The plague and privilege of Homi Bhabha

It is not difficult to establish the postcolonial critic as another proponent of Western Imperialism, especially when the critic chooses to ignore the vast economic inequalities inherent to the global capitalist system. Homi Bhabha (left) reflects a certain, albeit dominant trend in theory; that is, the poststructuralist method of textual deconstruction, epitomised by Derrida’s infamous words, there is nothing outside the text. By eschewing all knowledge outside of the text, Homi Bhabha creates a complex web of spectacular ideas which reflect spectacular society itself; that is, in Bhabha’s theoretical practice, words replace images in concealing the actually existing effects of global capitalism. By practicing theory which purports to undermine, disrupt and transform objective rationale whilst ignoring material and cultural asymmetries between the metropolitan and non-metropolitan academies, Homi Bhabha (re)produces the power-knowledge equation Western discourse has traditionally produced on the non-Western Other.

The type of contingency and relativism typical of Bhabha is reflected in Ziauddin Sardar's understanding of postmodernism, which he appropriately defines as being the newest form of Western Imperialism. With its multifaceted and pluralistic character, argues Sardar, postmodernism is used by its 'champions and apologists to mystify it; to present it as a pragmatic, intellectual force that cannot be fathomed, let alone resisted'. Yet the very notion of postmodern cultural synthesis, argues Sardar, 'should be seen as a logical step in the process of the westernisation of the globe, and universalisation of western civilisation itself'. Synthesis, he argues, can only occur between two 'equally powerful cultures which are equally represented on the global stage'. Instead, cultural synthesis implies the need for pluralism yet produces a 'binary system of regulation (post-cold war, the new super-demon is Islam)... [whilst simultaneously] generating a simulated plurality which veils the continuity in oppression and inequality'.

By championing pluralism and promoting synthesis, whilst at the same time ignoring the socio-economic order and the aggressive neo-liberal policies which fundamentally construct the postmodern economy, Homi Bhabha implicitly positions himself as supportive of the West as power-bloc. As Sardar argues, the postmodern world is being 'built by the mass media... [whilst] The glue that binds it all together... [is] the postmodern economy'. The postmodern media and postmodern economy work together in conjunction, producing the spectacular, whilst Homi Bhabha's own power-knowledge equation (re)produces postmodern society in theoretical form.

Of course, the problem of asymmetric ignorance and academic hegemony is not exclusive to Postcolonial discourse. All repressed and minority groups are in a constant struggle to integrate themselves into the theoretical canon, yet in doing so, such integration inevitably means conforming to a certain set of rules and regulations, however liberating the practice might appear. This is not to condemn all theory or even the practice of theory; rather, it is an attempt to point out that power-knowledge equations (re)produce themselves through the actually existing material and cultural inequalities inherent to the neo-colonial world order.

It is only through reflecting on self privilege, produced by economic and thus cultural advantages, juxtaposed with an advert self-criticism, that critics in Western academies can overcome the grounds of opposition inherent to the metropolitan and non-metropolitan academies. Less of Derrida and more of Fanon, please. For Bhabha and his minions, I think a rereading of Black Skin, White Masks is in order.

Gods of Suffering

Although I am hardly versed in the arguments against abortion, there is one such argument which is unavoidable. They are words which are almost always used against anybody supportive of abortion, and go something like, “It's life. I could never kill life.” These words, or words like them, were repeated yesterday and will be repeated today; they will also be repeated tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that. No doubt, they will forever be repeated, and repeated, and repeated, for as long as we inhabit the earth, and from the moment abortion was practised they have doubtless been spoken. Of course, the words have been vehemently contested and criticised, not in the least because pro-life supporters are socially irresponsible and irrational, and I have little interest in repeating what is obvious. But I'll repeat it anyway, because I often do things which I have little interest in doing, and who knows, perhaps I even enjoy it. These words, which criticise abortion on moral grounds, exemplify Pavlovian conditioning to the highest degree; anybody who utters them must be ignored, ignored because their reasoning faculties have seriously failed. There.

But that is not all. Suppose I am correct in what I'm saying, that those who utter such words utter them vacuously, vacuously because they have been conditioned to do so. They have used no logic or rationale; they are incapable of doing so; they have not considered the consequences, neither for themselves, nor for the child, not even for society. On this basis, we can forgive them simply because they are foolish; we can say to ourselves, “Never mind. It is not their fault. They are just a bit silly, that's all.” But what if their silliness, their irrationality, even their stupidity, is all of these things but something more, something far more ominous and malicious? What if their decision to ignore the logic of abortion and pro-create, what if their decision to give life is not an act of charity, but precisely the opposite: what if it is an act of thievery? Indeed, what if it is not simple thievery, but thievery and malice taken to the highest degree, an act of narcissism which directly produces another in the narcissists image – my little boy, my little man, my little me. Worse, what if it is worse than narcissism, because in behaving the way he or she does, the pro-creator produces another being without that beings consent. In a word, what if, in the moment of creation, the narcissist, so devout in his or her belief in pro-creating, becomes God, and pro-creates precisely because of this reason, simply because they have the power to do so?

In Fyodor Dostoevsky's The Idiot, Ippolit Terentyev, a nihilist who is dying from consumption, just before his failed suicide attempt, proclaims: “If I had the power not to be born, I would certainly not have accepted existence on these absurd terms.” Ippolit's claim stems from his disavowal of God. It is not that he doesn't believe in a future life or providence. “Most probably it all does exist,” he says, “but we understand nothing of that future life, nor anything of the laws that govern it." Obedience, he continues, and obeying “without question, out of pure decorum” is not only unacceptable; ascribing our conceptions to providence out of pique “greatly demeans” providence. Finally, he asks, “if it is so difficult, even absolutely impossible to comprehend, how could I be held responsible for failing to make sense of the incomprehensible?” Although today's pro-lifers no doubt come in various stock, as mentioned before, it is the act of destroying life which they revile most; the act of playing God, so to speak. Yet, the question I ask is: what is the difference in giving and taking, what is the difference between charity and thievery, when the end-result, the moment of being or not-being, is the source of unhappiness and misery? How can those who support pro-life on the basis that that they are not God and cannot play God, justify their decision to pro-create, when the act of pro-creation is itself an act of God? 

Shitting and Resistance

I have just spent the past week being a “real” person, a “real”person in the good-for-nothing 21^st century sense. This has consisted of waking up at approximately 7.30 am every morning, eating a couple of slices of toast or a bowl of cereal, drinking a cup of “English” tea, showering, then dressing myself in appropriate cloths (a “real” person always dresses appropriately). Some of these mornings have been slightly varied. For example, one morning I had eggs for breakfast and on another I had bacon; on some mornings I managed to read a bit of the paper, whilst on others I had time to catch “the news”; and still on other mornings I managed to add even more variation to this period, by defecating in the toilet before my journey to work, or lying in bed for that extra half an hour before all choice was removed and I had to get up. However trivial these last two acts might appear, it is with a profound sense of discovery, elation even, that I'm able to discourse upon them!

During the week, which was enveloped with a most profound sense of monotony and repetition, it is both of these actions (extra sleep and/or defecation) which have enabled me to form a personal sort of resistance, a resistance against the inevitability of coming work and the absolutism of existing work. For example, when a man wakes up on a workday, he soon becomes acutely aware of what he must do; that is, he is bound, incarcerated even, to a rigid set of structures which have long since decided his circumstances. For example, if work begins at 9am, it makes no difference whatsoever whether he wakes up at 8am or 6am; either way, the time is not his your own, it exists only in relation to coming work. Before work begins, what he decides to do with his time, how he does it, where he does it, all of these actions will be decided by when and where he is working. In this way, the individual who exists outside of work always exists in a dialectical relationship with coming work. This is an inescapable reality for the working man: you cannot be yourself inside work, but neither can you be yourself outside work.

It is this realisation which acts and should always act as the birth of a resistance against the manacles and machinations imposed upon him by work. Instead, the worker, unconscious of his slavery, resists through trivial forms. For example, in order to resist the inevitability of loss of self in relation to coming work, he decides he will will attempt to vary the rigidity of his actions. For example, one Monday, he might wake up at 7.30 am and say to himself: “I do not feel like eating porridge today, I will eat Weetabix instead.” The following Monday, awake at the same time, he might say to himself, “I am bored of Weetabix, I think I'll have a bowl of Weetos this morning”. A week later, he will once again wake up at 7.30 am and decide that Shredded Wheat are the cereal of the day, or Sugar Puffs, or Cheerios, and so on. He will then stare idly at the wall eating his cereal: he wishes he could watch a film, or pick up a book, or relax, chill out, perhaps even go for a walk, see his loved ones, or simply exist by himself in his own thoughts. Actually, work begins in ninety minutes, he has time do some of these things, but he cannot; he cannot because his thoughts, and so his actions, are dominated by the inescapable reality of coming work.

In this state, a state of complete and utter psychological and physical incarceration, the question is this: what can be done? In this state, is our notion of choice reduced absolutely to such menial things as what we can eat for breakfast, or whether we're going to read a newspaper in the morning, or watch “the news”? In an employed state, is it even possible to exist by oneself, outside of the restrictions all jobs impose upon their subjects? The answer, of course, is no. All individuals in employment exist within this dialectic, of this there is little doubt. If you work, you are a slave, both inside and outside of work, as even outside of work, all your thoughts, feelings and thus your actions always exist in relation to coming work.

Yet, over the past week or so, it has been my time lying in bed in the hope for extra sleep, lying in bed staring at the wall, or spending fifteen or even twenty minutes defecating in the toilet, which have allowed me to lose myself amidst the stenches of my own creation. This might sound disagreeable to you, it might even offend you, but the truth is this: the stench of sweat, produced by the body (and long a component of my own unwashed bedsheets), much like the adjacent stench of one's own shit, are our own and should be respected as such. In a world where it is becoming increasingly difficult to know what is and isn't our own, where even our thoughts and feelings are manafactured and produced by forces external to our selves, must we continue to undermine the valuable produce of our own bodily functions in the face of an ever-pervasive workplace? Next time you're shitting, I implore you to think of this: all men and women shit, we're shitters by nature and, for the most part, we shit on a daily basis. On the toilet, no woman, no matter how beautiful, is more significant than you, no man different. In a word, shitters are shitters, and shit, much like sweat, is a product of our selves.

But that isn't the point, the point is this: sweat-induced sleep and defecation, attributes universal to us all, have had a profound impact on my past week, which has been spent working on a full-time basis. It is important we distinguish between both of these actions. The former (sweat-induced sleep) is an attempt at losing consciousness, a passive subversion of the inescapable and indefinite reality of future work. The latter, in contrast, represents an active rearticulation of the usual processes which constitute the coming of this inescapable reality; opposed to passivity, defecation can be summarised as a violent outburst within the everyday, an outburst which upsets the workplace through its attack on “the Real”, which can be defined as monotony and repetition through structural imposition. Rather than blindly romanticising defecation and sweat-induced sleep, however, it must be noted that these moments, which disrupt the manacles of structural imposition through a recuperation of the body and a rearticulation of “the Real”, are only able to offer a brief, transitory and thus vacuous escape from the inevitability of coming work. No matter how free one might feel whilst sleeping, for the worker, the enjoyment of sleep and its apparent subversion of coming work always exists in relation to coming work. When you sleep, how you sleep, and where you sleep will always be dictated by this crushing inevitability, and the same holds true for shitting. By all means, I beg you: shit to your hearts content, succumb to shit, shit as much as possible and as much as your body will allow. But remember, no matter how much you shit, the process of shitting, no matter how satisfying or cathartic, is only satisfying through its relationship to coming or existing work. In a word, shitting is an outburst against but always within “the Real”, just as extra sleep is a subversion of “the Real” within its own disciplinary system.

Both the passive subversion produced by extra sleep, much like the active exertion of shitting, must therefore always be understood within a dialectic of performance within greater systematic incarceration. When the individual resists the torrid noise of his dreaded alarm-clock, for example, or desecrates a toilet with an outburst of divine, heavenly excrement, the individual does much more than simply perform a bodily function. He transfigures “the Real” through this performance, and briefly, momentarily denies, even transcends, systematic incarceration. The incarceration still exists; it is an ever-pervasive and all-consuming force, always already able to overpower subversion or sporadic outbursts of resistance. Yet such moments of bodily resistance, however futile they might appear, must be further understood and studied, appreciated and criticised, thought about and openly discussed. Biologically, shitting will forever be a part of ourselves. However brief, it is a recuperation of time, time alone, without distraction. A chance to be by oneself inside one's own thoughts, how we shit should therefore be scrutinised. Scrutinised, appreciated, and understood, because time is everything. And time by yourself will change the world. 

Osama Bin Laden is not dead. Trust. In fact, he has already been reborn.

           First the Royal Wedding, now the death of an “evil,” murderous Islamic fundamentalist. One, a noble prince and his beloved princess, a nation unified, the West proud. The “Other,” an evil, murderous Islamic fundamentalist, the object of hatred, his death, too, now a source of pride. In this country and to an even greater extent in America, they - the media and thus the public - will celebrate Osama Bin Laden’s death just as they celebrated the marriage of the Prince and Princess, albeit through a passionate identification with the one and a complete repudiation of the “Other.” The Royal Wedding is testament to our history and identity as a nation, the envy of the West, whilst the death of Osama Bin Laden symbolises our cultural, political and indeed our historical authority and superiority over the “Other.” Indeed, within a week we have produced all that is “good” about Western civilization whilst destroying all which embodies “evil” and “darkness.” It is the perfect example of a dichotomy, the binary which has long separated “us” and “them” at the heart of Western civilization, reflected in our fanatical obsession with Princes and Princesses, with Aladdin and Star Wars and the eternal battle against “evil” inherent in Western cultural consciousness.

However, Osama Bin Laden is only one “evil” of many, a mere individual, constructed has eternal evil, an essence of evil symbolising every evil which exists in the world today. He is and was Che Guevera, who was also evil, once, until his image became commodified. He is also Saddam Hussein, who was never really truly evil in the eyes of the West - in fact, he and the West were once very good friends - until he rejected them. Only then did he become evil, so evil in fact that the deaths of millions of innocent civilians in Iraq became justified, much like the deaths of countless civilians in Afghanistan, Pakistan, Yemen and Palestine have become justified. After all, this is evil we are fighting, and evil must be vanquished.

        Yet evil is never vanquished, our dichotomy will not allow that, and today more evils are being produced. From Hugo Chavez in Venezuala, who has dared to nationalise his countries oil, to Iran’s Ahmadinejad, who has outrageously and vehemently criticised the moral good at the heart of Western Imperialism. More evils are being born, and let us not forget our latest, greatest, most dangerous evil yet, the latest embodiment of Hades, Osama and Darth Vader combined, the villainous Colonel Gaddafi. Up until a few months ago, most of the general public had not heard of Colonel Gaddafi, let alone his absolute, undivided tyranny. Today, he is a mad, crazed dictator, his face the new image of eternal evil, perfectly encapsulating the objectification of evil we seek to construct. There have been casualties in this construction, of course, and there will be more. Most recently, Gaddafi’s son and three granddaughters have lost their lives through yet another NATO air-strike, yet we are told “collateral damage” is to be expected, and who are we to argue? When evil is constructed, the image of evil - be it the caricatures of Bin Laden, Gaddafi, Guevera or Saddam - becomes ever-pervasive, and a child’s death soon becomes a million, all of their lives expendable and ignored under the noble act of “humanitarian intervention.”

However, yesterday’s death of Saddam, much like today’s death of Osama Bin Laden, has done nothing, changed nothing. It is death reproduced by the media for the satisfaction of the majority, and is inconsequential when compared to the destruction caused by the invasions of Iraq and Afghanistan. Tomorrow, perhaps it will be Gaddafi who dies, and evil shall once again be vanquished, the image of his death once again culminating in the satisfaction of the majority. Yet the very next day, be sure: evil, whether in the form of Ahmadinejad, Assad, Chavez, or some other proponent of anti-Imperialism, will become the latest and greatest evil yet, another sequel to his evil predecessors. We will ostracize, we will invade, millions will die. But no matter. Evil is evil. And when the face of the individual becomes caricatured and mythologized into an embodiment of evil, anything can be justified. Even death, it seems, can be celebrated.