Monday, November 12, 2012

On "The Art of Protest"

These blog entries were produced in conjunction with Dr. Toby Jenkins’ seminar The Art of Protest, offered during the fall of 2012, in Union Institute and University’s Ph.D. in Interdisciplinary Studies program.
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Steinem's essay “Women Voters Can't Be Trusted” appeared in the July 1972 Ms. magazine; the image of a concerned Wonder Woman rescuing a city block from the madness of war with her golden lasso appears on the magazine’s cover. Steinem’s enumeration of assumptions men make about trends in women as a voting bloc reflects the dramatic comic book image, published months before the Democratic National Convention would endorse both George McGovern as a candidate for President as well as an Equal Rights Amendment, as activists including Steinem, Germaine Greer, Shirley MacLaine and others supported Feminist candidate Shirley Chisholm. Tonight, forty years after the publication of Steinem’s essay, First Lade Michelle Obama will appear and speak onstage, in support of her husband; over the past year, Michelle Bachmann ran an unsuccessful campaign seeking the GOP nomination for President; four years ago, former Alaskan governor Sarah Palin was selected as John McCain's Vice President; last week, former Secretary of State Condoleeza Rice appeared before an envigorated crowd of Republicans, while this week’s Convention will be presided over by Debbie Wasserman-Shultz: during this year’s election, evidence of the increased political participation of women identifies some of the progress made since Ms. magazine’s publication of its ‘Wonder Woman for President’ cover, and Steinem’s description of assumptions.   
 
During this down-and-dirty election season: may a specific group of people still adhere to a candidate’s views because “[...] they fit our popular image as nonpolitical, limited people; an image we have internalized so well that we may accept it as true of women as a group, even though we have disproved it in our individual lives”(Steinem, 1972)? To what extent do we—across demographics of gender and age, income and race—consider ourselves a “nonpolitical, limited people,” willing to adopt one party’s set of political, social, economic, and ethical beliefs?
 
And how might we gather such critical information? If assumptions are to be made about any specific political demographic, evaluation of the mass media and news networks’ portrayl of that group may be useful. Do women vote differently than their husbands? I’d love to ask Roger Ailes, longtime political strategist and creator of the ‘fair and balanced’ news network: Ailes' ability to present political viewpoints as entertainment began during the Nixon administration; beyond helping devise a plan to televise the lighting of the White House Christmas tree, some allege the full conception of FoxNews as a machine of propaganda and media control took place in the Oval Office during the early 1970s. Ailes is important to a modern characterization of women’s role in politics, as his network consistently beats all competitors in monthly ratings. Ailes also claims Sarah Palin as his own creation: after the former Governor’s unsuccessful Presidential campaign alongside John McCain, Ailes’ network had a small studio installed in Palin's Wasilla, Alaska home. Her tenure with the network did not last as long as some had hoped; in a recent speech, Ailes admitted that he “hired Sarah Palin because she was hot and got ratings” (Ailes, as cited by Moore, 2011).
 
Steinem’s assessment of women as a voting bloc came at a time when chauvenism was probably more acceptable, but also when the mass media was in its infancy, and populations may have expected less interpretation of events from their newscasters. One quote from Steinem’s essay rings with the charged and staunch rhetoric of last week in Tampa: “Culturally, women tend to think like conservers of life. Sometimes that makes us conservative in the conventional sense, and sometimes it pushes us to the left, making us very radical indeed” (Steinem, 1972). What modern political party seeks to be “conservers of life,” and to what extent may this phrase be taken as an idenfitication of viewpoint on Roe V. Wade? Has our political language—the wearing out of terms and phrases, including conservative­—weakened our abilities of political representation?  
 
Actions may forever speak more loudly than words; according to a number of accounts, the Republican National Committee surprised those protesting their convention by providing boxed lunches to all those on the sidewalk.  Actions within realms of creativity appear mutually exclusive to those of media and politics; while Ailes’ criticism of his network news competition extends into aesthetic set design, the artistry involved in the cover of Ms. magazine may today be relegated to museums, over publications that reflect national concerns and culture (a recent comparison of Time magazine European and American editions reflects poorly on our national obsession with ourselves). But magazines, news networks, and political parties are inclusive organizations; the potential for individuals to express opinions and views, as artists, may still exist.
 
While Faith Ringgold’s 1988 story quilt “Tar Beach” extends an “angry, critical reappraisal” (Spector, 2012) of urban life and the possibility of experience through a vibrant, inviting and historic form, her 2000 project “Racial Questions and Answers” may be one of the Internet’s first examples of participatory asynchronous representation through art. While her history of political activism fed her experience in quilting (the most famous result of which hangs today in the Guggenheim), her website devoted to the collection of demographic data and speculation on racial identity reads like the registration page of an early social networking hub, as Ringgold’s collection of identifying data is followed by prompts of individual reflection, on an assumed racial identity: “Imagine Waking up One Morning Black in America!” reads part two, of her “Questionnaire A for White People.” A separate questionnaire, for “all people of color” proposes one wake up “One Morning White in America!” (Ringgold, 2000).  Ringgold’s latest creative efforts include a host of childrens’ books, for which she has received many accolades. How might Ringgold assess Steinem’s 1972 charge, that a specific population may not be trusted, relied upon, to support a politician’s set of values and social policies? Perhaps we may all strive to be like the child in her “Tar Beach” quilt, mid-flight and hovering above the stoic symbols of the most oppressive groups we know, together forging a voting bloc that is unfixed and critical, and cannot be trusted. Roger Ailes’ characterization, however, of the voting public’s likely behavior is probably honed in on populations within a few ‘swing states,’ while maintaining a widespread support for individuals’ participation as a “nonpolitical, limited people.”  
 
Hale, C. (2012). “Masterpiece Activity: Faith Ringgold’s Tar Beach.” Retrieved from http://www.scholastic.com/librarians/programs/tarbeach.htm
 
Gawker.com. (2012). “Roger Ailes' Secret Nixon-Era Blueprint for FoxNews.” Retrieved from http://gawker.com/5814150/roger-ailes-secret-nixon+era-blueprint-for-fox-news
 
Moore, R. (October 5 2011). “Roger Ailes: I Hired Sarah Palin Because She Was Hot and Got Ratings.”  Retrieved from http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2011/10/05/roger-ailes-sarah-palin-fox-news_n_995691.html
 
 
Steinem, G. (1972). “Women Voters Can’t Be Trusted.” Ms. [magazine]. Retrieved from http://www.msmagazine.com/spring2002/steinem.asp
 
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--Jerry Jeff Walker, “Pissin’ In The Wind”
 
“How many roads must a man walk down before he admits he is lost?”
 
--David Lee Roth, from Strummin’ With the Devil: the Southern Side of Van Halen
 
Two revisions of Bob Dylan’s famous lyric provides context for this brief survey of social, political, and rhetorical statements, made within the genre of popular and commercial song: since Dylan’s gravely-voiced premonitions and dreams gave flight to all manner of recorded psychedelic statements in the early 1960s, artists’ abilities to foster social and political movements within music have come under scrutiny. How are songs of critique and protest received by the public, and to what extent do record labels—themselves commercial entities serving to preserve corporate interests—seek to control artists’ lyrical and rhetorical messages?
 
Tupac-Ressurection.com leads to Paramount Pictures’ main site, and the parent company—Viacom—promotes Jersey Shore, a remake of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, and Comedy Central’s recent sweep of the Primetime Emmys, garnering awards for The Daily Show With Jon Stewart and Futurama. Through the Internet’s Wayback Machine, one may access ‘snapshots’ of what the Web—including this site, promoting a 2003 MTV documentary about Shakur’s life, the “only film made in collaboration with Shakur’s mother, former Black Panther Afeni Shakur” (“TUPAC: Resurrection,” 2003). The film’s producer, Lauren Lazin, has continued work for MTV, Nickelodeon, VH1, as well as on films including The U.S. vs. John Lennon. The transitory nature of fame, within genres of pop music, may create a difficult framework for artists’ sustained work toward social justice: Lennon may have penned “Imagine” and other notoriously popular anthems of change, but the extent to which his political idealism has been embraced and lyrically ratified by the succession of songwriters in his wake may actually illuminate a grim situation of rhetorical representation on MTV, VH1, and other celebrity-obessed channels. These networks are corporate, seek profits, and are interested in selling entertainment, not inciting riots. Lady Gaga’s meat dress may represent an individual’s unique embrace of their fame, and will no doubt be discussed as part of her VH1 Behind the Music documentary, but to what end? As Blake Wilson pondered in the New York Times, reviewing Dorian Lynskey’s 33 Revolutions Per Minute: A History of Protest Songs, “can pop music change the world?” (Wilson, 2011).
 
In seeking to define this relationship, between a performer and their effect on the views and actions of a self-selected audience, one may consider the actions of the Tupac Amaru Shakur Foundation (tasf.org), its arts education programs, and performing arts center, on the outskirts of Atlanta, founded by Tupac’s mom: to what extent might popular musicians’ actions of protest and justice promote a legacy of change, establishing new traditions of community and music? Does the strategic placement of Creedence Clearwater Revival’s “Fortunate Son” in all-too-many filmic depictions of the Vietnam War and a domestic culture of protest elevate this pop-radio hit to a new level of success? The slew of comments on the brief New York Times review of Lynskey’s compendium to pop protest music may sum to characterize the fragmentation of a previously-commoditized market: most of those choosing to comment on the review seem to do so, in order to promote their own favorite protest song, from artists we’ve never heard of, recordings that may or may not have been made widely available for public sale. Is it by accident that Country Joe and the Fish’s studio recording of their popular Woodstock sing-along “Feel-Like-I’m-Fixin-to-Die-Rag” has fallen off our informal map of cultural and musical history, half a century after half a million people covered in mud all knew the words on a field in upstate New York?
 
There is an absurdity to protest in pop music: to what extent may one protest the system within which they work, or, as Sean Wilentz described in his review of Lynskey’s book, where “simple outrage surpasses ideology” (Wilentz, 2011). While CSNY’s song “Ohio” may represent one of the most expedient and effective embraces of the genre of popular recorded music, Neil Young’s work as a lyricist and songwriter extends far beyond his reaction to the shootings of students at Kent State University in Ohio: promoting energy efficiency and sustainability through his tour to support his 2005 Greendale album, Neil Young continues to serve as an example of sustained inclusion of political and social lyrics within the genre of popular music.
 
Like the situation described in Neil’s early 1980s lyrics, many celebrities within popular recorded music have found it “better to burn out/than it is to rust” (Young, 1983, “Hey Hey My My”): many rhetorical heroes  have expired all too soon, including Tupac, Lennon, Hendrix, Morrison, and others, from dangerous mixtures of idealism, substance use, and toxic interactions. The state of protest within popular recorded music is, for all purposes, too transitive to define: the end of commercialization, and the rise of downloadable product and musicians’ self-representation, may continue to characterize songwriters’ predicament. “Occupy This Album,” a February 2012 compilation featuring tracks from over fifty artists, was produced by an organization (Music For Occupy) that stands “in solidarity with Occupy Wall Street” (“About,” 2012), and while these efforts are noble in helping redefine the genre’s rhetorical abilities, I wonder if any modern recording artist would dare to perform public relations antics like renting hotel suites in Montreal and Amsterdam, and surrounding themselves with comedians, musician friends and the press, and call the set of stunts a “Bed-In” for Peace?  John Lennon explained himself to the press in 1969 as such: “It’s part of our policy not to be taken seriously. Our opposition, whoever they may be, in all manifest forms, don’t know how to handle humour. And we are humorous” (Wiener, J., 1991, as cited by Wikipedia, 2012). Do we, consumers of recorded music, expect—or even want—such humor from our entertainers and American idols?
 
“Bed-In.” (2012). Wikipedia. Retrieved from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bed-In#cite_note-4
 
Tupac Amaru Shakur Foundation. (2012). “About TASF.” Retrieved from http://www.tasf.org/the-foundation/about-tasf/
 
Wilentz, S. (29 April 2011). “A History of Protest Songs.” New York Times. Retrieved from http://www.nytimes.com/2011/05/01/books/review/book-review-33-revolutions-per-minute-by-dorian-lynskey.html?pagewanted=2&_r=4&src=rechp
 
Wilson, B. (27 April 2011). “Is The Protest Song Dead?” New York Times. Retrieved from http://artsbeat.blogs.nytimes.com/2011/04/27/is-the-protest-song-dead/?ref=review
 
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The rhetorical capacity of the camera has changed both the way social protest is captured by onlookers, but has also helped to establish a means by which statements of political, social, or economic activism may help determine its efficacy—a new criteria was established during the twentieth century, of what “looks good” for the television and still cameras. From red carpet celebrity appearances to network television anchors to filmmakers and politicians, one’s own appearance and voice transmitted across electronic means has become a new and fluid form of rhetoric. When Nixon sweated and stammered his way through televised, live, and unedited Presidential debates in 1960—and went on to lose the race to Kennedy—he hired a young and aspiring production assistant to help him “look good” on television, to present himself as newly calm and clear, stern and thoughtful. Within a decade, Nixon had an effective public image, the sum of the rhetoric crafted by a careful team (Joe McGinnis’ The Selling of the President 1968 is a fantastic description of this transformative process)—and the young production assistant, Roger Ailes, would go on to create and head Fox News, on behalf of the Murdoch empire. How does the action of “looking good” take place today, in films, news, and on the wild and wicked web?
 
Context for Valerie Smith’s work regarding the contextualization of films that appeal to specific racial groups is useful in understanding the lineage and evolution of our collective on-camera rhetoric. Since the time of her writing, some of her presumptions regarding the efficacy of documentary film may be challenged by the popularity of artists like Michael Moore, and the continued and heightened high regard for the works of Spike Lee. While “documentarians [still seem] unlikely to achieve the popularity of directors of fiction films” (p. 62), Smith’s (1992) assumptions about the commercial viability of “nonfiction films” (p. 61) may have been unseated by a recent trend in nonfiction television, film and culture: reality television, now clearly established as a genre of popular entertainment, seeks the presentation—however awkwardly rendered—of individuals’ narratives, without the façade sought by the rhetorical cameras of the twentieth century. Do reality television programs, from Hoarders to Hardcore Pawn, represent the “intimate, if not contiguous, relation to an externally verifiable reality” (p. 60) Smith identifies in the movies of the early 1990s? If Andy Warhol was correct, that we may all be delivered our requisite fifteen minutes of fame within the corporate portals of reality television, are producers interested in making individuals and their narratives ‘look good?’ What is the “intimate [and] externally verifiable reality” that can help define this emerging realm of nonfiction narrative?  
 
If Smith’s characterization of the import and reception of black feature films in 1992 was critical to the development of rhetoric and representation in film, James Allen’s website Without Sanctuary serves as contrast: without the expectations of a manufactured plot, a rising action, and a benevolent resolution sandwiched between segments of corporate commercials, Allen’s work in compiling images, and their presentation on a web page, helps establish a genre technologically unavailable at the time of Smith’s writing. Self-described ‘picker’ James Allen, narrating the short film declared that, “in America, everything is for sale, even a national shame” (2005). He describes how his collecting and presenting photographic postcards of lynchings across the United States during the early 1900s has “engendered” in him a fear of “the majority,” and how a specific “image layered a pall of grief over my fears.” Those who peruse his site are witness to scenes of horrific and public death; the viewer endures “the endless replay of anguish,” as Allen ruminates and speculates about the motivations of those depicted as watching the hangings and swaying bodies. Is such a website—a work of visual rhetoric, devised specifically to represent moments when citizens have looked far from ‘good’ but perhaps at their most reprehensible and repugnant—effective, as an act of protest, of representation long after the grave facts? Does the visual representation of individuals or groups looking ‘less-than-good’ at moments in history constitute an act of protest?
 
Websites may have helped reinforce Allen’s notion that “in America, everything is for sale”; a published collection of his images remains available, though their representation online may have undermined his profits. Allen’s website includes an active and public forum, in which comments on the lynching photographs from educators, students, and web users at large have sought to make meaning of and increase understanding of what Allen described in his short film as “the cold steel trigger in the human heart”—what drove these crowds to these terrible moments. Discussions found on the forum provided unique and fluid contextualization for the collection. One participant, username ansar1013, posted on August 11, 2011, under the “Where Was God?” thread on the Without Sanctuary website: “I am here to establish a system of justice in this world and replace this current system of injustice. These lynchings that were done can only be blamed on the cowards and punks in the crowd that lacked the testicular fortitude to fight for right. People know what is right from wrong. We just lack the balls to do something about it. So instead of getting bogged down into some GOD talk we should discuss strategies and tactics to completely destroy this current system of injustice” (ansar1013, 2011). Theological arguments, pedagogical applications, and individuals’ constructive criticism all aid in making sense of Allen’s photographic documentary; perhaps the site remains proof that we, as a culture and population, are still seeking full context for the rhetorical abilities of the camera. The creative genre that accommodates the compilation and distribution of images (of others, taken by others) may still be evolving. Perhaps we are still trying to understand what it means to ‘look good’ on film, and in the digital age. The choices in ‘looking good’ that are ours and in the present-tense are not the same as the choices made by those in the past: be them crowds gathered around trees for nefarious and horrific reasons during the first decade of the last century, or the populations represented by filmmakers twenty years ago.
 
Allen, J. (2005). Without Sanctuary [film]. Retrieved from http://withoutsanctuary.org
 
Ansar1013. (11 Aug. 2011). “Where Was God?” [forum post]. Retrieved from http://withoutsanctuary.org/main.html
 
Smith, V. “The Documentary Impulse in Contemporary African American Film.” In Black Popular Culture: A Project by Michele Wallace, ed. Gina Dent. Seattle: Bay Press, 1992.

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