Month: January 2016

Everything You Wanted To Know About Khaled (but Were Afraid To Ask Lacan)

~ Jose Medina ~ 2 Comments

In our cold, contemporary era, the amassment of immeasurable wealth within the global capitalist order has reached unprecedented heights of human degeneracy. Mindless consumption and its poisoned fruits have invoked the fury and lust of an insatiable death drive. Accumulation and its enjoyment continue to spur catastrophe to varying degrees of intensity and violence. Many have met their fates at the hands of their greed.

Engrossed in the stormy eye of Capitalism and the perpetual production of crisis, we find its true idol: a piggish yet charismatic businessman, adorned in gold, roaming without objective in a multi-million dollar oceanside mansion who came from nothing. He, filled with a hunger for adventure, walks to his dock and mounts his jet ski at full speed on a near-daily basis, often encountering law enforcement, where he is protected from punishment by equal parts charisma and the influence of his great wealth. He is beckoned by a sweet Death whispering in his ears, its bony, skeletal fingers grazing his freshly-cut head:

“Further… further… forget the moment… there is no present… only the End…”

The rider smirks, and entertains the uncomfortably convincing voice, traveling unflinchingly into a watery abyss. It isn’t long before he is lost at sea, low on gasoline, destined to met an unfortunate fate. Here, there is no capital, but there is a familiar feeling of excess: a boundless ocean, blackened by a fresh, night sky. It is cold—colder to the unclothed. Starvation is imminent, if sea creatures don’t get to him first. Perhaps a storm will brew, separating him from his vehicle, drowning him—destined to quietly meet millions of bodies that have met similar fates. A slow but imminent demise documented on video, another life claimed. An all-too-common conclusion for an ordinary man.

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Defiant triumph.

Somehow, the expected story is unexpectedly altered.

Our hero, after his risky pursuit of Death, manages to arrive to his grand mansion completely unscathed, ready to sleep it off. The vainglorious capitalist evades Death, not through purchasing power, but through an extraordinary state of subjectivity.

* * *

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The Khaledian school of psychoanalysis has emerged as a post-structural reconceptualization of Lacan’s oft-considered controversial response to Freud. In a refreshingly radical depature from the kind of teaching contained in Lacan’s famous Écrits, Khaled and his subdiscipline opt for informal lectures—Cloth Talk and Hammock Talk—and a minimalist, quasi-Nietzschean aphoristic approach to illuminate his psychic praxis.

Who is the Subject?

In Khaledian psychoanalysis, there is no static subject that occupies an experience at a given time; there is no mere “I.” The subject is the We, the You, and the I, a Borromean knot of identity. The We may be interpreted as the de facto primary subject, but there is no hierarchy in the Khaledian school. We The Best is the familiar aphorism guiding an interpretation of the Subject; there is only We, and We are the Best—We, by virtue of our collectively, have attained Perfection—there is no incompleteness. Perfection, then, is, perhaps, the neo-Symptom.

Khaledian psychoanalysis, then, has a complicated relationship with Desire—can We want if We are the Best? Do We demand Perfection if We have achieved it? Do we demand anything if we are Perfect (cf. “Another one”)? The Subject is not alone, but belongs to an interconnected network of human experience. Khaledian psychoanalysis, in a departure from its Lacanian sibling, is quite curiously inspired by Eastern philosophy, with an appreciative nod to the Hegelian notion of The We Is The I and The I Is The We. Yet, is there critical self-reflection among such a split subject in the Khaledian school? Almost inherently so.

Chef Dee as analysand

As a particular stand-out case, Chef Dee is a curious case within the network of Subjects. This Being has transcended Desire—she is Pure Production, entertaining the Performance of Success through culinary mastery.

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The absence of desire.

An entity utterly restricted to cooking egg whites and turkey bacon, Chef Dee may long for More, but there is no Desire: she, in her soulless candor, merely expresses information. We The Best, and Chef Dee is aware, and acts within the network. Chef Dee is relegated to her status, void of Want, a Limitless Machine of—very fittingly—consumption. This is especially apt as a metaphor when one recognizes that Chef Dee’s role in the Khaledian subject is to reinforce the largeness of the Idol—the Pure Image of Capitalism in an Age of Gluttony. This is pure ideology!

* * *

Beyond the We, it is recognized that the We may split into the You—a dissociation of the group to encourage communal Unity. A familiar aphorism for this perspective is You Smart, You Loyal—a symbol of undeniable praise. Is the We constructed at different levels—rather, is there a Big We and a little We, distinguishable from the Lacanian Big? It is attractive to think that the We can Split off into the I and the You, as evident in a third aphorism, I Appreciate You. This is, of course, another positive construction of undeniable praise. The reasons are unnecessary—it is purely ideological. There is never a Because in the aphoristic discipline of Khaledian psychoanalysis, and with what may be a very good reason: Perfection is achievable by all when it is radically unconditional!

Of particular curiosity is the I, which may exist out of necessity to reinforce the individual’s Love of the You as it exists in the We. Self-love and appreciation, then, is a function of self-acceptance, and a reflection of a greater structure of empowerment. Again, it is not static, but there is no grammatological suggestion that it is endlessly dynamic. I Changed Alot, a fourth aphorism, expresses that there were historical conditions at work in which the I emerged. How interesting, then, that the aphorism is not “I’m Changing Alot!” Perhaps the aphorisms, much like the Subject, exist within a relational network, and the end-result of change is Perfection—being the Best among a collective Subject. Is Perfection, then, static? Khaledian psychoanalysis has no evident answer; however, it can be assumed that different standards of perfection may exist, as clearly as there are different variations of infinity.

The Other

What of the Other? Khaledian psychoanalysis has a Lacanian equivalent: They. There is no Other, but the big They, that which destabilizes your social relations and wants to see you fail. The They is against nutrition, The They is against success, The They is against happiness and enjoyment. The They is unspeakable, and exists in a universe equivalent to that of the Lacanian Real—the traumatic space where the symbolic falls apart. Khaledian psychoanalysis refuses to acknowledge what the They is beyond the They merely being what it is: the They.

To frame it ideologically, The They is clearly a sullen specter of anti-capitalism. It is denial of fulfillment, halting the tip of the iceberg of jouissance, a symbol of pure static, desireless Being. It is a void on the Opposite end of the metaphysical emptiness of pure material; a death-like void where there is no Space but only Time. The They is the anti-Perfection, the anti-Blessing. They don’t want You or We to be the best, or to be anything but Be. In that sense, the They is the diametric opposite of the Subject. Khaledian psychoanalysis implies that They is meant to break down the Subject, but never beckons the Subject away from the They, but encourages the Subject to act against the Will of the They—to perform Perfection at all times, to be Smart and Loyal! Khaled himself is on an ideological crusade to digitally document his success to the chagrin of They, employing the excesses of capitalism to do so, as it is, in the Khaledian school, the basest and most obvious indicator of Success.

Is Khaledian psychoanalysis a positive philosophy?

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He’s content.

Khaledian psychoanalysis is incorrigibly liminal, caught between Good and Bad. Its irreconcilable ties to capitalism situate it—at least in our contemporary context—as an extremely violent and deadly force, both undeniably to anyone outside the Subjective network, and arguably to those within it.

Yet, Khaledian psychoanalysis also sees the universal, radical acceptance of the We, the appreciation of the You, and the unadulterated love of the I. Even functioning within a violent capitalist structure, the positivity of Khaledian psychoanalysis is extremely promising—and even subversive in its acceptance of what seems to be an omnipresent, irremovable evil.

Is Khaledian psychoanalysis tenable? One is tempted to say yes. Only time will tell.

Does digital rights activism have an image problem?

~ Jose Medina ~ Leave a comment

The use of media in social movements is a double-edged sword.

On December 30, 2015, Edward Snowden shared a video on his Twitter account by theJuiceMedia titled “A message from George Orwell: your digital rights.”

Given the valuable endorsement from Snowden, it is certainly worth a watch. If you don’t, here is a brief recap.

The clear message was that digital rights are extremely important, and they should be viewed as indistinguishable from human rights. The stakes of preserving rights in the digital world and the physical world are one in the same. The protagonist was unequivocally against Internet censorship, in favor of net neutrality, and against unfettered state surveillance—the latter receiving the most attention.

The video’s protagonist also attacks the misconception that one should only care about digital privacy if someone has something to hide—perhaps the most common misconception ailing the digital privacy rights movement. He quotes Snowden’s oft-employed analogy that using the “nothing to hide” excuse to not care about privacy is like not caring about free speech because you have nothing to say.

The message was important. Although it was a very brief video, the crucial themes addressed represent an expansive universe of digital rights advocacy that interested parties can begin to start investigating further.

That, of course, is an aim of advocacy: introducing ideas that others should care about, and encouraging them to dig deeper and ultimately get involved. In that sense, the video could be a very effective tool to spur involvement. That very well could have been the intent of the video.

Yet, the message will be lost on many.

There are a few obvious inhibitors to getting involved in digital rights activism. The big one is normalization, or the belief that any privacy violations that occur now or will occur in the future are a regular part of one’s everyday digital life. Another is apathy, or the belief that it does not matter one way or another whether someone is peeking in—that is, until it affects them in an observable way, like identity theft or financial ruin. A third is that it’s “just hard.” Tor is not intuitive, and neither are many other encryption-based applications, so people often opt for convenience.

But there is a fourth reason at work, and it is one that also hurts activists in other movements.

Digital privacy activism has an image problem.

In the above-referenced video, the protagonist plays a character named George Torwell, a play on the name of 1984’s George Orwell. He dons a John Waters-esque pencil-thin mustache and an ill-fitting suit, affecting a mid-Atlantic accent in a setting reminiscent of a low-budget high school theater production: a table with a typewriter, rotary phone, and ashtray, among other things. It is meant to be humorous, with exaggerated typing and masterful gesticulations and facial expressions, and if it intends to entertain, it can be argued that it certainly does.

Why is the image problem an actual problem?

In its absurdity, the image of the digital rights activist is unfortunately reduced to a stereotype rather than reinforcing the activist as a real person with a real-world concern.

The fictional protagonist comes off as staunchly fictional and difficult to relate to. This causes the message about the reality of the digital world to lose its power over theatrics. The video, although entertaining, does not successfully spur involvement. It alienates, treating digital rights activism like a plot-point more so than a reality.

The only reason I am writing about this is not to trash an entertaining YouTube video, but because this is part of a larger image problem plaguing the digital rights movement.

Activist movements of all flavors are often generalized to make the message more accessible to the public. Because of this, we as a public will often see a lot of stereotypes at play in hopes that it will lead to better understandings of the issues. In popular culture, digital privacy activists are depicted in extremes as either “computer hackers” or “young, foolish anarchists.”

How do we see hackers?

Hackers are certainly an essential part of the digital rights movement, and have been from the very beginning. Hidden in the Internet counter-culture, they are experts of the terrain that is the World Wide Web, and have the skills and expertise to defend it—and, for better or worse, democratize it. Yet, hacker stereotypes dominate general discussions about what they are and how they are perceived.

Privacy advocate and George Washington University Law Professor Daniel Solove compiled a series of “hacker” stock photos in a LinkedIn article. Stock photos are often heavy caricatures of what they aspire to represent, whether it is a doctor with a giant stethoscope and reflex hammer, or a businessperson in a black suit holding a briefcase and cell phone, smiling. The hacker image, what could generally be represented as someone hunched over a computer or standing in a server room, is taken further.

The hackers in the pictures are wearing ski masks and gloves—presumably to cover their fingerprints. Most are dressed in all-black in the same way that a burglar or a thief would be. A surprising number of hackers are in suits and ties, donning either balaclavas or pantyhose over their head to obscure their identity. Several are actually holding their laptops clumsily, as if they were hacking on-the-go.

Why is he holding a magnifying glass? Why is he wearing winter gloves?

It is no surprise that stock pictures of hackers are not meant to be charitable or accurate, but it is not just inaccuracy. These representations communicate two things: hackers are criminals—and very foolish, goofy ones at that.

What of the second stereotype?

The “young, foolish anarchists” see a lot of overlap with the hacker persona, a la Anonymous, wearing Guy Fawkes masks. Initially a symbol of anarchic revolution in the face of a corrupt system, eventually became another meme—a symbol of ridicule for angsty teens that wanted anonymity “just to say whatever they wanted without repercussion.”

Gabriella Coleman has already done excellent work on the image of Anonymous and its successes and shortcomings, so I don’t intend to spend too much time on this point. Beyond the organizational success of Anonymous as a hacker group, many still have a negative perception of them and of sites like 4chan, not considering them to be legitimate.

So what’s the problem?

One problem is that these images give you little to no insight on what the issues of the movement are. The public cannot be expected to take an issue seriously unless it is grounded in reality. Videos like the one referenced previously are capable of educating and providing important tidbits of information, but the means of delivery creates an image that separates the reality of digital rights from the creative, fictitious depiction of it. This can be attributing to directorial choices, background music, or any number of things that otherwise shifts the power of media away from education and into mere digital consumption.

Another problem—and one that I have written about in my previous research—is that a major limitation in advancing information security and privacy rights is because activists severely lack an image of social legitimacy. There are many well-respected, established academics, computer scientists, and brilliant programmers who have advanced the movement with their expertise and work, but their faces and characters elude the general public, and the perception of “evil hacker” persists.

It is undeniably a major challenge to make the digital into something conceptually accessible without resorting to stereotypes. I think that after years of very valuable and important private dialogue that we are quite close.

So, what can we do?

The execution of the message is as significant as its content. We should encourage designers, writers, and other artists to humanize the digital rights movement in a meaningful way. Historically speaking, the movement has been [aptly] dominated by computer scientists and engineers, but there has been an increasing curiosity about the Internet emerging from the social sciences and humanities camps.

Art is also making its way into surveillance discourse in very productive and meaningful ways—particularly in the works of artists like Trevor Paglen and Hasan Elahi (whom I will likely be writing about in the future). There are many stories to be told across the different issues within the digital rights arena, and we have to experiment with new ways of expressing them.

If we want to solve the image problem, would it not be wise to seek the involvement of those who are proficient at creating and manipulating images? Our brilliant activists have made much progress over the years, but with the increasing omnipresence of the digital, the world could certainly benefit from artists to emphasize the meaningfulness of the movement without succumbing to poor, unimaginative stereotypes.