In April 2019, I screened my new film-loop project, entitled That Monster: An Allegory, at the Institute of Contemporary Art in London . The event was coordinated by art historian Mignon Nixon, freelance curator and writer Kari Rittenbach, and Steven Cairn, ICA curator of film. After the screening, Mignon, Kari, and I had a discussion about the work, which was then opened up to questions from the audience.

Edwin Coomasaru, who is currently a Postdoctoral Fellow at The Courtauld Institute of Art, researching the gender politics of Brexit’s visual culture, attended the event and later voiced an interest in writing about the work. I suggested that we instead have a conversation about the work and related issues. Below is that conversation, held via email between the middle of May and the middle of June, 2019.

That Monster: An Allegory is an 18-minute film loop remixed from the 1935 film Frankenstein’s Bride (1935, James Whale) with a script drawn from the movie, Mary Shelly’s novel, Frankenstein, and original writing. Music: Metamorphosis 1 and Metamorphosis 2 by Philip Glass. © 1988 Dunvagen Music Publishers Inc. Used by Permission. Pianist: Dustin O’Halloran. The film plays twice, once with music and once without.

For various reasons, I normally keep my videos on private password, showing only an excerpt of the work on my website. Following the posting of this conversation, the work will be open to viewing on vimeo without a password for two weeks. All b+w screenshots are from That Monster.

EC: At heart, That Monster: An Allegory dramatizes and destabilizes the sorting of identity into “us” and “them” – friend and foe. It stages the two positions by giving us monstrous figures that we project our imagined enemies onto, and yet the slipperiness of the “I” and “you” pronouns in the onscreen narrative text also profoundly disorients our sense of who really is the “us” and the “them”. This effect both exposes and radically undermines the whole conceptual architecture of militarism that underpins such an imaginative binary of identity. In the context of the election of President Donald Trump in the US, or Brexit in the UK, why does this matter? Why might psychoanalytic-pacifism be urgent and vital for our contemporary moment?

SK: My last three projects look at why some kinds of political violence are accepted by centrist or right-wing adherents, and other kinds of political violence are not. But my motivation in That Monster was to situate Trump as a symptom of decades of economic injustice, and look through an allegorical lens at one effect of those decades —the millions of voters who became psychically enthralled to a demagogic power that doesn’t serve their interests, at the same time as those who defy that demagogic power then turn against the supporters, without either group understanding the psychical dimensions of how they got there. Members of this latter group are likely to be some of the spectators of my project.

Let’s state from the outset that Trump is a mentally ill person, whatever pop psychology or serious psychoanalytic term one uses to explain his behavior. But that doesn’t make him a political aberration, as centrists feel more comfortable labeling him. (If he’s an aberration, then we don’t have to look at what he represents as a symptom.) The key question for me is why 30-40 million Americans (his so-called die-hard base, not the wealthy who saw an opportunity for deregulation and tax cuts) fell in thrall to such a sick person? What psychosocial dynamics arose from and sustain our current economic and political situation? I am referring to the U.S., but there are also echoes regarding Brexit in the U.K. and in other countries in crisis. In a short interview with some students in 2010 I pointed out that humans are the only species that will follow an unstable leader. They are also the only species with an unconscious. Centrists and left-liberals in the U.S. point to the chaos that Trump continuously creates, and they see it as indicative of ineffectuality. But that chaos is extremely effective at a psychical level. Trump’s followers enjoy that chaos because it channels their rage at feeling marginalized. Some of his followers understand that their marginalization has been economic and social – capitalism has for the last couple of decades decreed them expendable. But many feel an inchoate, uneducated rage that takes vicarious pleasure in identifying with Trump’s self-victimization and his lashing out against all his perceived enemies. (In the 2016 election, Trump triumphed in the 50 least-educated, and often vote-crucial, counties in the U.S.)

“…an imaginative binary of identity” points to how psychical mechanisms fuel the kinds of polarizations and disruptions (constitutional, parliamentarian, militaristic) that demagogues require in order to build control. Trump seems to be willing to exploit whatever it takes to stay in power, and that might include starting new wars or exacerbating already endless ones. By putting warmongers like Mike Pompeo and John Bolton in his cabinet, accompanied by his impulsivity, anything can happen. But most importantly, it is those in thrall to him, backed by self-serving Republican politicians and the rich, who will allow it to happen.

Tell me more about what you mean by psychoanalytic-pacifism.

EC: Militarism has a very specific set of recurring features that operate on both a societal and psychic level. At its foundations, a conceptual binary of identity is projected onto a group of people – dividing into “us” and “them” or ”friend” and “foe”. Such a binary can be restaged time and time again on different scales – from handfuls of people to groups of nations. But such imaginative frameworks work to create the impression of order in a situation that can never be completely ordered, borders and boundaries that can never fully account for the messy ways we find ourselves entangled with each other. Nevertheless, the binary puts emphasis on difference, with either side increasingly seen as opposites – and good/bad values projected onto each. “Them” is narrated as a threat—aggressive, out of control, monstrous, disease-like, bestial, and not really human. This process not only works to legitimize violence directed towards “them,” it claims such violence is merely a pre-emptive defense: “we” must kill or contain the “threat.” The trouble is – such a threat can never be eliminated in full, because the possibility of harm or vulnerability can never be banished. As much as we may desire the eradication of those we see as enemies, what makes us who we are is in part constituted by another – and when we do lash out, traumatic repercussions will come back to haunt. To wound another is to wound oneself – because the neat conceptual binary we think social groups through does not work so neatly in actuality. “Us” and “them” are actually indelibly interconnected and interdependent, because they are not neatly sealed off from each other, but cohabit a space.

For me, my thinking about psychoanalytic-pacifism came out of studying the Northern Irish peace process – the legacy of a civil war between Republican/Nationalists and Loyalist/Unionists. While I was undertaking this research, the Brexit referendum happened in the UK in 2016 – and where before there had been no binary of identity, one was brought into being, and quickly became a feedback loop: each side talking of their desire to harm or kill the other, condemning “traitors” and “betrayal.” This is not a war (not yet at any rate), but it seems to have many of the psychic and social processes of militarism at play. When I heard you speak recently at the ICA in London, I was really struck by how you described the situation in America as needing to be analyzed from the perspective of the group – but the group wasn’t just Trump supporters, but also those who also saw themselves as his opponents. For me this was really profound, because it widened the frame to think “us” and “them” in relationship to each other. Like you say: Trump is not an exception or an aberration, he is deeply implicated in an entire system – a product of the same neoliberalism that many centrists defend by trying to make Trump look like an accident or a mistake. But they are implicated, we are all implicated – it is very tempting to try and contain him under the idea he is a monster, but he is absolutely interconnected with the society that created him.

SK: Yes, maddeningly interconnected. It is more comforting to project outward when we think about who created this monster. It’s much more threatening to think that we may have been implicated in creating him, even unknowingly. Now, few culturally progressive or socially empathic people want to own that monstrosity, which is understandable. But in developing the script for That Monster I reached a point where I realized that I had to focus on using only first and second person pronouns – I and you – and I removed the voice of the scientist. I did this so as to (as Kari Rittenbach pointed out during the discussion at the ICA) implicate the spectator of the film in the instability of the pronouns used in the titles and intertitles. And while editing the film, I had followed the id space of Twitter, so I witnessed both sides – pro- and anti-Trump – caught up in a rageful dynamic that only in rare instances seemed to include a critique of an unjust economic system. But it was Mignon Nixon, the day before she participated in our discussion at the ICA screening, who articulated the reading that the film didn’t just create a spectator reacting one way or another to its rage-filled characters, but rather that the film situates us all – spectators, monsters – as part of the same group. That is a more radical notion than it might appear to be.

EC: I think you can understand for me the urgency of such an artwork as That Monster, which both exposes and works to dismantle the entire social and psychic system I outlined above. It is precisely now when it is so difficult to have this kind of conversation, that it is most needed – when people increasingly understand their political opponents through the frame of moral panic or an invasion to be crushed. That Monster stages – and reveals – the steps it takes to create a monster, in a way that does not reproduce that process but unsettles it. Remixing footage from Bride of Frankenstein, Frankenstein’s monster peers into a body of water. “Is that really me in that reflection?!” he asks. “If I am that monster, then I am filled with shame! I am a wretched outcast in the world forever!.” “All hate the wretched,” the onscreen titles declare, the musical score cut through with a deep sense of tragedy. We hear of how “you” refuses to look at the monster, or make sense of the words the monster speaks.

The intertitles express intense anger in response – “a fatal prejudice clouds your eyes. You detest and spurn me. You call me ignorant! You call me stupid! You steal my dignity. Where you ought to see a vulnerable person, you only see a burden.” The male monster topples a statue, the female monster opens her mouth in a silent, violent scream. “Shame has made me a fiend!” – the musical score picks up pace, an angry rage propelling the momentum – “I feel rage! I want revenge! I haunt you. I stalk you with bitterness and anger. You judge me and push me away. You think your contempt will control me.” The male monster wields his arms amidst a building on fire. ‘I declare war! … With pleasure I destroy you and your home. “Even if I destroy myself,” the female monster stares us in the eye. “You listen to my murderous resentments. But you hear only what you want. You want me to disappear! I want to trample you to dust!.” The male monster runs through a graveyard uprooting trees and toppling statues, before the video cuts to a monster still in bandages, immediately after creation, with the acknowledgement: “Remember – I am your creature.”

Not only does That Monster tell a story of how militarism works at the level of the psyche, it also destabilizes it by putting pressure on the fantasies at its foundations. “Us” and “them” – despite the aggression, the unwillingness to apprehend each other as a life – are indelibly tied to each other, haunted by each other. It is impossible to eliminate the “enemy” completely, it is impossible to restore a feeling of total control over those seen as threatening. And yet, what is also profound about That Monster, is the slipperiness of “you” and “I” – the monsters and their creator. Whoever watches the work may have their own monster in mind – Trump, I’m sure for many, and Hilary Clinton’s “basket of deplorables” also comes to mind, yet the video sets up such neat categorization as deeply unstable. Because of the way it articulates the creation of a “monster,” it is hard not to be left wondering whether you could be someone else’s. As I watched the film, I imagined many kinds of monsters: Leavers and Remainers in the UK (Frankenstein images are a staple of current newspaper cartoons), Trump supporters and opponents in the US, etc.

The anger behind the Brexit and Trump votes may or may not have been in part a result of the 2007-08 financial crisis, an economic order in the midst of collapse, even while inequality spirals and the wealth of the top 1% intensifies, and an electorate caught in the contradictions of a system they thought would pay out for them, and the bitter abandonment many now feel. Obviously, the electorates who voted for Trump and Brexit are complex – they include a coalition of voters, some are from that 1% – many working class, hoping their 2016 vote would fund the welfare state in the UK or traditional industries in the US. Yet we are also living through a moment with a lot of socialist activism in the UK and US – Jeremy Corbyn’s Labour Party promising to transform society (although the “us/them” of Brexit is a major problem for thinking collectively outside of Leave or Remain). How does That Monster register and work through some of the tensions in this historical moment? Marx’s Das Kapital (1867) has been called a “gothic novel” – what might Frankenstein’s monster tell us about the current crisis of neoliberalism?

SK: It’s clear to anyone not looking through rose-colored glasses of psychical resistance that decades of radical income mal-distribution (i.e. the obscenely uneven effects of globalized neoliberalism) have helped produce mass precarity in a context of mediatized wealth and consumption. Also, a prime component of neo-liberalism has been psychosocial—to blame and to shame the victim; the poor and precarious don’t deserve attention or mediation, are not entitled to the basic necessities of daily life. The naturalization of that component, as much as wealth mal-distribution and greed at the top, is responsible for the perfect storm that gathered after the 2008 crash in the U.S.- with virtually all factions in the U.S. government looking the other way.

Different parts of the population deal with precarity differently at the electoral level. For obvious reasons, a little more than half the voting public– largely from the two coasts -did not fall for Trump. The U.S. has been divided down the middle during every presidential election of the past few decades. Politicians and the public both tacitly accepted that as long as you had 1% or 2% of the votes to pull you over the finishing line, you won fair and square. In fact, that was an ominous symptom of a democracy in deep dysfunction.

A major focus of mine as I developed That Monster was the psychoanalytic dimension of shame. There’s been a lot of talk lately about how Trump’s being a ridiculously bad businessman (recently revealed documents show that over a ten-year period he lost a trillion dollars) would allow his base to see the light and reject him because he actually isn’t the business mastermind who promised to enrich them (i.e. the neoliberal phantasm). But this is a form of thinking that denies the logic of unconscious identification. One thing that makes Trump so resilient is that there is so much for his base to identify with. He’s a shamefully bad businessman? Well, he’s one of us. He traffics in conspiracy theories? Well, there’s something out there that’s rendering me unstable, even if I can’t pinpoint it.

It is certainly encouraging that there is a surge of socialist and democratic-socialist sentiment and activism in the U.S. For the first time in my lifetime, the word socialism is publicly utterable (even if both centrist Democrats and Republicans routinely smear those who align themselves with this surge). But even groups of the left are clueless or resistant when it comes to the role that the psyche plays in mass politics or the ways in which the electorate can engage in psychical delusions that are not dispelled through truths and facts.

EC: I couldn’t agree more – to think politics without psychoanalysis (or vice versa) simply fails to account for the drives, desire, contradictions, and complications that mark a fundamentally unstable subject – us. Even just on the level of political rhetoric – it is psychoanalysis that can allow us to excavate the messy terrain between what is said at face value and what is meant: the projections, anxieties, and defenses that structure political discourse (Leavers and Remainers, for example, practice a profound amount of magical thinking – declaring the world as they wish it to be). Earlier you spoke about Twitter’s “id” – I’d love to hear more about your research online in preparation for That Monster. 

I am also interested in the relationships among psychoanalysis, sexuality, and technology – and their bearings on the work. The gothic emerges in literature from 1764; during this time many new communication technologies are invented (photography, telegrams, telephones) – as part of huge societal changes during the Second Industrial Revolution (1870-1914), a period also marked by considerable working-class and feminist activism.

That Monster obviously traces together the historical and conceptual connections between psychoanalysis and the gothic – but I want to ask about the role of technology. Perhaps not unlike the earlier historical period I mentioned, we are experiencing a moment of rapid technological change (especially communication technologies). These technologies, and the surveillance capitalism that underpins them, have profound implications for our future. Technology has also become the site of a moral panic as well, in ways that perhaps also draw historical parallels (in the1860-80s, people thought the invention of trains would cause mass madness). I have lost count of the number of newspaper articles declaring social media and smart phones as the prime cause of mental illness, narcissism, anxiety – with a particular concern about children and the stakes of heterosexual reproduction (long the focal point of any moral panic). Which is not to say social media doesn’t manipulate its users, but that “addiction” and “ill health” are also the very metaphors invoked during every moral panic (homophobia has long cast same-sex desire as a contagion that will harm or destroy the possibility of children, for example). Mental health certainly has become a real concern at the moment, and it is connected to rapid technological change – but to treat it as the prime cause is often done by media organizations unwilling to see the aftermath of the Financial Crisis as having a huge effect on society.

Technological anxieties are really important for That Monster: from the film scenes depicting the electric machines that create the monster, to the very medium of the artwork itself which remixes film from the 1930s and introduces glitches and loops that resonate with internet aesthetics. The monster is also a subject brought into being outside of heterosexual procreation, and the original Bride of Frankenstein film also performs his own failure to find a bride in that she rejects him. Queerness disrupts linear ideas of time based on procreation; trauma also disrupts linear ideas of time, as it repeats and reoccurs. How does the work reference and recycle past technological cultures in order to make sense of our present? And to what extent could we consider your monster a “queer” figure?

SK: I strongly believe that all of the issues you interconnect, and more, cannot be thought separately. Technological consequences, homophobia, queerness, neoliberalism, surveillance, xenophobia, moral panic, militarism, racism, misogyny, the mal-distribution of wealth, psychical enthrallment to autocratic phantasms – to which we can add the direness of the climate crisis. Have we ever lived through a moment where holistic thinking was more necessary, and less common? There’s no question that surveillance capitalism has profound implications. I never see an instance in which the algorithm doesn’t cut in at least two opposing– and lopsided-ways. And we have to consider that the advent of the algorithm is actually radically different from the advent of other technologies in the past. I have been feeling for at least a decade that the simple combination of capitalism, the algorithm, and the psyche results in a ridiculously ominous brew. Take the example of platforms of media distribution that allow one to “curate” the consumption of journalism, documentary, commentary, and even raw political output (for example, excerpts of a press conference on-demand). Although I vehemently disagree with the common liberal sentiment here that it was better when we had only about four TV stations as purveyors of news that the whole country could use as a reference point —  those news programs were neoliberal trash — a swing toward customized news has been deadly if you take the example of Fox News in a country in which only about 30% of the population is able to afford an undergraduate degree that might inculcate critical thinking. The submerged question of where knowledge resides is one that is rife with transferential implications that are rarely discussed on the left, although the right instinctively manipulates them with glee.

Twitter as a site for research—I think it’s important for artists to be aware of popular sites of distribution, exchange, and technological representation. I used GIF movements in the film as markers of the algorithmic present, while remixing an anachronistic silent film genre to allow the silence and titles to create a transferential space for the spectator. It’s clear that Twitter is a site where many allow themselves to attack and vent. It’s not just the right; the spleen vented by liberals can take the breath away. Spend a day following a Trump twitter response thread if you want to see a space that is completely devoid of politics, but filled with displaced rage. Interestingly, the far left on Twitter is more reasonable. There was a survey in the U.S. recently that claimed that only radical political extremes inhabit Twitter – i.e. Bernie Sanders supporters and Trump supporters. Firstly, it’s diabolical to equate the left and right in this way, and awfully convenient for those who jumped on it as an explanation of why right-of-center Democratic presidential hopeful Joe Biden is trolled and dismissed by the left on Twitter. Secondly, Twitter is most definitely awash in centrist liberals. There are 69 million Twitter users in the U.S. (13 million in the U.K.) and something like 138 million Americans voted in the 2016 election. Not all 69 million Twitter users are engaging in political exchanges or comments, but these are not numbers that can be ignored, especially with the phenomenon of charismatic media stars who can generate a lot of focus on a political topic with one tweet.

I found my way to the Frankenstein story at the start of the project through researching narcissism –because of the mass identification with Trump’s narcissism. I wanted to understand that, because if there’s anything that post-structuralism has taught us, it’s that belief is not rigid or inherent. A chance web search led me to literary analyses of narcissism in the Frankenstein story. I was then drawn to Mary Shelley’s 1818 novel, because of its prescience. It is the prescient figure who intrigues me, because prescience indicates an uncannily clear vision when others need more temporal distance for clarity. And the expression of prescience is always accompanied by a social courage that pulls the veil off the normative. In the 1818 novel, Shelly refers to a “spark” that brings the monster to life; in the 1935 movie, it is lightning that appears to be harnessed through some electrical-looking equipment. Apparently Shelley was advanced in engaging what a recent book on the topic, Frankenstein Annotated for Scientists, Engineers, and Creators of all Kinds, refers to as a relatively new idea at the time – the use of electrical current to activate muscles. This book also points out that she anticipated by two centuries the ethical questions that robotics would raise. Interestingly, one annotator connects these ethical questions – i.e. should the scientist be considered a murderer if he destroys his own robotic creation? –  to a topic that arose during periods of slavery. That is, could a slave owner be prosecuted for killing a slave, since that slave was considered their property; yet if it were considered legal for the slave owner to be prosecuted, then the whole premise of slavery, and its reduction of humans to property, would be called into question. I didn’t read this book until after I made the film, but for me the Frankenstein story held remarkable potential for an allegorical extrapolation.

While we’ve been having this exchange, the political situation here has worsened dramatically. An abortion ban was passed in Alabama that was even more radical than those recently passed in six other states. And in regards to your comment about the monster being “a subject brought into being outside of heterosexual procreation,” a 1952 US citizenship restriction not actively pursued previously has now been latched onto by the Trump administration. It challenges the citizenship of a child of same-sex parents if the body that gave birth to the child did not have US citizenship at the time; i.e. due to non-citizen surrogacy in the case of one challenged male gay couple, and due to the fact that one birth mother in a lesbian marriage was not American when the child was born, while the other was. It’s an obvious attempt on the part of this rabidly xenophobic and homophobic administration to harass select groups (although Trump recently claimed he’s all for gay marriage). This is an instance in which children born outside of heterosexual procreation are cast as monstrous, as unnatural. At the moment, our court system seems to be resisting this move, but liberals in the US have for years mistakenly relied on the judicial system to save them from the collapse of democracy.

Do you think the monster in my film is a “queer” figure?

EC: I think That Monster draws attention to the ways in which hetero-normativity and militarism are closely interrelated (as with patriarchy too); there are direct parallels between the way homophobia and a pro-war mentality work to create enemies by casting others as aggressive, monstrous threats supposedly in need of containment. The slipperiness of the monster in That Monster is profoundly generative: throwing up all sorts of potential associations, even associations in conflict and tension with each other – a testament to how complex it is as an artwork. The female monster also asks important questions about gender; the gothic seems to have long been a particularly powerful site for feminist thinking – from Shelley’s novel, to Julia Kristeva’s psychoanalytic text Powers of Horror (1980), and many contemporary art practices. How does That Monster think through femininity and ideas of the monstrous?

I am particularly interested in the stakes of Trump’s masculinity in the context of the film: centrist journalists have spent a lot of time claiming “excessive” masculinity is the prime reason he is a bad president. This analysis rests on very conservative gender norms: the idea that masculinity is a spectrum – you can have too much (thuggish) or too little (effeminate) – but the figure in the middle, military masculinity, is the only subject able to exert “self-control;” and therefore has a natural right to exert that control and “order” over all those who supposedly cannot (women, LGBTQ+ people, people of color, nonhumans). In criticizing Trump on the basis of being “excessively” masculine and therefore a bad custodian, such attacks perpetuate the idea that a “real man” is needed to exert discipline.

If That Monster picks up some of these undercurrents (intentionally or otherwise), it is also destabilizing of the assumptions that underpin them, in the way it exposes and undermines group fantasies about “leadership.” You also see some of these patterns of identification and anxiety when it comes to climate change – the desire and demand that a “savior” will fix the problem without changing the structural system (capitalism) that has brought it about. Obviously, there are very long historical relationships between masculinity and custodianship of the land – ideas of ecological control often drawn on and profoundly subverted by the gothic.

Could all of these threads connect somehow: from the cultures of managerialism in neoliberal governance, the demand that “shepherds” subject nature to order and fruitfulness, the appeal for a Christ-like savior at moments of crisis, or even the fantasy of military masculinity exerting custodianship over women, people of color and LGBTQ+ people? At the base of all these things is the concept of control: a “natural” figure in charge, keeping the imaginative “monsters” at bay. But maybe That Monster puts pressure on that very desire, precisely by insisting on the constructed and slippery nature of monstrosity itself? Rather than presenting an image of a stable world or social order, the film is adamant that wherever there is power there will be resistance – and that regimes of power can never be total or absolute.

SK: The other day I came across some notes I made a few years ago on Mark Cousin’s 1994 text “The Ugly.” Cousins defines the ugly as that which is there and should not be there, or that which is not there and should be. The ugly frustrates desire, and in that sense, it haunts. It is not a negligible task for art to set for itself – to haunt the spectator with the unsettling of the easy categorizations of the other, which you pointed to at the beginning of our discussion. It is those easy categorizations that have made possible the intensification of a defensive split in the U.S., and I suspect in the UK as well. This is what neoliberalism exploits. As for how That Monster thinks through femininity and ideas of the monstrous, again, it may have to do with something being in the wrong place. The bride is barely a character in the novel or Hollywood film, but in That Monster—thanks to filmic editing she gets equal billing. She too has the capacity to be monstrous – ugly– to haunt, to represent psychical resistance. Cousins talks about beauty as a defense against human precarity – “beauty and symmetry induce the illusion of coherence and ideality into a subject who is in fact always close to the edge.” Let’s see if curators are willing to bring these monsters to spectators …

It’s infuriating to have witnessed the dramatic growth of presidential power (and personality) in the U.S. over the past few decades. Cheney masterminded this for George W. Bush; Obama contributed through his kill lists; his dramatic increase of executive orders, and his unilateral militarism; Trump has his radical enabler in his personal Attorney General William Barr. But none of this could have been accomplished without mass compliance. That compliance is connected to the desire for a savior from the chaos and confusion that neoliberalism has created for the many. One hears repeatedly how his base likes the fact that Trump is a “fighter.” And now we have millions falling for Biden as savior. Yet he is almost as megalomaniacal and domineering as Trump. Aside from his retrograde politics, Biden’s m.o. is that of the bully.

But I think that the characteristics of a savior today are complex because of the role played by mass projected rage. Trump-the-symptom lauds the reactionary tenets of masculinity – men should be very tall, have big hands that allude to a big penis, be generals (he likes them tall, in uniform, and not bald), be dominant and not listen to the opinions of others (including generals), ignore women when not insulting them (particularly women of color). But at the same time, he betrays enormous anxiety about his masculinity and behaves in ways that aren’t conventionally masculine. He’s not exactly the strong, silent type. He publicly exaggerates his sexual prowess, belittles the masculinity of men he can’t control, pretends he has a full head of hair, hesitates to engage in military aggression, etc. He performs anxiety. Centrists and those who have economic plenitude accompanied by other privileges have comforted themselves for a few years by holding onto the useless idea of “the grownup in the room” as savior, who more often than not is either a military man or a corporate man.

Recently I’ve had the sense that Trump is losing some support. The many who granted him a winning margin because he was the new “change you [could] believe in” are looking for their next change, something to stop the pain of an unidentified neoliberalism. The tragedy is that if some of his voters turn against him, it won’t be because they understand what drew them to him or what kind of change would actually alleviate that pain. Into that American vacuum are stepping a few truly progressive politicians who try to clarify the raw deal experienced by the 95%, but at the level of mass psychology, art remains one of the few potential players.

EC: Yes – culture and the humanities are as important as ever in making sense of the violent divisions, upheavals, and social struggles around us. That Monster not only does vital and urgent work in unpicking, unraveling and making sense of our current psychic-political landscape, it also leaves us with a powerful and profound message: no one can exert absolute control over themselves or others.

[To view That Monster, click here.]

 

 

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Bill Murray, Groundhog Day, 1993; “Don’t drive angry.”

Pundits and journalists and podcasters are flush with midterm election dissection, endlessly discussing the good and the bad in regards to challenging the radical damage being done by Trump & Co. But for the most part, in the American media it’s always Groundhog Day, and when a country finds itself divided down the middle in the ugliest of ways, it must be due to something that happened yesterday, or, better yet, today. Ah, if only dissecting the past was sexy, addictive, or gif-able.

With a mad king in the White House and the GOP gleefully stacking the courts and hacking away at whatever was left of the separation of powers, who potentially deals with what gets shunted to the side – history and its psychical consequences?

Historians, theoreticians, artists, playwrights, novelists, filmmakers…

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Angelus Novus, Paul Klee, 1920

A Klee painting named Angelus Novus shows an angel looking as though he is about to move away from something he is fixedly contemplating. His eyes are staring, his mouth is open, his wings are spread. This is how one pictures the angel of history. His face is turned toward the past. Where we perceive a chain of events, he sees one single catastrophe which keeps piling wreckage and hurls it in front of his feet. The angel would like to stay, awaken the dead, and make whole what has been smashed. But a storm is blowing in from Paradise; it has got caught in his wings with such a violence that the angel can no longer close them. The storm irresistibly propels him into the future to which his back is turned, while the pile of debris before him grows skyward. This storm is what we call progress.

Walter Benjamin, Theses on the Philosophy of History, 1940

This storm is what we call progress. Having recently finished an artwork that addresses the psychical underpinnings of the present moment, I have been thinking about the question of time in regards to the psyche and politics; about how art has the potential to create an experience similar to that of the psychoanalytic therapy session. Illumination can occur retrospectively after talk therapy, without conscious effort or application, and the potential to illuminate retrospectively, without conscious effort, also belongs to the realm of culture.

Nachträglichkeit [afterwardsness]… implies a movement from past to future: something is deposited in the individual, which is only activated later on…Laplanche compares this to a delayed-action bomb.

Time and the après-coup, Dana Birksted-Breen, 2003

The predictable, but still shocking, re-revelation that the U.S. voting population is basically divided down the middle – politically and geographically – was made that much more evident in the midterm elections. Rural areas were solidly behind Trumpian candidates and they voted with the vengeance that his inflammatory rhetoric fanned. But I have yet to hear a journalist – even the liberal ones – discuss the historical and psychical underpinnings of that phenomenon. Beyond the easy labels, why is that population so susceptible to his rhetoric? They may all be racist and misogynist, yes, but why them? Why there? There are some interesting maps around today that when overlapped show frightening indications of how the legacies of economic precarity and under-education can predict a susceptibility to Trumpian identification, at least when not overridden by the racial or ethnic or religious threats that may motivate a voter to see through it. A liberal MSNBC host refers with gleeful contempt to how even in a small city you can find small pockets of “techies,” who vote democratic, while rural areas don’t have techies at all…

The U.S. is a country particularly devoted to the idea of the here and now. It is the not-surprising ethos of a country born out of the trauma of repressed genocide and mass immigration that define its foundation. But as psychoanalytic theory has pointed out, the here and now is also suffused with history (if you are open to it). The present is multi-directional – the past can be known from the present, and the present can be known from the past. Yet we persist in sustaining the fantasy that, like Bill Murray in Groundhog Day, the American population is reborn every day, without having been impacted by even the recent past. At least Murray figures out that history seeps through each freshly repeated day.

Allegory and analogy –  as with Bertolt Brecht’s Epic Theater, these have long been fruitful methods for cultural works, because artists sometimes realize that the psyche is resistant to direct – and painful – explication. The contradictions of the present can be better conveyed through a different historical framework. The impact of such cultural works may not be immediate, but they have the potential to resonate over time in a spectator, in the same way that the analysand’s life can resonate with the effects of a recounting told during a single session of analysis.

There is aggressive pleasure in projecting evil otherness onto a part of the culture that seems impossibly daunting to alter. The effects of culture will not take the place of (free) higher education or of the eradication of polarized wealth. But they have an important role to play.

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Flyer found, in the rain, on Broadway and Prince Street, NYC. A text written by a self-proclaimed MAGA man mocks Dr. Ford’s veracity. In the second text, a feminist challenges his lack of compassion.

We live in revolutionary times. I cannot imagine now what it would have been like to be thinking about Rosa Luxemburg if the revolutions in Tunisia, Egypt and Libya had not taken place. I do not know whether it would have been easier or more difficult. But one thing revolutionary moments do is force us to revise our sense of time, stretching us between past and future, as we comb backwards for the first signs of upheaval, and look forward to see what is to come. For many observers, but mainly those in power, the uncertainty is a way of stalling the movement of revolution, curbing its spirit by calling it to account in advance for a future that it can’t predict or foretell. These are the fear-mongers, who point to a range of monstrous outcomes – say, anarchy or Islamic control – as a way of discrediting what is happening this moment, now; who manipulate the dread of a terrible future (and the future may always be terrible) to dull the sounds of freedom.

It is of course the whole point of a revolution that you cannot know what, if anything, can or should survive. 

“What more could we want of ourselves!,” Jacqueline Rose, 2011, London Review of Books

The recent events surrounding the Kavannaugh nomination – the senate confirmation hearings involving some strong moves on the part of DEM senators, the subsequent multiple credible accusations against Kavanaugh of sexual assault and attempted rape, and the imminent senate hearing on the Dr. Christine Ford accusation – have the radical and spontaneous qualities of revolution. And, as with all revolutionary moments, the details surrounding this moment will never satisfy those (currently on the right) who will insist that change arrive (although hopefully not at all)  in neat packages, tied up in textbook legal ribbons. Even the recent complaints by centrists and those to the left of center about Michael Avenatti’s self-inscription into the challenge also have that quality – but when the repressed returns, do we really expect to have orderly choices about who leads the discourse at what moment?

Sexual assaults on women overwhelmingly take place without witnesses (although in this instance, there seems to be an actual witness whom the GOP is determined to keep from answering questions under oath). Because of the contexts of such assaults – and the fact that false accusations are rare – attention to the accuser’s story must categorically be given weight and taken seriously, must be believed. But it is a catch-22 for the victim that even as reporting sexual assaults and rapes creates a hellish legal and social process for the victim, she is still expected to report an attack immediately, without succumbing to trauma and the fear of additional consequences. Having been traumatized and facing the incredibly flawed investigative and judicial systems stacked against her – not to mention misogynistic social structures — the rape or sexual assault victim suffers many times over when bringing the accusation forward after a sometimes-long temporal delay that to various degrees erodes memory. It is not just the victim’s memory that may suffer in regards to the sort of details that the law demands; it may also be that of the primary and secondary witnesses, for whom the assault was not central.

But as Ford herself wrote in her statement, some details regarding the assault may have faded or disappeared, but certain details remain indelible:

I truly wish I could provide detailed answers to all of the questions that have been and will be asked about how I got to the party, where it took place, and so forth. I don’t have all the answers, and I don’t remember as much as I would like to. But the details about that night that bring me here today are ones I will never forget. They have been seared into my memory and have haunted me episodically as an adult. (Dr. Ford in her statement to the Senate, September 26, 2018)

Still, regardless of whatever happens during and after the Thursday hearing, even if we have in the past week made some progress in regards to a mass popular belief that women who bring forward accusations after forensic evidence has long disappeared are virtually always telling the truth, rape and sexual assault victims will continue to have their credibility questioned because of the perfect storm of incentives to not report, and the inevitable erosion of memory of some details. So – setting aside the ruthless agenda of the GOP- it is particularly tragic that we live in a culture (maybe more so in the U.S. than in some other countries) where the denial of the psyche is so absolute. How is the general public supposed to understand – without any understanding of psychical processes, let alone surrounded by an anti-intellectual social contempt for such processes – why some traumatic details may not be fully recalled, and others from the same event can be recalled with crystal clarity?

The positivism of some of the arguments against Ford and the other accusers – that if they had really suffered they would have reported immediately, or that if they are telling the truth they would have more precise details that could be corroborated – has to be read as a refusal of the unconscious. Because the unconscious has its own logic, which may well appear irrational to a court of law or, in this case, a court of public opinion, which right-wing politicians can then exploit in circumstances like these. And that refusal of the unconscious is not only present in our judicial system, our policing, and our political system. It is deeply embedded even in the institutional history of therapeutic training in the U.S., which has always privileged consciousness and the will and, in the last decades, pharmacology. The unconscious is nowhere to be found in that training, with the exception of a small community of psychoanalysts practicing in the U.S., often derided by the general public and other types of practitioners.

Even in the fields of art and art history, a psychoanalytic approach is not valued in the U.S. In art history it is thought to interfere with a focus on art, and in art practices…well, that would require another post.

I’ve thought for decades that feminism cannot be advanced without a psychoanalytic framework, for many reasons, one being the myriad of ways in which women are not taken seriously as narrators. But the events of the past week have made it clear that justice itself cannot take place without a psychoanalytic framework. And therefore, democracy…

Feminists will be engaged for a long time to come in what Juliet Mitchell has called “the longest revolution.” Hopefully, it’s breadth will be extensive enough to include a legitimation of the psyche.

*Postscript to come.

tincanprez

It seems that two academics have come out with a new study claiming to have discovered the answer to the political question that is baffling liberals- exactly why did the Americans who voted for Obama in six crucial states in the 2012 election end up voting for Trump? After what I’m sure was an exhaustive analysis, they came to the conclusion that it could not have had anything to do with a precarious economy because “all of the manufacturing jobs that were lost [i.e. the job security loss that masses in some states would have suffered, with resulting un- and under- and low-paid employment] were eliminated at least a decade ago, so people weren’t responding to that loss in the last election.” What was the conclusion of the study? It turns out that the real reason those voters got Trump elected is that white people felt their sense of themselves as a group being challenged. And if you believe that’s the main reason for their switch, I have a bridge for you. No, seriously, it’s a real bridge. It’s just that it’s a bridge to a land where things that happened ten years before have no effect on the present. And it goes without saying that things that happened even longer ago have no effect in that land either.

With regard to Trump voters in general, a new book by a writer who followed HRC on two campaigns has revealed that HRC had created a three-part taxonomy in 2016 for sure-fire Trump voters, which she relayed to much audience amusement during fundraisers with wealthy donors:

Screen Shot 2018-05-04 at 3.00.43 PMSo the above-mentioned post-election academic study would ignore Basket#2 and privilege Basket #3 as a way of trying to understand Trump voters. Way to go in understanding how precarity produces voters.

For the last year, centrists and liberals have also obsessed over the stubborn reliability of the “Trump base,” with endless assumptions about that reliability rage-flooding mass and social media. The consistent line is that Trump is on a constant quest to please his base with racist, mysoginist, and xenophobic comments and policy.  That is certainly what litters his discourse and some of his policy efforts. (Interestingly, on the same social media, the heavy deregulation and tax cuts gifted to his 1% supporters seem only to be the concerns of very left-of-center journalists and academics.) But confusion reigns for the #resistance legions and for center-to-liberal pundits about just why Trump never seems to disappoint his so-called base, even when he doesn’t deliver on, or when he deviates dramatically from his promises (tariffs, international interventionism, well-paying blue-collar jobs, the wall, “cleaning up the swamp.”). Regardless of his failings in various categories,and his own swamp-behavior, the take is that his so-called base persists in fetishizing him.

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But what if the explanation for this adherence cannot be articulated through a discourse that insists on ignoring the mechanisms of the psyche? What if an unconscious projection were actively at play under, around, and outside of the overt discourse of Trump playing to his base. Of course Trump continuously addresses what he sees as his base with dog-whistles or overt insults in regards to race, ethnicity, women, and LGBT+ populations (not to mention anything else he thinks might please them – patriotism and 2nd amendment rhetoric, etc.). And at his rallies they can be seen to get riled up. This is the typical way of understanding how a despot would play to his audience. But given how often he ignores or defies his base’s supposed interests when others with more economic or political power are plying him, it is difficult to understand his base’s dogged devotion to him without imaginimg a phantasmatic dynamic that the domains of journalism or TV pundits or the twitterati, or even most of academia, will not consider.

What if Trump were actually himself a phantasm projected by his “base,” rather than his base being an inherently evil group to which he plays? What if he is an effect – a hologram – of their rage? Would we not want to understand that rage better as a construction, rather than as an unchangeable evil? We certainly had better want to understand it as changeable. Sounds reasonable, but you certainly wouldn’t know it from reading social media posts by the anti-Trump masses.  This is not to underestimate the concrete effects he is having on what are optimistically referred to as our democratic institutions. If we think of Trump as a projection of the inchoate (and outrageously under-educated) anger that his base feels with regard to the effects of decades of vertiginous precarity into which their noses have been rubbed, then it’s easy to understand why they would derive pleasure from projecting a leader who shits on the norms and institutions that have never in any case protected the precarious in this culture, although some precarious groups have and continue to hold out hope that the more “progressive” party – Democrats – will address their needs through humane promises. (Although the Democratic Party shuns true progressives.) But let others of those precarious groups attain a majority and watch for the rise of despots who don’t look like Trump.

Trump was there to fill the space of the projection. He was widely known through his TV show, and he was importantly seen as wealthy but crass, an unlikely man of the people, and an angry man to boot. I’ve mentioned in another context a compelling line from Brecht’s Mother Courage and Her Children, in which Mother Courage (aka Canteen Anna) says something to the effect that the masses like it when the leaders of a war engage in profiteering, because they know the investment by the powerful means there’s a good chance of victory. Trump’s base is loyal not in spite of his vengeful and corrupt behavior, but because of it. They figure they might stand to profit from someone like that, or at least they feel he’s worth the gamble because nothing else has worked. His non-base voters (those swing voters who voted for Obama in ’08 or ’12) also make such calculations about Trump, while holding their noses. He will disappoint, but he is at least a figment of their imaginaries, and that is a somewhat less passive position to occupy than what they’ve been offered for decades.

So a mass identification with exploitative greed at the top contains a kernel of pleasure in it, and those who try to understand Trump’s base (when they’re not busy despising them) would do well to understand that dynamic. But that would require a bird’s eye view of capitalism today, and certainly journalism and punditry – now feeding off the endless spectacle that is Trumpworld – are not good at the bird’s-eye historical view. That is usually left to academics, but if you’re not educating the masses, what’s the mass role for academics?.

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And let’s see, just what might be educating the masses…hmmm…there’s a lot to choose from,  but how about The Crown, the Netflix series about Queen Elizabeth II’s period of  British monarchy? Thoroughly entertaining as a mix of docudrama and soap opera, it sutures viewers in with its obsessive visual verisimilitude, and while you’re thoroughly distracted, it skews the history of power, money, and world politics in diabolical ways. Because, really, don’t deprive us of monarchy-world.

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oprah

Shoot me now. Let’s just get it over with. Just when you thought all you had to deal with was a dangerously megalomaniacal narcissistic president, installed by a combination of cynical 1%ers and a mass electorate that shoved Trump’s reality TV promises into that terrified empty space that’s constantly washed by waves of globalization’s precarity-caused anxiety…

Now we have to deal with the possibility of a talk-show-empire host’s presidential run. And all it took was an award show speech. Setting aside the fact that Oprah has no political experience (the attractiveness of which is a continuing sign of the breakdown of democracy), the worst of it is that Americans have never faced what the Oprah brand stands for. Possibly that’s because Oprah doesn’t seem to understand her own politics, her pull-yourself-up-by-your-bootstraps-and-blame-those-who-haven’t-had-the-strength-and-gumption-to-succeed-as-she-has politics. Because through the Oprah-lens, the problem with those who are poor isn’t connected to the fact that the .01% owns the globalized flow of capital; the problem is just that they haven’t repeated their affirmations often enough. I haven’t watched too many Oprah shows, but I will never forget one that I did watch, during which she berated a celebrity who was talking about her experience of life-threatening post-partum depression and how treatment for it had helped her. In Oprah’s view, clinical depression was something to overcome on one’s own, without help from therapy or drugs. Yeah, shoot me now, because if you think we’re living through a bizarre political spectacle now…

It seems relevant here to re-quote that theorist, the one who most other theorists seem to love to hate, but who has more insights per book than most do in a lifetime, Slavoj Zizek. I first published this quote in 2013, in a post I wrote about populism. Because, hey, Trumpism wasn’t born yesterday. And without understanding populism fully, we (we highly educated folk, at the very least) will be fated to make the same wildly dangerous mistakes over and over.

Populism is ultimately always sustained by the frustrated exasperation of ordinary people, by the cry “I don’t know what’s going on, but I’ve just had enough of it! It cannot go on! It must stop!” Such impatient outbursts betray a refusal to understand or engage with the complexity of the situation, and give rise to the conviction that there must be somebody responsible for the mess – which is why some agent lurking behind the scenes is invariably required. Therein, in this refusal to know, resides the properly fetishistic dimension of populism. That is to say, although at a purely formal level fetishism involves a gesture of transference (onto the object-fetish), it functions as an exact inversion of the standard formula of transference (with the “subject supposed to know”): what fetishism gives body to is precisely my disavowal of knowledge, my refusal to subjectively assume what I know. This is why, to put it in Nietzschean terms which are here highly appropriate, the ultimate difference between a truly radical emancipatory politics and a populist politics is that the former is active, it imposes and enforces its vision, while populism is fundamentally re-active, the result of a reaction to a disturbing intruder. In other words, populism remains a version of the politics of fear: it mobilizes the crowd by stoking up fear of the corrupt external agent.                                                                                            

Slavoj Zizek, First as Tragedy, Then as Farce, 2009

First we stand by while an idiocracy is created (i.e. testing, and Obama’s “Race to the Top”) We starve schools of money, undermine the public system, and wonder why kids who are at risk (food-insecure; poverty-induced violence) just don’t learn. Liberals rant about how stupid Trump’s base is. But the refusal to understand what causes our precarity, or to engage with complexity, is not something that liberals should distance themselves from by attributing that sort of behavior only to Trump’s low-income and lower-middle class white base. All the countless liberals and Democrats who have been waxing poetic on social media about Oprah running to save the day need to get a grip on complexity.

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Let’s turn to television. With rare exceptions of critique, television has mostly been an expression of cultural symptom. In the category of symptom, a couple of months ago I watched the French TV series, Spin. The French title is Les Hommes de L’Ombre, but since the characters themselves use the term “spin” (i.e. spinning the news), we can’t attribute the pithy English title solely to a dumbing down for Americans and Brits. It’s an apt enough translation for those who just don’t have the patience for homophones in a title.

The online blurb for the show describes it as a French House of Cards: “This multi award-winning, hit political thriller explores the intense rivalry between two spin doctors, the seasoned master and his protégé.” At the start, Spin presents a political battle that pits three parties with distinct – albeit barely described – political views against each other – left, right, and center. But by the time one is a handful of episodes into the show, something rather eerie becomes apparent. After a couple of brief narrative exchanges in the first episode, about outrage of politicians forsaking their party ideologies in order to form coalitions and back-room deals with parties that stand for diametrically opposed politics, that aspect of the storyline is disappeared. Completely. In fact, the right-wing political aide who gripes the longest about their boss forming an unthinkable political coalition with the left- survives only a couple of episodes. All the other characters – those without political leanings that one can discern other than party titles – survive for one to three seasons. And the entirety of the show is then about the jockeying for power by all the characters in the show, and the lengths to which they are willing to go (led by one or the other of the two spin doctors) to remain in power, or move up in power. It’s quite compelling, albeit terrifying in what it represents. One candidate’s slogan –Ensemble– says it all. Even her speeches are composed of nothing. Change you can believe in.

spin

Maybe this is not unique as a cultural symptom, given that the American House of Cards, or the American satire, Veep—both shows ostensibly about American politics — are narratives concerned only with power, and virtually not at all with politics. But that’s because America. Really, the power plays in both of those American shows could take place in any other work setting – the corporate world, Hollywood, even academia (where the kleiner politik can get particularly ugly) . In Spin, the architecture plays a big role in reminding the viewer constantly of the representative power of the state. But it’s disconcerting that 18 episodes of a French show fully focused on politicians should have nothing  in its narrative to do with politics. France – one of the origins of modern democracy. I suppose one could say that the cultural symptom is late to the game, given that France had been heading toward Macron for a long time- to wit, its waning adherence to a social democracy when faced with the pressures of globalized capitalism.

Screen Shot 2018-01-09 at 5.05.06 PMYesterday I clicked on the link to the article mentioned above. In “The Hollow Parties,” political scientists Daniel Schlozman and Sam Rosenfeld inscribe their argument about the hollowing out of American political parties into what appears to be a long-standing academic debate around the changes in the American party system and its voters. I am not a fan of political science as a discipline, for the very reasons that this text makes apparent, which is that the argument never goes deep enough into the broad structural aspects of political changes, let alone into what motivates human beings to respond one way or another to political shifts. But I think their point about the parties being hollowed out is important, and the following statement is chillingly apt:

… parties motivated by hatred for their opponents lose the capacity to enforce what Russell Muirhead and Nancy Rosenblum term “the discipline of regulated rivalry.” They become vehicles for partisans’ own venom and spleen, and their partial democratic visions descend into cabal and conspiracy.

Nothing better describes what we are now experiencing, as witnessed in millions of venomous twitter comments, from both pro-Trumpers and Trump-resisters, who are often at each others throats. Take a look at the comments section of Trump’s twitter feed and try to stay sane.

There’s no question that #Oprahisoursymptom. Because when politics has been hollowed out, the vacuum that is created gets filled with nightmarish possibilities and an unquenchable desire for non-politicians to come to our rescue.

Lies are often much more plausible, more appealing to reason, than reality, since the liar has the great advantage of knowing beforehand what the audience wishes or expects to hear. He has prepared his story for public consumption with a careful eye to making it credible, whereas reality has the disconcerting habit of confronting us with the unexpected, for which we were not prepared.

Hannah Arendt, “Lying in Politics, Reflections on the Pentagon Paper,” 1971

[Excerpts below, including those by Freud, are from “Freudian Theory and the Pattern of Fascist Propoganda” by Theodor W. Adorno, 1951.]

If it is an impudence to call people “rabble,” it is precisely the aim of the [fascist] agitator to transform the very same people into “rabble,” i.e. crowds bent to violent action without any sensible political aim…

Freud does not challenge the accuracy of Le Bon’s well-known characterizations of masses as being largely de-individualized, irrational, easily influenced, prone to violent action and altogether of a regressive nature. What distinguishes him from Le Bon is rather the absence of the traditional contempt for the masses which is the thema probandum of most of the older psychologists. Instead of inferring from the usual descriptive findings that the masses are inferior per se and likely to remain so, he asks in the spirit of true enlightenment: what makes the masses into masses?

…For the fascist demagogue, who has to win the support of millions of people for aims largely incompatible with their own rational self-interest, can do so only by artificially creating the bond Freud is looking for.

It is one of the basic tenets of fascist leadership to keep primary libidinal energy on an unconscious level so as to divert its manifestations in a way suitable to political ends. The less an objective idea such as religious salvation plays a role in mass formation, and the more mass manipulation becomes the sole aim, the more thoroughly uninhibited love has to be repressed and moulded into obedience. There is too little in the content of fascist ideology that could be loved.

[The nature and content of fascist propaganda] is psychological because of its irrational authoritarian aims, which cannot be attained by means of rational convictions but only through the skillful awakening of “a portion of the subject’s archaic inheritance.”

The mechanism which transforms libido into the bond between leader and followers themselves, is that of identification.

…the primitively narcissistic aspect of identification as an act of devouring, of making the beloved object part of oneself, may provide us with a clue to the fact that the modern leader image sometimes seems to be the enlargement of the subject’s own personality, a collective projection of himself…

…by making the [fascist] leader his ideal, [the follower] loves himself, as it were, but gets rid of the stains of frustration and discontent which mar his picture of his own empirical self.

In order to allow narcissistic identification, the leader has to appear himself as absolutely narcissistic…

…the members of a group stand in need of the illusion that they are equally and justly          loved by their leader; but the leader himself need love no one else, he may be of a masterly nature, absolutely narcissistic, but self-confident and independent. [Freud]

Yet Freud is aware of another aspect of the leader image which apparently contradicts the first one. While appearing as a superman, the leader must at the same time work the miracle of appearing as an average person, just as Hitler posed as a composite of King Kong and the suburban barber.

[The leader] need only possess the typical qualities of the individuals concerned in a particularly clearly marked and pure form, and need only give an impression of greater force and of more freedom of libido; and in that case the need for a strong chief will often meet him halfway and invest him with a predominance to which he would otherwise perhaps have had no claim. The other members of the group, whose ego ideal would not, apart from this, have become embodied in his person without some correction, are then carried away with the rest by ‘suggestion,’ that is to say, by means of identification. [Freud]

Even the fascist leader’s startling symptoms of inferiority, his resemblance to ham actors and asocial psychopaths, is thus anticipated in Freud’s theory.

For the sake of those parts of the follower’s narcissistic libido which have not been thrown into the leader image but remain attached to the follower’s own ego, the superman must still resemble the follower and appear as his “enlargement.” Accordingly, one of the basic devices of personalized fascist propaganda is the concept of the “great little man,” a person who suggests both omnipotence and the idea that he is just one of the folks…Psychological ambivalence helps to work a social miracle. The leader image gratifies the follower’s twofold wish to submit to authority and to be the authority himself.

The narcissistic gain provided by fascist propaganda is obvious. It suggests continuously and sometimes in rather devious ways, that the follower, simply through belonging to the in-group, is better, higher and purer than those who are excluded. At the same time, any kind of critique or self-awareness is resented as a narcissistic loss and elicits rage. It accounts for the violent reaction of all fascists against …that which debunks their own stubbornly maintained values, and it also explains the hostility of prejudiced persons against any kind of introspection. Concomitantly, the concentration of hostility upon the out-group does away with intolerance in one’s own group, to which one’s relation would otherwise be highly ambivalent.

The leader can guess the psychological wants and needs of those susceptible to his propaganda because he resembles them psychologically, and is distinguished from them by a capacity to express without inhibitions what is latent in them, rather than by any intrinsic superiority. The leaders are generally oral character types, with a compulsion to speak incessantly and to befool the others.

The famous spell they exercise over their followers seems largely to depend on their orality: language itself, devoid of its rational significance, functions in a magical way and furthers those archaic regressions which reduce individuals to members of crowds.

In order to successfully meet the unconscious dispositions of his audience, the agitator, so to speak, simply turns his own unconscious outward.

Since it would be impossible for fascism to win the masses through rational arguments, its propaganda must necessarily be deflected from discursive thinking; it must be oriented psychologically, and has to mobilize irrational, unconscious, regressive processes. This task is facilitated by the frame of mind of all those strata of the population who suffer from senseless frustrations and therefore develop a stunted, irrational mentality.

Under the prevailing conditions, the irrationality of fascist propaganda becomes rational in the sense of instinctual economy.

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Following Freud and Adorno, to understand the susceptibility of Trump’s base, American liberals will have to set aside the blinding rage produced by their own sense of narcissistic loss brought on by Trump’s win.

The leader image gratifies the follower’s twofold wish to submit to authority and to be the authority himself. What better formula for appeasing the fears brought on by neoliberal capitalism’s efficient production of precarity for the masses. And some will always be more susceptible than others, for various historical reasons.

melania trump impersonator

the-walking-dead-zombie-season-6I am not one of the 17 million who watch The Walking Dead, because the last time I was interested in zombies was when I was 17 and went to the midnight screening of George Romero’s cult film Night of the Living Dead. In that film, the divide between humans and flesh-eating zombies is clear. But it’s interesting that one of the premises of The Walking Dead is that it’s hard to figure out who is more dangerous – the zombies, or the humans who have to survive among them. And that seems an apt metaphor for the political landscape today. American liberals are terribly worried about the rightward turn since the last election. They view Trump-supporters as zombies of sorts. But they should start worrying about themselves.

134305Let’s start with how the over-emphasis on presidential power is absolutely fine for liberals and Democrats as long as one of theirs is in office, but not so good otherwise. And vice versa. Did you love it when Obama signed his executive orders (and he signed more than any of the three presidents before him did), but you’re not so happy with Trump’s capacity to do so? These orders were different in substance, of course, but in both instances they are scary signs of the breakdown of democratic structure.  Same thing with gaming the Supreme Court, btw, which underlies presidential selections for liberals. There are so many cases received by the Supreme Court where the Right-wing judges want to turn the case over to the legislature. Liberal Supreme Court judges don’t tend to argue this way, because as the country shifts ever more to the right (even during the Obama years, from the top down), liberal judges know they have their work cut out for them. As Chantal Mouffe pointed out decades ago, the over-dependence on the judiciary in a democracy is a sign of the breakdown of the legislative branch. AKA the breakdown of democracy. The fight against corporate power has mostly played out in the courts, and it’s no coincidence that just recently the Koch Brothers helped to write legislation to limit class-action suits. It’s not like the Right hasn’t noticed that liberals have for decades sought out the judicial loophole to the breakdown of the legislative branch. What could possibly go wrong…?

You might have loved fetishizing the President when Obama was in power. It was certainly easy for liberals to fetishize the symbolism of the first black American president (at the expense of looking soberly at his actions). But those eight years and the fetishization of Bill Clinton at an earlier time (not to mention that of Ronald Reagan, who has been invoked as a model by Republicans and, inexplicably, increasingly by Democrats, including Obama) helped to legitimate the current fetishization of Trump by his “base.” (Feel the Bern, anyone? Even, as with Sanders, when the political discourse is the most sane this country has had in almost a century, liberals insist on the manic transformation of a politician into a savior .)

vertical-zombiesThe other day I listened to a podcast about journalism in the age of Trump, and heard centrists (sometimes called “liberals” in the US, but more increasingly referred to as centrists) talk about this country’s evident turn toward facism. It is no longer easy for smart centrists to ignore the fact that Trump  (or what he symptomizes) did not arise overnight, no longer easy to ignore the suffering taking place among the 95% in the U.S., many of whom are among the 63 million who voted for Trump. But it’s still verboten to use the actual word capitalism, so even the most politically overt speaker (a prominent magazine editor) could only refer to the more genteel stand-ins for the word capitalism – currently “de-industrialization” and “globalization.” As if such conditions are inevitable natural events that humans could not have opposed. But such overt discourse would puncture the superficially repressed fact that most if not all American liberals actually believe in the delusional dream of neoliberalism. How otherwise to explain the reluctance to even use the word capitalism, or to even refer to the inevitability of capitalism’s very dependence on globalization and de-industrialization?

nightofthelivingdead4-100415Speaking of which, Derrida had extremely interesting views on the term globalization, a term he refused in favor of mondialisation. I first read about this in his interview about 9/11, published in 2003 in the book Philosophy in a time of Terror. But for an excellent synopsis of his refusal of the term, read the first four paragraphs on this link 

You’d have to say that with his attention to such differences, Derrida was the anti-centrist. Personally, I’ve always been more afraid of centrists than of the Right. Because centrists, they walk among us. And they seem so nice.

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