Why antifa?

The surge of popular interest in the United States in antifa (antifacism) in the past year has been disconcerting to me. Perhaps other researchers who became familiar with antifa in European contexts feel the same.

I haven’t yet thought through what the arrival of the antifa specter to my homeland means, but in the meantime I wanted to share a small piece from my dissertation that, I think, expresses why — despite personally holding more or less pacifist views — I sympathize to a great degree with those for whom antifa militancy feels like the only correct response to a rising white supremacist movement.

P.S. It is ahn-tee-FAH, maybe AHN-tee-fah, not an-TEE-fuh. Continue reading


It doesn’t matter if Trump’s arguments don’t add up. That’s what makes them effective.

Donald Trump and his staff say a lot of things. Some of those things are lies. Some are perhaps better characterized as distortions. Some of them are simply blatant contradictions of things they have said before.

Take this past weekend: On Saturday, Trump let off a series of tweets ridiculing supporters of a recount, calling it a scam, noting Hillary Clinton’s promise to respect the outcome, and saying that “Nothing will change.” On Sunday, he asserted that there had been “millions of people who voted illegally.”

“Trump has lost the thread of his own argument,” Ezra Klein wrote in Vox, juxtaposing those statements. “Trump undermined himself.”

Klein perhaps expects that exposing internal inconsistencies weakens Trump’s statements in some way. But I think it probably won’t, because I don’t think Trump’s statements are statements at all, and we are sorely misled if we take them that way.

To begin to understand words in the “post-truth” era, we need a dose of language theory. And it helps to spend a little time with the climate denial movement.

How do facts matter when facts no longer matter?

In what we call speech act theory, John Austin suggests two ways we can take people’s speech (any instance of language, spoken or otherwise): constative utterances (assertions about the world, such as “it is raining”) and performative utterances (language that has an impact on the social world, such as “I now pronounce you married”). Judith Butler later built on this concept of performative utterances to develop her theories of gender as a performative: the belief in such things as “men” and “women” are the product of how we speak about and act out “masculinity” and “femininity” in social life.

Likewise, we all believe that such a thing as “the United States” exists only insofar as we all talk and act as though it does.

TLDR: When we speak, we don’t just describe the world. We create it.

Inconsistent statements like Donald Trump’s gnaw on many of us precisely because they refuse to refer to the reality we know and live it. They feel like incorrect constative utterances—ones that demand to be rebutted and corrected.

But what if we look at them as performative utterances? In this case, it would be like someone saying “I now pronounce you married. Marriage doesn’t exist.” The reality apparently being created doesn’t really make sense.

So if we take performative language seriously, we shouldn’t just be asking “is Trump telling the truth?” We also have to be asking, “what effect are his statements having on the world?”

Anti-knowledge in the post-truth era

The fun new jargon word for this is “agnotology,” understanding of what is not understood: ignorance, the unknown, and in particular how a kind of active non-knowledge can arise from our institutions of research. Sometimes this is simply be accidental or at least not malicious—scientists don’t think to look for what they’re not looking for, funding for research follows some priority areas and not others.

Yet on some issues in public health, science, or politics, interested parties strategically create non-knowledge. It’s not about hitting on a really persuasive argument or convincing people of an alternate reality. It’s about producing enough confusion to maintain a status quo where there’s little public pressure for action.

For example, the fossil fuel industry-backed think tank the Heartland Institute has produced reports, slideshows, and opinion essays arguing:

There’s no coherent story there. There never has been, across the movement to avoid action on climate change.

And how much action has there been on climate change?

Don’t (just) ask what words someone is saying. Ask what their words are doing.

The conclusion here isn’t that the factual content of words doesn’t and shouldn’t matter. (Remember, we create our social world: the more we all act like facts matter, the more they do matter!)

The point is that in addition to or outside of what they’re claiming about the world, we always also have to be attentive to what effects words have ON the world.

Marco Rubio doesn’t talk like a robot. He talks like a Soviet newspaper.

Screen Shot 2016-02-09 at 8.58.15 PM

Google image search for “Marco Rubio” overlaid with my own stump speech. I’m available for hire!

One of the latest episodes in the absurd spectacle of the 2016 US Presidential race has been Marco Rubio’s repetitive speech tic. Word-for-word repetition of canned phrases in a GOP primary debate, a New Hampshire stump speech, and apparently even in micro-encounters with potential voters have apparently been enough for media types to dub him RubioBot.

Which makes sense. “Glitchy computer programming” is an analogy that resonates right now in a way that a more archaic technology (a skipping record?) might not.

But I’m here to argue for an analogy that is not only apropos, but that actually reveals something about the underlying cause of the problem. Marco Rubio’s endlessly familiar and perpetually repeating speech blocks actually sound an awful lot like official speech in the late Soviet Union.

If you’re not a Soviet scholar, I should note first that research on Soviet politics has come a long way since Cold War-era stereotypes about brainwashed masses under totalitarian control of an all-powerful collectivist government.* In fact, the overwhelming finding has been that the average person was mostly politically disengaged, going through the motions of participating in obligatory military parades or political meetings while really more interested in the mundane issues of everyday personal life.

But you wouldn’t know that to look at Soviet texts, from newspaper articles to official speeches the reports filed on those ubiquitous political meetings, which for decades continued to repeat the firm and approved ideology of official Marxism-Leninism. So what gives?

Permit me a little detour through anthropological linguistics—it’ll be fun, I swear.

Language as a Performance, Not a Claim About the World

First and foremost, the language people use is never just a straightforward reflection of the objective world around them. Speech signifies much more than that; in particular, it is one way that we indicate whether or not we belong to the community around us.

As anthropologist Alexei Yurchak describes in his work on the late Soviet period (roughly the 1960s-1980s):

For instance, the question, “do you support the resolution?”asked during a Soviet Komsomol meeting invariably led to a unanimous raising of hands in an affirmative gesture.

Did this mean everyone in such meetings was a true believer in the Soviet program? No, of course not, Yurchak explains. Raising your hand was more than anything a way of signaling that you knew what was expected in such situations. (And really, tell me you haven’t ever raised your hand for a fairly meaningless vote in a long, boring meeting just to go along, or get the thing done with?)

In essence, Yurchak argues, the language of late Soviet life was a (seemingly) endless series of such gestures, meaningful for the social work that they did, more than the literal meanings they appeared to have.

Block Speech and the Discursive Shift

Yurchak has carefully detailed what he calls a “discursive shift” over the course of Soviet history,** or to put it in a less jargony way, a change in the predominant style of speech. While the very early years after the Revolution permitted some remarkable kinds of social and aesthetic experimentation, including with language. And early on, this was exactly what the revolutionary state wanted: new language for the new consciousness of the new kinds of citizens the Bolsheviki hoped to create.

But as time went on, the Party-State became increasingly concerned with the possibility that experimentation might go awry and develop the consciousness in the wrong direction. Yurchak again:

A 1941 practical reference book with a circulation of twenty-five thousand instructed:”Language is a tool of development and struggle…. With the help of that tool the Party arms the toilers with its great ideas that inspire one to struggle for the cause of Communism… Language, as any tool, needs to be perfected, polished, and carefully protected from whatever kind of contamination and slightest spoil” (Kondakov 1941: 14), so that it may be used “to inoculate […] the readers with concrete slogans and phrases” (ibid.:123).

(Tell me you don’t think about Rubio a little bit when you hear that description, “concrete slogans and phrases.”)

With Stalin in the lead, censors ever-more-carefully evaluated language to ensure that it met the standard of unspoiled perfection. And decisions about what kinds of language were appropriate shifted out of the public eye and into the Central Committee. This, then, was the shift: with the importance of correct speech clear, but the rules about what constituted correct speech opaque, most speakers and writers drifted toward a style of discourse that minimized experimentation and creativity, instead relying heavily on repetition of readily available set phrases and ideas from already-existing official discourse.

And imagine what happened after Stalin left the scene, leaving the position of final arbiter vacant.

In short, a speech not only could, but should be constructed entirely out of cliches. Hyper-normalized, Yurchak calls it, or “block-writing” as Central Committee speech writers put it, with one giving Yurchack this absolute gem in an interview:

“You could read these texts top to bottom and bottom to top with similar results.”

Here’s an example Yurchak gives:

1977 article in Pravda

“In the struggle between two world outlooks there can be no room for neutrality or compromise,” said the General Secretary of the CC of the CPSU comrade L. I. Brezhnev at the XXVth Party congress…
[I]mperialist propaganda is becoming more sophisticated. This imposes a high responsibility on the Soviet people…
The central task…of the party organizations should be…the further growth of the inner maturity and ideological conviction of toilers and…the propaganda of the Soviet way of life and advantages of the socialist system.

1980 book about the Komsomol

In the struggle between the two world outlooks there is no room for neutrality and compromises. With imperialist propaganda becoming more sophisticated, the political education of Soviet young people grows in importance…[t]he central task of the Komsomol…[is] the education of young people in the spirit of communist ideology, Soviet patriotism, internationalism…the active propaganda of the achievements and advantages of the socialist system.

Form Over Content: It’s a Feature, not a Bug

The essence here is that this discourse relies on certain set blocks or cliches that are then built up into something resembling a piece of writing or speech: “the struggle between the two world outlooks,” “the propaganda of the advantages of the socialist system,” “the struggle to instill in children the values we teach in our homes.”

Oh wait, that last one was a Rubioism. But it feels much the same: block writing, cliches derived or copied from tested, pre-approved phrases that ensure one’s language will be politically unobjectionable.

And that’s the point. When Rubio tells a gay, married New Hampshire resident, “I just believe marriage is between one man and one women…and if you disagree, you should have the law changed by the legislature,” it’s entirely beside the point that New Hampshire’s same-sex marriage law was, in fact, passed by a legislature. Rubio is not making a claim about the legislative history of New Hampshire marriage law; he’s issuing forth ideologically correct discourse to his people.

This is not language that is really trying to make factual claims about the world.   It’s language that creates a world of its own and signals that the speaker belongs to that world. It’s the language spoken by someone who is terrified of making a misstep. And it’s the language of someone from culture where language has been policed for ideological correctness for so long that “block writing” and block speech are practically an unconscious habit.

Rubio’s only problem is that the rest of us aren’t quite there. We have a high tolerance for the kinds of political cliches Orwell was railing about seventy years ago—but most of us at least prefer the pretense of cloaking old ideas in novel language.

Poor Rubio is not a malfunctioning robot.*** He’s just stuck in the uncanny valley between the Soviet past and (perhaps) the U.S. future.



* And in case it doesn’t go without saying, I’m also not arguing that Rubio is brainwashed, nor that he’s a Communist.

** Any Soviet scholar will immediately recognize the broadness of strokes with which I am painting this history. Apologies, but I really didn’t want to write another dissertation tonight 😦 If you have important additions or corrections, feel free to chide me in the comments.

*** My partner reminds me that despite the joke I was really hoping to figure out how to make, the word robot in fact comes from the Czech rabota (work), not the Russian rabota, as transmuted through the early science fiction of Karel Capek http://www.npr.org/2011/04/22/135634400/science-diction-the-origin-of-the-word-robot. I’ll end with this bit from NPR about Capek’s robots:

They couldn’t love. They couldn’t have feelings. But they could do all the works that humans preferred not to do.

And what else, after all, is a presidential race?

Now you see it, now you don’t

Did you know the Communists want to ban expressions of homosexuality?

Oh, they’re not in power, and this isn’t a historical post—this was a law proposed by the Communist Party of the Russian Federation in October 2015. They’re a minority party, and aren’t even particularly communist for that matter.

In 2013-2014, English-language newsmedia offered massive (for Russia-centric news) coverage of Russia’s proposed-then-passed ban on gay propaganda. (Technically the law targeted “propaganda of non-traditional sexual orientations among minors,” thus had a particular effect on outreach to LGBT youth such as the Deti-404 program.)

Where’d it go?

This is not to say that Western coverage necessarily helps the cause in Russia. A significant theme of my dissertation research was in fact the opposite dynamic, insofar as gay rights have been associated with “the West” in post-Soviet Russia and so have become entangled in the anti-Westernism that now comprises a large portion of pro-Kremlin messaging.

And Western coverage likewise tended to imply that anti-gay laws were somehow the antithesis of Western values, a sign of cultural backwardness wherever they pop up (Uganda gets this treatment, too,  with the added stereotyping associated with reporting on “traditional African culture.”) These frames not only ignore the ways that anti-Westernism is a dynamic product of contemporary global exchanges, not a relic of culture before civilizing Western contact. There would be no law against “gay propaganda” without the steady march of queer visibility and expansion of gay rights in the US and EU.

Yet the turning of a blind eye does not reflect well on us, I think. How many politicians and celebrities professed to care in the run-up to Sochi, just a few seasons ago? How many news outlets got thousands of clicks for the feel-good stories they posted in support of LGBT rights?

The latest ban

Anyway, here’s a few words about the latest defense of heterosexual public space in Russia.

Izvestia reported on October 23, 2015 that Ivan Nikitchuk and Nikolai Arefev, both of the CPRF, proposed creating penalties for “public expression of a non-traditional sexual orientation,” 15 days in jail or a fine of 4,000-5,000 rubles (currently around $50-64, though the exchange rate has been quite variable lately). Izvestia reported this as creating a penalty for “coming out” (kaming-aut in Russian, essentially adopted from English), but one can imagine how “public expression” might be interpreted in practice.

(Indeed, the law rather calls to mind numerous Americans I’ve heard say things like, “I don’t have any problem with homosexuality, but do they have to throw it in my face?” in response to provocations like seeing two apparently same-gender people hold hands or kiss on the street.)

Ivan Nikitchuk:

I believe that the problem we are raising is acute and pressing, insofar as it deals with social diseases of our society and in the first place concerns the moral upbringing of the growing generation… Unfortunately, the mechanism taken in 2013… which forbids propaganda of homosexualism, appears to be insufficiently effective, and for that reason we are proposing a new measure.

Further reading: interview with Nikitchuk.

There is some disagreement about the need for this new measure. Vitalii Milonov, the Saint Petersburg politician who was instrumental in pushing the 2013 ban, told Izvestia that the older law is sufficient in this age of mass media:

…any public figure, giving any statement in public space, informs an unlimited number of individuals, among whom might be minors.

So far, the party of power seems to agree; RBK reports today that the proposal will be blocked in committee. But be careful—it’s not exactly because they thought it was a bad idea to fine people for coming out.

Dmitrii Vyatkin, member of United Russia, explained:

I am absolutely sure, and here there can be no question, that the position of the committee on this law will be opposition… This is connected not with the fact that someone in the Duma is protecting something, but above all with the fact that in and of itself from a legal point of view the proposal is formulated in an absolutely illiterate manner.

There are some further accusations that the CPRF is just in it for cynically populist reasons. (Some may think about pots and kettles at such moments.)

There’s an interesting moment here, one that bears a colder take, about what counts as “public expression,” the felt hypervisiblity of non-hetero sexualities, and so on. I am thinking about the ways in which it is normal for young women friends to hold hands in Russia, while such a thing after puberty is read as romantic expression in the US. I am thinking about the fact that anti-LGBT groups promoted a petition against this proposal on the grounds that it might outlaw their demonstrations.

No conclusion for the moment. Just trying to do a little documenting as things keep moving along.

Stuff happens: The gaffe as a problem of interpretive labor

“No, it wasn’t a mistake, I said exactly what I said, explain to me what I said wrong.”

Yesterday I was struck by the uncanny familiarity of Republican presidential candidate Jeb Bush’s comment, in discussing the horrifying shooting at Umpqua Community College, that “stuff happens.”

“We’re in a difficult time in our country and I don’t think that more government is necessarily the answer to this,” he said. “I think we need to reconnect ourselves with everybody else. It’s just, it’s very sad to see. But I resist the notion — and I did, I had this, this challenge as governor, because we have, look, stuff happens, there’s always a crisis and the impulse is always to do something and it’s not necessarily the right thing to do.” (Washington Post)

It was, predictably, pounced upon by reporters and political opponents, one of uncountable such moments in the era of the permacampaign. Hey, I shared it too—who would say such a thing? And worse, who would say such a thing, and then insist that it was precisely what he meant to say?

When a reporter asked Bush whether the remark was a mistake, he replied: “No, it wasn’t a mistake, I said exactly what I said, explain to me what I said wrong.”

“You said ‘stuff happens,'” the  reporter said.

“Things happen all the time,” Bush said. “Things — is that better?”

But what caught my attention, more than the remark itself, was the tenor of Bush’s reaction to follow-up questions. At least in print, he sounds impatient, peevish or almost angry at being asked to explain himself. And at first he resists, telling the reporter, “explain to me what I said wrong.”

In other words, Bush refused the implication that it was his own responsibility to make himself understood. It’s not his job to imagine someone else’s point of view, to empathize enough with a critical listener that he could even suppose what might have been wrong with his statement.

Drawing on work by critical race theorists and feminist scholars like bell hooks and Nancy Hartsock, David Graeber suggested the term “interpretive labor” to refer to the “continual work of imaginative identification” that those with less power in a relationship, or a society, must do simply to get by, more or less safely, in the world.

An illustration from Graeber:

A constant staple of 1950s American situation comedies, for example, was jokes about the impossibility of understanding women. The jokes (always, of course, told by men) represented women’s logic as fundamentally alien and incomprehensible. One never had the impression the women in question had any trouble understanding men. The reasons are obvious: women had no choice but to understand men; this was the heyday of a certain image of the patriarchal family, and women with no access to their own income or resources had little choice but to spend a great deal of time and energy understanding what their menfolk thought was going on.

Bush’s reaction to the reporter suggests a person who is not in the habit of doing a great deal of interpretive labor, or at least someone who has the privilege of deciding when, where, and for whom he does it.

And indeed, doesn’t that seem likely to be the source of the original gaffe itself? It isn’t precisely that Bush doesn’t care about shootings; never having met the man, I have no reason to believe he is entirely absent of sympathetic emotions. But his statement—”stuff happens”—does seem to me to be the kind of thing said by someone who doesn’t feel a reflexive obligation to think in advance about how his words will be heard.

This, too, is a kind of interpretive labor that many of us spend a great deal of effort on every day: How to phrase that question or comment in order to (not seem like a bitch to the coworker/not seem emotional to the boss/get the landlord to give an extra day or two on rent/keep a family member from getting angry….)

One gets the impression that Bush, perhaps, doesn’t spend much of his day in this kind of preemptive imaginative empathy-work.

Of course these kinds of problems are hardly unique to Bush—I don’t mean to pick on the poor guy (and I’m certainly not making an endorsement of any of the other candidates). But I think this is a very telling example of a general principle I want to propose: that a certain brand of politician’s gaffe is less an example of carelessness or ignorance than an expression of the engrained habit of socially powerful people of outsourcing interpretive labor to those around and beneath them.

Parmesan and the burning of the Russian border

Not long ago a friend emailed to ask what was even going on with Russia. “Why would they destroy food, of all things?”

It’s a troubling sight, even at a transoceanic distance. Russia has a wealth of such things as energy, timber, and space, but many Russians are quite poor, and most of the rest have at least memories of hunger. Even my youthful activist friends in interviews shared childhood memories of families scrimping and scraping between paychecks in the crisis years of the 1990s. Older generations remember the shortage economy, not to mention family histories of wartime disruptions, Stalin-era famine, and perhaps more. As Masha Gessen writes, the Kremlin’s wanton and joyful destruction of Spanish ham and French Brie is no joking matter in such a place. (Though of course a dark streak runs through Russian humor, as in this video of a patriot “doing his part” for the country.)

Eliot Borenstein describes the sight of food crematoria as “a grotesque parody of consumption and digestion… a perfect symbol of an overreaching state, arrogating the most basic human processes to a vast, inhuman mechanism.”

The grotesque continues. In the name of protecting the health and life of the national economy, the state now proposes to reject technologies of health and life: foreign-made condoms and bandages, X-ray machines and ultrasounds.

But it is Borenstein’s final point that I think needs elaborating, what he calls “the Putinist obsession with sovereignty,” a central dynamic in the state’s nationalist project that I have previously written about as it poses dilemmas for LGBT and feminist activists in the opposition. In that context, I explained how highly visible violence committed against LGBT Russians—from the symbolic exclusion represented by the “gay propaganda” ban to anti-gay vigilantism filmed for YouTube—was a means of constructing and revitalizing a Russian national community in opposition to the threatening (alleged) foreignness of homosexuality.

In his Ethnic Groups and Boundaries (1969), a foundational text in nationalism studies, Fredrik Barth noted that the perception of difference between ethnic, national, or cultural groups did not persist through the simple ignorance of one group about the other, nor through a lack of contact or exchange:

First, it is clear that boundaries persist despite of flow of personnel across them. In other words, categorical ethnic distinctions do not depend on an absence of mobility, contact and information, but do entail social processes of exclusion and incorporation whereby discrete categories are maintained despite changing participation and membership in the course of individual life histories. Secondly, one finds that stable, persisting, and often vitally important social relations are maintained across such boundaries, and are frequently based precisely on the dichotomized ethnic statuses. In other words, ethnic distinctions do not depend on an absence of social interaction and acceptance, but are quite to the contrary often the very foundations on which embracing social systems are built… (9-10).

National borders are dynamic things, not mere lines on a map or straighforwardly inherited beliefs. The Kremlin’s politics of destruction are not only a dramatic exercise of power—a grotesque, perhaps, not only of eating but also of political rituals of spectacular consumption like the anthropologists’ favorite potlatch. The elaborate and televised destruction of the foreign, whether it takes the form of nourishment or health or people, outlines the boundaries of the nation in fire.

Trigger warnings and being responsible for your students

There’s been a spate of articles this spring stoking a controversy about “trigger warnings” in college classes. I say stoking a controversy because I have yet to see much evidence that there is a real conflict around this, rather than some experimentation at a few campuses plus the looming interest of the chattering class, most of which enjoys both reminiscing about college and opining about the state of the youth today. For the sake of adding a bit of data to the conversation, I thought I’d share the strategy for content warnings I used in teaching this semester. (I’ll note that like all instructional practice, these are strategies I will surely tweak and revise in future semesters, and I welcome comments to that end.)

Why trigger warnings?

Trigger warnings, at least as I know them, come out of feminist and social justice blogging, where it’s become standard to add a brief alert to readings at the beginning of a post that deals with especially violent or graphic sexual content. So for example, if I wrote a piece about Jerry Sandusky, the post might begin: “Trigger Warning: child sexual abuse.” The idea is to alert readers who have undergone trauma of their own that they are about to encounter information that might set off a particularly strong reaction.

Some instructors at colleges have taken up similar practices, and according to the reporting I linked above, it seems that student groups at a few campuses have been pushing to encourage (or perhaps require?) all instructors to consider doing so.

Much of the negative reaction to trigger warnings seems to fall into two camps, fear about censorship and concern about coddling students. I sympathize with these concerns, which I think may be rooted in our shared experience of an increasingly corporatized university system where intellectual freedom may be under a slow assault. Yes, there are many ways in which universities have come to see young people as customers to be attracted and appeased, not as students to be pushed and challenged. But I encourage other instructors to at least momentarily set aside political concerns and consider the issue from a pedagogical and ethical point of view. I think that something like a trigger warning can be a useful tool for creating a classroom environment that feels safe enough for students to be able to tackle difficult subjects. Continue reading