
Posted on March 3, 2012 at 1:23 pm in Books, Writers | RSS feed | Respond | Trackback URL

Damn. That’s brilliant. Looks like I’ll be reading Open City next after all.
Teju Cole has asked the wrong question. The question is this: what are you going to do about it? Are you going to sit in a crowded coffee shop and tweet about it while taking calls from your ‘people’ and working on your next novel? Or are you going to try and stop it? Because if you aren’t trying to stop it, then you’re accepting it as a fact of life, and that nothing can be done about it, except tell other people about it, and by this point it should be fairly obvious that talking about it, discussing it with people who either know or don’t want to know, isn’t going to change anything. Talk is cheap. The question is: why doesn’t anyone do anything about anything? Why does everyone – and by everyone, I mean me, you, Teju Cole, the United States of America as a whole – just sit and stare at it all and then mumble into our little digital mouthpieces? Why are we paralyzed and unable to move into action? Does Teju Cole have an answer for that? What’s our complicity in all of this? He blames it on some guy wearing a fleece windbreaker, some guy just doing his job. Maybe all of us are just doing our job, too. And our job is to do nothing. Just be the audience. And then chatter about it. Chatter, chatter, chatter. People talk, people talk, people talk.
^ Zizek is a tricky one. He’s the official court jester of late capitalism. Half of what he says is spot on and the other half is a gag. I don’t know which half the above quote is. It could be both.
In the end, it seems to me that sea and land were compassed to make one proselyte, and when that proselyte was made, he became twofold more the child of alienation.
Alienation, of the Redwood from its roots, of the river from its source, of the skyscrapers from their foundations beneath the concrete jungle, that aporia and desiccation of hope which is the mark of the post-modern condition, the waywardness of late capitalism and its neoliberal evangelists.
Yes, it goes without saying that the topmost branches of such trees, the penthouse suites, these are also the commanding heights, the very excellent vantage points for pushing the buttons of ‘Aerial Bombing’, but this is also a metaphor for riverbeds, for wadis long forgotten by the rain, for Icarus, for the descent of and into Babel, this is the cleft in the rock of soulless conditions, the bedrock of Suicide Bombing and Fundamentalism.
I am thinking of the moral dilemmas of being on the ground as was the case of that famed pied noir, Camus, and the much simpler choice, for justice, that Sartre had to make. Indeed. Such is the prerogative of Aerial bombers. Am I not an aerial bomber in my firm belief that Israel should stop the occupation? I live safely, far, far away, until that day when, ‘It ain’t safe anymore.’
Is one not forced, by being in the world, to sometimes play the aerial bomber and at other times the one being bombed, perhaps by a suicide bomber? Is this incommensurable?Think. Think. Should one distance oneself from power? Should one join in Badiou’s disaster? Or should one be patient, refrain from hasty generalizations, analyse finely, put off that final judgement and engagement, interminably?
How should one analyse this, one’s doing nothing? Analysis is double-edged sword, a man can self-justify anything, Aerial Bombing, Suicide Bombing or being the Ghost of Derrida Present. It’s not critical reasoning that will compel you to act, whenever you finally do. It always is faith. Ok,I’ll meet you halfway: faith in your rational convictions. Have the courage of your convictions.