ownership, victim-blaming and imperialism. So too from Ernst Bloch (2000) and Walter Benjamin (1940) to Slavoj Žižek (with Gunjevic 2012) there has long been a recognition of the Jewish and Christian apocalyptic and universalist roots of Marxism. From the more conservative side, not only Schmitt, but Oswald Spengler (1926) in his discourse on “Faust” and “Gothic Christianity,” Eric Voegelin (2000a) on “Gnosticism,” and Carl Löwith (1949) too, all had a great number of valuable things to say about the history of secularisation and the pursuit of the millennium. Thus, when NRx torchbearer Nick Land claimed in a 2017 interview for reactionary podcast Red Ice Radio that “hardly anyone, still, has really begun to dig down into [the destiny of Western Christianity’s] contemporary relevance” concerning leftist universalisms (Land and Palmgren 2017, 27m.20s-28m.10s), it is hard to think how Land could be any more incorrect if he tried.

    But from where did Moldbug get his “creeping Calvinism” thesis? I have often wondered if it was from Eric Voegelin, who occasionally garners a passing mention or two in American “paleocon” circles. Voegelin (2000b, 71-2 & 185-7) argued that in the Anglosphere something very strange had happened after the Reformation, a “Second Reformation” in which the newer branches of Protestantism, such as Wesleyanism and Methodism, had been instrumental in the push towards democratisation through their belief in social equality and community participation. This, so Voegelin believed, had immunised the Anglosphere against the worst of Fascism, Communism and Positivism compared with continental Europe. Voegelin (2000b, 61-2), however, was also very much aware of the less savoury aspects of this “Second Reformation.” The idea of building a totalising community of elect believers could end up in the sort of paranoid pressure cooker epitomised by Calvinist Geneva, or many of the other “perfectionist” efforts that we find in early America attempting to build the New Israel. It is a startling idea indeed to ponder whether the American reactionary religious commune and the experimental hippie commune might be two sides of the same coin of “election.” Even stranger would be to wonder if the inverse of the language of theocratic “dominionism” is that of egalitarian social justice.

    Nonetheless, the only mention Yarvin has ever made of Voegelin was during his apologia of Moldbug in relation to the LambdaConf scandal (2016a). Here Voegelin is invoked in relation to his thesis that the variety of Christian thought that has informed so many of modernity’s “political religions” is Gnostic–that is, it makes a claim to totalising knowledge of reality and its manipulability in order to replace God with its own unshakeable race of supermen as the agents of history. To Voegelin in order to produce his total system, the Gnostic, whether Positivist, Fascist, Marxist or Liberal, must forbid the asking of questions about doctrine and must selectively forget extremely obvious problems that could get in the way of remaking the world. As Yarvin (2016a) quotes him:

    In the Gnostic dream world…non-recognition of reality is the first principle. As a consequence, types of action that would be considered as morally insane because of the effects that they will have will be considered moral in the dream world. (Voegelin 2000a, 226)

    Voegelin continues that the gap between the real and the desired world is then used to project the immorality onto some other for not behaving in accordance with the thinker’s personal fantasies. Yarvin (2016a) utilises this to claim that what he finds real may seem like a daydream to others and vice versa.  Now, all this may well have simply been Yarvin attempting to find an obscure thinker he liked to feed back to left liberals the cliché cultural relativism and perspectivism he believed they would accept. There’s little chance anyone would have accepted the idea that it’s okay to be reactionary simply on the basis of it’s just, like, my opinion, man. The thought that deep down “free speech advocate” Curtis Yarvin (as his reply to his critics titles him) might really be Richard Rorty saying we’re all numinously entitled to our own truths and will just live together in pragmatic tolerance is rather hilarious. Moreover, it is hard to believe that he could possibly read Voegelin so badly as to think that he’s saying that we are all supposed to be deluded like this. To Voegelin, who was a highly complex Christian Platonic realist, this sort of consciousness was a very bad thing indeed.

    Rather, the earliest articulations one might find of Moldbug’s “creeping Calvinism” thesis (2007a, 2007b) seem to come from a different place, from a previously undeveloped libertarian discourse that anarcho-capitalist Murray Rothbard had conspiratorially hinted at in “World War I as Fulfillment: Power and the Intellectuals”:

    Also animating both groups of progressives was a postmillennial pietist Protestantism that had conquered “Yankee” areas of northern Protestantism by the 1830s and had impelled the pietists to use local, state, and finally federal governments to stamp out “sin,” to make America and eventually the world holy, and thereby to bring about the Kingdom of God on earth. The victory of the Bryanite forces at the Democratic national convention of 1896 destroyed the Democratic Party as the vehicle of “liturgical” Roman Catholics and German Lutherans devoted to personal liberty and laissez faire and created the roughly homogenized and relatively non-ideological party system we have today. After the turn of the century, this development created an ideological and power vacuum for the expanding number of progressive technocrats and administrators to fill. In that way, the locus of government shifted from the legislature, at least partially subject to democratic check, to the oligarchic and technocratic executive branch. (Rothbard 1989)

    Can we trust Rothbard as an historian? When American libertarianism began to self-consciously develop after WWII and create for itself a grand narrative against the dominant Keynesian economic consensus of the time, it fixated on and hypertrophied conservative beliefs that the New Deal and events leading up to it were the Fall and betrayal of a “real America” of laissez faire and free trade, transforming the Gilded Age into a primaeval Golden Age now lost. In the earliest stages of his thought, Moldbug 1 simply seems to be working from this rather typical right-wing American position. He even insists (2008b, 193) that should 1908 America suddenly appear in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, it would be able to outcompete 2008 America hands down. Nonetheless, Rothbard appears to have opened up the religious dimension as an answer for this Fall to Moldbug. In early Moldbug 1 (2007a, 2007b) the Fall is augmented with obscure conservative texts on the role played by the evangelical churches in encouraging the New Deal, occasionally supplemented by more mainstream sources now forgotten.

    For instance, in the June 2007 UR post “A Short History of Ultracalvinism,” we find a small 16th of March 1942 article from Time magazine cited, titled ‘American Malvern” that reports on “the high spots of organized U.S. Protestantism’s super-protestant new program for a just and durable peace after World War II.” These include “Complete abandonment of U.S. isolationism…International control of all armies & navies…A universal system of money so planned as to prevent inflation and deflation… Autonomy for all subject and colonial peoples” (with much better treatment for Negroes…).” Should it be at all shocking that the churches, both liberal and conservative, ever had a key role to play in encouraging the idea of a beneficent American imperialism? No, I do not think it is, not a jot. Moldbug, however, simply takes the article to indicate that in the intervening half century Time “has become as stupid as its audience,” the implication being that the average reader in 1942 would have been as suspicious as 2007 post-Iraq II Moldbug about America’s global “civilising mission.” Let us not forget that the tiny isolationist paleoconservative movement of people like Pat Buchanan was only rediscovered by Moldbug, Richard Spencer and others following the collapse of faith in the myths of neo-con missionary interventionism with Iraq War II. As Moldbug (2008b, 6) says at the start of his “Open Letter,” in recognition of both the openly religious and crypto-religious faith behind interventionism, the American military was now busy “doing donuts on the road to Damascus.”

    Having been led by Rothbard back to the 19th century in search for a solution to the Fall, Moldbug then decided to go back much further into the 17th century to trace a history of protestant radicals undermining the power of the absolute monarch. Moldbug’s actual evidence for this period is very thin. We find Hooker’s complaints about non-conformists, but that is about it. One might expect Moldbug to cite something like Christopher Hill’s The World Turned Upside Down (1991) on the relevance of 17th century British radical non-conformism to twentieth century politics or the astounding appendix on the pantheistic and free-love heresies of the Ranters in the 1962 edition of Norman Cohn’s The Pursuit of the Millennium. He never does.

    But why is Moldbug so interested in early modern absolutism? This he seems to have acquired from anarcho-capitalist Hans Hermann Hoppe’s anti-democratic screed Democracy: The God That Failed (2007) in which monarchism is celebrated for being simply the vast private ownership of land. The absolute ruler is thus reinvented as the ultimate capitalist landlord, the perfect model for creating a future world of privatized territories. One is strongly reminded of Xenophon’s Oeconomicus in which the Persian Great King is represented as simply a very big and powerful homesteader in a world of patriarchal homesteaders. Nevertheless, the fact should remain that Austrian Economics is infamous for its beliefs that capitalism has always existed and that economics began not in primitive accumulation or ritualized gift economies, but in barter. There are no changes in economic modes for the Austrian, and the long history of the temple in the development of money, loans and credit is completely ignored. The eternal foe is simply those who would threaten the natural right of the eternal “rugged individualist’s” private property.

    Thus, for Moldbug, the history of modernity is reinvented as a wrong turn–the rise of Christian radical egalitarian movements through the Whig Party who sought to undermine the rights of the absolute ruler as private owner. One wonders what Moldbug would make of Carl Schmitt’s (2009) marvelous Hamlet or Hecuba in which Shakespeare’s character is found to reflect the absolutist James I as a weak decision-maker being undermined by the growing forces of piratical capital. For Schmitt modern techno-capitalism’s desire to “neutralise” political violence requires the quashing of the absolute ruler of decision. But then again, Moldbug seems absolutely blind to ever having to ask about the mercantile aspects of the birth of radical, egalitarian “creeping Calvinism” that Tawney in particular addressed so well. He is never able to realise, even in his belief that the American elite is the radical universalist intellectuals versus the merchants, that genealogically much of this is an “inhouse” Anglo political-theological problem.

    The way Moldbug sweetens the anti-democratic rhetoric of Hoppe is with recourse to Thomas Carlyle. Although now largely unread, Carlyle was one of the most widely-popular political and historical authors of the 19th century, infamous for his impassioned appeals against laissez faire abandonment of the poor to poverty and starvation (see esp. Carlyle 1915, esp. 85-6; Carlyle 1971,  71-84). Carlyle’s answer to these problems was better rulers, Great Men, whom he could find in abundance and celebrate in just about every other period of history except his own. This caused Carlyle to become increasingly bitter and apocalyptic as time wore on, leading to what Voegelinian Richard Bishirjian (1976) aptly identifies as a thoroughly “Gnostic” outlook in search of some kind of soterical God-man ruler to save the world from chaos and to bring about the millennium.

    While it is obvious that Yarvin loves Carlyle for his florid language (who doesn’t?), the real appeal seems to be his paternalism, the conviction that the true Great Man should care for those who are subservient to him. Moldbug 1 especially wants you to know that he cares, that in 2008 the Great Man looks like Steve Jobs because Steve Jobs is cool and cares too. When Moldbug (2008b, 117) argues that black Americans living in the ghetto should be forcibly re-educated in panopticon communities, this is because he cares compared with liberals who have abandoned them to crime and welfare. The obvious model here is Carlyle’s (1915, 302-33) “Negro Question” speech, in which he had insisted to his shocked 19th century liberal audience that he really did care when he argued that freed blacks in the Caribbean should be forced to labour for their masters for their own moral good rather than living on cheap pumpkins.

    One should emphasise that Moldbug’s affection for Carlyle is in strict contrast to the few other libertarians who seem to have ever heard of him, predictably regarding him as a feudal remnant, a bad guy who defended slavery, compared with noble 19th c. laissez faire liberals (e.g. Levy 2000). On the slavery question, Moldbug (2009b) can certainly admit that his beloved Carlyle wasn’t “perfect,” but perhaps only because he dismissed the “financial” side of things. Yet, just when we might be expecting Moldbug to try to fold chattel slavery into some kind of wretched anarcho-capitalist discourse that it was just another form of harmless voluntary wage labour all along (and he does very nearly get there), he instead takes a sharp turn towards romanticising feudal hierarchy and comparing it to the strict efficiency of Japanese companies. In a direct homage to Carlyle we find him castigating liberalism for allowing Haiti to become a failed state. Nonetheless, Moldbug is, without a doubt, a “proslavery” thinker: he even believes some people (especially those with a low IQ) are “natural slaves,” but this shouldn’t mean that they need to be treated cruelly. The new corporate Great Men feudalists of the 21st century will treat them very nicely, thank you very much indeed.

    It is ponderously obvious that Silicon Valley has long possessed a penchant for believing that its “thought leaders” are of equal historical importance to the Great Men of the past, as is evidenced by the great sea of pulpy awfulness on learning the business secrets of Julius Caesar and Genghis Khan that spills out of the self-help section of crummy bookstores everywhere. Most notable is former student of anthropologist René Girard and NRx-ally Peter Thiel’s gormless Zero to One (2014) that pulls no punches in comparing today’s entrepreneurs and celebrities to sacred kings. Seen in this context, Moldbug is doing very little that is original. It’s certainly easy to scoff at the notion of Divus Marcus Zuccus and so on, but, as has been emphasised, one should not underestimate for a moment the possibility of a Silicon “left fascism” with its garish attempt at appearing kind and “progressive.” It is perhaps not necessarily that our Silicon masters literally wish they were pharaoh, but, far worse, that perhaps they think that they already benevolently determine the direction of the world and should simply branch out slowly into governance in order to formalise it for its own good. Maybe like Carlyle they’ll even pay their wage-slave chattels the compliment of saying how handsome and cheerful they think they look when put to work for a pittance with no toilet breaks. Hang on–Amazon already does that.

    ***

    What Moldbug is doing with his discourse on “creeping Calvinism” is not a “secularisation thesis” in the manner of Weber, wherein one is simply looking for the roots of current social formations, however dour they might be, or a “political theology” as Schmitt and his Foucauldian leftist successors do, wherein it is often debated whether an “exit” to the political-theological machine is even possible. What Moldbug is doing is part and parcel with a certain kind of Enlightenment ideological discourse and genealogical fallacy–compare anything to a religion, you demystify and delegitimise it; if you find that something actually has religious roots this is thus even better for delegitimising it as fantasy. One only need think of John Gray’s Black Mass (2007), written around the same time Moldbug was actively blogging, in which the Christian millenarian ancestry of modern ideologies from Communism and Anarchism to the American liberal “end of history” all testify to the idea that progress is a rather worthless religious delusion.

    Perhaps this sort of thing is simply a vulgar attempt to “own the libs” by rubbing in the educated leftist sceptic’s face the idea that he is a religious lunatic. As an educated leftist religious lunatic, I am not fazed one iota by this. One could simply stop here and say no more, but what Moldbug (and Gray) are up to has in itself very particular crypto-theological roots worth discussing. Both Moldbug and Gray are deployers of a cynical materialism most clearly presaged in Thomas Hobbes’s need to cut down the competing religious claims of his dissonant age of Behemoth (Civil War) by reinforcing the image of man as little more than a dangerous animal that needs to be kept in line. Man is a wolf to man; life is nasty, brutal and short under the state of nature. For Gray the political religions have been a psychotic disaster unable to grasp Neo-Darwinian cosmic indifference. Climate change is the only real Apocalypse, likely to bring what fellow climate-cynic James Lovelock calls “global decline into a chaotic world ruled by brutal war lords on a devastated Earth” (Lovelock 2007, 154; cf. Gray 2007, 202). For Moldbug the Behemoth is instead liberal naïveté about “open borders.” He wants to tell you that America is run by a “Cathedral” of crazed post-Christian hippies who are so blinded by their ideological “blue pill” called “Millennium” (2008b, 241), that they cannot possibly understand that what they are doing is dangerous. The perfect Hobbesian Moldbuggism is perhaps found in Yarvin’s Urbit “Ask Me Anything” session on Reddit of all places:

    I think that when we use the word “human” we often really mean “angel.” So, yes: we are all subhuman. Black people included. I’m not just saying this: I think the main flaw of 20th-century political systems is that they’re designed to govern angels. If you plan for apes and allow for angels, I think you get a much better result (especially when there’s a Y chromosome in the mix). (Yarvin 2016b)

    What hard cruel realism! Surely Yarvin is the modern sceptical Hobbes speaking the truth to the deluded, just as Hobbes’ works were blamed in parliament for being a cause of God’s wrath visiting England in the form of the Great Fire of 1666! But, strangely, Moldbug has close to nothing to say about Hobbes, except perhaps a passing comment or two that in the 17th c. as a materialist he was the “leftist” compared with the divine right absolutism of his contemporaries such as Robert Filmer (Moldbug 2009c). Amusingly some Ur-Catholic reactionary thinkers have considered Moldbug little more than a godless “leftist” for his materialism and have compared him explicitly to Hobbes (Charlton 2013; cf. Nostalgebraist 2016). Several centuries earlier of course the idea of an absolute monarch on the basis of divine right would have been regarded as equally radical and heretical for its usurpation of the authority of the church and the complex myriad of local political institutions, as John Milbank (2019) has recently pointed out to the NRx and “post-liberal” crowd at Jacobite. But then again Moldbug has nothing to say about the Middle Ages at all. History starts with absolutism as though it had always been in place.  More than anything this should draw our attention back, once again, to the fact that Moldbug 1’s claim to “Jacobitism” is all shallow aesthetics to stitch together Hoppe and Silicon Valley aspirations towards governance. Nonetheless, Moldbug cannot escape from Hobbes and his legacy so easily.

    As John Milbank and Adrian Pabst (2015, 22-24) argue, in the tradition of Tawney’s secularisation thesis on British Calvinism and capitalism, with Hobbes what we see is not some new cynical variant of a reborn version of antique materialism, but the materialist rendering of the Anglo Calvinist belief in absolute human depravity and selfishness. This attitude developed from the rising emergence of a society that had uprooted and alienated agricultural labour, professionalised governance and established its grip on the New World primarily through piracy. Man is a very fallen and wicked little animal indeed to the cynical leveller and this, so Milbank and Pabst claim, continues to haunt the Anglo mindset through John Locke, Bernard Mandeville and Thomas Malthus, down to liberal selfishness in the present. That which appears sceptical and “realist” concerning human nature stems from a debased Christianity that cannot imagine the human soul to have anything good in it at all but a selfishness that might be put to use making contracts, consuming and perishing.

    This alternative aspect of “creeping Calvinist” especially seems to leak out of Nick Land’s “Dark Enlightenment” (2013 pt1) of “Hobbesian undercurrents” like there’s no tomorrow. So too his race and IQ “naturalism” and neo-reactionary deity Gnon (Nature or Nature’s God) that punishes those who go against the “nature of things.” Land’s decades-long revulsion and boredom with the human and demonology of entities like Cthelll (2011, 498-9), the primaevally wounded world-soul of the Earth passing on its misery and horror to all its children, were already more than half-way there. If anything, this earlier more bombastic, body-horror-obsessed phase of Land’s thought has always smacked to me of the worst of Christian “vale of tears” masochism, as epitomised in Luther’s hyperbole that the Earth is “a gaping anus,” the “Devil’s arse,” a “worm bag” and a “rotten chicken’s crop” because of its domination by evil merchants. Perhaps Norman O. Brown’s (1959, 222-7) old Freudian political theology was correct to read in these sentiments of Luther’s the origin of the protestant work ethic and its fixation with accumulation as an extended “anal stage”–a masochistic falling in love with the world as shit. Land’s attempts in the 90s to embrace the consciously worst aspects of neoliberal TINA to its masochistic limits simply seems to recycle this process.

    By now just about everyone with an internet connection is familiar with Land’s (2017a) eccentric views that the forces of capital are the real agent of history, some kind of “intelligent” insentient egregore. Nonetheless, as Jean-Pierre Dupuy (2014, 91-101) has argued in Economy and the Human Future there is something very similar to the dominant neoliberal view of the almighty economy today and the Calvinist belief in predestination–that only God knows who is saved and who is damned and that any and all human good and bad works are powerless before it. Land is torn between, on one hand. a kind of deterministic triumphalism sneering at any and all mass action as failed (2016), and, on the other hand, a kind of deep terror that salvation is very unlikely indeed–that the Anglosphere will collapse under immigrant invasion, that high IQ states with low birth-rates are “IQ shredders” (2017b), and that only some fantastical vision of “Neo-China” completing the system of cyberpunk idealism can make up for this. That, or simply the weak theurgy of “hyperstition”: trying to force memes into reality under the bizarre belief that what one is actually doing is bootstrapping an already-realised future that is retrojectively invading the present.

    It is very much worth noting that while Land may have developed this invasion from the future idea from watching too many sci-fi films (see: Reynolds 2009), as Catherine Pickstock (2013, 55-8) has observed this retrojective motion is an integral part of his old hero Gilles Deleuze’s cosmology in Difference and Repetition (1994). Here, so she noted, “difference” bootstraps itself by invading from the future in a blatantly theurgical gesture reliant on mediaeval millenarian Joachim of Fiore’s belief in a Third Age that completes history (Deleuze 1994, 296-7; cf. Pickstock 2013, 57). Land, so one might say, seems to have exchanged the fantasy of pure difference in favour of all too ponderous identity in the form symbols like cyborgs, post-human supermen and AI overlords. These were symbols cooked up in the atmosphere of the Post-War Boom, when people were a great deal more confident that both Paradise and imminent Judgement Day were at hand; but then, like the millennium, these have remained put off, not yet, for all the rumours otherwise. That scholar of “Accelerationism” Benjamin Noys (2014, 63) made reference to Norman Cohn’s (1962) study of millenarianism Pursuit of the Millennium when he referred to Land’s ideas as “apocalyptic acceleration” was very much on the right track.

    Land has a long history of being a hyperbolic contrarian, a sort of pantomime Satanist of theory. Elizabeth Sandifer (2017) has even considered whether the entire thing, from Land’s early left cyber-anarchism in the 1990s to his embrace of neo-reaction in the early 2010s, is one long postmodern “dirty joke.” Maybe Land became a neo-reactionary simply because he had run out of edge to lord, so to speak, and decided it was worth LARP-ing the evil capitalist Kantian white man attempting to immunise himself from the world he was pillaging, as Land’s first famous essay “Kant, Capital and the Prohibition of Incest” (Land 2011, 55-80) set out to oppose. Perhaps resentment for the cyberpunk future not arriving as quickly as he had imagined in the 90s was what led him to the “Dark Enlightenment’s” (2013 pt 1) condemnation of the welfare state as the chief means of the capacity for capital to waste itself rather than liberating technology. This self-wasting (though not on welfare) in order to cheat liberation with “antiproduction” was one of the few instances in which Deleuze and Guattari (1983, 262) took Freud’s dread “death instinct” seriously, it being Land’s (2011, 123-44 & esp. 261-88) pet cause for reinsertion into their work in the 1990s. Maybe Land dwelt so much on the “death instinct” that he ended up turning Deleuze and Guattari’s Reichian-Rousseauian rejection of Death back towards a more Freudian-Hobbesian position out of fear of human beastliness cancelling the future. All manner of things might be posed, but Land seems to have a strict policy of not explaining his shift, instead claiming that he was always an anarcho-capitalist all along and that much of his early work was simply naïve.

    ***

    Thus, one thing then seems clear about NRx. It wants to tell you that human beings are fallen and dangerous creatures and that “progressivism” naively and conveniently forgets this fact. But does it really? Let us turn things around for a moment. It is very easy to acknowledge that the old meme of conservatism and reaction being based entirely in irrational fear and ignorance is a popular one, evidenced, obviously, by recourse to the shorthand of bigotry as -phobias. However, when I have put it to common or garden progressive types that they also seem to draw a great deal of their politics from threat perception and fear (climate change, the return of fascism, theocrats, that bigoted language is implicitly violent), one is often met with the reply that yes, but these threats are real. Out come the charts, out come the think-pieces and rarely is anyone ever convinced that anything but strategic silence and bad faith is at work. From all sides the world is filled with a great tribal refrain of “But why don’t you take X seriously? It is very dangerous!” “Because they do and they are terrible people who believe other terrible things.”

    The internet is very good at endlessly reminding us of the existence of this species of communicational deadlock, but it is an aspect of human being that has existed long before the electronic “echo chamber.” For Schmitt (2005) this is the “friends vs enemies” division of the political-theological emergency, a great irrational Two based in the dualism of God and his people versus the Other. Thinkers such as Roberto Esposito (2015) have gone to great lengths to try to deconstruct this Two and its violent aspects–to the point of eccentrically claiming that to rid ourselves of it, the whole concept of “personhood” (theological and legal) would have to be done away with first. Esposito never tells us what such a “depersonalised” world in which all thought, guilt, authority and existence is deprivatised would look like. It seems almost impossible to imagine such a thing. Instead we remain stuck with incommensurate claims to the “right side of history” imagining that the apocalyptic day shall eventually come on which the Other is, at very least ideologically, completely eradicated.

    This faith lies at the core of Moldbug’s “Open Letter” (2008b) and its dreams that his reactionary future will be so well-run, hi-tech, luxuriant and happy that socially “progressive” ideas will be reduced to the position that reactionary ones held in 2008: if not a hilarious lost cause, then something virulently dangerous that must be suppressed. In our era when it is often lamented, especially by the Left, that it has become impossible to conceive of a “different world,” perhaps the goad towards imagining such things again should be that the reactionary right is frequently not quite as afflicted by the omnipresent fear of recuperation and failure. Cross this with Silicon Valley techno-optimism, and no matter how ridiculous or facetious Moldbug’s visions of VR prisons or handing over the state to airline pilots to privatise it might seem (2008b, 216-7), the fact remains that he was naïve enough to stake a claim on the future when hardly anyone else would dare do such things. That should be concerning (and perhaps a little shameful).

    But how did Moldbug get there? Social habitus of course plays a very important part in the formation of the political Two in our age. This is especially obvious regarding NRx, which seems mostly peopled by college-educated middle-class white guys reacting with boredom towards the largely left liberal cultural pod in which they have been raised and educated. Reaction promises a totally different series of moral imperatives and threat-perceptions, an exciting virgin land untouched by hardly a soul smarter than a rock since the days of Real Existing Fascism. The mixture of excitement and resentment at the fact that a whole ideological continent had long been reduced to Neo-Nazis in the trailer park was palpable in Moldbug writing a decade before the “alt-right.” At the opening of his early declaration of a search for a new politics, entitled “A Formalist Manifesto,” Moldbug says:

    My beef with progressivism is that for at least the last 100 years, the vast majority of writers and thinkers and smart people in general have been progressives. Therefore, any intellectual in 2007, which unless there has been some kind of Internet space warp and my words are being carried live on Fox News, is anyone reading this, is basically marinated in progressive ideology. (Moldbug 2007c)

    Even though a complex reactionary news-ecosystem now exists, there still remains a profound need for reaction to distance itself from the image of the conservative as the angry uncle shouting at Fox. As a friend once put it–you piss off anarchists by telling them to move to Somalia, you piss off Marxists by telling them to move to North Korea, you piss off Neo-Reactionaries by telling them to move to Alabama.

    Nonetheless, a particularly curious side-effect of this acting out against “the libs” is the fact that Moldbug, like a great many reactionaries today lurching between fantasies of some Sorosian League of Doom and “clownworld,” can never make his mind up whether his “Brahmin” enemies are evil geniuses trying to unite “high and low against the middle” by teaming up with “Dalit” POCs to replace white America (2008a), or zombified morons unable to perceive that: “History is not over. Oh, no. We are still living it. Perhaps we are in the positions of the French of 1780 or the Russians of 1914, who had no idea that the worlds they lived in could degenerate so rapidly into misery and terror” (2008b, 264-5). Thus, it will be particularly interesting to see which threats Yarvin will acknowledge in the rest of the “Clear Pill” as the Real upon which to found his touted new alternative to Progressivism, Constitutionalism and Fascism. Will he concede things to each of these ideologies? Can we imagine a Yarvin who believes in catastrophic climate change, “the great replacement” conspiracy and civic nationalism all at once? That one would not be hard at all to imagine, nor a Yarvin of slavery with UBI, nor a Yarvin that simply repeated everything from between Moldbugs 1-3 all at once. However, it is highly likely that the “new” alternative will simply be another modification on the same basic ingredients of authoritarian capitalism, and it is on this matter that we should draw this essay to a close.

    Perhaps the soberest approach to Yarvin/Moldbug would be to contextualise him as but one example on a growing list of specimens of the now obvious American “libertarian-to-alt-right pipeline,” in which one might enrol the Tea Party and a fair slab of the recent US “alt-right” (especially the Hoppe enthusiasts), but also things much older. Perhaps we can find rumours of it first in Thomas Hobbes’s belief that if the monarch of Leviathan is installed to keep the religious factions down then supply and demand will simply make everything work out: “The Value of all things contracted for, is measured by the Appetite of the Contractors: and therefore the just value is that which they be contracted to give” (1651, 208). A number of thinkers including George Dyson (1997, 159) and Philip Ball (2004, 34 & 221) have taken note of this line in Hobbes and consider it possibly the first example of economics represented as an autopoetic system. But, of course, one can only “let the market system work” under the authoritarian conditions that neutralise selfish, violent human brutes into homines oeconomici.

    This machine is the “lizardbrain” of liberalism, a reactive Calvinist mess terrified of what men might do if the market were not there to tame them. The libertarian inversion of this, to find the market eternal and the state a parasite, is a marvellous delusion indeed, and one of very recent invention that is belied by the fact that the movement so easily flirts with authoritarianism and even outright Fascism when it gets frightened. The Austrian Economics dons Ludwig Mises and F.A. Hayek were more than happy to shill for both Mussolini’s promise of a “free market stage” and Augusto Pinochet’s brutishness under the belief that at very least a temporary dictatorship to keep out the communists was not an entirely bad idea (Robin 2013). Nonetheless, of course the libertarian refrain always remains that Fascism is a leftist qua collectivist movement. No one wants to be left holding that hot potato any more than the mainstream American libertarian scene is willing to acknowledge the problem that the work of Hoppe keeps on churning out self-titled “fascists” dreaming of playing Pinochet and “physically removing” people.

    For instance, in early 2017 there was a great internal furore among American libertarians over the Hoppe Caucus’s invitation of Richard Spencer to the 2017 International Students For Liberty Conference. This ended in a punch up and several of the website Liberty Conservative’s writers being “doxxed” by self-titled “Antifa libertarians” for covering the event (Lucente 2017). In October 2017 in a speech titled “Libertarianism, the Alt-Right and AntiFa” Hoppe responded by simultaneously expressing his disappointment in Spencer’s embrace of “white nationalist socialism” and commending the “alt-right”–in spite of its ideological disorganisation–for its ethnocentrism, belief in natural hierarchy, refusal to be cowed by Antifa, and distrust of academia. As far as Hoppe was concerned, much of the “alt-right” seemed part and parcel with the tradition of American “paleoconservatives” such as Pat Buchanan and thinkers like Moldbug, links with whom he admits have earned him “several honourable mentions” from the SPLC over the years. Moreover, in early 2018, following concerns by the Mises Institute over the white nationalism of an upcoming book titled White, Right and Libertarian, for which Hoppe had agreed to write a foreword, Hoppe retracted the foreword and distanced himself from the author (Rachels 2018).

    What can we make of all this? Should we concentrate on the phylum of reaction that is clearly fascism qua hypertrophied authoritarian capitalism and desire to get a better look at its subspecies, we find ourselves caught in a strange triangle of a sort. On one side we have NRx as a Utopian patchwork of shining privatised Neo-Singapores, as Moldbug 1 and Land would seem to desire. On another side by the sort of shiny Google “left fascism” of “woke capital” Land and his minions would obviously abhor. On a third we have good old fashioned, blood-soaked Pinochetian brutalism, Leviathan with its sword raised. In this triangle no single side can be folded into another–each continues to haunt the others. It would be too easy to turn them into a spectrum running Left Fascist-M1-Pinochet in increasingly open brutality, but this would of course obfuscate the “niceness” that the information age society of cybernetic control likes to affect through technological means of repression in order to appear to soften the blow (including futuristic fantasies of VR prisons).

    In this we should not pass over the fact, once again, of the plurality of Moldbugs. Moldbug 2 is far closer to Pinochet, as too would Moldbug 3 very likely be. The Landian accelerationist “patchwork” vision of things doesn’t stand a chance in hell of existing because there’s nothing to support its fantasies of secessionism, not even in some tiny imagined gap between the US Empire’s decline and some Neo-Chinese Empire rising. Nonetheless, “left fascism” will certainly have a go at eating the world given half a chance, even if it must beg the existing liberal Leviathan to turn a blind eye, for Leviathan increasingly cannot do without the informatic monopolies of Google and friends to maintain governance. So too, one can never underestimate the possibility that at some point the “libertarian-to-alt-right pipeline” will bring forth something truly nasty, blunt and simple in the manner of a Pinochet in America and that it is only likely that it will lean on a certain sort of cold, cruel Calvinist Christianity in order to support itself.

    It is against both of these forces that one would do well to look back over the counter history of “creeping Calvinism” and “Quaker thuggery,” for, in America at least, Christianity still retains the power to build images of alternative worlds, some hellish, some paradisiacal. That the American Left in the second half of the 20th century was so keenly and myopically willing to abandon Christianity as something primitive and irredeemable, fit only for the bigots, is perhaps one of the most politically foolish decisions ever made. Back in the 1960s epochal thinkers like Norman Brown (1959) and Theodor Roszak (1973) understood well that they were the inheritors of the tradition of radical non-conformists like William Blake. This was soon forgotten in efforts to be as far away as possible from anything even vaguely mystical for fear of its commercial recuperation, lifestylism and naïveté.

    OrbGang meme
    Figure 1. OrbGang meme
    OrbGang meme
    Figure 2. OrbGang meme

    But strangely, this old spectre recently re-appeared again in the online “Orbgang” meme-factory of Democratic presidential candidate Marianne Williamson that managed to unite all sorts of people across political, racial, age, gender and religious spectra (Figure 1, Figure 2). More than any public figure in recent memory Williamson with her message of politics-as-love and Course in Miracles embodies a bizarre distillation of the weirdest aspects of non-conformist Christianity that could only still be cooked up in America. It’s very easy, of course, to put down Williamson as a New Age hack and a joke (though the memes about her are a great deal of fun and we do live in a meme-war economy in these times). But one rarely finds a New Age hack interested in politics, let alone one with practical proposals on matters such as reparations and climate change to the left of just about all of her competitors. Williamson was always very unlikely to get anywhere, and the American Left were particularly cruel to her. But one does wonder whether something very powerful could be done against our age’s overwhelming atmosphere of pessimism, fear, jealousy and bad faith if the powers of both Christian and post-Christian love, harmony and mercy could be harnessed once again for political purposes.

    _____

    Jonathan Ratcliffe was educated by mad Guénonians, holds a doctorate in Mongolian Studies from the Australian National University, and writes the occasional piece on political theology. He blogs at Mechanical Owl.

    Back to the essay

    _____

    Notes

    [1] Back in mid-2017 the main page for the Urbit website contained the very Moldbuggian libertarian motto that: “If Bitcoin is money and Ethereum is law, Urbit is land.” This seems to have been removed as part of an overall renovation of the page between then and now–likely following Yarvin’s departure. One should also note Moldbug’s (2010a) old idea of Feudle, a feudal search engine where the trustworthiness of information was controlled by tiers of experts.

    [2] Also note that in 2015 Yarvin’s invitation to another conference, Strange Loop, was cancelled. This drew a fair amount of momentary media attention. See Auerbach (2015) in Slate, and, for comparison, Bokhari (2015) in Breitbart on the issue.

    [3] Perhaps the most profound difference in vocabulary between Moldbug and Carl Schmitt is that while both of them take the sovereign absolute ruler to be the superior form of government, Schmitt of course regards this as “the political” historically threatened by attempts to neutralise it using religion, technology, metaphysics. In comparison Moldbug (2008b esp. 55, 2010b) is avidly against “politics,” which is what happens once more than a few people are involved in the decision-making process. Moldbug even as a quasi-Platonic scheme of degeneration of a sort. Imperium in imperio (absolute sovereignty of the ruler) passes from the decisionism of a monarch “…to oligarchy, oligarchy to aristocracy, aristocracy to democracy, democracy to mere anarchy” (2010b). Schmitt fears a world without conflict; Moldbug fears chaos.

    _____

    Works Cited

     

  • D. Gilson — From Haiti to Georgia, With Skulls and Scotch (Review of Colin Dayan’s In the Belly of Her Ghost)

    D. Gilson — From Haiti to Georgia, With Skulls and Scotch (Review of Colin Dayan’s In the Belly of Her Ghost)

    This review has been peer-reviewed by the b2o editorial board.

    a review of Colin Dayan, In the Ghost of her Belly (LARB 2019)

    by D. Gilson

    Death hung around my house. No way around fate, that’s what my mother told me.

    “Once something bad happens, it will happen again.”

    “My mother’s indifference dismantled my life,” Colin Dayan writes in her new memoir, for “out of the dust and confusion of my childhood, only the desire to escape emerges” (109). In the Belly of Her Ghost (LARB True Stories, 2018) is at turns a gentle meditation on escape and a violent exorcism of that constant, thrumming, haunting Oedipal yank, that tide that brings us back again and again to our mothers. Or, as Saeed Jones ends his own recent memoir, How We Fight for Our Lives (2019), “Our mothers are why we are here” (190). They are, he’s right. How could we, whether we want to or not, ever escape them?

    The market of mother-fixated memoirs bubbles over. These include those written by celebrities, such as Melissa Rivers’ The Book of Joan: Tales of Mirth, Mischief, and Manipulation (2015) and Wishful Drinking (2008) by Carrie Fisher. The seminal of the literary memoir itself has often been mother-obsessed, such as Mary Karr’s The Liar’s Club (1995) and Jeannette Walls’ The Glass Castle (2005). Also, gorgeous tomes that break with conventional form, such as the graphic Are You My Mother: A Comic Drama (2012) by Alison Bechdel, or the comic-reveling Running With Scissors (2002) from Augusten Burroughs. There are lyric meditations on mothers in prosody coming from poets, such as Saeed Jones’ aforementioned How We Fight for Our Lives (2019) and The Long Goodbye (2008) by Meghan O’Rourke. There are those memoirs penned by the children of famous literary mothers, like Searching for Mercy Street: My Journey Back to My Mother (1994) by Linda Gray Sexton and I’m Supposed to Protect You From All This (2016) by Nadja Spiegelman. And this is all not to mention the glut of memoirs by mothers themselves.

    This list is hardly exhaustive, though even in its brevity, it begs the question: do we need another memoir about a mother, however extraordinary the circumstances between mother and child might have been. I might have been wont to answer, “Probably not,” but then Colin Dayan’s trailblazing memoir arrived in my mailbox, and I’ve been forced to reverse this impulsive answer completely. For Dayan’s slim memoir “doesn’t read like a conventional narrative,” Jane Tompkins explains in her Los Angeles Times review of the book, “It’s about a woman who tries to exorcise the ghost of her deceased mother through writing.” Tompkins is right; In the Belly of Her Ghost is an inherited reckoning. But I want to take the space offered by this longer review to talk about the book’s delightfully complicated existence. For “I know that I will never be free of the past,” Dayan chants, “that it will never quit feeding on the present” (79). Thank God we get to live in Dayan’s menacing, always-feeding, gorgeous, complicated present, a present that cannot shake off the past.

    Namely, I believe Colin Dayan’s In the Belly of Her Ghost generatively complicates four questions to which too many memoirs offer ready-made answers: 1) what is a mother? 2) what is a child? 3) what is race? and 4) what is the act of creative nonfiction-ing?

     

    I: What is a mother?

    “What has availed

    Or failed?

    Or will avail?

    —Robert Penn Warren, “Question and Answer”

    Penn Warren’s poem is not about mothers or mothering or being mothered. But the questions he asks offer us an interesting entry into considering how the mother functions as a narrative device. Many memoirs celebrate the triumphant mother, the one who has availed; mourn the disastrous mother, the one who has failed; or imagine alternative pasts or futures of the one who will avail. In the Belly of Her Ghost offers no simple progenitor for us to instantly recognize and digest. Instead, Dayan offers us a complex figure who defies our recognition, queers it, and makes us re-approach the mothers in our own lives and in the other texts we consume. Aren’t we all always, after all, consuming mothers one or another? Or perhaps, instead, we find ourselves being consumed?

    “Who was the sacrifice,” Dayan wonders, “my mother or me?” (43) The question comes early, but haunts the life, and afterlife, of the memoir, for sacrifice is always central to how Dayan and her mother relate, at times failing to relate, to one another. “As a child, I was in awe of the woman,” Dayan begins, “She laughed at me, screamed at me. She shunned me, but now, dead, she stays close. Sometimes she comes down the wall like a spider” (3). But who was this woman-cum-spider, and who is she still? The web of her identity confuses Dayan, and thus us, and draws one in. This mother was born in Haiti and could never, or would never, articulate her biracialness, though so much of her life was spent attempting to pass for white in public, while privately conjuring the songs of her childhood Caribbean home. Soon after this mother’s family immigrated to New York, she, aged 17, went on a date with man twenty years her senior. This man, “took her to the circus. He tried to teach her to ride horses and eat mussels” (7). Dayan never knows if her mother wanted to go with her father to the circus in the first place, but

    That same year, my mother traveled from Brooklyn to a honeymoon in Mexico. They traveled around for two years, then to Nashville and, finally, to Atlanta. The South must have seemed to her like a cross between Haiti and New York. ‘I would have been an actress,’ she told me. ‘Then I met your father.’ But she never stopped acting. She lived to be looked at. (8)

    By the time Dayan joined this cross-cultural family – her mother, a biracial Haitian immigrant, and her father, a Jewish immigrant from X – they were living in the cultural capital of the Jim Crow South. They were passing for white, or an acceptable shade of off-white, a type of sacrifice in and of itself that allowed them access to many, if not all, of Atlanta’s institutions. The family’s origin was thus muddled. For “in the south,” Dayan argues, “domesticity and chatter and ease are almost always accompanied by something gross. The sweetest memory depends on the shattered life of whatever is granted neither leisure nor mercy” (30).

    We are almost always seeking out our origins, often to our betterment, and often to our detriment. In August of 2019, The New York Times launched the 1619 Project in observation of the 400th anniversary of the first African slaves arriving to Point Comfort, Virginia; the project “aims to reframe the country’s history, understanding 1619 as our true founding, and placing the consequences of slavery and the contributions of black Americans at the very center of the story we tell ourselves about who we are.” This is a worthwhile endeavor, to be sure. Conversely, in late 2018 Democratic presidential contender Elizabeth Warren joined a swath of white Americans taking home DNA tests – such as Ancestry or 23andMe – in attempt to prove valid her claims of “authentic” Native American heritage; CNN reports that Stanford geneticist Carlos Bustamante, who analyzed Warren’s results, “places Warren’s Native American ancestor between six and 10 generations ago, with the report estimating eight generations.” Such focus on race’s chimerical and arbitrary nature is dangerous. Or to echo Cherokee Nation Secretary of State Chuck Hoskin, Jr., “Using a DNA test to lay claim to any connection to the Cherokee Nation or any tribal nation, even vaguely, is inappropriate and wrong. It… [dishonors] legitimate tribal governments and their citizens, whose ancestors are well documented and whose heritage is proven.” On the one hand, our search for our very origin can be a productive act of cultural and artistic reckoning; and on the other, our search can lead us to the abyss of reinforcing the appropriative violence that is certainly one of our American heritages.

    Thankfully, Dayan’s In the Belly of Her Ghost does not become the former. And though it is certainly an origin story, the book succeeds, in part, because I believe Dayan is seeking not her origin, per se, but to understand, and to reckon with, the remaining ghost of her mother, or mothers, because, she writes, “the dead remain hidden in us. But from time to time they make themselves known” (127). I say mothers in the plural in the most literal sense possible. For yes, Dayan’s biological mother was the Haitian woman passing for white in Atlanta, the thwarted actress, the doll in a beaded gown who would pass by (and through) Dayan’s ear singing Sinatra or bits of songs in the haunting lilt of French Creole. But there was another mother in Dayan’s life, the one I find too few reviews of the book have given her due. This mother was the charged with keeping the household in order like a fine-tuned engine. This mother was a black woman named Lucille.

    “Only two people mattered to me, and they are still on my mind,” Dayan writes (31). One was Thomas, the family’s yardman. And the other? “Lucille, the woman who raised me,” Dayan admits, “and, I almost wrote, ‘the love of my life’” (31). Whereas Dayan’s biological mother was, in many ways, a ghostly figure moving violently through Dayan’s childhood, Lucille offered corollary: “Lucille gave me joy… She taught me the kind of dread that as also desire: the longing to go out of this world and know what can’t be seen” (33). The caricature of the black “mammie” is all-too alive and well in Southern literature; one need only look as far back as Kathryn Stockett’s 2009 book The Help, which became a star-studded film. But even if Lucille might become such a caricature in lesser hands, in Dayan’s thoughtful, careful prose she is the mother Dayan needed — not perfect, but not ghostly, which is to say, present.

    “Lucille told me bedtime stories,” (36) Dayan explains, and “she saved me from the Lord’s fury, even though she scared the living daylights out of me” (40). This both-and-ness, the story teller and the fear maker, existed holistically in the relationship between Lucille and Dayan, a mixture I suspect should exist between every mother and child, especially those of the American South. And lest we forget: though Lucille was black, it is clear Dayan was not exactly white, no matter how hard her biological mother tried to hide this fact. Lucille, thankfully to Dayan, did not try to hide this fact, but let the color of their lives pass over them as if it was a quilt not to be hidden away in the humid heat of Atlanta. Lucille “must have known my mother was not really white,” Dayan explains, “but it didn’t matter anyway, and she called me her baby. It was all confused.” The memoir relishes in that confusion – particularly of who is the mother, and of what race even means at every corner – and it is the better for relishing in that very space of perplexity.

    And as with her biological mother, Dayan continues to be haunted by Lucille, too, a haunting that places the woman less as family servant, and more as competing matriarch, even in her various reincarnations in the afterlife. “Lucille died,” Dayan writes, “My story begins. She was never gone, but stayed with me in the dirt or in the wind, surprising me just when I thought I had survived the night terrors… She came before me just as she told me she would” (39).

    It is perhaps easy to read both mothers as failing, and indeed, in many ways they “fail.” But they also persist, and as Jack Halberstam argues, “if success requires so much effort, then maybe failure is easier in the long run and offers different rewards” (2011: 3). Dayan’s matriarchal origins are so out-of-focus, they fail on the level of absolute knowledge; but is that a failure? Or instead, does the slippery nature of motherhood in In the Belly of Her Ghost offer us different, perhaps better, rewards? In short, yes, resoundedly yes. Or as Dayan’s mother tells her, “We’re in a hole. I cannot exactly catch onto the rope to get out without hurting you. So we’ll never find each other, but maybe there are other ways to make our lives mean something when words are dead” (139). In the Belly of Her Ghost offers us a completely unique and appropriately complex vocabulary to discuss mothers, mothering, and motherhood, a vocabulary we lack because the words are coming to us already dead, and the book, in its conjuring of the ghostly, brings them back to life. And as the slim volume centralizes the ghostliness of mothers, it also brings into question the existence of children.

     

    II: What is a child?

    “Between the dark and the daylight,

    When the night is beginning to lower,

    Comes a pause in the day’s occupations,

    That is known as the Children’s Hour.”

    —Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, “The Children’s Hour”

    Longfellow argues, oddly enough for the nineteenth century, that the night and all its mysteries belong to children. The night, that time full of mystery, yes, but also the unknown, and the unknown danger, and the unknown danger that you know is there and yet cannot name. In In the Belly of Her Ghost, Colin Dayan works in this lineage, queering the line between child and adult, daughter and mother at every turn.

    And what is Dayan’s childhood, or better said, how do we come to spiritually experience it? For as Longfellow argues, Dayan’s childhood is lived “between the dark and the daylight.” We know Dayan’s childhood is perpetual, as she is always haunted by both her mother and Lucille, despite how much she ages. And despite where she visits or lives — Philadelphia, New York, Paris, Haiti, Nashville — it is always and forever a Southern childhood of Atlanta. For Dayan, and thus for us, that Southerness is palpable; “pussy and possum,” she writes, almost prays, “that’s about as close as I can get to my sense of the South: sticky, hot, and unusually cruel” (24). The comparison to other great Southern memoirs — especially Dorothy Allison’s semi-autobiographical Bastard Out of Carolina—would be easy to make, given Dayan’s shared focus on the potential and often simultaneous beauty and cruelty of Southern childhoods in their specificity. But whereas Bastard and other memoirs of the Southern canon enlighten readers to that particular brand of Southern poverty, Dayan offers us a unique vision of childhood in the South that I’ve yet to experience: one where glamour is always on the edges.

    Glamour rests on the edges like the photographs that punctuate In the Belly of Her Ghost, photographs that, in essence, spawn the writing of the memoir itself, which originates with Dayan receiving her mother’s earthly possessions and sifting through them (almost like a spider, the creatures that also punctuate the memoir). One photograph shows Dayan and mother on the flagstone patio of their northeast Atlanta home. “We look uncomfortable,” Dayan writes, “caught in a pose that tries to appear natural when everything about it is strained” (110). Dayan is dressed in a ballerinas’ outfit, replete with tutu and tiara, a look we are led to believe was not her usual finery. But then there’s her mother, within whom, Dayan describes, a grace and “lightness takes shape, as my eye follows her legs, taut and lean under her tight skirt, up to the hip casually slung, to the right arm, with bangles on the wrist and a cigarette held loosely in her hand” (110). It’s the picture, quite literally, of mid-twentieth-century Southern metropolitan elegance. But of course, for both mother and daughter, that elegance comes at a cost of mysterious measure: “the eyes are strained,” Dayan continues describing her mother, “too much of the eyebrow is plucked, and the face, though beautiful, looks dead, the smile held too long” (110-111). The cost, I suspect, as is the cost in many passing narratives of the American South in particular, is the desire to both belong and to be. Or as Dayan’s father tells her earlier with a sigh, “it’s no good to be too strange in a country you love” (8).

    Lucille and Dayan’s mother are not the only ghosts we reckon with here. That child in the ballerina get up, or that same child frying chicken in the kitchen with Lucille, or singing “Dixie” in Mrs. Guptill’s fifth grade class, later to irritate her parents and Lucille by taking the side of Civil Rights activists, that child that is Dayan herself, we reckon with her ghost, too, even though Dayan makes clear that “I hate my own nostalgia, [for] it goes against the grain of everything I believe in” (69). But what do we have beyond our nostalgia in the very act of writing a memoir? How do we answer the question of the children we were, and in many ways, will always be? This perpetual child is complex, admittedly, or as Kathryn Bond Stockton contends, “what a child ‘is’ is a darkening question. The question of the child makes us climb into a cloud… leading us, in moments, to cloudiness and ghostliness surrounding children as figures in time” (2009: 2). In the Belly of the Ghost forces us to face this cloudiness, this ghostliness, however, and shows us that we are all, as Dayan models, children or figures fallen out of time.

    Dayan allows us to unpack, consider closely, and make altars of her mother’s things alongside her because she’s not only a child fallen out of time, but, as Dayan confesses, she always “longed for [Mother’s]things as if they might magically transform my childhood irrelevance” (140). We are allowed to journey with her in attempt to transform the very tropes of childhood in literature itself. We are led, all-too-often, to believe that childhood itself is something we grow out of and shed; what is the twisted moral of Peter Pan, after all, if not that we all, every last one of us, must grow up? In the Belly of Her Ghost offers the lingering ghostliness of childhood to which Bond Stockton alludes. It is as if, Dayan seems to be learning, and thus we alongside her, we are playing dress up with decaying clothes, and yet clothes that never leave us entirely. Such as a heavily beaded outfit of her mother’s Dayan finds in a box after her mother’s death. “Things, like ghosts, know what they want,” Dayan writes when she finds the “evening gown and jacket, covered in blue and white sequins… I remembered how it held her body in its weight and beauty. The dress was more alive than my mother’s smile” (141). But when Dayan gives the dress to Goodwill, the dress, her mother, her childhood, is not done with her: “I walked back to the garage. There on the floor lay a small sequined belt. I picked it up and held my mother’s tight little waist in my hand. It is not easy to tell a ghost story that is not meant to frighten” (141). Childhood, like the belt, like the act of playing dress up, wants us to return to it, to be haunted by it, however frightening that prospect might be.

    Here, Dayan revels in the ghostliness of her childhood. She continues to live it, to face it, to make more and more life out of it. In the Belly of Her Ghost is “an elegy with a covert manifesto of hope,” Andrea Luka Zimmerman writes. This revelry, of both elegy and hope for the child that was, and yet, remains, is a necessary performance that too many memoirs are unable or not willing to take on. For this mixed-race child of immigrants always and forever on the edges of glamour and ruin is story that needs to be told.

     

    III: What is race?

    “The poet invents heroic moments where the pale black ancestor stands up

    on behalf of the race… She can see silent spaces

    but not what they signify, graphite markings in a forester’s code.”

    —Elizabeth Alexander, “Race”

    For those of us in the American South, whether by birth or migration, by choice or by necessity, and whether white or black or otherwise, we know race is key, albeit unstable centrality of our identity. Likewise, Roderick A. Ferguson contends that when “analyzed in terms of subjectivity, race helps to locate the ways in which identities are constituted” (207). Races constituted as non-white, at the height of Jim Crow in the South, nonetheless, are particularly analyzed and re-analyzed, subject to a haunting that will follow the body from birth well beyond death. Colin Dayan’s search for the ghost of her family’s — and thus her own — race is perhaps the squeaky mechanism that she must oil again and again. The pulley that, no matter how much she greases it, will not turn smoothly. In this way, In the Belly of Her Ghost becomes both a narrative of passing and of diaspora.

    Dayan’s mother, at the bequest of her wealthy husband — a prominent business owner of Atlanta society, perhaps despite his Jewishness — publicly played down her Haitian identity. Thus, her passing as white became a timely desire for Southern ease in the 1940s, ‘50s, and ‘60s. Or as Dayan writes, “this denial of her history was not anything like a grab for white power and privilege, but rather a casual act performed in exchange for a lifestyle of luxury, which just happened to be white,” adding that “this false if stylish veneer killed her spirit and destroyed any chance for happiness” (9). Though it perhaps “destroyed any chance for happiness,” it provided afternoons of sitting with friends in fabulous dresses drinking cocktails and listening to Frank Sinatra. Nights at The Standard Club, an Atlanta golf course and dinner society. But on the flipside of her easy white life, Dayan’s mother had in her employ two distinctly black bodies: Lucille and Thomas. “I hear my mother ringing the bronze bell my father brought back from Czechoslovakia in 1946,” Dayan remembers, “In the morning when she awakened, she called for Lucille to bring her breakfast in bed” (32). So of course, the mother’s passing had a cost not only for herself, but also for those around her, her competing matriarch Lucille, who could never pass as white, especially. But what strikes me in In the Belly of Her Ghost now is the effect her mother’s passing had on Dayan herself.

    This young Dayan, who craved, I believe, consciously or not, to align herself with the non-white bodies surrounding her. The Freedom Riders on television. The lunch counter protesters downtown near her father’s store. The Birmingham preachers on the radio. And of course, her other mother, Lucille, with whom Dayan created a secret, exclusive, and magical world all of their own. For, as Dayan recalls, Lucille

    figured I was in the enviable position of being not too white or too black, which meant that I could find out more things about such people than she could. That’s how we lived: she told me secrets about how to win the fight and sent me out into the world not exactly like bait, but pretty close to it, like an expendable spy. We waited. Waited until I got old enough to be mostly on my own, and by that time, as she knew, I’d have learned my lesson about which kind of people to fear, when to hate, and when to brawl. (114)

    For what are spies if not those who can pass (and what are children if not expendable)? As odd as it may be to claim, part of the magic—that strange concoction of glamour and tragedy always on the edges—of Dayan’s childhood is her role as expendable spy, the one who watches the world around her burn, figurative like Sherman’s Atlanta, and wraps herself “in a bundle of quotations…amulets stored up against my mother’s hatred and what I feared was a curse put on me” (45). For despite living in a seemingly white household, those curses brought from Haiti were always within arm’s reach.

    Thus, that house was not only a house of passing, but a house, too, of diaspora. For as Jonathan Boyarin and Daniel Boyarin argue, “diaspora offers an alternative ‘ground’ to that of the territorial state for the intricate and always contentious linkage between cultural identity and political organization” (10). If we think of the nuclear family as an analogue for the territorial state (and on the very micro level, the family surely is, especially a family like Dayan’s with its often warring factions), then cultural identity and political organization were always in flux, at war, and fluid in such a household containing a removed father, an always-acting mother, a set-in-her-ways alternative mother, and a ghostly child, all of whom were constituted of different races. It became a site of diaspora, though one difficult, perhaps impossible, to explain. As Dayan admits, “It is difficult to explain the kind of distortion that such incongruous mixing ushered into my life. I found myself a willing prey to such inconsistency, torn between a singular, sad fantasy of the South and the need to keep on walking on the wrong side of white devils. Either way, I remained haunted by the chimaera of whiteness” (73). Such unclear but persistent haunting marks a very contemporary form of diaspora, for as Brent Hayes Edwards explains, “seen through the lens of diaspora… traditional, even paradigmatic concerns… are thrown into question or rendered peripheral” (78). Whereas Dayan’s parents might have found themselves, as non-white immigrants themselves, aligned with the mid-twentieth-century Civil Rights movements, they rejected their own diaspora. Dayan, however, even as a child, allowed herself to live in that place called Other, in alignment with Lucille, the mother she loved.

    And this diasporic life is not something that leaves Dayan as she ages. “Now that I’ve returned to the South,” she writes, having moved to Nashville to become the Robert Penn Warren Professor at Vanderbilt, “an old fear beckons. That’s why Lucille keeps coming back to me. The white men are still tall and proud and their eyes bold and fearless… Their gaze takes me to a place of comfort that I don’t understand” (115). She doesn’t understand that place is a return to the racial questions of her childhood, perhaps, though she concludes that it is “something that gives me a respite from sensing that I don’t belong, that I am not right in my skin… I have a hunch that it has a lot to do with terror. [Those white men] still do not like me” (116). I suspect she will never understand. But I also suspect that this non-understanding of racial being is, in large part, what produced In the Belly of Her Ghost, so in a way, I pray Dayan never reaches the fulfillment of knowing.

     

    IV: What is nonfiction-ing?

    “Most nonfiction writers will do well to cling to the ropes of simplicity and clarity.”

    —William Zinsser, On Writing Well

    For those of us who teach memoir and creative nonfiction more generally, we’ve likely invoked William Zinsser, that monarch of our genre, a duke, perhaps, many times. I certainly have, telling my students, especially in the beginning stages of their sequence of creative writing workshops, to always aim for simplicity and clarity. That it is of paramount importance that your read always, at any moment, understand what is happening. We are not wrong to do this. Young writers often need to focus on simplicity, particularly of sentence structure, and clarity, particularly as they are often wont to, at the learned age of 19 or 20, explore the deep mysteries of their lives upon the page. So on the one hand, we quote William Zinsser and move on to talk about “the best” ways to plot an essay. And though this is sound advice for the beginning writer, as soon as we cross that line from novice to whatever-it-is-we-are-calling-ourselves-who-toil-and-then-publish this murky genre called nonfiction, we often through this advice right out the window (a cliché I would likely tell one of my students to strike).

    Let me confess: there are moments within In the Belly of Her Ghost where I am utterly confused. “She answers me,” Dayan writes of her mother, long after her mother’s death, long after the professor is tucked into her Nashville home, “Still, in the morning, hanging by a thread at the edge of the window, she moves when I call her, ‘Hey, mother,’ with a lilt and depth that surprise me” (154). There is a photo of a spider, perhaps twisting in the light coming through that window by which she has built her web, that follows this paragraph. And where most writers would position the spider as a metaphor for their mother, Dayan believes the spider is her mother herself.

    This is a surprising move, but one that fills me, so unexpectedly, with an unbridled joy that I cannot adequately express. Within the world of academic creative writers, it is not sexy to admit to a spiritual practice, especially one that, like Dayan’s, is constituted by parts of Christianity and mysticism. Most of us, it seems, are atheists, perhaps agnostics, and our un-belief is legion within the Ivory Tower. But on a very guttural level, I find myself questioning my un-belief through reading and re-reading In the Belly of Her Ghost, for Dayan succeeds in making so beautiful the thing I thought I had lost: that the ghosts of our pasts can haunt us and in turn, comfort us, however oddly, and make us never truly alone. Which is, in a way, a path to which we might, as Dayan so superlatively demonstrates here, approach the act of creative nonfiction-ing itself.

    Dayan starts in failure, writing of her mother, and of her own writerly self:

    As a child, I was in awe of the woman. She laughed at me, screamed at me. She shunned me, but now, dead, she stays close. Sometimes she comes down the wall like a spider.

    For years I’ve been writing her story. Much of it remains incomplete, pages with titles like “The Lady with Camellias,” “A Daughter’s Lament,” or “Blues in the Night.” I tried in vain to forget her, but she has stayed around as close to me as my breath, hovering like dust hanging in the air. (3)

    But as we’ve already seen, failure has its own unique benefits. By starting in failure, we are forced, thankfully, to take the spiritual journey this slim memoir requires of us. Lucille told Dayan the year before she died that “you can find God in an outhouse hole” (39). I believe, and how strange it is to even use that verb in this sense, that you can find God in In the Belly of Her Ghost. The ghost story Dayan so fears she is writing only to fright has, in surprising ways a levity we offered in our position as readers, hovering above the photos and the appropriately scattered collection of memories, the talisman and the bits of song in Creole and English, the devil’s bargains and the lord’s surprises and grit of things described so clearly we can almost feel them rough against our thusly bared skin.

    Madison Smartt Bell writes of the memoir that “here for the first time [Dayan] turns her rigorous intellect toward her own life, onto her vexed relationship with her mother and subsequent suffering.” Smartt Bell is certainly not wrong, and he joins a chorus of reviewers and blurbers offering similar praise; but I’m thankful for the space this long review essay has provided me because I think most reviewers have overlooked the utter, strange, often funny joys that also underlie the book. The turning of motherhood, and childhood, and race, and the very act of memoir on its head, spinning us something new, a stunning web into which we find ourselves, luckily, caught.

     

    REFERENCES

    Boyarin, Jonathan and Daniel Boyarin. 2002. Powers of Diaspora: Two Essays on the Relevance of Jewish Culture. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press.

    Dayan, Colin. 2018. In the Belly of Her Ghost. Los Angeles: LARB True Stories.

    Edwards, Brent Hayes. 2014. “Diaspora.” In Keywords for American Cultural Studies, edited by Bruce Burgett and Glenn Hendler. 76-78. New York: New York University Press.

    Ferguson, Roderick A. 2014. “Race.” In Keywords for American Cultural Studies, edited by Bruce Burgett and Glenn Hendler. 207-211. New York: New York University Press.

    Halberstam, Jack. 2011. The Queer Art of Failure. Durham, NC: Duke University Press.

    Jones, Saeed. 2019. How We Fight for Our Lives: A Memoir. New York: Simon & Schuster.

    Stockton, Kathryn Bond. 2009. The Queer Child, or Growing Sideways in the Twentieth Century. Durham, NC: Duke University Press.

  • Julia DeCook — How Deep Does the Rabbit Hole Go? The “Wonderland” of r/TheRedPill and Its Ties to White Supremacy

    Julia DeCook — How Deep Does the Rabbit Hole Go? The “Wonderland” of r/TheRedPill and Its Ties to White Supremacy

    Julia DeCook

    This essay has been peer-reviewed by “The New Extremism” special issue editors (Adrienne Massanari and David Golumbia), and the b2o: An Online Journal editorial board.

    You take the blue pill, the story ends. You wake up in your bed and believe whatever you want to believe. You take the red pill, you stay in Wonderland, and I show you how deep the rabbit hole goes.

    —Morpheus, The Matrix (Wachowski and Wachowski 1999)

    In the 1999 film The Matrix, Morpheus presents the protagonist, Neo, with the option of taking one of two pills: taking the blue pill would close off Neo’s burgeoning consciousness of the constructed nature of his life in the Matrix; taking the red pill would allow Neo to remain in Wonderland, meaning he would remain conscious of the real world around him. In The Matrix, human beings who have not taken the red pill exist in a type of virtual reality. Thus, to “take the red pill” means to be awakened—to become conscious—to see the world for what it truly is.

    The phrase entered popular vernacular in ways that the transgender Wachowski siblings undoubtedly never intended. In the context of The Matrix, taking the Red Pill means awakening to the oppressive mechanisms of control. But the phrase has been taken up by the far right to mean waking up to the oppressive mechanisms of feminism, progressive politics, and multiculturalism (Read 2019). Notably, on the popular content aggregator and forum website Reddit, the prominent men’s rights/pick up artist subreddit r/TheRedPill takes its name from this famous scene. However, instead of giving the user insight to see the world as one where robots have enslaved humanity, the Reddit “red pill” awakens men to the realization that they have been enslaved by women and feminism (Baker  2017; Ging 2019; Van Valkenburgh 2018).

    This rhetoric may feel familiar to those who have been following the rhetoric of the alt right, who often point to the need to “wake people up” to a constructed reality where white people— particularly white men—have been oppressed by feminism and multiculturalism. Discussions surrounding the Manosphere, (a loosely connected online network of men’s rights activists, pick up artists, Incels [so-called Involuntary Celibates], and other male-focused social movements) in both popular media as well as academic scholarship point to the ways the Manosphere functions as a gateway ideology for the alt right (Futrelle 2017b). Often, the broad connection that links these two groups together is misogyny and anti-feminist sentiments that they use as a way to ground their group identity and the political goals of the various factions within them. These affective dimensions that appeal to the frustration and anger of men who flock to these groups then create a new cultural practice (Ahmed, 2004). Although what these men pride themselves is their ability to think logically about the “reality of the sexual marketplace,” what we see emerging is a stronger appeal to emotion that then shapes their relationship with the group itself, and is performed through misogyny.

    The ways misogyny is performed on r/TheRedPill is under the guise of providing a “positive identity for men” by highlighting mechanisms by which Manosphere discourse and ideology can set up a foundation for further radicalization into more extremist thought. The ways the group strategizes in facilitating this radicalization as well as how it indoctrinates its members warrants further exploration, particularly to understand how such processes may occur. Particularly, the ways that the Manosphere’s ideology may set up a foundation for further indoctrination is important to highlight the radicalization process, since the Manosphere’s “pill” may be easier to swallow at first than outright white supremacy (Futrelle 2017b). Since the Manosphere and its many groups lure members into their communities by playing on their frustrations regarding sexual and romantic relationships, the ways that this radicalization occurs may be subtle at first but become more pronounced as time goes on.

    r/TheRedPill is both a prominent community in the Manosphere as well as a sizable Reddit community on its own. With over 400,000 members scattered across a variety of affiliated subreddits (i.e., r/RedPillWomen and r/RedPillParenting), the subreddit is not just a notable case study for its sheer size and popularity within the Manosphere but also for the ways the community has expanded its boundaries to appeal to a larger group of people—including women. By positioning itself as a social movement, the radicalization happening within the Manosphere first attracts men by appealing to their sexual or romantic frustrations, and then promises to give them the tools to alleviate this frustration and become “better men” for it. Unlike MGTOW (Men Going Their Own Way), whose members voluntarily abstain from romantic or sexual relationships to reclaim their “power” (Futrelle 2017a), and unlike Men’s Rights Activists (MRAs), who do not focus on pursuing sexual and romantic relationships, r/TheRedPill packages itself as a group that helps men successfully engage in sexual or romantic relationships with the added benefit of reclaiming one’s manhood.

    To “Red Pillers” (what r/TheRedPill members call themselves and are referred to as outside of the community), feminism and society in general promote “sexual strategies” that favor women, thus giving women power in relationships, whereas The Red Pill community teaches men sexual strategies to take back the power in sexual or romantic relationships. Focusing on only heterosexual relationships, to “Red Pill” in this context means to invoke heteronormative gender roles that benefit the man in the relationship and subjugate the woman, a dynamic achieved by becoming what they call an “Alpha Male.” On the surface, r/TheRedPill is mostly aligned with the Pick-Up Artist (PUA) community, which teaches men strategies to seduce women, but cultivates a more intense focus on men’s rights activism.

    Importantly, men who adhere to the teachings promulgated by r/TheRedPill view it as much more than sexual strategy—they view it as an identity, a community, and an ideology in which they base their realities upon. Recently, and particularly after the 2016 election of Donald Trump as President of the United States, studies have emerged in both academia and within journalistic sources that attempt to lump together MRAs with Red Pillers and Incels as similar groups that belong in the Manosphere (Ging 2019). However, it is critical to understand that they are different and distinct from one another within the larger Manosphere ecosystem, particularly in terms of how they define themselves. Yet the common thread running through these communities that connects them to the larger alt right movement is misogyny. Misogyny, and the rejection of feminism, which many men in these groups view as a “cancer” inflicted upon “Western civilization,” are the glue that keep these groups within the same extremist networks.

    “How Women Destroy Western Civilization”

    The discourse in the forum focusing on the ways “Western civilization is doomed,” especially in so far as feminism and/or women can be blamed for it, is perhaps one of the clearest indications of the links between the Manosphere and the alt right. It is this misogyny that helps bind together these affective networks of rage (Ahmed, 2004), which drives the movements to attempt to subvert and replace a perceived dominant culture they feel is oppressive to [white] men. Although there are many Red Pillers who explicitly reject the association of the group with white supremacy, for there are indeed non-white Red Pillers, the rhetoric that both movements espouse is constructed based on three central claims: 1. That Western Civilization has been ruined by feminism; 2. That men are oppressed, and only by fixing this “imbalance” will Western Civilization be saved; and 3. That women who reject feminism and instead embrace “traditional” roles as wives and mothers, subservient to their husbands, are happier. Accordingly, men in the r/TheRedPill community do not necessarily reject women who are not virgins (unlike Incels, who insist on the virginity of women that they aspire to be with), but do believe that women are morally, intellectually, and physically inferior to men, thus providing the basis of the argument for why feminism has violated the “natural order” of things by giving women power (Manne 2017).

    The violation of a “natural order” based in biological determinism in regard to race and sex is a core argument used in far-right circles, including the Manosphere, to justify their beliefs. And although they share many similarities in regard to the superiority of men over women, grouping the Manosphere and the alt right under the same umbrella is insufficient to understand the crux of their ideologies and the arguments they use to support them. The Manosphere often invokes a nostalgic remembrance of a past before feminism “tainted” women, just as white supremacist rhetoric in other parts of the alt-right also invokes this kind of nostalgic remembrance of a past that was white and patriarchal. However, in terms of how directly connected the Manosphere is to white supremacy, one piece of “literature” that r/TheRedPill uses to support their ideological beliefs about women and “hypergamy” comes directly from The Occidental Quarterly, a known white nationalist/white supremacist academic journal funded by the Charles Martel society (Southern Poverty Law Center n.d.). The Occidental Quarterly helps to blast open a gateway from r/TheRedPill to white supremacy and/or white nationalism. What r/TheRedPill and its affiliated subreddits and websites has demonstrated through publications like these is that the rabbit hole goes deeper than sexual strategy.

    Hypergamy, in particular, is a concept that highlights the ways the misogynistic discourse of the Manosphere and the white supremacist movement (in particular, the alt right) are connected. Devlin, the author of the piece, begins an article by stating that “white birthrates worldwide have suffered a catastrophic decline in recent decades,” (see figure 1), and goes on to explain why hypergamy is the reason why. Specifically, hypergamy is defined as a sexual and romantic drive to be with the “Alpha Male,” regardless of current relationship status. In other words, women will instinctively seek out the most attractive, successful, or powerful man in a group to have sexual or romantic relations with, and this “hypergamy” drives women to only “mate at the top.” Devlin goes on to say that the sexual revolution of the 1960s shifted culture to be a “female sexual utopia,” and that this brought upon a new cultural norm where women had sexual rights, leading to the downfall of “white birthrates” and “Western civilization.” In sum, the article states that it is not only hypergamy that is responsible for this downfall, but that women having sexual and reproductive freedom is the cause of all of the modern day white man’s woes—sexually, romantically, economically, and culturally. Pointing to all of these collapses of a patriarchal, white, masculine world as the reason for the discontent of “Western civilization”, the concept of hypergamy is easily transportable across these extremist groups and easily embraced.

    The first paragraphs of Sexual Utopia in Power
    Figure 1. The first paragraphs of Sexual Utopia in Power

    The reclamation of power is the fundamental motivation that drives these communities. This article, as well as many of the other readings that serve as the foundation of r/TheRedPill and Manosphere thought, are about reclaiming masculinity, reclaiming power, and reclaiming truth and reality in general. They not only give the men who flock to these communities an answer; they also completely disassemble the world the person knew before (thus the phrase “being Red Pilled”). The postmodern era is most notably significant for the collapse of the “grand narratives” that held societies together, and in particular in Western contexts these grand narratives were based in hegemonic masculinity, patriarchy, Christian religion, and whiteness. The ideologies of r/TheRedPill and the Manosphere promise a return to this grand narrative to ground one’s reality. This collapsing—and ultimate rebuilding—of a grand narrative and purpose that privileges male power over all else, then, helps develop a mind to accept more extremist thoughts and to act on them. Not unlike the tactics used by cults, who often exploit people who are seeking meaning, The Manosphere and the alt right provide meaning in the form of misogyny and white supremacy, creating an “affective fabric” that binds them together (Kuntsman, 2012).

    It is worth mentioning that the material consequences of the extremist ideologies of the Manosphere have often resulted in mass violence. Elliott Rodger, the Isla Vista shooter, was a member of PUA communities online (McGuire 2014) and is often venerated in communities like r/Incels, where they refer to him as “Saint Elliott.” James Jackson stabbed an elderly black man to death in New York with a sword and was also a member of MGTOW. Indeed, MGTOW is the more extreme faction of the Manosphere and is often not concerned with the advancement of men’s rights. It thus lends itself easily to other extremist beliefs.

    Along with r/Incels, MGTOW may be the most severe and extreme of all of the groups of the Manosphere. This does not, however, mean that r/TheRedPill and other Manosphere groups are not extreme or severe in their misogyny, but rather that their packaging of their misogynistic beliefs may be easier to swallow at first and lead men who flock to their groups down the rabbit hole even farther. By positioning themselves as advocating for the interests of men, and as groups that foster “positive identities” for them, they are able to recruit members who feel as though they are lost and without community—providing them with a sense of belonging and a group identity to subscribe to gives these groups their long-term sustainability (Hogg & Williams 2000). The acknowledgement of the ideologies of the Manosphere and its connections to the alt right has been established; however, understanding of how each group within the Manosphere recruits and indoctrinates its members will lead to further insight as to how they ensure their sustained existence in and outside of this ideological web.

    Although there are distinctive differences among the groups in the Manosphere in terms of the levels of violence they advocate for, and what their activism and membership focus on, the common underlying thread among them is rage toward modern society and women. These differences, however, are important to understand in order to identify what draws men (and even women) to these groups. In particular, it is crucial to comprehend these differences to better strategize around the prevention of further radicalization. Thus, the underlying base ideology that fuels these movements, connects them to the alt right, and results in mass violence is one that warrants further investigation, particularly regarding the role of platforms in connecting them all together through algorithmically generated recommendations and the ease of navigating the digital communities that make them home (Massanari 2015; Noble 2018).

    Rather than aimlessly wandering the digital wilderness searching for meaning, meaning is being given to them through these Manosphere groups who exploit the frustrations of men who desire romantic and sexual relationships. But these frustrations are manifestations of unfulfilled desires, and these communities are where these desires and frustrations are validated and strengthened. And as we have seen too often with the rise of hate crimes and mass murders, these violent desires result in violent ends.

    _____

    Julia R. DeCook is an Assistant Professor in the School of Communication at Loyola University Chicago. She is currently working on publishing her dissertation which examined how various extremist groups responded to censorship and bans to understand how digital infrastructure sustains these movements. She is also a fellow with the newly formed Institute for Research on Male Supremacism.

    Back to the essay

    _____

    Works Cited

  • Alexander Reid Ross — Fooling the Nation: Extremism and the Pro-Russia Disinformation Ecosystem

    Alexander Reid Ross — Fooling the Nation: Extremism and the Pro-Russia Disinformation Ecosystem

    Alexander Reid Ross

    This essay has been peer-reviewed by “The New Extremism” special issue editors (Adrienne Massanari and David Golumbia), and the b2o: An Online Journal editorial board.

    Introduction

    This study produces a theoretical basis for understanding the political organization behind contemporary illiberal disinformation. I use the word “illiberal” because disinformation tends to attack liberal positions from both the left and the right, often deploying conspiracy theories and populist tropes. While I do not dispute the fact that liberal-oriented disinformation exists, the majority of disinformation is illiberal and pro-Russian in an “information war” waged against the post-war liberal order.[1]

    Starbird, Arif, and Wilson (2018) found a “strategy of targeting, infiltrating, and shaping online activism” among information operations connected to Russia, while Hjorth and Adler-Nissen (2019) found conservatives up to 39% more likely to be exposed to disinformation.[2] It becomes important, then, to understand how disinformation flows influence popular discourse, and conservative discourse in particular, through the radicalization of social movements and the accentuation of certain aspects of them. In this study, I analyze the horizontal and vertical structure of disinformation networks, their ideological character, and their spatial scales.

    First, I consider the form of illiberal ideology within disinformation within the historical patterns and generic definition of fascism, assessing its syncretism in light of a brand of fascist ideology associated with the Russian fascist Alexander Dugin. Second, I assesses the content of “junk news” dissemination via the “vertical” news syndicates of Russian media and the “horizontal” networks of news sites, blogs, and influence groups that help to spread disinformation through a process that I characterize as “refraction.”[3]

    I call this process “refraction,” because it is similar to the way light entering a prism is bent into different colors. It is still the same conceptualization, but different components of it attune toward particular representations. By circulating the same “master narratives” of national decline and rebirth through an ostensibly diverse panoply of sources identified with differing and often combative ideologies—such as libertarian, far left, far right, and environmentalist—disinformation campaigns can gain the appearance of authenticity and media saturation.[4] As I show, these “master narratives” that are “refracted” into different angles or approaches often bear a consistent alignment with “multipolar” goals. This strategic approach involves both the production of “junk news” across a diverse tableau of websites, which tend to be either political or non-political, and its dissemination, far more often by autonomous actors than by automated bots.[5] I do not investigate the psychology of willing actors disseminating “junk news,” because that would require an entire study of its own, involving different methods and data sources.

    Thirdly, to add a practical component to my study, I analyze the function of these media networks in light of Russia’s active measures during the 2016 presidential elections. I find that disinformation has been aided and facilitated through infiltration within and exploitation of broader left-wing narratives casting opposition to Russia-supported disinformation as “McCarthyism.” In this way, I show that disinformation can succeed when given cover by sectors of the media already deemed credible by a significant audience, and that even when utilized by the left, most often serves the interests of the far right.

    I. Fascism and Geopolitics

    In this section, I compare the major ideological positions and strategic devices of contemporary disinformation networks to those of the far-right and fascist networks. I describe fascist syncretism in relation to arguably the most influential fascist in the world, Alexander Dugin. I further describe the key geopolitical aspects of Dugin’s ideology as multipolarism, Traditionalism, and Eurasianism, and explore the strategic importance of “entryism,” or infiltration, to his movement. This ideological analysis helps to illustrate the material influences and tendencies of specific disinformation disseminators, while also forming a backdrop for broader information campaigns.

    Fascism, Right and Left

    Understanding the flows of disinformation across scales in their proper political context requires a precise understanding of the political ideologies involved, including fascism, the populist radical right, and the hard left. Close inspection of fascist ideology reveals a tacit tendency to fuse opposing positions in order to produce a syncretic, quasi-populist combination of elitism and popular mobilization. We need to understand fascism before elaborating the similarities and differences of the populist radical right and the “hard left,” which tend to engage in collaborative efforts to defeat liberalism at the polls or in the streets. I first take a genealogical approach, then a typological approach toward recognizing fascism’s relationship to other movements and ideologies in order to get at a “generic definition” of fascism.

    Fascism must be understood as both an ideology with both revolutionary and reactionary features. The roots of fascism lie in reactionary juridical aspirations to total counter-revolution, which in the late 19th century contributed to a populist movement that appealed to workers, shopkeepers, and the upper-middle class in opposition to republicanism.[6] As the crisis of liberalism manifested in its failure to fulfill its own egalitarian promise, fascists exploited the violent rupture caused by revolutionary socialist opposition. Following the Bolshevik seizure of power in 1917 and the Italian victory in World War I, fascism emerged as a movement of vanguard aesthetes, intellectuals, and war veterans who called for the obliteration of liberal bureaucracies in favor of a futuristic system based on classical archetypes reproduced by the New Man’s march, unfettered by compromise, into a world of national will. Fascists suffused the reactionary tradition inherited by proto-fascists like the antisemitic trade union, Les Jaunes, with modern elements of collectivism and ultra-nationalism joined with elitism.[7] In opposition to undeserving liberal elites who created the conditions for chaos by offering lip service to equality, they promised their own version of a future where “natural” elites could gain support from a purportedly anti-capitalist system.[8]

    While fascists exploit revolutionary anti-capitalist responses to the failure of liberalism, they also benefit from a history of antisemitism and nationalism within the social movements of the 19th and early 20th Century.[9] I use the term “hard left” to connote such groups identified as left wing who nevertheless perceive the world through the inflexible lens of authoritarianism and conspiracy theories.[10] The “hard left” often abandons precise analyses of material conditions in favor of attacking individuals and groups like the Rothschilds, George Soros, the Bilderberg Group, or an esoteric “Zionist cabal” as the prime movers of world-historical events. Historically, such disdain for supposed conspiratorial “masters of the universe” has led members of the hard left to promote populist syntheses of right and left-wing opposition to liberalism.[11] At this juncture between hard left and radical right, fascist groups can gain hegemony by deploying syncretic ideology toward the generation of socio-political conditions more amenable to fascist movements. At the same time, these movements fail to deliver on their “revolutionary” promises, typically succeeding merely in providing a smoother socio-political basis for the accumulation of capital.[12]

    Thus, fascists glean from revolutionary movements the auspices of a virile state even while finding “classical liberal” allies in their crushing of the radical mass movements they pretended to truly represent.[13] Fascist advocacy of a “national revolution” against technocratic liberal democracy deploys populist tropes against the rising tide of grassroots leftwing movements and invited collaborations with the anti-parliamentary left.[14] The fruits of these efforts emerged in Italy with an aesthetic-nationalist movement that openly conflated right and left terminology in efforts to produce a “New Man” who would bring about the “New Age.”[15] Hence, fascism in its early form represented an undoubtedly right-wing political ideology that offered a totalitarian solution to dissatisfaction with parliamentary compromises—a national revolution that would restore older forms of sovereignty, re-establishing patriarchy at the heart of a revival of classical myths and archetypes. In this sense, I follow Roger Griffin’s “new consensus” definition of fascism as palingenetic ultranationalism—i.e., the rebirth of a mythical nation founded on myths of sovereignty and projected into a futurist “New Age” through the nomination of a subjectivity created by and creating a fusion of different, often conflicting and paradoxical ideologies, ideas, and commitments.[16]

    Syncretism

    Syncretism is not merely the fusion of left and right but the assemblage of contradictory concepts into a quasi-spiritual worldview (e.g., national socialism, elitist populism, esoteric political religion, and völkisch futurism) held together as if by magic. Although in general it exposes massive internal conflicts, syncretism enables the particular spatio-temporal adaptation of fascist movements to localized and historical phenomena in order to insinuate “palingenetic ultranationalism” into different conditions, while also opening the possibility of entryism within different political and social groups. In the same way, syncretism becomes a tool through which disinformation networks appropriate pre-existing online cultures, political groups, and social movements, warping their discourses toward the objectives of illiberal populism. Intentional disinformation flows suffuse not only right and left, but disparate socio-political subcultures from the organic food movement to anti-vaxxers to flat earth theories for the development of a syncretic geopolitical subject that conforms to the desires of authoritarian leaders.

    George L. Mosse, among the forerunners of the “new consensus,” Sternhell, one of its critical contemporaries, and Emilio Gentile, a luminary in the current study of fascism, have all offered incisive interpretations of such tendencies, as has antifascist scholar Umberto Eco. For Mosse, fascism represented both the incitement of revolution against liberal democracy and the subsequent taming of that revolution through the incorporation of the masses—an “anti-bourgeois bourgeois revolution.”[17] Hence, through a conditioned populist resentment against the current bourgeois elites, fascism empowered frustrated groups within the bourgeoisie to overthrow the “system” and replace it with their own.

    In his well-known essay, “Ur-Fascism,” Eco contends with the frustration at the heart of fascism and its implications for the “fuzziness” of fascist ideology. Fascism becomes “an all-purpose term because one can eliminate from a fascist regime one or more features, and it will still be recognizable as fascist.” Only through this physical acting out of ideological fallacies can fascism oppose the “analytical criticism” that would otherwise level it, Eco argues.[18]

    Throughout his work, Zeev Sternhell observes similar tendencies at root in fascism—namely fascist Georges Valois’s calling for a “fusion of nationalism and socialism.”[19] The currents that emerged in France and Italy, using syndicalist anti-parliamentarianism to fan the flames of mass action in the service of an idealized national myth, produced a collective, right-wing revolutionary subject. Hence, fascism emerged from a sense that the violent overcoming of intellectual and political oppositions could form an ideology of action over ideas.

    In his important essay, Roger Eatwell expands on the contextualization of fascism, identifying a “spectral-syncretic model” for understanding its motivations. Drawing from the themes of “natural history,” geopolitics, political economy, and “leadership, activism, party and propaganda,” Eatwell approaches fascism across different stages and scales in order to obtain a fuller understanding of its necessary components.[20] Fascism could not reconcile entirely the ideological divisions of its time and was left with a partial incorporation of a number of different positions—the New Man and the classical archetype; Christianity and anti-clerical paganism; irrationalism and science; private property and social welfare.[21] For these reasons, fascism’s totalitarian approach to “political culture” actually spread immense ideological confusion that further enabled the Leader to make apparently pragmatic decisions.

    This final point appears also in the work of Emilio Gentile on “Fascism as a Political Religion.” Gentile argues that “this syncretism of different beliefs within fascist ideology permitted the existence of diverse approaches, but none of these could hope to present itself as the only authentic interpretation of the ‘faith.’” The ideological split between fascism and the Catholic Church had to be closed by Fascism’s ultimate triumph over the Church as its genuine representative. Similarly, German fascism “‘Aryanized’ and ‘Germanized’ Christ and God.”[22] In other iterations of fascism throughout the world, for example with Brazil’s Integralistas, syncretism enabled the adoption of “Fascist rationale and leadership… but only in association with local and cultural traditions and innovations carefully selected and emphasized by leading intellectuals.”[23]

    A Brief Introduction to Multipolarity

    The syncretic alternative media networks that engaged in political discourse surrounding the 2016 presidential elections in the US shared in common a commitment to “anti-establishment” politics. Across international and local scales, this alternative media ecosystem typically framed Russia as a leading, global opponent to the establishment. The approach of syncretic alternative media networks, then, promoted a geopolitical understanding of the North Atlantic as the liberal, establishment base, sympathizing instead with Eurasian hegemony in a “multipolar” context.

    Multipolarism emerged in the Soviet Union during the late-60s and 1970s as a realpolitik fix for the crises of Khrushchevian internationalism. Among its most important progenitors, Yevgeni Primakov developed crucial ties between the Soviets and the Ba’athist Parties in both Iraq and Syria.[24] Through multipolarism, the Soviets could support authoritarian-conservative nationalism as a bastion against the US and the State of Israel, which it deemed the global imperialist powers. After the fall of the Soviet Union, Primakov helped translate Soviet era policies, including intelligence operations, into the modern Russian Federation while serving as Minister of Foreign Affairs and then Prime Minister from 1996-1999.[25] After President Boris Yeltsin’s pro-Western tenure, the regime of Vladimir Putin drifted increasingly toward a “multipolarism” dedicated to Russia as an independent, Eurasian world power somewhere between empire and “civilization state.”[26] Today, Putin’s policies are often viewed as a vacillation between Primakov’s “pragmatic” approach and the syncretic approach advocated by the most radical progenitor of “multipolarism,” Russian fascist Alexander Dugin.[27]

    Multipolarism suits Dugin’s brand of fascism, because it stems from the Soviet Union’s support for the authoritarian fusion of nationalist and socialist tendencies in opposition to liberal capitalism.[28] As a National Bolshevik who longed for an ultranationalist form of the Soviet Union, Dugin set the groundwork for the junction of left and right as a feature of disinformation campaigns that often promote Russian media over and against establishment “mainstream media,” and in some cases are openly affiliated with Duginist ideology. However, disinformation involves a complex field of shared interests, overlapping audience, and collaborative partnerships in which Dugin and his ideology play an important and influential role—perhaps even to the chagrin of some of its other progenitors.

    Dugin’s Eurasianism and Traditionalism

    Dugin’s geopolitical ideology, which he calls “Eurasianism,” stems from an effort to join multiple regions and diverse political and spiritual approaches into an overarching, imperial construct stretching from Dublin to Vladivostok.[30] Configured in accordance with a “multipolar” strategy, Dugin’s Eurasia would echo an agenda similar to the European New Right and its chief advocate, Alain de Benoist, who is one of Dugin’s intellectual heroes.[31] Arguing for a heterogeneous assemblage of homogenous ethnostates, such a multipolar world relies on authoritarian regimes masked as direct democracy through predicates of a community solidarity based on strict “natural hierarchies” associated with staunch, “blood and soil” patriarchy.[32]

    Hence, Dugin argues for a Traditionalist approach that endorses far-right Russian Orthodoxy, Protestant fundamentalists, the kind of reactionary Catholicism advocated by Rexist Leon Degrelle and practiced by members of the Spanish Falange, and hardline Shi’a Islam, as long as they remain within discrete geographic regions. Dugin’s most influential book to date, Foundations of Geopolitics, situates post-war fascists within the genealogy of “classical” geopolitical theorists. Instead of full-blown Hitlerism, then, Dugin maintains a position of “conservative revolution,” referring to far-right Nazi collaborators like Carl Schmitt and Ernst Jünger as his immediate influences.[33] Despite his efforts to place some distance between himself and the old Nazi Party core, Dugin’s analysis results in a racist, occult screed about the prior existence of a Hyperborean “root race” of pure Aryan types.[34]

    Nationalist Entryism

    Amid the reaction to Ukraine’s 2004 Orange Revolution in Russia, Duginism was transmitted into a street-level movement of “managed nationalism” that, alongside youth organizations like the Gladiators, Nashi, and the Slavic Union, could defeat liberal opposition to Putin’s administration within Russia, itself.[35] Dugin also helped create a new political party called Rodina (Motherland) alongside former left-wing economist and LaRouche associate, Sergei Glazyev, hoping to support Putin through “controlled democracy” by using nativism to draw working class votes from the Communist Party.[36] Although Rodina transitioned to the leadership of Sergei Rogozin, whose geopolitical vision is quite different from Dugin’s, Rodina and its leadership continued to draw leftists into a right-wing opposition to liberalism.

    In accordance with their worldview, Duginists and similar far-right activists worked to enter the anti-globalization movement through an illiberal “anti-globalist” approach. Among the most open instances of entryism occurred among Dugin’s followers in Italy, where Claudio Mutti and his colleagues, Claudio Terciano and Tiberio Graziani, among other right-wing extremists, were allowed to affiliate with the Assisi-based Campo Antimperialista.[37] Although recent literature on the subject suggests that their interventions ended due to the controversy that it raised, the milieu fostered by active participation of fascists with left-wing anti-imperialists provided the space for important left-wingers to convert to the Eurasianist cause.[38] By the mid-2000s, the Campo had drawn in Holocaust denier Claudio Moffa and an important Marxist theorist named Costanzo Preve, who gravitated toward the Duginists, publishing with their presses and appearing with them at conferences.

    In conjunction with the Russian Anti-Globalization Movement, later recast as the Anti-Globalization Movement of Russia, members of Rodina would emerge as an illiberal, reactionary force merging right and left through collaboration with other ostensibly left-wing, anti-imperialist groups from the Campo Antimperialista to associated left-wing groups in the US like the Workers World Party.[39] This considerable left-right crossover compounded ongoing organizational crossover across national and international scales, particularly over the question of geopolitical “multipolarism.”[40] Along with other interlinked think tanks like the German Center for Eurasian Studies and the Polish European Center of Geopolitical Analysis, propaganda organs like Graziani’s Geopolitica, and international conferences like Iran’s New Horizon, the Anti-Globalization Movement of Russia, Campo Antimperialista, and Workers World Party contributed to the development of an extensive international network supported by Russian soft power and largely favorable to the Kremlin’s geopolitical initiatives.

    Conclusion

    The ideology and strategy of “managed nationalism,” or state support of right-wing groups to dismantle the gains of the left, emerged across international and local scales in relation to Dugin’s participation in the ideological and practical reactionary movements of the early-mid-2000s. With the Russian invasion of Georgia in 2008 and the later conflicts in Syria and Ukraine, the Kremlin’s rhetoric and practices pivoted more toward Eurasianism, bringing Dugin and his associates greater influence.[41] For instance, Dugin’s compatriot, Sergei Glazyev, who opined about a Jewish plot to replace Russians, became Putin’s advisor on Eurasianism.[42] This geopolitical pivot brought with it a new form of “hybrid warfare” (often framed as “the Gerasimov doctrine”), which advances cyber-attacks, propaganda techniques, and disinformation in accordance with many of the “net-centric war” theory outlined by Dugin and developed further by the Command and Control Research Program of the Office of Assistant Secretary of Defense, in which Russia strives to win physical contests before they happen by controlling the information space through information operations that delegitimize their geopolitical opposition.[43]

    It is important to note that the theories that drive modern covert action are opaque by nature, and Dugin’s is one of at least three leading, and often interwoven, influential theoretical formulations of hybrid war (with Evgeny Messner and Igor Panarin), which cannot be fully exposited in this article. In the next section, however, I will show the integral participation of Duginist networks in disinformation campaigns, and the deployment of discursive and strategic approaches associated with Duginism—particularly, as Starbird, Arif, and Wilson show, the “strategy of targeting, infiltrating, and shaping online activism,” syncretism, and geopolitical positions aligned with multipolarity.[44] Through this effort, we can gain a clearer understanding of the usage of extremism within disinformation campaigns.

    II. The Vertical and Horizontal Structure of Illiberal Disinformation Networks

    When presenting the media ecosystem that forwards the Kremlin’s foreign policy interests, the obvious imperative falls on describing its state-funded and state-run media, which have at many points spearheaded online disinformation. This section first unpacks Russian state media available in the West through RT and Sputink in Horbyk’s terms, as “a vertikal—a Soviet‐time term connoting a strictly hierarchical and monolithic power apparatus—in the media system.”[45] Next, it explores some different horizontal networks of influence groups and websites that help disseminate pro-Russian disinformation. Lastly, it shows tacit integration between the two.

    The “Vertikal”

    The origins of RT are somewhat murky, but can generally be located in RIA Novosti. A state-run Russian news agency, RIA Novosti created a non-profit called TV-Novosti, which then founded RT as “Russia Today” in 2005 amid the “managed nationalism” campaign. While TV-Novosti’s non-profit status gives RT the pretense of autonomy from direct state control, the organization is considered extremely important for the Kremlin’s domestic and foreign strategies. RT first emerged to promote Russian culture, but the experience of the 2008 conflict in Georgia and contested 2011 Russian legislative elections led to its transition into “a political tool to undermine the American position in global politics.”[46]

    During Occupy Wall Street, RT promoted left-wing opposition to liberal economics by hosting a number of left activists from the US and other countries in Europe. In discussions ranging from economics to geopolitics, leftists found the attention they felt they deserved, and a platform to spread their ideas to millions of people. At the same time, RT provided platforms to Eurasianists like German Duginist Manuel Ochsenreiter, Polish activist Mateusz Piskorski, and Claudio Mutti’s colleague Tiberio Graziani. Piskorski would go to Polish jail on charges of spying for Russia and China, while Ochsenreiter stands implicated in a 2019 “false flag” firebombing of a Hungarian cultural center in Ukraine, which prosecutors believe is connected to Russian secret services.[47] As well, RT promoted conspiracy theorists like “great replacement” theorist Renaud Camus and French “9/11 truth” activist Thierry Meyssan, whose own media node, Voltaire Network, includes Dugin associate and Rosneft spokesperson Mikhail Leontyev among its stable of writers.[48] In this manner, RT groups together left-wing and right-wing illiberalism corresponding to a quasi-populist coalition in favor of the Kremlin’s geopolitical imperatives (e.g., support for Bashar al-Assad, Russia’s semi-clandestine occupation of the Donbass, and Euroskepticism).

    RT’s efforts provide an aura of respectability to marginal Duginist activists, thus boosting their pet causes and projects. For instance, RT promoted an obscure fascist commentator named Joaquin Flores as an informed pundit. Hailing from Los Angeles, Flores helped moderate a left-wing MySpace forum in the early 2000s before moving to fascism based on his rejection of feminism and liberalism. He joined a spin-off of the fascist skinhead group American Front, called New Resistance, run by long-time fascist James Porrazzo. New Resistance helped bring Flores into the international Duginist network, through which he moved to Belgrade, developed political affinities with the far-right Serbian Radical Party, and helped broaden the Duginist online network. In the early 2010s, Flores joined the Center for Syncretic Studies (CSS), which focuses on developing the Duginist foundations of Eurasianism and multipolarism.[49] CSS’s media site, Fort Russ, provides news and analysis from a Duginist perspective. Through this work, Flores became a well-known figure among Duginists, but remained entirely obscure until RT’s promotion opportunities.

    Another Duginist given public attention by RT is Andrew Korybko. One of the more prolific commentators in the Duginist think tank Katehon, Korybko has written a book about hybrid war addressing Syria and Ukraine, and between 2015-2016 he placed seven articles in the website of Russian Institute for Strategic Studies, which likely developed aspects of the strategy for intervention in the 2016 elections.[50] The leader at the time, a Lieutenant General of the Foreign Intelligence Service named Leonid Reshetnikov, also sat on the board of Katehon.[51] Though at this point Korybko maintains a high stature in Russian political life, RT’s attention both represented and propelled his ascent.

    Hence, RT not only facilitates the spread of Duginist geopolitics through the promotion of its exponents, but it has become a key conduit relaying informational presentation from think tanks to the public. As well, RT came to promote conspiracy theories as ways of confusing its audience’s understanding of key issues in order to advance Russian policy interests. In the words of scholar Ilya Yablokov, RT became “a specific tool of Russian public diplomacy aimed at undermining the policies of the US government and, in turn, defending Russia’s actions.”[52] In particular, Yablokov observes, RT promoted the “underdog” vision of Vladislav Surkov, mastermind of “sovereign democracy” and “managed nationalism”—“conveying Russia as a ‘speaker’ on behalf of the third-world nations excluded from the US-led ‘New World Order.’” However, Yablokov argues that RT is not truly Duginist, since the “ambiguity and heterogeneity of the ideological foundation of the current Russian political regime makes anti-Americanism the only constant element of RT’s agenda.”[53] Such an orientation enables the support of populist political parties, usually of the radical right, which the Kremlin hopes to support as an increasingly viable alternative to the EU and NATO.

    In December 2013, RIA Novosti and radio service Voice of Russia were brought together under the name Russiya Segodnya, which literally translates to Russia Today. Although the Kremlin denies that Russiya Segodnya and RT are connected, they share the same editor-in-chief, Margarita Simonyan.[54] Within a year, Russiya Segodnya reconfigured the previously-existing Voice of Russia into Sputnik News, which would feature international news and podcasts under the name Radio Sputnik. In the words of Roman Horbyk, “The launch of new state news agencies Rossiya Segodnia (based on the restructured RIA Novosti) and Sputnik, with budgets in the billions, marked the completion of a vertikal—a Soviet‐time term connoting a strictly hierarchical and monolithic power apparatus—in the media system.”[55] Created to counter “propaganda promoting a unipolar world,” Sputnik more explicitly delivered their terms of multipolarism and more openly advocated for left-right syncretism against “Atlantic liberalism.”[56] Sputnik would become more radical than RT in forwarding conspiracy theories, Eurasianism, and alliances between fascists and leftists in opposition to liberalism.

    Additional fascinating examples of Russian state systems percolating into the alternative media ecosystem are Redfish, the New Eastern Outlook (or Journal-NEO), and Strategic Culture. Promoting stories of social unrest in opposition to neoliberalism, Redfish is a project supported by the Kremlin that bears the aesthetics of an independent alternative news startup giving it more social media appeal than RT, from which most of its publicly-associated employees hailed in 2018.[57] The publication of the Institute of Oriental Studies of the Russian Academy of Sciences, New Eastern Outlook produces conspiracy theories about Rothschilds and George Soros and Islamophobic material, and hosts articles by Duginist Catherine Shakhdam and conspiracy theorist Vanessa Beeley, among others. Although New Eastern Outlook has a far smaller reach than Sputnik and RT, it provides more appearance of diversity within a media ecosystem largely controlled by think tanks and the vertikal.[58] Similarly, the Strategic Culture Foundation emerged from a Moscow think tank run by former-Soviet politician, Yuri Prokofiev, to undermine US foreign policy, hosting disinformation purveyors who appear to present autonomous and unbiased findings on their commentary site, Strategic Culture.[59] In short, the post-Soviet vertikal functions as controlled state media despite giving the appearance, on occasion, of an autonomous “free press” that appeals to left-of-center dissenters and lay geopolitical analysts who feel underrepresented in Western media.

    Horizontal Soft Power and the Alternative Media Ecosystem

    If Russian state media marks a vertikal, soft-power groups and alternative media organizations make up the accompanying horizontal networks. Here, the term “horizontal” is used to connote relative autonomy from the state but not equal relations between sites. Some sites are obviously more privileged than others, as is reflected in differential support from the vertikal, but they nevertheless remain engaged in a common system of propaganda “refraction.”

    Since Journal-NEO and Strategic Culture are directly connected to the Russian state, I have grouped them in the vertikal, but they behave more like horizontal network nodes, because their affiliations are opaquer. Soft power groups are often funded by the Kremlin or its loyal oligarchs, and typically promote round tables, academic conferences, and the dissemination of information and disinformation. The latter work of dissemination is commonly related to an alternative media ecosystem that engages a network of editors and journalists in the publication of articles that often reuse the same pro-Kremlin narratives with different “packaging” depending on the ideological bent of the site and its audience.[60] Soft power networks rely on fascists and far-right nationalists developing institutions that will propagate pro-Russian influence.

    Soft-power groups explored by Anton Shekhovtsov’s monograph, Russia and the Western Far Right, include the group around the Italian journal Geopolitica, founded by Graziani, and its related French group, the Institute of Democracy and Cooperation, founded by Natalya Narochnitskaya, who ran for election as a Rodina candidate. These two groups have had overlapping membership—for instance Narochnitskaya is on Geopolitica’s “Scientific Board” and US libertarian John Laughland has featured on the board of both.[61] Other inter-connected “think tanks,” publications, and institutions, such as Piskorski’s European Center of Geopolitical Analysis and Ochsenreiter’s German Center for Eurasian Studies, join in the promotion of pro-Kremlin propaganda efforts, including “election observation” for fraudulent elections in Eastern Europe.[62] While these European networks hold import for regional politics, an interlinked US-centered network similarly exists to support Russia’s geopolitical interests across the Atlantic.

    Many of the current influence groups within the US promoting Russia’s agenda through disinformation have a common “roof” through the efforts of far-right political operator Edward Lozansky. Born in the Soviet Union, Lozansky moved to the US toward the end of the Cold War in order to lobby in favor of Russian dissidents. He gained useful friends among the US New Right, including Heritage Foundation founder, Paul Weyrich, who would prove instrumental in replacing regimes formerly under Soviet control with far-right nationalists. Lozansky worked to set up a new “American University in Moscow” and a related “think tank,” which would group together “non-interventionist” journalists and political activists. Through his university, Lozansky produced a semi-annual “Russia Forum” where both pro-Russia leftists and rightists, including influential Congressmen and prominent media figures, mingle and share ideas on media, policy, education, and political strategy.[63]

    As of mid-2018, “Research fellows” at Lozansky’s university included members of RT and the Russian Institute of Strategic Studies, as well as the head of Dugin’s Centre for Conservative Studies, Mark Sleboda, and Daniel McAdams of the Ron Paul Institute, who described himself as a “Traditionalist” in his Twitter profile before changing it in 2019.[64] Another “research fellow,” Gilbert Doctorow, worked through the Russia Forum in 2014 to re-found the 1970s pro-détente group, the American Committee for East-West Accord (ACEWA), with co-founder Stephen F. Cohen.[65] A contributing editor to The Nation magazine, Cohen helped bring important political and business figures onto the board of ACEWA, while the group took on far-right journalist James Carden to edit its website.[66] The ACEWA’s launch later that year in Brussels brought together a round table including Aymeric Chauprade, a far-right advisor to the Front National’s Marine Le Pen who had recently returned from “observing” the illegal referendum in Crimea (Chauprade is also a member of the red-brown Izborsky Club think tank with Dugin, Glazyev, Leontyev, and Narochnitskaya, and is also on the “scientific committee” of Graziani’s Geopolitica).[67] Lozanksy himself has appeared with Dugin both on television and at conferences, as well as fascist ideologues like Alain de Benoist and former WikiLeaks attaché Israel Shamir. Aside from co-authoring articles with Lozansky in the far-right Washington Times, Doctorow openly advocates de Benoist’s vision of an illiberal populism fusing left and right.[68]

    Hence, Doctorow helped to foster in the ACEWA a pro-Kremlin organization linked to other soft-power groups around Europe through Lozansky’s Russia Forum. Along with the Russia Forum, Doctorow helped give a pro-alt-right propaganda site called Russia Insider its start. Russia Insider’s North American donations were “processed” by Consortium News, another pro-Kremlin site featuring syncretic political activists.[69] Among Consortium News’s stable of authors is Caitlin Johnstone, who calls for “shameless” alliances between the left and right in favor of the Kremlin’s interests, Pepe Escobar, who regularly appears at the conferences of Iran’s sanctioned, anti-Semitic New Horizon organization, and Max Blumenthal, who has been criticized for promoting conspiracy theories about Syria’s White Helmets and advocating a “multipolar world.”[70] Other fellows listed at Lozansky’s university think tank include a blogger named Anatoly Karlin, who has moved from his Da Russophile blog to the far-right Unz Review, and disbarred attorney Alexander Mercouris of alternative media site, The Duran, whose director hosts a program on RT. As well, Patrick Armstrong, James Jatras, and Anthony Salvia are interesting mentions on Lozansky’s list, because they were also listed as authors for Global Independent Analytics (GIAnalytics), a site that New Knowledge finds closely associated with the Internet Research Agency’s “troll factory.”[71] A glance at a sample of the members of Lozansky’s think tank who are connected to alternative news outlets and the sites they represent shows impressive content sharing [Table 1].

    American University in Moscow Ron Paul Institute The Duran Consortium News Russophile/Unz Review GIAnalytics Rank
    Edward Lozansky X X X 3rd
    Daniel McAdams X X X X 2nd
    Alexander Mercouris X X X X 3rd
    Gilbert Doctorow X X X 3rd
    Anatoly Karlin X X 4th
    Patrick Armstrong X X X  * X 2nd
    James Jatras X X X X X 1st
    Anthony Salvia X X 4th
    Rank
    1st 3rd 2nd 4th 2nd 4th

    Table 1. An examination of cross-referenced authors and websites linked to the American University in Moscow’s think tank. The grey boxes signify that the author is a high-ranking member of or core writer for the site.
    * Note that Patrick Armstrong appears to post in Consortium News’s comments, but does not appear to be an author for the site.

    I analyzed the content sharing and cross-promotion of authors associated with the American University in Moscow in Table 1 by searching for the authors’ bylines within the websites in question. An “X” signifies that the author’s work appears in or is associated with the site or group in question. Association is used with regards to the American University in Moscow, while content inclusion is used with the other four sites. The most cross-published author in the group associated with Lozansky that I studied is Jatras, with Mercouris close behind and Lozansky, McAdams, and Doctorow tied for third. The sites that have cross-published every author are The Duran and the Unz Review, with Consortium News proving the most selective in this context. At the same time, Consortium News does quote McAdams as “a highly respected former Foreign Service Officer possessing impeccable credentials,” and while the Ron Paul Institute is only the second most selective, it also hosts an article quoting Gilbert Doctorow as a US-Russia relations analyst without an indication of bias. It is important to note that this set is only representative of alternative figures associated in 2018 with the American University in Moscow according to its website, and other connections with other sites are explored further in this article.

    I could not find evidence that GIAnalytics, the group most directly tied to the Internet Research Agency by the Mueller Report, cross-published any of the other authors; however, the site is offline now, making it difficult to research their archives. Other than Lozansky’s think tank, GIAnalytics has the highest membership out of the sample of groups represented at the American University in Moscow, with Consortium News in close second. Importantly, Joaquin Flores features as a member of GIAnalytics, and his site Fort Russ found promotional space at Lozansky’s Russia Forum along with Consortium News and Russia Insider. This again shows open Duginist involvement within the “alternative media” networks mobilized and supported by Lozansky in the context of his institutions. Figure 1 shows clear connections between GI Analytics and other groups in the sample, such as Russia Insider and The Duran (DiResta et al., 2018).

    Figure 1. Image of the GIAnalytics network produced by DiResta et al., 2018. Note the presence of Russia Insider, The Duran, The Saker, and Fort Russ, as well as Mercouris and Flores.

    Lozansky and his fellows also receive promotion and airtime on Russian state media, particularly Sputnik Radio. One show host at Sputnik, Brian Becker, is the head of Party for Socialism and Liberation, a spin-off of the hard-left Workers World Party.[72] On his show Loud & Clear, Becker has hosted Mercouris, as well as McAdams of the Ron Paul Institute, whose board also includes Geopolitica and Institute for Democracy and Cooperation member, John Laughland. Duginist Mark Sleboda made it on Loud & Clear more than forty times in the first two years of the program. Another Duginist, Catherine Shakhdam, was hosted more than twenty times during the same time period. Lozanksy, himself, joined the Sputnik News program of Scottish socialist John Wight, Hard Facts, for interviews promoting the “multipolar world.”[73] Of course, RT has helped forward the same voices, for instance hosting Doctorow, Becker, and McAdams on the same CrossTalk program in September 2016 for a conversation about “Increased Tensions” between Russia and the US. The promotion of horizontal networks joining the hard left to Duginists through the vertikal suggests that the Eurasianist approach to the “multipolar world” plays a role in overdetermining the geopolitical oppositions between nationalism and internationalism, particularly through the uses and distortions of the notion of anti-imperialism.[74]

    Site Overlap and Content Sharing

    Studies of site metrics and content sharing have exposed significant overlap both among “master narratives” and audiences who visit pro-Russian sites responsible for disinformation. This overlap suggests that a strong subculture of internet users regularly access these websites for their understanding of current events. It also renders explicit different scales of dissemination, from vertical to horizontal to mainstream.

    In December 2017 and January 2018, I ran the Audience Overlap Tool available through Alexa.[75] Using proprietary algorithms, the Audience Overlap Tool identifies and ranks the sites that audience members use to travel from and to a given site, and then presents a visualization of those sites based on their own audience. Thus, it both visually and numerically represents the clustering of sites. It should be noted that audience overlap does not necessarily imply shared ideology. A site might share an audience because people click to and from a ruthless critique. However, using empirical data and qualitative analysis, we can identify ideologically similar sites from ideologically opposed ones. This becomes complicated given the syncretic characteristics of disinformation schemes; however, where their agreement on specific issues becomes more pronounced than their general ideological differences, they are still considered similar and their clustering is considered to be representative of their similarity rather than their opposition.

    It should also be noted that clustering becomes dependent on the variables, or sites, selected in relation to one another. I chose Russia Insider, Consortium News, and The Nation because they have important relationships in associated personnel, and added The Saker as another site anchored within the illiberal disinformation ecosystem. While those individual sites do not change with regards to their individual site cross-overs, the overall visualization reflects the way that clustering occurs in relation to the four sites. Had I chosen different sites within the same network, the overall clustering would not appear the same.

    When I ran Alexa’s model, I observed significant clustering among Russian sites (vertical) clearly connected to Western-based pro-Russia media (horizontal), which shows a clear relationship with more mainstream sites autonomous from the disinformation ecosystem [Figure 2]. The Nation appears to present this bridge from the horizontal to the mainstream, while Russia Insider seems to present the site furthest embedded within the Russian media. As we will see in the next section, this composition appears to be further evidenced when examining the usage of “McCarthyite” as a slur during 2016 presidential elections.

    In an investigation into the site metrics (clicks from incoming and outgoing readers) of the most frequented Russia-friendly site in December 2017, The Duran, turned up a cluster of related sites—especially The Saker and 21stCenturyWire, which harbor the closest affinity for Russian politics and Duginist positions outside of those self-described Russian websites, themselves. Most of its viewers clicked over from Facebook, Google, and YouTube; however, importantly, Russia Insider and rt.com accounted for the fourth and fifth most clicks, showing how the audience flutters between networks.

    The fourth and fifth most entered sites from The Duran were Russia Insider and The Saker, which received more than 54,000 unique hits per month. The audiences for the Duran and The Saker show significant audience overlap with Russia Insider and Fort Russ, according to Alexa, suggesting a strong correlation between its politics and those of the Duginist network. Significantly, among the highest search engine keywords for those clicking on The Duran was “George Soros,” indicating a high degree of anti-Semitic conspiracy theorists enjoying their articles.[76]

    Figure 2. The site overlap visualization tool from Alexa produced this representation of discrete overlapping groups.
    Figure 3. Data visualization of content sharing networks found in Starbird et al. 2018.

    This complex assemblage of groups not only shares significant audience overlap but engages in important content sharing. In an important academic study of this syncretic approach, “Ecosystem or Echosystem? Exploring Content Sharing across Alternative Media Domains,” scholars Kate Starbird, et. al., identify the same websites appearing to produce alternative frameworks and approaches to news stories, such as The Russophile, 21st Century Wire, The Duran, and Consortium News [Figure 3].[77] Each of these sites maintains “strong political themes reflecting distinct (and in some cases, seemingly conflicting) ideologies—including anti-imperialist left, libertarian, conservative and alt-right; as well as other more niche ideological leanings, including explicit anti-Semitism,” the authors state. Yet, the authors importantly conclude that these websites “are publishing the same content, but inside very different wrappers.”[78] A number of the same sites also appear in the study conducted by New Knowledge for the US Senate, because they either participated in or were directly supported by Russian disinformation “factory,” the Internet Research Agency.[79]

    Table 2 assesses overlapping members across Lozansky’s think tank, the content-sharing conspiracy theory sites in Starbird et al, 2018; those associated with GI Analytics according to New Knowledge’s 2018 white paper; those who the 2019 Stanford study found published fake authors attributed to the GRU, [80] and the Alexa model’s findings of overlapping sites between Russia Insider, Consortium News, The Saker, and The Nation. It should be noted that lack of affiliation of a member of a site with the American University in Moscow’s think tank does not indicate no connection to Russian media, while the reverse is true: affiliation suggests a person is engaged in pro-Russian illiberal media efforts.

    Lozansky fellow Starbird New Knowledge
    Stanford Rank
    Consortium News X X 3rd
    Fort Russ X X X 2nd
    The Saker X X 3rd
    The Duran X X X X 1st
    Russia Insider X X X X 1st
    RT X X 3rd
    Global Research X X X X 1st
    Unz/DaRussophile X X X 2nd
    21st Century Wire X 4th
    MintPressNews X X X X 2nd
    Voice of Russia/Sputnik X X 3rd

    Table 2. An X marks representation of affiliation of a member of the website with Lozansky’s think tank and presence in studies on disinformation content sharing (Starbird et al., 2018), Russian meddling (DiResta et al., 2018), fake authors (DiResta and Grossman, 2019), and audience overlap (based on 2018 Alexa search).

    Overlap in Table 2 mostly indicates whether the site is connected to Lozansky’s think tank, and whether it is observed as part of a disinformation ecosystem that involves significant content sharing (Starbird et al., 2018), audience overlap (Alexa), and is connected to the Internet Research Agency (Diresta et al., 2018) or published fake authors associated with the GRU’s disinformation efforts (Diresta and Grossman, 2019). The highest overlap occurs with The Duran, associated with Lozansky fellow, Alexander Mercouris; Global Research, a conspiracy theory site founded by former LaRouchite Michel Chossudovsky (who is also on the board of Graziani’s Geopolitica); and Russia Insider, associated with ACEWA cofounder, Consortium News member, and Lozansky co-author, Gilbert Doctorow. Next come Unz, Fort Russ, and MintPressNews. Voice of Russia, RT, The Saker, and Consortium News come in third place. The least overlap comes with 21st Century Wire, a site founded by a former associate editor of Alex Jones’s Infowars that includes, among other things, a 45-minute interview with Dugin.

    By embracing politics associated with different factions and sides in political conflict, media can appeal to different audiences and bind them through a common thread. In most cases I studied, that commonality would be geopolitical. By spreading disinformation across discrete political platforms, the alternative media “echo-system,” as some have called it, could exploit popular discontent against “the establishment” and desire for radical analysis through a process of media saturation. Yet the saturation, whereby multifarious platforms disseminate the same content by sharing one another’s articles, carries a second effect of uniting those discrete ideologies in a singular geopolitical agenda. For this reason, the horizontal disinformation syndicate studied above can be seen as a combined, if decentered and complex, system with syncretic characteristics. While it is largely self-organized, it relies on subtle cues within a hierarchy of privileged interests to adapt and reproduce media narratives often spontaneously in real time.

    Through this process, the syncretic media system engages in what I call refraction—a splitting and polarizing movement that reinforces the distinction between ideological “wrappers” that produce a “multipolar” assemblage of ideological positions out of a single ur-narrative under the aegis of geopolitics. While they vie for attention and publicity toward their own particular tendencies and leaders, the procedure tends to promote illiberal politics on an affective range and in matters of policy, whereby the commonality between ideologies is typically some variance of anti-establishment politics, and the establishment is generally viewed as “neoliberal.” Relying on Noberto Bobbio’s explication of the difference between left and right that hinges on the assertion of equality, the present study therefore finds that illiberal syncretism, while supportive of some left-wing tendencies, ultimately reproduces an authoritarian and therefore inegalitarian assemblage. There is perhaps no better example of the tacit support for authoritarian, populist politics than the disinformation media landscape’s engagement in the 2016 presidential elections in the US.[81]

    III. Disinformation as Cover for Active Measures: A Case Study of the 2016 US Presidential Elections

    During the lead-up to the November 2016 elections, some of the same journalists and media critics who denied Russian intervention and called people who recognized it “McCarthyites” were, at the same time, involved in pro-Kremlin influence groups with ties to Russian soft power organizations. Late in March 2019, special prosecutor Robert Mueller submitted his report to the Attorney General, William P. Barr, who promptly offered a summary declaring insufficient evidence in the case of collusion between the presidential campaign of Donald Trump and Russian officials. While many across the alternative news scene celebrated what they deemed vindication for casting doubts on collusion between Trump and Russia, they did not focus on the part of the Attorney General’s summary that described the special prosecutor’s findings of Russian intervention in the 2016 elections. Indeed, Mueller’s team exposed a sweeping disinformation operation extending from Kremlin-supported sources, and found that Russia’s GRU hacked the the Democratic National Committee and Clinton advisor John Podesta.[82]

    The final part of this study describes the influence of alternative media sites, supported by disinformation, in promoting the narrative that the assertion of Russian election meddling represented “McCarthyism.” Because of my findings of overlap described above, I was unsure where the narrative of “McCarthyism” would have begun. I created a vertikal hypothesis that the term was initially fielded by disinformation agents among the vertikal and then percolated through the horizontal media system into the mainstream. My alternative hypothesis was that the narrative emerged in the horizontal network and found re-enforcement in the vertikal. A null hypothesis identifying “no difference” would suggest the narrative began and was propogated chiefly by actors not associated with either horizontal or vertikal.

    After a careful, qualitative study of the evidence, my alternative hypothesis proved more adequate to explain the complex dissemination of the “McCarthyite” narrative than either the null or primary hypotheses. The claims of “McCarthyism” actually began with media figures connected to Russian disinformation circles closest to the US mainstream. Hence, in this case, there was a directional movement between Russian media, the horizontal structure of supporting sites, and the mainstream, but it flowed in the opposite direction from the one that would indicate a top-down, Russian operation, per se. Even if those using the accusation were still engaged in each cluster within the overall system, what I observed was something more like an incentive-based marketplace in which Russian media helped select and amplify particular networks and signals coming from discrete, autonomous and semi-autonomous actors within a syncretic network engaging in broad content-sharing.

    Methods

    My research question was whether pro-Kremlin influence operations helped forward pro-Trump narratives in the lead-up to the 2016 elections, and if so, what were their relationship to the international fascist movement? To answer this question, I performed a qualitative content analysis of the media listed by Google News referencing “McCarthyite” and “McCarthyism,” and then cross-referenced my findings with a Nexis Uni® search of the same terms with regards to the US presidential elections, from the end of the primary races to the end of Election Week. With this time span, we can understand better how the term “McCarthyite” increased in usage, as well as the extent to which its usage changed in relation to events taking place during the Republican and Democratic primary campaigns—particularly the release of the hacked Podesta and DNC emails.

    The popularity of particular articles using the term, as well as their impact on other articles and the extent to which they were linked to, reveal key influencers with regards to the usage of the term and the context through which its meaning is constructed. The total number of articles featuring “McCarthyite” and “McCarthyism” in 2015 was 1,464, increasing by 21% to 1,772 in 2016, and again by 104% to 3,611 the year after that, illustrating a significant growth in the terms’ usage. The most referenced person was Donald Trump, followed by Hillary Clinton, Barrack Obama, Vladimir Putin, and Bernie Sanders in that order, with the content indicating that most articles on “McCarthyism” were opposed to the notion that his campaign was supported by Russian active measures.

    I first stratified the population of hundreds of reports from the time period of June 1 to November 12, 2016 (n=693 in Nexis Uni®), at the end of elections week, separating articles using “McCarthyite” and “McCarthyism” in reference to the elections from those referencing other events. I then took a semi-random sample of 40 articles from mainstream and alternative news sources serving a mostly-US-based audience for qualitative analysis. Because the data is time series-dependent, insofar as the quantity of articles using “McCarthyism” increased, my sample needed to reflect the proportion of articles published within that time series. By using this method, I performed an analysis of the trends in the way that “McCarthyism” or “McCarthyite” was used, the inter-relations between usages, and the popularity of specific usages in reflexive, temporal, and co-constructive context. Lastly, I analyzed the Google Trends spreadsheet for “McCarthyism” to gauge the level and time of public interest and see if Google searches for the term coincided with prominent articles and events.[83]

     

    Search of “McCarthyism” (blue, n = 6,106) in Google Trends from June 1 to November 12, 2016 (searched on January 11, 2020)

    Data analysis required a qualitative differentiation between left and right-wing sites that used the term, and how the term is deployed relative to the political orientation of the site. In this way, better understanding could be gained on whether or not the term is used in a “partisan” fashion, or if its usage is generalized across political boundaries (and whether the fusion of political opposites bears its own partisanship). Other key terms, such as “Russia” and “collusion,” as well as “liberal,” point us toward a qualitative comprehension of the purpose for the term “McCarthyite.” In sum, this approach, which assesses the influence of given articles while qualitatively discerning their political positionality, brings us to a closer understanding of the evolution of the deployment of the term “McCarthyite,” and the dynamics of political relations comprising the ideology of Trumpism and its opponents.

    In short, I observed the usage of the term “McCarthyism” across different political platforms to understand the extent to which usage overlapped in terms of rhetoric, as well as deliberate cross-over (e.g., an interview of WikiLeaks’s Julian Assange on FOX News reposted on Sputnik News). The driver for the discourse of McCarthyism seems to have been Kremlin-sympathetic media networks, some of which actively engage with Kremlin oriented soft-power organizations. However the phenomena became widespread very rapidly as key influencers adopted and endorsed it. Hence, while decrying “McCarthyism” and conflating Russia with the left, a number of actors engaging in accusations of “McCarthyism” participated in a syncretic network with critical nodes in Russian media itself. This should not be surprising, since those involved in pro-Russia groups might level accusations to defend against people criticizing Russian interference. It follows that the claims of Russian interference have been supported by available evidence, so the accusations were often deceptive and functionally part of a broader disinformation campaign around the hacks and dissemination thereof that included conspiracy theories around murdered Clinton campaign staffer Seth Rich.

    Allegations of “McCarthyism”

    July 2016 was a busy month for the Clinton campaign as it geared up for the Democratic National Convention. On Friday, July 22, WikiLeaks released nearly 20,000 emails leaked from seven different accounts of high-level DNC officials like Communications Director Luis Miranda and Finance Chief of Staff Scott Comer. At least some of the leaks came from a hacker who went by the name “Guccifer 2.0,” allegedly a GRU cutout, but Assange denied that Guccifer or any other Russian source had provided the leaks, implying that they may have come from Seth Rich, a deceased DNC worker, while simultaneously stating that as a matter of policy WikiLeaks never disclosed the sources of leaks.[84] The salacious contents of the emails would preclude any party unity, as Sanders supporters grew outraged over emails that showed that the DNC unjustly favored the Clinton’s campaign.

    The day after the leaks, Clinton’s campaign manager Robby Mook told CNN that they believed that Russia had hacked the DNC’s accounts and sent the emails to WikiLeaks, who timed the release to help the Trump campaign. Many enraged Sanders supporters rejected the implications. As the Democrats went into their Convention, they were more disunited than ever, with embittered Sanders supporters attacking the notion of Russian intervention as a distraction from the DNC’s sabotage of the left. After Mook’s appearance, journalist Glenn Greenwald tweeted an image of Joseph McCarthy with the hashtag “UniteBlue” (Figure 4). The next day, June 24, ACEWA participant and then-editor and publisher of The Nation, Katrina vanden Heuvel, tweeted a RealClearPolitics article about Mook, adding the commentary: “McCarthyism 3.0/ Clinton Campaign Manager: Russians Gave Hacked DNC Emails to WikiLeaks In Attempt To Elect Trump” (Figure 5). The Nation’s editorial, “Against Neo-McCarthyism,” came three days later.[85] Between July 17 to 24, Google Trends shows a sharp increase of searches for the word “McCarthyite.” The term “McCarthyism” began to rise at this time and did not peak until election week, after which it dropped off considerably before rising even higher in January 2017.[86]

    Figure 4. Tweet by Glenn Greenwald posted after Clinton campaign manager Robby Mook appeared on CNN to say that Russia had hacked the DNC servers.
    Figure 5. Tweet by Katrina vanden Heuvel, editorial director and publisher of The Nation, the day after Robby Mook’s appearance on CNN.

    Trump continued to gaslight the Clinton campaign, at once denying Russian involvement and enjoining Russian hackers, “Russia, if you’re listening, I hope you’re able to find the 30,000 emails that are missing.”[87] That Saturday, Stephen F. Cohen of the ACEWA appeared on CNN, responding to claims that Putin might have hacked the DNC emails by insisting, “Vladimir Putin wants to end the ‘New Cold War’—and so do I.”[88] Vanden Heuvel further elaborate her position in an article published in the Washington Post the following Tuesday, declaring that the Democrats “are on the verge of becoming the Cold War party, with Trump, ironically, becoming the candidate of détente.”[89] Cohen joined conservative radio host John Batchelor for an interview published the next day titled, “Cold War, Détente, Neo-McCarthyism, and Donald Trump,” in which he claimed that Trump displays a “clearer advocacy for détente.”[90] In the meantime, nominally left-wing CounterPunch’s editor, Jeffrey St. Clair, similarly decried “the new McCarthyism,” and Fairness and Accuracy in Reporting argued that Clinton’s approach “serves to stoke Cold War panic with Russia.”[91]

    Writing for Jared Kushner’s former magazine, the Observer, an activist declared that “what Robby Mook did is pure McCarthyism.”[92] In the week and a half after the July 22 WikiLeaks release, the split in the Democratic Party between Clinton supporters and Sanders supporters had become irreconcilable, with the party’s left flank insisting that “Russiagate” was a McCarthyite distraction from the failures of Clinton’s global outlook—an opinion that fed into earlier expressions of support for Trump over Clinton.

    It should be recalled that, during this time, “Russiagate” referred almost exclusively to the since-proven claim that Russian intelligence was responsible for hacking the DNC and using WikiLeaks as a conduit for the dissemination of hacked emails. It should further be noted that the rise of the “McCarthyite” narrative appears to have begun with Greenwald, who openly aspires to boost the image of Russia in the US, and The Nation, which is directly connected to the ACEWA—The Nation’s Publisher/Editor, vanden Heuvel, and Stephen F. Cohen, contributing editor to The Nation and ACEWA co-founder, are married.[93] It is sufficient to say that their fiery rejection of Russian meddling afforded cover for ongoing Russian active measures, whether or not they provided that cover deliberately.

    Similarly distressing instances have occurred with regards to other media disinformation campaigns, including the downing of flight MH17 and Assad’s use of chemical weapons. In these cases, Russian media has joined the fray after autonomous media networks have promoted different theories absolving Russia and Assad of crimes.[94] By promoting these seemingly-autonomous channels, the Russian vertikal appears merely to be supporting the syncretic pro-Russia media network’s critique of its own government, while actually drawing from actors with whom it is connected. As well, the vertikal functions like a “nested hierarchy” in a market-like system, identifying favored theorists, rewarding them with media attention, and outsourcing regime propaganda.

    “McCarthyite” Hits the Mainstream

    On August 2, the LA Times featured an editorial from Justin Raimondo, an editorial director for the libertarian site Antiwar.com, calling the suggestion of Russian intervention, “the sort of McCarthyism that we haven’t seen in this country since the most frigid years of the Cold War.”[95] Antiwar.com draws 128,067 unique visitors per month, many of whom click over from Consortium News and Pat Buchanan’s far-right website, American Conservative, according to my 2018 Alexa Audience Overlap Tool search. Among its overlapping websites are the usual suspects, including The Unz Review, which hosts the openly antisemitic Da Russophile blog by Lozansky’s think-tank participant, Anatoly Karlin.[96]

    By August, websites had shifted the “McCarthyite” accusation from accusations of Russian hacking to claims that the Trump campaign might have been involved in, or known about, hacking the DNC server (the latter also being true, according to the Mueller report).[97] Following Raimondo’s editorial, Sputnik News posted two articles in quick succession on “the Clinton campaign’s rush into the comforting arms of McCarthyism” and how “the Clinton camp is obviously following in Joseph McCarthy’s footsteps.”[98] On August 9, Consortium News founder Robert Parry decried “Hillary Clinton’s Turn to McCarthyism,” and the fever pitch only increased as the campaign continued.[99]

    Continuing the gaslighting of the Clinton campaign, on August 8, long-time Trump consiglieri Roger Stone admitted to communicating with WikiLeaks founder Julian Assange. A few days later, he exchanged public tweets with Guccifer 2.0, thanking them, and then engaged in private communications with the account over a couple of weeks. [100] Regardless of Stone’s open flirtations with a cutout for the GRU and WikiLeaks, which disseminated its hacked data, the Trump campaign denied any insinuation of contact with Russian agencies or political operatives (a denial later proven false).[101]

    In mid-August, RT ran a five-minute piece titled “Parallels Drawn Between Clinton Campaign and McCarthy’s Witch-Hunt” featuring former CIA officer Philip Giraldi, a leading figure in the syncretic media ecosystem with bylines in all of the horizontal media sites studied in relation to Lozansky’s think tank.[102] On August 21, Sputnik announced “the resurgence of Cold War style McCarthyism and anti-Russian propaganda,” followed the next day by Huffington Post, which stressed the dangers of “Clinton’s present-day McCarthyism.”[103] The World Socialist Web Site extended the analysis the next day, attacking the New York Times for “outright lies in a manner reminiscent of McCarthyism.” By this point, as we see with Huffington Post, the “McCarthyite” narrative had become generalized and mainstream.

    Two days later Julian Assange gave a widely-viewed interview to Megyn Kelly of FOX News, insisting that Clinton has “grabbed on the neo-McCarthyism hysteria about Russia and has been using it to demonize the Trump campaign.”[104] Sputnik International and RT both publicized the interview through their networks, and RT published an article the following Sunday criticizing Clinton for “Russophobia.”[105] That Tuesday, Antiwar.com published “The Campaign to Blame Putin for Everything,” excoriating “the historically Russophobic Clintons,” and the next day, August 31, Glenn Greenwald went on Democracy Now to denounce linking WikiLeaks with Russia as “a new McCarthyism.”[106] That same day, the New York Times published an interview with Julian Assange in which he accused the newspaper of “erecting a demon” by supporting Clinton.[107] Nevertheless, the Mueller report later confirmed WikiLeaks likely received stolen emails from the GRU through an encrypted file sent via email, a fact which few of the advocates of the “McCarthyite” narrative have reflected on, much less been able to convincingly rebut.[108]

    The day after Greenwald’s interview with Democracy Now, the Observer criticized “an insurgence of neo-McCarthyism, alleging that the Trump campaign has ties to the Russian government,” and RT interviewed left-wing commentator Mike Papantonio, who called the question of Russian intervention “crazy, radical talk,” “all supposition” intended to distract from the content of the emails.[109] Two days after Papantonio’s interview, on September 3, RT turned on the left, inquiring into a “McCarthyism of the left?”[110] The following Wednesday, September 6, Breitbart was mocking “Hillary Clinton’s Absurd, McCarthyist Russian Conspiracy Theory” from their headlines, followed the next day by Consortium News’s scathing piece, “New York Times and the New McCarthyism.”[111] The period from September 4-11 saw an interesting rise in searches for “McCarthyite” according to Google Trends. Daniel McAdams of the Ron Paul Center tweeted on September 26 that Clinton’s claim that “Putin is hacking us” was an “insane conspiracy theory.”[112]

    The frequency with which alternative news sites published articles denouncing the “mainstream media” for McCarthyism, as well as their crossover in terms both of audience and journalists, is fascinating for a number of reasons. Perhaps paramount among those is the inability to explain the hacked emails. Some sites turned to conspiracy theories surrounding Seth Rich, a former DNC employee who had been tragically murdered; further investigation was unable to demonstrate that Rich or his murder had anything to do with the leaks, and Rich’s parents currently have an ongoing lawsuit against FOX News and two of its commentators for its unsubstantiated allegations about Rich.[113] Another interesting facet of the research thus far is the repudiation of “mainstream media” in and even to the mainstream media, as with vanden Heuvel’s editorial in the Washington Post, Raimondo’s editorial in the LA Times, and Assange’s interview in the New York Times. Similarly important was the convergence of left-wing repudiations with far-right media like Breitbart lambasting the “mainstream” media and left-wing McCarthyism, even amid high site ratings and campaigns to oust left-wing professors from universities.

    It is important to note that, at this point, not only had the term “McCarthyite” become diffuse but its narrative had also slipped into different meanings and contexts. The accusation that began with a denial of Russian hacking now involved general “Russophobia” and especially the idea that Trump was collaborating with the Russian government. Generally, the hysteria and anxiety surrounding the accusations of “collusion” were easily matched, if not exceeded, by the accusations of “McCarthyism” against those who correctly assigned blame for the email releases to Russian hackers disseminating through WikiLeaks. Again, it is important to stress that evidence does not necessarily show that the “McCarthyite” spin was centrally planned or conspired by the Kremlin, but that (1) it was propagated first by individuals like Cohen, Greenwald, and vanden Heuvel who have directly involved themselves in promoting Russia’s image, and (2) the Russian vertikal eagerly exploited it on behalf of a disinformation campaign in support of Trump’s campaign.

    Just days after the articles from Breitbart and Consortium, a Washington Post-ABC News poll showed that the negative spin surrounding the revelations around Russian meddling resulted in a tightening race with ominous signs for the Clinton campaign.[114] While nearly 100% of Trump’s supporters insisted they would vote, only 80% of Clinton’s said the same, and only a third of her supporters claimed to be enthusiastic. As Jeff Greenfield wrote in Politico, “constituencies most critical to her campaign seem to have no sense of urgency about keeping Donald Trump out of the White House.”[115] Of course, other elements contributed to the disenfranchisement of Clinton’s base, as well; however, after each debate, Clinton came out the victor, suggesting that her policies and approach appealed to more voters who participated in CNN/ORC polls.[116] As others have argued, the release of the hacked emails, the proliferation of disinformation, and the later, associated FBI announcement regarding Clinton’s use of a private email server, contributed to the decline in her popularity between and after the debates but was not necessarily decisive.[117]

    Importantly, many of those disillusioned with Clinton could be found among the Democratic Party’s base of non-white supporters actively targeted by disinformation.[118] Amid controversy over her comments on “super-predators” during the 1990s and the legacy of mass incarceration, as well as disillusionment with the Democrats’ handling of the Black Lives Matter movement, Black Agenda Report declared that “the Clinton campaign has ignited a neo-McCarthyist war on Russia and anyone who stands in the way of her agenda.”[119] Meanwhile, Sputnik continued its onslaught with headlines like, “When Hillary Clinton Gets Scared She Plays the Russia Card,” making an allusion that connected criticism of Russian interference to the “race card.”[120] Furthermore, it is now understood from millions of published tweets pushed out of the Internet Research Agency at the time, that Kremlin-controlled bot and troll accounts on social media used racial divisions to turn discontent and disenfranchisement against liberalism.[121]

    The Elections and Aftermath

    Clinton’s bad September turned into a terrible October when, on October 9, WikiLeaks produced a new bevy of emails from Podesta’s email account, leading to a deluge of fiery illiberalism throughout the syncretic ecosystem. That evening, Trump proclaimed, “I love WikiLeaks!” at a rally. Two days later, WikiLeaks wrote Trump, Jr., “Hey Donald, great to see you and your dad talking about our publications. Strongly suggest your dad tweets this link if he mentions us… Btw we just released Podesta Emails Part 4.” In an apparent exposition of collaboration, Trump, Jr., tweeted in support of Wikileaks two hours later, lamenting the “Rigged system!” and two days later tweeted out their link.[122] That same day, Roger Stone publicly denied collusion with WikiLeaks as “categorically false,” insisting that his relationship with Assange was only through a “mutual friend,” but that he had “a back-channel communications with WikiLeaks.”[123] He would later be convicted of lying to Congress and witness tampering in efforts to obstruct federal investigators’ inquiry into the hacked emails and Russian interference in the elections.[124]

    The week of October 9-16 saw the sharpest rise of Google searches for “McCarthyite” in the study period, indicating that, as the emails were released, more accusations of Russian meddling emerged, and activists responded with accusations of “McCarthyism.” As the weeks closed in on the November 7 election day, the flurry of articles cautioning against McCarthyism and Russophobia increased apace. From Counterpunch on Oct 18, left-wing organizer Srećko Horvat denounced the Clinton camp’s “‘soft’ McCarthyism,” while a Sputnik writer capitalized on the trends, lamenting that he was “The first victim of McCarthyism 2.0.”[125] The next day, Roger Stone was quoted in Breitbart as saying, “this is the new McCarthyism.”[126] At the same time, Consortium News ridiculed “The Democrats’ Joe McCarthy Moment” and nominally left-wing AlterNet blogger Ben Norton tweeted about Clinton’s claim that WikiLeaks received the emails from Russian intelligence, “McCarthyism is alive and well.”[127]

    On RT on October 23, anti-imperialist commentator Daniel Patrick Welch declared, “Clinton [is] using anti-Russia red-baiting not seen since days of McCarthyism,” followed the next day by Consortium News’s recap of the Russian response to the recent debate in which Doctorow declared, “The main theme of American political life right now is McCarthyism and anti-Russian hysteria.”[128] Antiwar.com ran their piece, “’McCarthyism,’ Then and Now,” the following day, and three days later, on October 28, CounterPunch likened the charges of Russian interference to “the paranoia that accompanied the Red Scare in the aftermath of the Bolshevik Revolution and then reappeared with greater intensity in the form of McCarthyism.”[129] The Observer declared that “McCarthyism 2.0 Has Infected the Democrats” on November 1, with Sputnik insisting, “Washington Fails to Prove Russia Interfered in US Elections in ‘Big Way.’”[130] Pro-Palestine blog MondoWeiss quoted Carden of the ACEWA decrying “a very very ugly echo of McCarthyism” three days later, and then the day before the election, left-wing site Jacobin stated that, “to distract attention from the content of the emails, the Democrats have engaged in a modern-day version of McCarthyism.”[131] Again, the inclusion of sites like Jacobin and Huffington Post only further illustrates how widely the campaign to identify Russia’s hacking of the DNC as “McCarthyism” had spread throughout the alternative media ecosystem well beyond Russia’s apparent direct influence.

    In the two years following the election of Donald Trump, the term “McCarthyism” would splash across some 5,260 headlines internationally, according to Nexis Uni®, producing an average of at least seven articles every day. The prominence of allegations of McCarthyism also increased. There is no doubt that the discourse of McCarthyism expressed a radical frustration with the liberal, centrist wing of the Democratic Party by a new generation of left-wing participants largely identified with Bernie Sanders. According to the Cooperative Congressional Election Study, 12 percent of those who voted for Sanders in the primaries voted for Trump in the general election, meaning that, ceteris paribus, Michigan, Wisconsin, and Pennsylvania would have swung to Clinton had those voters stayed home or voted with the party.[132] While this does not mean that Sanders helped Trump win the election, it suggests that members of the electorate to whom the radical left would have appealed, and who likely disapproved of the Obama administration, accorded, in general terms, with the crossover between right and left constituted by the network of sites ranging from Sputnik and Russia Insider to Consortium News and The Duran to The Nation and others.

    IV. Discussion

    The Meaning of McCarthyism

    While the sites I studied all share a common geopolitical imperative aligned with the “multipolar world” and, more specifically, Eurasianism, calling them “Duginist” would be too broad a generalization.[133] They certainly take part in the same movement in favor of Kremlin-centered geopolitics, and they engage in substantial crossover, but they are different nonetheless. This study does not suggest that everyone engaging in the discourse of “McCarthyism” is a fascist or deliberately contributing to fascist discourse or connected to the Kremlin. It merely reveals the extent to which disinformation has influenced the geopolitical approaches of the Western left and right wing, while also establishing a pattern of far-left and far-right agreement encouraged by Duginist tendencies.

    Importantly, the allegations of McCarthyism appear to have begun principally with horizontal networks tied to pro-Kremlin soft power, and extended to Russian state media’s vertikal soon afterwards. The groups within the horizontal networks that have been identified by myself, in Starbird et al., 2018, in New Knowledge’s 2018 report, and the Stanford 2019 report reproduced similar narratives. According to a Lexis Uni® search, The Nation was the top influencer among the sites that I studied, having published about a dozen stories featuring the keywords “McCarthyism” or “McCarthyite” in reference to the elections during the study period, inclusive of cross-posts from the conservative John Batchelor show. All but one of The Nation’s “McCarthyite” articles came from Cohen.

    By contrast, Consortium News and Global Research each published some four such articles each during the five-month study period, not an insignificant number by any means, but small compared to Cohen’s output alone. By comparison, the Ron Paul Institute’s director, Daniel McAdams, tweeted twice about it, and both The Duran and Russia Insider posted a story on it. Antiwar.com and the Observer also featured prominently in my sample, but remained peripheral to my study outside of audience overlap and content sharing (Starbird et al., 2018). Perhaps, then, the most weight was likely given to the “McCarthyite” accusation from sharing and cross-publishing Cohen’s persistent articles, along with the important mainstream editorials by vanden Heuvel and Raimondo, as well as the generalized narrative saturation and refraction. In this way, disinformation networks helped stoke and guide the discourse on “McCarthyism,” but were not wholly responsible for their proliferation, as unaffiliated sites and groups took the proverbial baton during the race. It should be noted, though, that such independent activity is precisely the goal of disinformation.

    This pattern suggests that pro-Russian disinformation efforts do not always emanate vertically from Russian media, but through an adaptive process of testing the bounds of political discourse and farming out opinions in order to ascertain and develop popular trends on pressure issues. The vertikal, then, appears to reinforce broader ideological trends that are developed in a more complex, multi-scalar fashion, rather than controlling them. However, it is important to notice that The Nation is one of the most important influencers in the US Left, so the direct, early interventions of individual editors and the magazine suggests that, in this case, the movement of disinformation across the horizontal structure did not flow in a necessarily bottom-up or grassroots fashion, but instead manifested through a weighted system of nested hierarchies. Furthermore, given The Nation’s proximity to the ACEWA, a pro-Russia influence group with ties to prominent figures close to the Kremlin, it is difficult to view its coverage as fully autonomous.

    Of course, reward systems involve greater public notoriety through more prominent media and conference appearances. Following the election, The Nation began publishing breathless denunciations of “Russiagate” by journalist Aaron Maté, a contributor to The GrayZone Project, which spreads conspiracy theory narratives about Venezuela, Xinjiang, and Syria, among other places.[134] Through a November 2, 2019 Alexa search, I discovered that the most similar site to GrayZone is TheAmericanConservative, a far-right publication that names ACEWA editor James Carden as a “Contributing Editor.”

    By building a bridge from the political margins to the mainstream, The Nation continued to make pro-Russia disinformation palatable to larger audiences interested in the merging of left and right. Through Maté, The Nation became one of the last sites conected to the public assertion that Russia did not meddling in the 2016 elections, going on Tucker Carlson’s far-right show as late as December 2019 as a contributor to The Nation to claim that no evidence could either tie Russia to the hacking of the DNC or disprove Trump’s false assertion that Ukraine had actually hacked the DNC in 2016.[135] A quantitative analysis by the Twitter account Conspirador Norteño shortly after Maté’s FOX News appearance found that “a significant portion of the amplification” of Maté’s twitter presence “is coming from #MAGA Twitter.”[136]

    Using the tool Pushshift, which sifts through social media for trends and topics, I collected the total number of tweets using the term “McCarthyite” over the last five years [Figure 6][137]. The top ranked twitter accounts included Glenn Greenwald at the top, with Maté ranked fifth and his GrayZone colleagues, Ben Norton and Max Blumenthal ranked second and third, respectively. While Eli Valley lands in the fourth spot, his usage of the term appears to fall in a different milieu (anti-Zionism) from the context of Russian interference in the U.S. elections. Using the same tool to scan subreddits on the site Reddit for the same term, I found WayOfTheBern ranked second, left-wing podcast ChapoTrapHouse ranked fifth, and notoriously racist The_Donald ranked seventh [Figure 7].

    These searches of social media sites indicate the influence of conspiracy theorists spreading the message on Twitter, and the confluence of left and right-wing subreddits disseminating the same message on Reddit. They also show to what extent the GrayZone has emerged as a hub for allegations of “McCarthyite” activity since 2017—a process likely helped along through Maté’s collaboration with The Nation.

    Figure 6. PushShift.io analysis of top 10 Twitter accounts mentioning “McCarthyite”
    Figure 7. PushShift.io analysis of top 20 Subreddits mentioning “McCarthyite”

    It has been shown that a number of the groups insisting that the accusations of Russian influence in the elections amounted to McCarthyism were actually engaged in Russian influence groups during that period, not least of which being the Russia Forum and the ACEWA. Most importantly, the spread of the trope of “McCarthyism” was stoked by important actors supportive of the Kremlin, and occurred virtually overnight by thousands of independent actors, including journalists who ran with the narrative in a number of different directions. However, the most staunch promoters of the narrative appear to have come from the horizontal network of disinformation sites reinforced by the vertikal. In this fashion, disinformation benefits from a kind of “social capital” model that might provide some explanatory potential for the ease with which disinformation spreads through social media. Hence, by tracking claims of McCarthyism, we have seen how right and left met during the elections in an illiberal and populist, anti-establishment movement that generally viewed Trump as a more viable candidate than Clinton on the basis, in particular, of his position as the “détente” candidate toward Russia and its allies.

    Geopolitical alignments are critical, because they rely on phenomenological articulations of spatial association, rather than association by class or sociality. In this way, geopolitical alignments skew toward nationalism or similarly structured regionalism, even if they involve some degree of collectivist discourse of solidarity. It is, therefore, important to use caution approaching geopolitical arrangements, as such, working instead to deconstruct the claims that presuppose deterministic geopolitical thinking. The trap of syncretism, as Sternhell, Eco, Gentile, and Eatwell have noted, is alluring, but its inconsistencies produce chimerical ideologies given to authoritarian, nationalist systems.

    Potential for Follow-up Research

    The results of this study suggest many avenues for follow-up research and discussion. The syncretic, pro-Kremlin media networks described above form part of larger geopolitical networks that share many of the same interests. Importantly, they consist of a broader network incorporating far-right, left-wing, libertarian, and other ideological positions, making the network itself syncretic. On the other hand, within the network are not only left and right sites, but also syncretic sites that meld an array of political commentators, ideas, and theories together typically in support of conspiracy theories. Syncretism exists on different scales within this alternative media network, which maintains connections (as previously stated) based on audience overlap as well as personnel collaborations—as with Lozansky’s think tank, for example. The overlap and collaboration does not mean that over planning took place in dark, smoke-filled rooms, but that the network can be viewed as a system of discrete units with shared interests and goals, as well as common understandings which manifest in myriad verisimilar articles across disparate platforms and ideologies.

    Ascertaining and describing the differences between the various groups, from Consortium News to The Nation to The Duran, would take an article in and of itself. That these different but intersecting ideological producers appear to fit within the same discursive frameworks and conferences intimates the populist, “big tent” approach to pro-Kremlin geopolitics provided by syncretic platforms loosely aligned with the multipolar world. Furthermore, more extensive research is needed into the networks of bots on social media, as well as the extent of their influence. This could be accomplished through the creation of an index that combines the number of retweets and Facebook shares with monthly website hits, processed into a quantitative scale. Learning more about the global influence of pro-Kremlin media would enable closer understanding of the behavior of the sites, although the potential for sources like New Eastern Outlook and Strategic Culture that are not as popular would remain relatively opaque.

    Lastly, more geographical thought might be included in interdisciplinary research related to data science, communications, psychology, sociology, and international relations. Media strategies and policy proposals might emerge from this field that would enable the freedom of the press while delimiting the spread of damaging conspiracy theories and deliberate geopolitical propaganda that twists left-wing messaging toward the geopolitical aims of authoritarian regimes. While we might understand how disinformation spreads, we do not yet know why individuals promulgate it. Unlocking that question might provide the secrets to stopping the flow of disinformation not only at its source but at the point of consumption.
    _____

    Alexander Reid Ross is a PhD candidate in Portland State University’s Earth, Environment, Society Program and a Doctoral Fellow at the Centre for Analysis of the Radical Right. He is the author of Against the Fascist Creep (AK Press 2017), and his articles on disinformation and the far right have appeared in the Proceedings of the 2018 IEEE International Conference on Big Data and The Independent.

    Back to the essay

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    Appendix

    Attached as an appendix in PDF format is a table including notes on some of the outcomes of searches conducted in Alexa.com in December 2017.

    Notes

    [1] Bevensee, E., Ross, A.R., S. Nardin. 2019. “Malicious Bot Activity in the European Union Parliamentary Elections.” Autonomous Disinformation Research Network; Ferrara, E. 2017. “Disinformation and Social Bot Operations in the Run Up to the 2017 French Presidential Election.” First Monday, 22(8); Bennett, W.L., S. Livingston. 2018. “The Disinformation Order: Disruptive Communication and the Decline of Democratic Institutions.” European Journal of Communication, 33(2), 122-139; Marwick, A., R. Lewis 2017. Media Manipulation and Disinformation Online. NYC: Data & Society Institute.

    [2] Starbird, K., A. Arif, T. Wilson. 2018. “Understanding the Structure and Dynamics of Disinformation in the Online Information Ecosystem.” Defense Technical Information Center, Technical Report; Hjorth, F.G. & R. Adler-Nissen. “Ideological Asymmetry in the Reach of Pro-Russian Digital Disinformation to United States Audience.” Journal of Communication, 69(2), 168-192.

    [3] DiResta, R., K. Shaffer, B. Ruppel, D. Sullivan, R. Matney, R. Fox, J. Albright, B. Johnson. 2018. The Tactics and Tropes of the Internet Research Agency. Austin, TX: New Knowledge; Starbird, K., A. Arif, T. Wilson, K. Van Koevering, K. Yefimova, D. Scarnecchia. 2017. “Ecosystem or Echo-System? Exploring Content Sharing across Alternative Media Domains.” Proceedings of the Twelfth International AAAI Conference on Web and Social Media (ICWSM 2018), 365-374.

    [4] Starbird et al., 2017; Levinger, M. 2018. “Master Narratives of Disinformation Campaigns.” Journal of International Affairs, 71(1.5), 125-134.

    [5] Howard, P.N., G. Bolsover, B. Kollanyi, S. Bradshaw, L-M. Neudert. 2017. “Junk News and Bots During the US Election: What Were Michigan Voters Sharing Over Twitter?” COMPROP Data Memo, 26 March 2017; Starbird et al., 2017

    [6] See Mosse, G.L. 1972. “The French Right and the Working Classes: Les Jaunes.” Journal of Contemporary History.

    [7] Rainey, L.S., E. Gentile. 1994. “The Conquest of Modernity: From Modernist Nationalism to Fascism.” Modernism/Modernity, 1(3), 55-87.

    [8] Landa, I. 2010. The Apprentice’s Sorcerer: Liberal Tradition and Fascism. Leiden: Brill. 134. Importantly, fascists are quasi-populist, in so far as their use of völkisch and populist rhetoric is contradicted by their self-image as the “natural elite” within “the people” rather than “of the people” itself. Here, fascism is distinct from the populist radical right, which promotes an authoritarian, nativist agenda within the confines of parliamentary systems. While both utilize tropes identifiable both with left and right, fascism ultimately desires the overthrow of parliamentary democracy. Fascists might abide with participation in electoralism, but their ends are never met within the existing parliamentary context, partly because of their disdain for socialist successes within it. See Mudde, C. 2007. Populist Radical Right Parties in Europe. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press.

    [9] Wistrich, R.S. 2012. From Ambivalence to Betrayal: The Left, The Jews, and Israel. Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press.

    [10] For more on the hard right, see Lyons, M., C. Berlet. 2000. Right-Wing Populism in America: Too Close for Comfort. NYC: Guilford Press, 16.

    [11] Fine, R., Spencer, P. 2017. Antisemitism and the Left: On the Return of the Jewish Question. Manchester: Manchester University Press. See also Lyons and Berlet, 144.

    [12] Landa, 203.

    [13] Ibid, 194-200.

    [14] Sternhell, Z. 1986. Neither Right nor Left: Fascist Ideology in France, Trans. David Maisel. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press.

    [15] Dagnino, J. 2016. “The Myth of the New Man in Italian Fascist Ideology.” Fascism, 5, 130-148.

    [16] Griffin, R. 1993. The Nature of Fascism. NYC: Routledge, 32-36.

    [17] Benadusi, L. 2014. “A Fully Furnished House: The History of Masculinity,” In L. Benadusi, G. Caravale, eds. George L. Mosse’s Italy: Interpretation, Reception, and Intellectual Heritage. NYC: Palgrave MacMillan.

    [18] Eco, U. “Ur-Fascism.” New York Review of Books. June 22, 1995.

    [19] Sternhell, 105

    [20] Eatwell, R. 1992. “Towards a New Model of Generic Fascism.” Journal of Theoretical Politics, 4(2), 174.

    [21] Ibid, 189

    [22] Gentile, E. 2006. “New Idols: Catholicism in the Face of Fascist Totalitarianism.” Journal of Modern Italian Studies, 11(2), 143-170.

    [23] Da Costa, L.P. P. Labriola. 1999. “Bodies from Brazil: Fascist Aesthetics in a South American Setting.” The International Journal of the History of Sport, 16(4), 166.

    [24] Andrew, C. 2005. The World Was Going Our Way. NYC: Basic Books.

    [25] Katz, M.N. 2006. “Primakov Redux? Putin’s Pursuit of Multipolarism in Asia.” Demokratizasya 14(1), 144-152.

    [26] Silvius, R. 2015. “Eurasianism and Putin’s Embedded Civilizationism,” in D. Lane, V. Samokhvalov, eds. The Eurasian Project and Europe: Regional Discontinuities and Geopolitics. NYC: Palgrave Macmillan. 78-79.

    [27] Chebankova, E. 2017. “Russia’s Idea of the Multipolar World Order: Origins and Main Dimensions.” Post-Soviet Affairs, 33(3), 217-234.

    [28] See Stein, E. 2017. “Ideological Codependency and Regional Order: Iran, Syria, and the Axis of Refusal.” Political Science & Politics, 50(3), 676-680.

    [29] In particular, the Internet Research Agency promoted websites within the Duginist network. See DiResta, 2018.

    [30] See Laruelle, M, Ed. 2015. Eurasianism and the European Far Right: Reshaping the Europe-Russia Relationship. NYC: Lexington Books

    [31] Laruelle, M. 2006. Aleksandr Dugin: A Russian Version of the European Radical Right? Washington, DC: Kennan Institute; Bar-On, Tamir. 2013. Rethinking the French New Right. New York: Routledge.

    [32] Bar-On, T. 2007. Where Have All the Fascists Gone? New York: Routledge; Bassin, M. 2016. The Gumilev Mystique: Biopolitics, Eurasianism, and the Construction of Community in Modern Russia. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press.

    [33] Dugin, A. 1999. Основы Геополитикии (Foundations of Geopolitics). Found online at ratnikjournal.narod.ru.

    [34] Ibid, 274.

    [35] Clover, C. 2016. Black Wind, White Snow: The Rise of Russia’s New Nationalism. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press.

    [36] Wilson, A. 2005. Virtual Politics: Faking Democracy in the Post-Soviet World. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press.

    [37] Savino, G. 2015. From Evola to Dugin. In Laruelle 2015, 108.

    [38] Gramigna, A.d., Chi Sono I “Fascisti Trosa Che Gridano ‘Forza Iraq.’”

    [39] Michael, G. 2019. “Useful Idiots or Fellow Travelers? The Relationship between the American Far Right and Russia.” Terrorism and Political Violence, 31, 64-83; Clover, 271-272, 286-287; Laruelle, M.. 2016. “The Izborsky Club, or the New Conservative Avant-Garde in Russia.” The Russian Review, 75, 626—44. See also M. Lyons, “Moscow conference draws fascists, neo-Confederates, U.S. leftists,” ThreeWayFight, February 2, 2015.

    [40] Campo Antimperialista spokesperson Pasquinelli notably declared, “Fascism and the fascists are our main enemy today? Absolutely not. It really seems pleonastic to me to have to explain on a list of anti-Americanists and anti-imperialists who is the main enemy today. This means maybe be indulgent towards the fascists? Of course not. The fascists are all contained in Forza Nuova positions? Absolutely not. It’s in this area a great ferment, a heated discussion not only political, but theoretical. Should we follow this discussion carefully? Or we’ll piss over it? I think we have to follow it.” Cernigoi, C., “’Rossobruni’ e nuova destra ‘internazionalista,’” I Falsi Amici conference, December 7, 2013; Cernigoi, C., “Comunitaristi e Nazi-Maoisti,” Nuova Alabarda, February 2007.

    [41] March, L. 2011. “Is Nationalism Rising in Russian Foreign Policy? The Case of Georgia.” Demokratizatsiya, 19(3), 187-207.

    [42] “Putin Aide Says New Ukraine Leader Could Populate War-Torn Region with Jews,” Moscow Times, May 7, 2019.

    [43] Fridman, O. 2018. Russian ‘Hybrid Warfare’: Resurgence and Politicization. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 75-84.

    [44] Starbird, Arif, & Wilson, 2018.

    [45] Horbyk, R. 2015. “Little Patriotic War: Nationalist Narratives in the Russian Media Coverage of the Ukraine-Russia Crisis.” Asian Politics & Policy, 7(3), pp. 505-511

    [46] Yablokov, I. 2015. “Conspiracy Theories as a Russian Public Diplomacy Tool: The Case of Russia Today (RT).” Politics, 35(3-4), 305-315.

    [47] See Shekhovtsov, 2018; Ross, A.R. “The Anti-Semitism Conference Where Russian Spies, Code Pink, David Duke and The Nation of Islam Make Friends and Influence People.” Haaretz, March 14, 2019.

    [48] Bromley, R. 2018. “The Politics of Displacement: The Far Right Narrative of Europe and Its ’Others.’” From the European South 3, 13-26.

    [49] Ross, A.R. 2017. Against the Fascist Creep. Oakland, CA: AK Press.

    [50] Parker, N., J. Landay, J. Walcott. “Putin-Linked Think Tank Drew Up Plan to Sway 2016 US Election—Documents.” Reuters, April 19, 2017. Oscar Jonnson calls Korybko a member of the expert council at RISS in 2019. The Russian Understanding of War: Blurring the Lines between War and Peace. Washington, DC: Georgetown University Press.

    [51] A Bellingcat Contributor, “Russia Tries to Influence Le Pen to Repeal Sanctions,” Bellingcat April 29, 2019.

    [52] Yablokov, 301

    [53] Ibid, 305-306.

    [54] Godzimirski, J.M., M Østevik. 2018. How to Understand and Deal with Russian Strategic Communication Measures? Policy Brief. Oslo: Norweigen Institute of International Affairs.

    [55] Horbyk, 2015.

    [56] Jainter, M., P.A. Mattsson. 2015. “Russian Information Warfare of 2014.” 7th International Conference on Cyber Conflict: Architectures in Cyberspace, 39-52.

    [57] Davis, C. “‘Grassroots’ Media Startup Redfish is Supported by the Kremlin,” The Daily Beast, June 19, 2018.

    [58] Ballacher, J.D., V. Barash, P.N. Howard, J. Kelly. “Junk News on Military Affairs and National Security: Social Media Disinformation Campaigns Against US Military Personnel and Veterans.” COMPROP Data Memo, 09 October 2017.

    [59] Schreckinger, B. “How Russia Targets the US Military,” Politico, June 27, 2017.

    [60] Starbird et al., 2017.

    [61] Shekhovtsov, 2018.

    [62] Lough, J., O. Lutsevych, P. Pomerantsev, S. Secrieru, A. Shekhovtsov. 2014. “Russian Influence Abroad: Non-state Actors and Propaganda.” Russia and Eurasia Programme Meeting Summary. Chatham House: The Royal Institute of International Affairs.

    [63] Bevensee and Ross, 2018; Grant Stern and Patrick Simpson have done great work researching Lozansky’s past at the blog, The Stern Facts.

    [64] US-Russia.org, “Think-Tank & American University.” The site was changed to conceal the names of the associates some time in 2018; McAdams’s Twitter profile can be seen by Google searching his full bio: “Executive Director, Ron Paul Institute for Peace and Prosperity. Hypocrisy hunter. Traditionalist. Tweets are mine alone and often rude.”

    [65] Young, C. “Putin’s New American Fan Club?” The Daily Beast, October 11, 2015. Michel, C. “Why Is This Russia ‘Expert’ Writing for an Anti-Semitic Outlet?ThinkProgress, February 16, 2018. Doctorow left the ACEWA in March 2017 after around two and a half years with the group he co-founded.

    [66] Michel, C. “How Putin Played the Far Left,” The Daily Beast, April 11, 2017.

    [67] Laruelle, 2016.

    [68] G. Doctorow, “Book Review: Alain de Benoist, ‘Contre Liberalisme. La société n’est pas un marché,’” GilbertDoctorow.com, May 14, 2019.

    [69] @ConsortiumNews, Twitter, January 11, 2019, 12:48PM, accessed June 10, 2019, https://twitter.com/consortiumnews/status/1083812955861540864.

    [70] Di Giovanni, Janine, “Why Assad and Russia Target the White Helmets,” New York Review of Books, October 16, 2018; Hasan, H. “’Fake News’: The Mainstreaming of Syria Conspiracy Theories,” Middle East Monitor, April 21, 2018; Lucas, S. “Who Are the White Helmets and Why Are They So Controversial?” The Conversation, October 7, 2016; Proyect, L. “Max Blumenthal and the Streisand Effect,” New Politics, March 14, 2018.

    [71] See DiResta et al., 2018, 97-8.

    [72] Lester, C. “The CIA Spy Who Became a Russian Propagandist,” The New Republic, May 14, 2018.

    [73] For more, including links, see Vagabond, “An Investigation into Red-Brown Alliances: Third Positionism, Russia, Ukraine, Syria, and the Western Left,” Ravings of a Radical Vagabond, January 15, 2018, also see Ross, A.R., “The Left and Right through Russian Political and Information Operations,” AlexanderReidRoss.net, November 19, 2018.

    [74] Flock, E. “After a Week of Russian Propaganda, I Was Questioning Everything,” PBS.org, May 2, 2018; Vázquez-Liñán, M. 2019. “The Political Discourse of the Kremlin in Spain: Channels, Messages, and Interpretive Frameworks,” in T. Hoffmann, A. Makarychev, eds., Russia and the EU: Spaces of Interaction, New York: Routledge.

    [75] The model was run on January 17, 2018, available at http://alexa.com.

    [76] See Appendix 1; Analysis processed on December 27, 2017

    [77] Starbird et al., 2017.

    [78] Ibid, 9.

    [79] DiResta et al., 2018.

    [80] Diresta, R., Grossman, S. 2019. Potempkin Pages and Personas: Assessing GRU Online Operations, 2014-2019. Stanford: Stanford Internet Observatory Cyber Policy Center.

    [81] Bobbio, N. 1994. Left and Right: The Significance of a Political Distinction, Trans, A. Cameron. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.

    [82] Mueller, R.S. 2019. Report on the Investigation into Russian Interference in the 2016 Presidential Election. Washington, DC: US Department of Justice.

    [83]McCarthyite,” Google Trends, Past 5 years, last searched on June 18, 2019.

    [84] Satter, R., D.; Butler, “Charges Undermine Assange Denials About Hack Origins,” AP, July 1, 2018; Mueller, 2018.

    [85] The Editors, “Against Neo-McCarthyism,” The Nation, July 27, 2016,

    [86]McCarthyite” and “McCarthyism,” Google Trends, Past 5 years, last searched on June 18, 2019.

    [87] Graham, D.A., “Trump’s Call for Russian Hacking Makes Even Less Sense after Mueller,” The Atlantic, March 27, 2019.

    [88] Transcript here: Hains, T., “Russia Expert Stephen Cohen: Trump Wants to Stop the New Cold War, but the American Media Just Doesn’t Understand,” RealClearPolitics, July 30, 2016.

    [89] Heuvel, K.v. “Democrats, Stay Out of Trump’s Gutter,” Washington Post, August 2, 2016,

    [90] Cohen, S.F. “Cold War, Détente, Neo-McCarthyism, and Donald Trump,” The Nation, August 3, 2016.

    [91] Johnson, A., “Trump’s Bigotry Reminds US Media of Anywhere but Home,” FAIR, July 29, 2016.

    [92] Bay, A., “Tailgunner Hillary and the Putin Hack,” Observer, July 28, 2016.

    [93]Greenwald: I Came to Russia to Combat Toxic View on the Country,” RT.com, July 6, 2018.

    [94] Agarwal, N., Al-khateeb, R. Galeano, R. Goolsby. 2017. “Examining the Use of Botnets and their Evolution in Propaganda Dissemination.” Defence Strategic Communications, NATO Strategic Communications Centre of Excellence, 2. 90-91; Starbird et al., 2018.

    [95] Raimondo, J., “To Fight Trump, Journalists Have Dispensed With Objectivity,” LA Times, August 2, 2016.

    [96] Unz is worth explicating for a moment, and not only for its impressive 163,703 average unique visitors per month in 2017. Developed by former editor of American Conservative, Ron Unz, after he controversially attacked Ivy League schools with claims that they prejudicially favor Jews, The Unz Review is a favorite of academic anti-Semite Kevin MacDonald and fascist David Duke. Unz also plays host to a regular blog from Steve Sailer, a well-known figure on the far right. Aside from these clear right-wing affinities, Unz has helped finance left-wing anti-Zionist publications like Mondoweiss and CounterPunch. The Unz Review’s top audience cross-overs include white nationalist sites VDare, Taki’s Mag, and American Renaissance, as well as Consortium News, The Saker, and Antiwar.com. Although his Antiwar.com displays such audience overlap, however, it is important to note that Raimondo himself does not have a byline or feature in the horizontal network of sites represented in Lozansky’s think tank.

    [97] Mueller, 2018.

    [98]Hillary Ally Accuses Green Party’s Jill Stein of Being Trump-like Russian Agent,” Sputnik News, August 8, 2016, ; “Voting for Anyone but Clinton Means You’re Obviously a ‘Russian Agent,’” Sputnik News, August 10, 2016.

    [99] Parry, R., “New York Times and the New McCarthyism,” Consortium News, September 7, 2016.

    [100] Larson, E., “Roger Stone Timeline Puts Trump’s Wikileaks Ties in Focus,” Bloomberg News, January 25, 2019.

    [101] See Panetta, G., “The Mueller Report Is Here—Here Are All the Known Contacts Between the Campaign and Russian Government-Linked People or Entities,” Business Insider, April 18, 2019.

    [102]Russian Propaganda Meddling in US Election: RT Charge Clinton Campaign With McCarthyism,” Euromaidan Press, August 18, 2016.

    [103]Nooscope: Media Concocts Conspiracy Theory About Putin’s New Mind Melting Weapon,” Sputnik News, August 22, 2016; Goodman, H.A., “Who Cares If Russia Leaks Clinton’s Emails? 5 DNC Officials Resigned For Cheating Bernie Sanders,” Huffington Post, August 22, 2016.

    [104] Assange: Clinton Campaign is Full of ‘Disturbing’ Anti-Russia ‘Hysteria,’” Sputnik News, August 26, 2016.

    [105] Raimondo, J., “The Campaign to Blame Putin for Everything,” Antiwar.com, August 31, 2016.

    [106] Greenwald, G., A. Goodman, “A New McCarthyism: Greenwald on Clinton Camp’s Attempts to Link Trump, Stein & WikiLeaks to Russia,” Democracy Now, August 31, 2016.

    [107] Takala, R., “Assange: US Media Is ‘Erecting a Demon’ By Supporting Clinton,” Washington Examiner, August 31, 2016.

    [108] Mueller Report, 46.

    [109] Sainato, M., “Clinton Never Does Anything Wrong, So Why Does She Lie So Much,” Observer, September 1, 2016; https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UCajV4tUguM

    [110] McCarthyism of the Left? Clinton Supporters Use Anti-Russia Rhetoric to Bash Opponents,” RT.com, September 3, 2016.

    [111] Pollak, J.B., “Hillary Clinton’s Absurd McCarthyist Russian Conspiracy Theory,” Breitbart, September 6, 2016; Parry, R., op. cit.

    [112] McAdams, D., Twitter, September 26, 2016.

    [113] Sterling, R., “Ten Problems with Anti-Russian Obsession,” Consortium News, July 9, 2017; Whitney, M., “Seth Rich, Craig Murray and the Sinister Stewards of the National Security State,” Ron Paul Institute, May 20, 2017; Schneider, A., “Appeals Court Reinstates Lawsuit Against Fox News Over Seth Rich Story,” NPR, September 13, 2019.

    [114] Clemons, S., D. Balz, “Clinton Holds Lead Over Trump in New Poll, But Warning Signs Emerge,” Washington Post, September 10, 2016.

    [115] Greenfield, J., “How Hillary’s Very Bad September Could Be Very Good for Her in November,” Politico, September 30, 2016.

    [116] CNN/ORC Poll 14, September 26, 2016, https://i2.cdn.turner.com/cnn/2016/images/09/27/poll.pdf; Agiesta, J. “Hillary Clinton Wins Third Presidential Debate, According to CNN / ORC Poll,” CNN, October 20, 2016; Agiesta, J, “Post-Debate Poll: Hillary Clinton Wins Round One,” CNN, September 27, 2016.

    [117] Enten, H., “How Much Did WikiLeaks Hurt Hillary Clinton,” FiveThirtyEight, December 23, 2016; Kennedy, C., M. Blumenthal, S. Clement, J.D. Clinton, C. Durand, C. Franklin, K. McGeeney, L. Miringoff, K. Olson, D. Rivers, L. Saad, E. Witt, C. Wlezien, An Evaluation of 2016 Election Polls in the US, American Association for Public Opinion Research, May 4, 2017.

    [118] New Knowledge, 2018; Mueller, 2019.

    [119] Haiphong, D., “Hillary Clinton’s Neo-McCarthyism and the Real Father of ‘Extreme Nationalism,’” Black Agenda Report, September 21, 2016. It is also interesting to note that Black Agenda Report writer Margaret Kimberly is also close to the Workers World Party and its front groups, having joined a delegation to the Anti-Globalization Movement of Russia.

    [120]When Hillary Clinton Gets Scared She Plays the Russia Card,” Sputnik, September 28, 2016.

    [121] Michel, 2017.

    [122] Ioffe, J., “The Real Story of Donald Trump, Jr.,” GQ.com, June 21, 2018.

    [123] Jackson, H., P. Helsel, J. Meyer, M. Alba. “Roger Stone Calls Claims of WikiLeaks Collusion ‘Categorically False,’” NBC News, October 12, 2016.

    [124] Hsu, S.S., Weiner, R., Zapotosky, M. “Roger Stone guilty on all counts of lying to Congress, witness tampering,” Washington Post, November 15, 2019.

    [125] Horvat, S., “The Cyber-War on WikiLeaks,” CounterPunch, October 18, 2016; Moran, B., “I Am Vladimir Putin: The First Victim of McCarthyism 2.0,” RT.com, October 18, 2016.

    [126] Stone, R., “Stone: Wikileaks, Mike Morell, Russia, and Me,” Breitbart, October 19, 2016.

    [127] Parry, R., “The Democrats’ Joe McCarthy Moment,” Consortium News, October 19, 2016,. Norton, B., Twitter, October 19, 2016, https://twitter.com/BenjaminNorton/status/788915185016836096. Norton was a part of the left-wing GrayZoneProject, whose founder, Max Blumenthal, would later call “Russiagate” a “vicious backlash… against Trump’s moves toward detente.” A regular guest on Russian media, Blumenthal had attended the December 2015 anniversary gala for RT along with Jill Stein, conspiracy theorist Ray McGovern, and Mike Flynn, and followed the Kremlin’s line regarding the Syria Civil Defense (also known as the White Helmets), conflict in Ukraine, and other geopolitical issues. GrayZoneProject’s work on the White Helmets was significant enough to assist AlterNet in featuring prominently in Starbird et al., 2018. See Giovanni, J.D., “Why Assad and Russia Target the White Helmets,” New York Review of Books, October 16, 2018.

    [128]Clinton Using Anti-Russia Red-Baiting Not Seen Since Days of McCarthyism,” RT.com, October 23, 2016; Doctorow, G., “Questioning the Russia-Gate ‘Motive,’” Consortium News, December 18, 2017.

    [129] Raimondo, J., “Anti-Russian Hysteria and the Political Elites,” AntiWar.com, October 2, 2016; Brenner, M., “American Foreign Policy in the Post-Trump Era,” CounterPunch, October 28, 2016.

    [130] Schindler, J.R., “McCarthyism 2.0 Has Infected the Democrats,” Observer, November 1, 2016; “Washington Fails to Prove Russia Interfered in US Elections in ‘Big Way,” Sputnik News, November 2, 2016.

    [131] Weiss, P., “Media Reports that Russians Are Behind Email Leaks Are Official Stenography—Carden,” MondoWeiss, November 5, 2016; Barrett, P., D. Kumar, “The Art of Spin,” Jacobin, November 7, 2016.

    [132] Kurtzleben, D., “Here’s How Many Bernie Sanders Supporters Ultimately Voted for Trump,” NPR.org, August 24, 2017,

    [133] For instance, the calls of Stephen F. Cohen of The Nation and the ACEWA, for a “multipolar world” were published in Sputnik News. See “Washington’s Refusal to Embrace Multi-Polar World is an Obstacle to Peace,” December 5, 2019,.

    [134] Regarding Venezuela, in an article co-written with RT host Dan Cohen, GrayZone founder Max Blumenthal cited GlobalResearch writer William Engdahl’s conspiracy theories about the “oily hands” of George Soros pertaining to Serbian pro-democracy group Otpor, see Cohen, D. and Blumenthal, M. “The Making of Juan Guaido: How the US Regime Change Laboratory Created Venezuela’s Coup Leader,” GrayZoneProject, January 29, 2019. Blumenthal also attempted to tie Engdahl’s idea of Otpor to Hong Kong protestors, see @MaxBlumenthal, Twitter, August 12, 2019, 10:00PM, Accessed January 6, 2020, https://twitter.com/MaxBlumenthal/status/1161140387769200640. Regarding Xinjiang, GrayZone authors repeatedly attempted to downplay reports of mass detention centers and discredit investigations into them, see L. Proyect, “A Reply to Ben Norton and Ajit Singh’s Hatchet Job on the Uyghers,” Louis Proyect: The Unrepentant Marxist, December 15, 2018; see also @JimMillward, Twitter, January 3, 2020, 12:45PM, Accessed January 6, 2020, https://twitter.com/JimMillward/status/1213199645079416835. Regarding Syria, GrayZone authors have promoted a number of discredited reports, including attacking the White Helmets as an Al Qaeda front group, see Hamad, S.C., Katerji, O. “Did a Kremlin Pilgrimage Cause Alternet Blogger’s Damascene Conversion?Pulse, August 22, 2017.

    [135] C. Ecarma, “Tucker Carlson Stunned When Guest Says ‘No Evidence’ Russia Hacked DNC,” Mediate, December 4, 2019.

    [136] @conspirador0, Twitter, December 19, 2019, 3:03PM, Accessed January 6, 2020, https://twitter.com/conspirator0/status/1207798734102220800.

    [137] Baumgartner, J. PushShift.io, search conducted January 10, 2020.

  • Robert Topinka — “Back to a Past that Was Futuristic”: The Alt-Right and the Uncanny Form of Racism

    Robert Topinka — “Back to a Past that Was Futuristic”: The Alt-Right and the Uncanny Form of Racism

    Robert Topinka

    This essay has been peer-reviewed by “The New Extremism” special issue editors (Adrienne Massanari and David Golumbia), and the b2o: An Online Journal editorial board.

    There are reduced expectations for the younger generation, and this is the first time this has happened in American history. Even if there are aspects of Trump that are retro and that seem to be going back to the past, I think a lot of people want to go back to a past that was futuristic—The Jetsons, Star Trek. They’re dated but futuristic.

    —Peter Thiel, quoted in Dowd (2017)

    In the scramble to explain Donald Trump’s victory in the 2016 presidential election, then-campaign chief executive Stephen K. Bannon’s claim to a Mother Jones reporter that Breitbart under his editorship was a “platform for the alt-right” (Posner 2016) generated widespread attention in mainstream media publications.[1] A rash of alt-right “explainers” appeared that attempted to familiarize the uninitiated with this so-called movement by outlining the obscure intellectual roots of the alt-right’s seemingly inscrutable meme-driven cultural politics. This paper begins from the premise that the alt-right is not a movement but a reactionary ideology, a “bursting forth of anti-PC cultural politics,” better understood as an ideological “milieu” rather than a movement (Nagle 2017, 19 & 18). Through an analysis of alt-right meme practice and neoreactionary theory, I will show in what follows that the intellectual innovation of the alt-right and its neoreactionary co-travelers is to attach white identity politics to a critique of modernity that turns postcolonialism on its head. Where the latter attacks racism for compromising the democratic promise, the former attacks democracy for compromising the white race’s promise, which is to accelerate capitalism to the lost Hobbesian future of the CEO-King, a vision implied in Peter Thiel’s words quoted in the epigraph to this article. Neoreactionaries have resurrected nineteenth-century notions of racial degenerationism and race as civilizational index, sutured them to techno-futurism, and deployed this monstrous racist hybrid in the form of what look on the surface like left and postcolonial critiques of modernity. The components of this thinking are familiar, but this precise combination is novel. The intellectual and aesthetic practice of the alt-right can thus be described as uncanny: strange but entirely familiar, a return in the present of a repressed past. In short, the alt-right’s newness is a symptom of its oldness.

    This argument draws on Corey Robin’s (2013) analysis of two key features of reactionary ideology, which, Robin argues, seeks to restore a lost past to a fallen present, and does so precisely by attacking the present on its own terms. This reactionary war against contemporary culture therefore tends to assume the aesthetic form of this culture—an immanent critique from the right that attacks the present culture to restore a past it has lost. Adopting Robin’s framework, I examine the attack on the present in the form of alt-right meme culture and the neoreactionary proposal for restoring a lost past.

    Neoreactionaries have a name for the structure of the fallen present: the “Cathedral,” the term Curtis Yarvin (writing as the blogger Mencius Moldbug) coined to describe the academics and mainstream journalists who preach the official “faith” of political correctness (2008a). The notion bears resemblance to the “propaganda model” (Herman and Chomsky 1988) of mass media, but instead of mainstream media and academia colluding with capital, they are preventing its flourishing. In its broad contours if not in its politics, this “Cathedral” critique resonates with left critiques of identity politics and diversity discourse, both of which are central to what Jodi Dean calls “communicative capitalism,” or the form of capitalism that captures resistance by materializing practices of agency, participation, and diversity in communication technologies (Dean 2002, 2009). Left academics therefore find themselves united with corporate capital around “enthusiasm for diversity, multiplicity, and the agency of consumers” (Dean 2009, 9), a state of affairs that has led many on the left to call for a rejection of identity politics. Hence Nagle, in her important if controversial work on the emerging reactionary ideologies, argues that the alt-right opposes “the new identity politics” of liberal online spaces like the social blogging network Tumblr that normalize “anti-male, anti-white, anti-straight, anti-cis rhetoric” on the “cultural left” (Nagle 2017, 68).

    I want to suggest here, though, that whatever the merits of identity politics as a scholarly approach or political strategy might be, the alt-right critique of identity politics is only the first reactionary gesture—the immanent critique of the present. The second move—the restoration of the lost past—does far more than violate the terms of diversity discourse; it seeks to install race as an interface that gathers humans in a global frame and sorts them hierarchically. Mobilizing memes as the aesthetic form of reaction, the alt-right popularizes this racial interface. Richard Spencer’s slogan—“race is real, race matters, race is the foundation of identity” (Caldwell 2016)—seeks to formalize racism as a political strategy, appropriating diversity discourse to claim white nationalism as a protected identity formation. Racist exclusion is the fulcrum of the proposed political order.

    The uncanny is a useful figure for analyzing the reactionary attempt to restore a lost past. This formal racism is uncanny in the strict sense Freud (1919) defines the term: the appearance of “something long familiar” that was estranged “only through being repressed” (148).  The appearance of this estranged object motivates ideological attempts to “integrate the uncanny” and “assign it a place” in a fallen present (Dolar 1991, 19). By focusing on the alt-right’s immanent critique of identity politics, we allow the alt-right to direct us to the “place” in the fallen present that needs critiquing, all the while missing the lost past that the alt-right seeks to restore. As a figure of encounter with the present, the uncanny directs us to the formal practice of assigning a place.

    I begin with the first reactionary gesture—immanent critique—by examining the meme as a formal manifestation of what Dean calls communicative capitalism, and therefore as an entirely familiar form, even if the content of alt-right memes is bizarre. I then turn to the second reactionary gesture—the restoration of the lost past—by turning to the intellectual roots of the alt-right, focusing on Bannon’s summer of 2014 speech at a Vatican conference and its resonance with the neoreactionary thinkers Mencius Moldbug and Nick Land, whose form of uncanny racism I will describe. The connection extends beyond shared sympathy: Yarvin’s start-up counts the Trump-supporting Thiel as an investor (Pein 2014), and Yarvin reportedly communicated through an intermediary with Bannon while the latter was still Trump’s Chief of Staff (Johnson and Stokols 2017). I conclude by suggesting how attention to ideological form makes it possible to critique reactionary ideology without replicating the first reactionary gesture and arriving at the same place of critique that reactionary ideology selects, a danger that haunts any attempt to contextualize reaction.

    First, a brief note on terminology: the alt-right is a contested term, but is best understood as a shorthand for anti-politically correct reactionary ideology that developed its meme aesthetic in message boards, particularly 4chan (see Nagle 2017, 12 & 19). Neoreactionary thinking is a specific intellectual tradition that influences many alt-right adherents. This paper does not seek to define the alt-right, and indeed such definitional questions tend to impose a misreading of the alt-right as a coherent movement rather than a reactionary ideology. Nor does this paper deny the existence of extreme right organization (Berlet and Lyons 2000; Berlet 2004); rather, it seeks to analyze the “metapolitics” (Lyons 2017) of an ideological “fascist creep” (Ross 2017).

    Memes and the Allegorical Interface

    After Trump’s 2016 victory, alt-right partisans began claiming the election as a turning point in a meme war that most mainstream audiences nevertheless knew little about until mainstream journalists began publishing “explainers” on the subject.  A journalistic genre of recent vintage, the “explainer” responds to the perpetual news and commentary stream by expanding the nut graph into a contextual framework for understanding complex or obscure issues, stories or trends, allowing those who find themselves “out of the loop” to “grasp the whole” of the story (Rosen 2008). The alt-right, with its cornucopia of obscure memes and references—from the mystical “meme magic” of the pseudo-religious Cult of Kek (more on this below) to the infamous Pepe the Frog to racist approximation of African American Vernacular English of “dindu nuffin”—would seem to demand the explainer treatment, particularly for those who discovered the alt-right only after Trump’s hiring of Bannon brought the alt-right to mainstream attention. As I show below, mainstream explainers tend to attempt to uncover the ostensibly obscure symbolism of alt-right memes.

    Before turning to the explainers, though, it is necessary to attend to the meme and its function in reactionary ideology. The critical impulse is to reveal that which ideology conceals, but the alt-right does not conceal its racism; there is no cover (Topinka 2018). Instead, there is an attempt to repurpose the form of communicative capitalism to critique the present. As a form, the meme is ideally suited to such a task. The meme form encourages inclusion, participation, and bricolage—all the tools once associated with emancipatory politics and now absorbed into communicative capitalism. In this sense, the meme offers a perfect reactionary tool: reappropriative in its form, it reacts against the present by repurposing it.

    Indeed, the meme is a privileged form of communicative capitalism; it is an allegory of exchange, where culture exits only to be repurposed, and where the symbolic submits to circulation. Although their content may appear obscure, the form of alt-right memes is entirely familiar; in this sense, they are uncanny allegories of communicative capitalism.  Building on and contesting the media formalism of Lev Manovich and the hard media determinism of Friedrich Kittler, Alexander Galloway’s (2012) recent work on control allegories argues that media cannot be reduced to their technical predicates—storing, transmitting, and processing—or understood as “objects” bearing a set of formal characteristics that afford certain determinant effects. Galloway (2012) proposes the notion of the “interface” to examine media as forms that inaugurate sets of practices. Mediation is therefore a “process-object” (46), a space of flow, transformation, and transition where the “inside” of technical media encounters the “outside” of the social world. This encounter between technical media and social technique is, for Galloway, an allegory of how contemporary power works: technical apparatuses tend to encourage sets of practices that produce a flexible, modular, and endlessly transformable form of power.

    A technical apparatus might encourage a reactionary response as well. Consider Urbit, the “personal sever” created by Curtis Yarvin, also known as Moldbug, the neoreactionary blogger. The Urbit interface inserts an “opaque layer” between the user and the combination of cloud services users rely on (Wolfe-Pauly 2017). Rather than outsourcing computing to cloud services, Urbit offers general purpose personal server that “holds your data; runs your apps; wrangles your connected devices; and defines your secure identity” (Wolfe-Pauley 2017). Urbit seeks to reclaim the sovereignty that Benjamin Bratton (2016) argues has been vested in “the Stack” of computing and cloud services (particularly Facebook, Google, and Amazon) that now comprise planetary-scale computation. As creators Galen Wolfe-Pauly and Yarvin suggest, Urbit restores digital independence and reclaims sovereignty by returning to users exclusive control over their data. Instead of more participatory culture—“toiling on Mark Zuckerberg’s content farm” (Yarvin, quoted in Lecher 2017)—Urbit offers what neoreactionaries call “exit.” It is software as an allegory for the neoreactionary age.

    The meme form relies on participation from users competent in digital remixing. To meme is to participate through reappropriation. Scholars have tended to read this participatory reappropriation as democratizing and politically liberating (Coleman 2014)—even, at times, when meme practice becomes explicitly racist (Phillips 2015, 97).[2] Yet moving too quickly from technique to politics risks misunderstanding both. Amidst the recent attention in mainstream culture given to memes forged on the website 4chan’s message boards, it is also tempting to claim that “4chan invented the meme as we use it today” (Beran 2017). However, the meme form emerges from message board formats rather than any particular community. Börzsei (2013) thus traces the meme’s genealogy to Usenet, where meme use signals familiarity with message board discourse and offers a means of performing digital competence. Memes emerge from a constellation of interfaces—photo editors, image hosting sites, meme generators for image macro memes, and message boards—that encourage exchange, appropriation, and repurposing. As such, the meme is an allegory for communicative capitalism, which does not capture each instance of resistance through cultural reappropriation so much as engulf resistance in its very form.

    Memes function through deixis: they signal location in a culture, relying on in-group agreement for understanding.  The meme operates through the digital media aesthetics of the “stream” (Lovink 2016), where the signaling of links in circulatory networks replaces symbolic representation. This accounts for the uncanny familiarity of alt-right memes, since their obscurity requires laborious explanation to “understand;” that is, of course, unless one already knows the references. But the obscurity to outsiders is a basic function of the meme form itself. Consider the “Most Interesting Man in the World” meme, an example of the image macro, which in turn provides the basic grammar for the meme: an image, typically drawn from popular culture, is overlaid with text, which itself typically references popular culture or tropes from internet culture (the image might be also be drawn from a viral video, but, as Shiffman (2011) argues, something that “goes viral” does not become a meme unless it becomes the subject of imitation and transformation).

    most interesting man internet explorer meme

    This meme imitates the performed cultural sophistication of the “most interesting man” but transforms it to apply to internet culture, where no geek would be caught using Internet Explorer. Even such a banal meme as this requires some familiarity with a range of cultural discourses and figures: the “Silver Fox,” the Latin lover, and geek culture. This meme is as strange as any alt-right meme, and equally void of symbolism. It is a tethering of cultural domains, the formal manifestation of the reappropriation that dominates internet culture and communicative capitalism. By ignoring the meme form, the explainers approach the alt-right as inscrutable, when in fact the alt-right practices a vernacular aesthetic form. To be sure, alt-right memes rely on a relatively esoteric referential repertoire, but the form in which this repertoire appears—the meme, an allegorical form of communicative capitalism—is entirely familiar.

    The Alt-Right Explainer

    Capitalizing on Breitbart’s connection to Trump through Bannon, Allum Bokhari and Milo Yiannopolous (2016) published “An Establishment Conservative’s Guide to the Alt-Right” on Breitbart, an article that helped establish the generic conventions for the alt-right explainer: ride the momentum of the tenuous links between the alt-right and Donald Trump, identify the intellectual base (including neoreactionaries, especially Moldbug), point up the contrast with two of the main wings of mainstream American conservatism (anti-globalization, anti-theocracy), and demystify “meme magic” by explaining what memes—especially Pepe the Frog—mean. Similar explainers soon echoed in the nave of the “Cathedral.” The Daily Wire, the Weekly Standard, the National Review, Vox, and The New York Times published explainers following Breitbart’s pattern, as did the neo-Nazi Daily Stormer. Citing the left’s purported culture war victory, the Weekly Standard claims that the alt-right’s racism is merely a rhetorical response to the “left’s moralism” (Welton 2015), and the New York Times explainer (an op-ed by Christopher Caldwell, a senior editor at the Weekly Standard) emphasizes that alt-right racism is partly a result of the undue expansion of what it means to be “racist” (Caldwell 2016), an expansion Caldwell redresses by carefully distinguishing malignant white supremacists from the purportedly more benign white nationalists. In the face of such prevarication, the Daily Stormer’s “Normies’ guide to the alt-right” makes for bracing reading (Anglin 2016). Although it follows the generic conventions Breitbart established, it rejects the latter as a latecomer, claims racism as the fundamental fulcrum of alt-right ideology, and calls racist trolling a form of “culture-jamming” directed against so-called “normie” culture (Anglin 2016). The Daily Stormer, unfortunately, sees things more clearly than the “Cathedral” on this score. This racist trolling takes form in the meme, which becomes a mechanism of ideological assault and community-building.  

    Hillary Clinton’s campaign famously responded to one such meme—shared most prominently by Donald Trump, Jr. and Roger Stone—that featured a photoshopped film poster for The Expendables, retitled as “The Deplorables,” with the original actors’ heads replaced with a number of prominent Trump supporters during the 2016 presidential campaign: Roger Stone, Ben Carson, Chris Christie, Eric Trump, Mike Pence, Rudy Giuliani, Donald Trump, Jr., Alex Jones, and Milo Yiannopolous. Trump is the central figure in the image. Hovering over his left soldier, Pepe the Frog looks smugly on, his red-blond hair coiffed in Trump’s signature style (Chan 2016). The photoshopping is clumsy, and the film referenced is archetypical Hollywood mediocrity, but to explain this meme is to marvel at the range of discourses it summons: from the visual and textual pun on The Expendables—which is in turn a play on Clinton’s dismissal of Trump supporters as belonging in the “basket of deplorables”—to the visual enrollment in Trump’s campaign of Pepe the Frog himself, whose bizarre internet career has by now been thoroughly chronicled.[3] The meme sutures a complex intertextual tissue, with each reference signaled on the aesthetic surface of the meme.

    The explainer genre encourages a “hermeneutics of suspicion” (Ricoeur 1970) that seeks to wrest some underlying meaning from the meme. The Clinton campaign formalizes its explainer of this meme as a question-and-answer session between the innocent and the knowing: “Who is that frog standing directly behind Trump? / That’s Pepe. He’s a symbol associated with white supremacy.  / Wait. Really? White supremacy?” (Chan 2016). The dialogue falls into the trap of attempting to demystify Pepe. The Clinton campaign approaches the meme with a surface-depth aesthetic model, asking what the meme symbolizes, and this representational reading misrecognizes the meme form. As a result, the explainers fail to reckon with the uncanny familiarity of these ostensibly obscure aesthetic forms. As is often the case in critical theory, the explainer positions the audience as the innocent questioner in the Clinton campaign’s explainer—What? Really? A white supremacist frog? The alt-right is truly esoteric! Hence the headline of the New York Times explainer: “What the Alt-Right Really Means” (Caldwell 2016). Or the Vox headline for its explainer: “The Alt-Right Is Way More Than Warmed-Over White Supremacy. It’s That, but Way Way Weirder” (Matthews 2016). Or from the Huffington Post: “My Journey to the Center of the Alt-right” (O’Brien 2016). These headlines suggest that the alt-right’s racist ideology is obscure (even though it has always been a feature of American politics) and that its aesthetic practices are inscrutable (even though the meme is a primary aesthetic form of participatory media). Thus the Weekly Standard blames the alt-right on the “left’s moralism” and the New York Times diagnoses the undue expansion of the meaning of “racist” as the cause of the alt-right’s reactionary politics. By failing to reckon with aesthetics of the meme form, these “explainers” unwittingly redeem “meme magic” and its racist politics as something obscure and inscrutable rather than familiar and intractable.

    As an allegorical form of communicative capitalism and the aesthetics of the “stream” (Lovink 2016), the meme operates by signaling links—including to racist subcultural formations—rather than by encoding symbolic representation. Updating for the digital age Richard Dawkins’s 1972 notion of memes as the genetic expression, selection, and variation of cultural units, Limor Shifman (2012) offers a rigorous definition of memes as “building blocks” of complex cultures that propagate quickly, reproducing through imitation and transformation (189). A form of Henry Jenkins’s “spreadable media” (Jenkins et al 2013), memes exist in circulation, transforming through “remixes” (Wiggins and Bowers 2015) that blend cultural domains and generate the meme’s circulatory momentum. This remixing and repurposing wrenches objects from their cultural domain, creating a new, thickly referential memetic context. The meme is thus a form that transforms in circulation. To “get” the meme, one has to recognize both the cultural domain the meme references and how the meme is dislocating that cultural domain. Although memes are thickly referential, with dizzyingly complex circulatory histories, they are not typically rich hermeneutic texts. They signal and enact cultural convergence, but they do not symbolize it. Hence the awkwardness of the “hermeneutics of suspicion” the Clinton campaign brings to Pepe. Those who use Pepe in white supremacist memes do not smuggle him in as a covert symbol. His appearance signals a trajectory of transformation in circulation, not a symbolic repertoire. The Clinton campaign is thus right to associate Pepe with white supremacy but wrong about the meme, which signals circulation without symbolizing.

    By “unmasking” political correctness as the true cause of racism, mainstream explainers follow the first reactionary gesture, repeating the contours of the reactionary immanent critique. In a widely shared Medium post, Dale Beran claims that Pepe, the “grotesque, frowning, sleepy eyed, out of shape, swamp dweller, peeing with his pants pulled down because-it-feels-good-man frog” represents in an ideology that “steers into the skid of its own patheticness. Pepe symbolizes embracing your loserdom, owning it” (Beran 2017). This attempt at a hermeneutics of Pepe ignores that the alt-right does not make memes out of the “feels good man” Pepe; the alt-right Pepe wears a smug smile, openly declaring his troll status. Such a pathos-laden reading of “steering into the skid” shares with Laurie Penny’s (2017) reading of Yiannopolous’s followers as duped “Lost Boys” a tendency to position the “loser” status of the geek (the archetypal perpetual virgin housed in his parents’ basement) as an alibi for misogyny and white nationalism. Indeed, Beran claims the left’s “radical idea of sexual-difference-as-illusion,” which is “meant to solve the deplorables’ problem” by “dispelling it as a cloud of pure ideas” is in fact an “Orwellian” declaration to “these powerless men” that “‘There’s no such thing as your problem!’” (Beran 2017). Beran’s critique here echoes Nagle’s criticism of the “anti-male, anti-white, anti-straight, anti-cis rhetoric” on the “cultural left” (Nagle 2017, 68). It is certainly possible to criticize such rhetoric, and reflexivity is surely a crucial political practice. But it is also notable that these critiques replicate the reactionary gesture: the left has won the culture war, diversity is ascendant, and the straight cisgender white male has lost his position—political correctness is everywhere run amok. The left therefore becomes the cause of the alt-right, and alt-right’s reactionary thinking becomes justified, if misguided. Indeed, these “Lost Boys,” dispossessed by the regime of political correctness, have also lost agency, and their hateful meme magic is a mere symptom of this fall. The critical impulse is to unmask the discourse by assigning it a context, but this is precisely its weakness in its approach to reactionary ideology. The alt-right’s blatantly racist discourse offers little to unmask. Its esoteric memes turn out to be banal cultural references. Unmasking its discourse tend to replicate the first reactionary gesture by arriving at the same place—the same cultural context—to be targeted for immanent critique.

    Reactionary Critical Theory

    I turn now to the second reactionary gesture—the restoration of the lost past. Alt-right and neoreactionary racism is uncanny—old and out of place, yet entirely familiar. Attending to the uncanny as a figure of ideology—an attempt to assign a place to that which is out of place—allows an approach to reactionary ideology that does not replicate the gesture of its immanent critique.

    Neoreactionary ideology tends to adopt the form and style of critical theory. Of course, neoreactionary thinker Nick Land was once a celebrated academic critical theorist, particularly in the UK, where he became something of a cult figure for his “dark Deleuzian” capitalist accelerationism and experimental theory-fiction, which he developed as part of the Cybernetic Culture Research Unit at the University of Warwick in the 1990s.[4] The infamous reactionary blogger Mencius Moldbug also offers a critical genealogy of modernity on his Unqualified Reservations blog, particularly in the fourteen-part “Open Letter to Open-Minded Progressives” (2000a-d &c). Land’s “Dark Enlightenment” text attempts to formalize Moldbug’s prolific if rambling blogposts into a neoreactionary theory of capitalist acceleration grounded in a despotic sovereign political order. Moldbug and Land follow the form of a left and postcolonial critique of modernity, but turn the critique on its head: the modern promise of equality and democracy was not compromised (by slavery, colonialism, and capitalism); the promise is itself the compromise that prevents capitalism’s flourishing. Modern notions of equality legitimate any grievance as oppression, and democracy compels the state to recompense any grievance claim. Democracy and equality therefore combine to promote personal failure. Neoreaction seeks to replace democratic voice with exit, or the right to leave any polity at any time, and to restore sovereignty in the figure of a CEO-King who seeks only to maximize value and therefore to accelerate capitalism. Race serves a crucial function in this theory: ministered to by the “Cathedral,” race mediates between citizens and state, sanctioning grievance claims and incentivizing dysfunction. However, by properly reprogramming race through neo-eugenics rather than modern notions of equality, it could become the accelerationist motor capable of restoring the lost future of capitalist sovereignty before its corruption through enforced diversity.

    The obsession with restoring lost ethnic sovereignty links the more abstruse neoreactionary thinkers with populists such as Bannon, who also adopt the form of left critique to advance reactionary thinking. Although Bannon’s status as a political star did not long outlive his tenure in Trump’s White House, which ended on August 18, 2017, he remains a pivotal figure for his role in linking the openly fascist politics of figures like Aleksander Dugin and Julius Evola with mainstream political discourse. In his 2014 speech to a conference in the Vatican, Bannon channels left critical theory, citing Marx in a critique of the “Objectivist School of libertarian capitalism,” which seeks to “make people commodities, to objectify people” (Bannon, quoted in Feder 2016). Identifying a “crisis in the underpinnings of capitalism,” he diagnoses the post-crash bailout as symptomatic of a system that favors elites over the working classes (Bannon, quoted in Feder 2016). As a reactionary, though, Bannon proposes to rescue the future by restoring the past. Bannon praises Vladimir Putin, and his “advisor [Aleksander Dugin] who harkens back to Julius Evola” for “standing up for traditional institutions” and national sovereignty (Bannon, quoted in Feder 2016). Acknowledging Evola’s fascism, Bannon nevertheless argues that “people want to see sovereignty for their country, they want to see nationalism” and a return to the time of America’s founding when “freedoms were controlled at a local level” rather than by elites in global command centers such as New York, London, and Berlin (Bannon, quoted in Feder 2016). Bannon’s thinking here precisely follows the reactionary paradigm Robin outlines: Bannon develops a withering critique of the present order—one that overlaps in places with left critiques of finance capital—and offers as a solution the restoration of a fallen order.[5] Although they distance themselves from populist fascists like Bannon, Land and Moldbug share the same reactionary preoccupation. Land’s systematization of Moldbug sketches a program for fulfilling Bannon’s desire for sovereignty. This program relies on race as a formal explanatory category—a mode of immanent critique—and an interface that ran reconfigure the political order, assigning a place for the lost future of the CEO-King.

    The Cathedral and History

    As I have argued, following Robin (2013), reactionary politics combines two gestures: first, an immanent critique of the present, and second, a call to restore a lost past. This impulse surfaces in racist meme culture, but it receives a more rigorous treatment in Land and Moldbug, both of whom wage a critique of the present in service of a resurrection of the past. I turn now to the neoreactionary “Cathedral” critique—the first reactionary gesture—in order to show how it sanctions a call for a return in the present to neo-Victorian racism—the second reactionary gesture.

    Land and Moldbug are profoundly lapsarian thinkers. For them, progressivism—the conspiracy the “Cathedral” sustains—is the fall that obscures and indeed encourages the degeneration of the races. Land (2013) argues that the progressive Enlightenment follows the “logical perversity” of “Hegel’s dialectic,” enforcing the “egalitarian moral ideal” through progressivism’s sustaining formula: “tolerance is tolerable” and “intolerance is intolerable.” This formal structure guarantees a “positive right to be tolerated, defined ever more expansively as substantial entitlement” (Land 2013). If progressivism is the fall, tolerance is the juggernaut that tramples any attempt at ascent. For Land, the American Civil War is a moment of original sin that that “cross-coded the practical question of the Leviathan with (black/white) racial dialectics” (Land 2013). Of the Civil War, Land writes:

    The moral coherence of the Union cause required that the founders were reconceived as politically illegitimate white patriarchal slave-owners, and American history combusted in progressive education and the culture wars. If independence is the ideology of the slave-holders, emancipation requires the programmatic destruction of independence. Within a cross-coded history, the realization of freedom is indistinguishable from its abolition. (Land 2013)

    The Civil War thus installs a “cross-coded” history running on parallel historical tracks between progressive and dark enlightenments, emancipation and independence, voice and exit. This genealogy allows Land to identify a formal mechanism that propels the “only tolerance is tolerable” formula of the Progressive Enlightenment. The anachronistic insertion of “progressive education” and the “culture wars” into the stakes of the Civil War does not trouble Land because his analysis is formal rather than historical: the “cross-coded” history leads inexorably to progressivism, which in turn functions as a transhistorical epistemological and ontological force. Hence Moldbug claims, bizarrely, that Harvard’s “progressive” curriculum has not changed in 200 years, that British politics has been moving steadily left for 150 years, and that progressives—among whom he includes all mainstream Western politicians—have no enemies to the left (Moldbug 2008a).

    The “Cathedral” conspiracy therefore assigns a context for reaction. If neoreactionary thinking appears to be out of place, it is only because of the long reign of progressive dogma. The reactionary desire for a lost past follows close behind. Moldbug thus routinely cites the pre-1922 texts available on Google Books to pierce the “Cathedral” veil, approvingly linking, for example, to Nehemiah Adams’ 1854 account of his trip to the south, where he found himself surprised to find the slaves “were all in good humor, and some of them in a broad laugh” and charmed by the “unbought” friendliness of slaves (Adams 1854). Elaborating on the dubious claim that the “neat thing about primary sources is that often, it only takes one to prove your point,” Moldbug brags that high school students “won’t be assigned the primary sources I just linked to” (Moldbug 2008d). He cites the same source in a post defending and indeed advocating Thomas Carlyle’s view on slavery, suggesting that those who view slavery as “intrinsically evil” would “quickly change their tunes if forced,” like Adams, “to function in an actual slave society” (Moldbug 2009). The “Cathedral” conspiracy excuses Moldbug from evaluating Adams’ account, or from consulting the numerous contemporary accounts of slavery’s evils. If high school students wouldn’t be assigned it, that’s only because it violates “Cathedral” dogma. And since Adams’ account predates the Civil War (though not Enlightenment itself), it is therefore more likely to see the truth before the fall. Piercing the mists of this transhistorical progressivism, we see that “Not all humans are born the same, of course, and the innate character and intelligence of some is more suited to mastery than slavery. For others, it is more suited to slavery” (Moldbug 2009). To take the measure of these aptitudes, Moldbug turns to an uncanny form of racism that functions as an interface for gathering and sorting human populations.

    Race as Interface

    Land and Moldbug accept race as a means of categorizing human aptitude within a global hierarchy. This notion of race plays a crucial role in their thinking, which describes the following racial dynamic: Insofar as progressivism incentivizes inaptitude, it also encourages racial degeneration. This is race as a technology, as Wendy Chun (2009) has described: race has particular affordances for enframing human populations, and this enframing shapes the contours of social and political orders. Extending Galloway, this is race as interface, as a form that gathers humans into a global frame and sorts them hierarchically (see also Weheliye 2014).

    Land and Moldbug’s uncanny racism resurrects a notion of race as an interface for gathering and sorting global populations first deployed in late Victorian eugenics. Like the eugenicists, Land and Moldbug rely on race as a mean of categorizing humans based on their biologically determined aptitude.  In 1869, Francis Galton called this aptitude “hereditary genius,” and offered it as a scientific explanation for the advance of certain civilizations over others, with Europeans, of course, at the apex of racial hierarchy (Galton 1869). Land and Moldbug adopt a range of figures (although no trained geneticists) in articulating a new version of race science called “human biodiversity,” which includes the relatively banal argument that humans are not neurologically uniform coupled with the dubious and insidious claim that this “biodiversity” can be best measured by plotting genetically-determined racial categories to IQ distribution.[6] Yarvin makes this argument without his typical circumlocution in a Medium post (which he later deleted) that attempted to persuade delegates at the LambdaConf functional programming conference against boycotting his presence because of his slavery apologetics (Breitbart sympathetically chronicled Yarvin’s plight).[7] Yarvin insists he does not equate “anatomical traits” with “moral superiority” but makes the explicit argument for a genetically determined racial hierarchy as measured by IQ in the comments section of the Medium post (Yarvin 2016). Here Yarvin is trying to speak to what Moldbug would call the “Cathedral,” defending himself from committing the moral sin of racism as the bad ideology of individual viewpoints. He also criticizes mass incarceration—the first reactionary gesture. Yet Yarvin also summons race in its uncanny neo-eugenicist form to suggest that “Malik cannot be magically turned into a Jewish math nerd” (Yarvin 2016). This is the second gesture, a proposal that neo-eugenicist racism can explain and resolve the problem of mass incarceration and “the destruction of African American society” (Yarvin 2016).

    Another crucial connection between neoreaction and Victorian racism is the use of race not only to categorize humans by aptitude, but also to plot the potential for civilizational achievement. John Stuart Mill’s On Liberty offers a canonical description of Victorian Liberal conceptions of the hierarchy of races, which Mill leverages to justify violent repression in India: savages cannot “practise the forebearance” that “civilized society” demands, and they therefore require “despotic” governance to restore sovereignty and subdue passions (209). Land’s claim that Europeans are genetically predisposed to “low time preference” is formally indistinguishable from Mill’s preoccupation with forbearance. However, neoreaction reverses the racial trajectory. For liberal Victorian racial theorists, exposure to Enlightenment civilization could advance a given race beyond savagery. Land’s neoreaction reverses this trajectory: the exposure to Enlightenment formula that “only tolerance is tolerable” encourages further dysfunction in the lower races. This argument adopts another strain of Victorian racism: racial degenerationism, or the notion that races could devolve to be increasingly ill suited to civilization. Racial degenerationism found practical application in criminal atavism, the theory that criminals resembled “prehistoric man” and behaved “in a way that would be appropriate to savage societies” (Ellis 1890, 208). Adopting a similar assumption, Land suggests that “barbarism has been normalized,” in “lethally menacing” cities where “civilization has fundamentally collapsed” (Land 2013). Indulging in racist moral panic about urban decay—another anachronism in this age of urban “revitalization”—Moldbug argues that most American cities would benefit from martial law, and Land (2013) identifies white flight as the “spontaneous impulse of the dark enlightenment”: it is all exit and no voice. Land’s investment in white flight is also a libidinal investment in the fear of violently virile black bodies, which finds its parallel in the alt-right’s obsession with cuckoldry and “cucking” racialized as a white man watching his white wife dominated by a “black bull.” The purposefully excessive “cuck” discourse offers a means of indulging the fear of the black body while at the same time enjoying the act of violating tenets of “Cathedral” faith. The crucial point, though, is that “cuck” discourse not only operates to critique political correctness; it also signals an understanding of race as interface for governance, that which promotes degeneration but also—properly reprogrammed—promises acceleration to a lost future.

    Conclusion

    Before an antifa (anti-fascist) protestor sucker-punched Richard Spencer in the face in Washington, D.C. on Trump’s inauguration day—a moment that quickly achieved meme status—a bystander asked Spencer if he liked black people. Spencer smirked, shrugged, and said, “Sure” (Burris 2017). Identity politics poses a double trap for approaching the alt-right: Criticize the alt-right for bad identity politics, and they can easily dodge the accusation by parroting mainstream acceptance of diversity discourse, or point to the fact that political correctness is mainstream and therefore part of the power structure that so clearly needs dismantling. Criticize identity politics, and cede to the alt-right the choice of battleground. I have argued here that alt-right critics tend to make just such a concession. By focusing on the first gesture—the immanent critique—we risk missing the form of reactionary ideology, which includes a call for restoring a lost past. Spencer attempts to distill this call into a slogan: “race is real, race matters, race is the foundation of identity.” This slogan adapts Land and Moldbug’s racial formalism, but instead of an exit from grievance democracy, it argues for inclusion within grievance status. Hence Moldbug’s (2007) coy refusal of white nationalism: “I’m not exactly allergic to the stuff,” he writes, but white nationalists only recognize the symptom, missing the cure. The critique of “cucks” and the obsession with “red-pilling” offers a more nakedly libidinal, pop cultural take on the “Cathedral,” but, according to Moldbug, the alt-right fails to recognize that the entitlement state cannot expand to include white nationalist grievance, because to do so would violate “Cathedral” dogma. Bannon’s strong sovereignty more closely approaches the cure, but insofar as nationalism entails protectionism, he fails to follow techno-futurism back to the futuristic past that neoreactionaries desire.

    Land proposes as a formal fix “hyper-racism,” his vision for accelerating the “explicitly superior” and already “genetically self-filtering elite” through a system of “assortative mating” that would offer a “class-structured mechanism for population diremption, on a vector toward neo-speciation” (Land 2014). This is eugenics as a program for exit, not only from the progressive Enlightenment but also from the limits of humanity. Despite its contemporary jargon, this hyper-racism is indistinguishable in its form from late Victorian eugenics, which also recommended a program of “assortative mating.” Of course, now eugenics places us on a vector toward neo-speciation; so it’s back to the past, but now it’s futuristic.

    The “Cathedral” conspiracy justifies and motivates this recuperation of uncanny racism. Clearly, the “Cathedral” conspiracy shares much in common with rudimentary applications of Gramscian notions of hegemony or Hermann and Chomsky’s (1988) propaganda model. Ideology critique and reactionary critique tend to mirror one another. This is because both attempt to assign the uncanny object to a place, to contextualize it, whether as a justified response to the “Cathedral” or as a misguided response to left moralism. Reactionary thinking tends to fully indulge the critical impulse. Behind every veil, it finds the “Cathedral.”  This libidinal investment in unveiling resonates in the alt-right obsession with “red-pilling” and cuckoldry. Just as neoreactionaries fear that the “Cathedral” faith promotes black dysfunction, the alt-right fears “blue-pilling” as a form of penetration by the Other.

    To those of us reared in the “Cathedral’s” halls, this is all repugnant. It is also uncanny: Haven’t we moved beyond this racism?  Of course, the alt-right has a memetic response to this critique: “I mean, come on people, it’s [current year].” The alt-right has fully anticipated critical unmasking and absorbed it into the meme form, which refuses symbolic decoding and provides a formal interface for the participatory reappropriation and bricolage that characterize media practice in this age of communicative capitalism. Ideology critique and reactionary critique are similar in form: both attempt to recuperate the uncanny, to assign it a place. It is therefore crucial to attend to the uncanny form of reactionary ideology, which develops an immanent critique of the present in order to find a place in which to restore a lost past. Rather than following the alt-right to the purported excesses of identity politics, it is crucial to reckon with reactionary racism as the fulcrum of a proposed political order. This is not just a call to examine “structural racism,” because neoreactionary racism and alt-right racism have yet to harden into structure. It is instead a form, an interface between certain technical predicates (race as a gathering and sorting mechanism) and the social (the lost white future of the CEO-King). Reactionary ideology attempts to recuperate this uncanny racism; ideology critique must do more than cite the desire for this recuperation.

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    Robert Topinka is Lecturer in Transnational Media and Cultural Studies at Birkbeck, University of London. He is currently working on the Arts and Humanities Research Council funded project entitled “Politics, Ideology, and Rhetoric in the 21st Century: The Case of the Alt-Right.”

    Back to the essay

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    Notes

    [1] This work was supported by an Arts and Humanities Research Council grant for “Political Ideology, Rhetoric and Aesthetics in the Twenty-First Century: The Case of the ‘Alt-Right,’” (AH/R001197/1).

    [2] As Nagle (2017) documents, Gabriella Coleman (2014) continued to write approvingly of 4chan as late as 2014, when the forum was dominated by extreme racism and misogyny, and she also celebrated the hacker “weev” despite his open Nazism (102-105). In her book on trolling, Whitney Phillips (2015) argues for the redeeming qualities of “racist statements forwarded by people whose stated goal is to be as racist and upsetting as possible” because, unlike more subtle racists, “at least trolls advertise” (97). Although Phillips is right to argue that there is no value in simply condemning trolls, it is similarly difficult to see the value in well-advertised racism. The history of celebratory studies of participatory culture weighs heavily on such accounts.

    [3] The explainers cited in this paper all recount a version of Pepe’s history. For an academic treatment, see Marwick and Lewis (2017: 36).

    [4] On “Dark Deleuze,” see Culp (2016). For a succinct account and critique of Land’s accelerationism see Noys (2014: 54-58). For more on the controversy surrounding Nick Land’s planned 2016 appearance at the London art gallery LD50 and the seminar series he offered in 2017 at the New Centre for Research and Practice, see Shutdown LD50 (2017) and “Against Nick Land and the Reactive Left” (2017).

    [5] This contradictory impulse to restore the past in the future is a key feature of fascism. In an analysis of National Socialism, Jeffrey Herf (1981) calls this “reactionary modernism.”

    [6] On HBD, Land and Moldbug’s sources include prolific eugenicist bloggers such as “hbd chick” and Steve Sailer, controversial popular genetics writers including Charles Murray and Nicholas Wade, and the physicist Stephen Hsu, whose recent interest in the genetics of intelligence has generated controversy (see Flaherty 2013). Galton, Land, and Moldbug share a similar strategy of racial typing. Galton adopted Quetelet’s use of the Gauss-Laplace distribution to identify physical generations in human populations, which Galton sought to index with racial categories (Galton 1869: xi, and Wozniak 1999).

    [7] Breitbart lists four articles under the “Curtis Yarvin” tag as of May 3, 2019. For the first defense of Yarvin’s presence at LambdaConf, which, incidentally, was published the same day as Breitbart’s alt-right explainer, see Bokhari (2016).

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    Works Cited