#Debates2020

Regardless of your political affiliation, everyone can agree: the first Presidential Debate in the 2020 election cycle was a disaster. While both candidates engaged in personal attacks and exchanged heated words more befitting a playground than the world stage, President Trump's performance was by far the more aggressive of the night, and the more interesting to analyze along with this week's reading.

In my opinion, here are the President's top five worst moments from the 2020 Presidential Debate last night:

5. Trump claimed that no one has gotten sick at his rallies, after a member of his own campaign contracted COVID and died while campaigning for him.  

4. Trump blamed the California wildfires on California’s forest management strategies in order to deflect from his dangerous climate change policies.

3. Trump’s repeated use of racist and inflammatory language (“China virus” for COVID, “Pocahontas” for Elizabeth Warren).

2. “I don’t know Beau. I know Hunter.”—Trump interrupts Biden’s discussion of his late son Beau, a Bronze Star recipient, to attack Biden’s living son Hunter for his struggle with addiction. (The response to this is the best Biden moment of the night.)

1. “Proud Boys, stand back and stand by.”

 Honorable mention goes to Trump lying about mail-in ballots being dumped in rivers, and bragging about bringing back football.

I found Trump’s refusal to denounce white supremacist terrorist groups confusing, but not surprising, and I was reminded of a passage in Crowley’s Toward a Civil Discourse that might allow us to unpack the motivations for the Trump campaign to so blatantly align themselves with white nationalists. Crowley states that “the social agenda that motivates the religious Right is of little interest to economic  conservatives, but their acquiescence to it was required in order to amalgamate a voter base that was not sufficiently extensive to elect conservatives to office” (6). There is no logical connection between fiscal conservatism and apocalyptist Christian values. Jesus never said, “Let there be tax breaks for the wealthy,” and women’s reproductive rights are of no concern to rich men who want to stay that way.

According to an Atlantic article released yesterday, entitled “Trump Secretly Mocks His Christian Supporters,” Trump has a tendency to “ridicule conservative religious leaders, dismiss various faith groups with cartoonish stereotypes, and deride certain rites and doctrines held sacred by many of the Americans who constitute his base” (Coppins). It seems that at least in the Trump administration, Crowley was absolutely right—apocalyptist Christians are viewed as pawns in Trump’s political game, not valued members of his constituency. Christian values are not Trump’s values, any more than Wall Street values are religious values.

What I find interesting is that many members of the religious Right appear to have understood this arrangement from the start. The morning before I cast my ballot in 2016, I visited a family member in her home. She was watching a religious program, and as the end of the program drew near, the televangelist reminded his audience to vote. “Remember,” he said, “you’re not electing a choir boy. You’re electing the president of the United States.” Evangelicals are under no illusions that Trump behaves in ways that align with their moral and social values--in short, they understand that a deal with Donald Trump is a deal with the devil, but the promise of a conservative Supreme Court was too tempting.

Trump has similarly aligned himself with racists and white nationalists. Donald Trump has a history of racism—his housing discrimination, attacks on the Central Park Five, and campaign rhetoric about Mexicans are a few examples that immediately spring to mind. However, I have to wonder whether enacting racist policy is Donald Trump’s goal, or whether this rhetoric is an attempt to galvanize another block of voters, whose interests are not religious or financial, but nationalist and white supremacist. There is, again, no logical connection between the religious Right, fiscal conservatives, and Proud Boys or the Ku Klux Klan. 

How did this faction of voters become such a critical part of Donald Trump's base? How are Christians and fiscal conservatives being persuaded to vote alongside these extremist groups? Are Donald Trump's racist remarks and policies politically motivated (to attract voters), financially motivated (to amass wealth), or something else? And just for fun, what was your worst 2020 Presidential Debate moment?

"Never Forget"

 

I recall exactly where I was when the events of 9/11 occurred. I was sitting in a high school classroom with my best friend, ironically named Kurt (I reference Vonnegut later). I remember watching the towers fall, and I remember teachers handling this in different ways. Some stopped everything to allow us to watch the old bubble television and listen to updates while others moved about their day as if nothing happened. Like many people, when 9/11 rolls around on the calendar, my friends and I, especially the one who was right next to me, talk about this day. It is obviously something I will never forget.

“Never forget.” That is the phrase, right? Every year on 9/11, we see the phrase “never forget” pop up all over the place, and I think it generally has good intentions. And, until relatively recently, I had no idea how complicated that phrase can be. Who has forgotten the events of 9/11? Is there really a chance somebody has? Or is that just a message to those of us old enough to remember? Should I find it odd when a person who did not exist in 2001 tweets out “never forget?” Also, what exactly are we in danger of forgetting? The event in general? The people who tragically perished on that day? The people who risked (and gave) their life to save others? More so, who am I saying it to in the first place? Those of us who live far away and experienced it via our television and computer? Or those who were there and who physically experienced it? I would imagine the answer “everybody.”

The problem is that “everybody” is different from “everybody.” This past 9/11, a man I know who lived in New York posted a lengthy thread about the nature of “never forget” and how it affects him as somebody who was actually there. In the morning, he went outside and was absolutely baffled that there was essentially no traffic in the streets. He did not understand what had happened in his own city until he went back inside and saw it on the television. Shocked and afraid, he talked about how the events unfolded, and how he watched and talked to local people, literally sharing in their pain. What we are asking him to “never forget” is already impossible for him to do. He cannot forget it, though he desperately wishes he could.

To be clear, I am not encouraging the idea that we should “never forget.” Frankly, I don’t know what the right answer is here pertaining to using that phrase. What I merely want to draw attention to here is the polysemic nature of the phrase itself. I, a man in my mid thirties who was barely a teenager at the time, do not engage with this phrase in the same way that the man I am referencing does. For him, asking him to “never forget” is also forcing him to remember absolute pain. Pain he could not escape by going home or going about his daily business, or by going back to school and high school sports the next day. He knew people who lost loved ones. He saw their faces in real time and in the flesh. I did not. He and I do not even remember the same thing we are being asked for “never forget.”

Now, as I read Sandra Silverstein’s War of Words, I am thinking back on a lot of phrases and words that were used during the events of 9/11 and how they shaped the world I grew up in. Hell, even 9/11 likely rings a little differently for me than the young person who only knows it via their parents, textbooks, and YouTube. What about them? Can they “never forget” something they did not experience in the first place?

Naturally, this whole thing has got me thinking. I think that in some sense, I was so outraged by the events that when retaliation bombings occurred, I never even questioned it (at the time). I blindly followed, and upon reflection, the rhetoric of words kind of makes me shiver a bit.

Speaking of blind faith, whenever I hear that term, I usually think of Kurt Vonnegut, who I believe once said that he found “unquestioning faith” to be “terrifying and absolutely vile.” For me personally, I cannot even blindly follow my own religion, let alone anything else.

That is why I was so intrigued by the “National Cathedral” section in Silverstein’s text, located inside the “Becoming President” chapter. As language transitioned from condemning an act of “evil” to experiencing an act of “war,” faith was profoundly linked to the upcoming war that would define the next decade plus of life. And, I think for a good while, there was a lot of this “blind faith” that was linked to this new war. I am intrigued by the language maneuverings mentioned in the text. Now in 2020, I can look back with nearly two decades of new information and become critical of a number of things (and less critical of others), and regardless of whether or not I support or condemn decisions that were made, it is obvious that my blind faith at the time gave me a crystal clear window of vision for a particular agenda, whereas my more current criticism has opened my eyes to see things quite differently. I was in fact blind. Now I see.

 

Contemporary Rhetoric . . . 

RBG's Passing

 On Friday night, the iconic Supreme Court Justice ruth Bader Ginsburg passed away at the age of 87. I'm sure many of you, like myself, were grief-stricken upon hearing the news. RBG led an amazing life and worked to keep democracy in check as best as she could in her position.

Not even two hours after her passing, Senator Mitch McConnell announced his intent to fill her Supreme Court vacancy before the election occurs this November. This being unheard of in our history as a nation, it also goes against RBG's dying wish to not have her seat filled until a new president was in office. You can think what you want about this, but I think this is a shitty move, especially considering he tactlessly announced this on the night of her death. It's classless, but McConnell's concern isn't etiquette. 

Trump already has his nominee's for RBG's replacement lined up. Personally, I see this going a couple ways. The first being Trump replaces RBG and the newly appointed justice will likely want to call laws they disagree with into question. Roe v Wade, ACA, and other have been discussed in the Twitterverse as being in jeopardy. The other potential option I see happening is somehow they block the position from being filled before the election, which will encourage larger voter turnouts to try and control the seat.

Regardless of how this all shakes out, I am genuinely afraid. It is terrifying to feel as though basic rights were dependent upon the life of an 87 year old cancer patient, but somehow this is kind of where we are?? Not for everyone of course. But for women, the LGBTQ+ community, minorities...this is a time of heavy concern, as the coming events could restrict rights and be detrimental.

(Sorry for a gloom and doom post. I just really needed to process my feelings on this one.)

A Thief's Words

This will not be an elaborate or detail specific post, but I do not think that negates its importance. Today, as we discussed John W. Jordan's "Reshaping the 'Pillow Angel'" text, I admit that my own feelings may have gotten in the way a bit. In that sense, I am glad to have been able to listen to my peers and my instructor as they too elaborated on the essay and its contents, but in the end, the essay has left me with some residual thoughts that I felt the need to share.

I am not Ashley or her parents. I do not know their exact pain and neither do I know Ashley's, and while I admit that I am critical of their decision, I must confess that I am doing so strictly from my own initial experiences as a father of a disabled child. I think that perhaps most frustrating is that I made an evaluation on them as if I knew them because I know my child. While trying to protect my own child, I made it about me, not her, not Ashley, and not her parents. Maybe that is just a normal reaction, though?

As I see it, "normal" is both absolutely ridiculous and entirely inevitable. What I mean by that is on a planet of billions, any attempt at calling something "normal" seems preposterous. That said, thinking of something as "normal" is also inevitable as we understand the world by the context provided to us through our birth. Where I am from, how old I am, what I look like, how I identify, what I believe, and so much more shape our initial definition of "normal," or our experienced reality. Secondly though, that initial definition is only full realized upon its juxtaposition against another person who went through the same process, similar or not. We may not even be aware of "normal" until we are away from it or see a different version of it, and when we do, we try to mold it to our own experiences as if it were some malleable, palpable thing. I think this is where I failed a little bit in my analysis of Jordan's text, though I am not ready to fall back on my opinions.

In other words, I want to try to be a little more careful upon my next text that I find emotionally charging, especially if it has immediate personal relevance, much as Jordan's text did. I felt, and still feel, like a thief. I feel like I stole their story and made it my own, and while that might not be a bad thing to some degree, I also left behind a perspective that is not my own, and I did so rather wildly.

I suppose what I am trying to say then is that emotion is a real challenge for me, as I would imagine it is for many of my peers. It is the entity that allowed me to feel, connect, challenge, and even become analytical as I engaged with the text, yet it was also the vehicle that caused me to stop listening and begin molding based on what I felt was "normal."

In the end, I remain critical of the entire situation, but I do believe I gained a new level of appreciation on perspectives. I think my awareness of this will be a good thing moving forward, and I very much look forward to sharing our unique perspectives on other issues.

From Public Screen to Dystopia: Facebook, Algorithms, and Disinformation

The public sphere has dissolved. In its place, the public screen. Though their article was published over ten years ago, Kevin DeLuca's and Jennifer Peeples' article highlights cultural moments not unlike our own. In over more than 2000 U.S. cities and towns, protesters took to the streets, producing images critiquing police brutality and the egregious killing of George Floyd. In some cities and towns, the protests continue. DeLuca and Peeples, if having written their article today, would still be interested in the obsessive focus on violence. But one thing is missing here: 

Social Media. 

If written today, what would DeLuca and Peeples say about Facebook? About fake news or disinformation? What about the thousands upon thousands of bots that patrol Twitter, populating threads with disinformation or images from unrelated events parading them as contextually accurate? I don't think DeLuca and Peeples were necessarily optimistic with these "new conditions for...participatory democracy" but they refer to technologies that many people don't participate in anymore, like watching television for the news or reading newspapers (126). I do, however, believe that DeLuca and Peeples lay the foundation for us to discuss this new public sphere. First, they warn that "we cannot simply adopt the term 'public sphere' and all it entails" because that form relies on speech and text, not screens. Little did they know how important "screens" would become 18 years later. They were optimistic, however, in the potential of these screens to influence grassroots movements. Movements like Black Lives Matter. 

Some sources say that BLM is the biggest movement in American history. It's also a movement built online. So DeLuca and Peeples were correct in stating that this new arena of discourse allows those who are disenfranchised, voiceless, and marginalized a platform to participate in democracy. It's difficult to disagree with this statement. Hypermediacy allows us to consume information in a plethora of different ways and on different screens. This exposes us to the evil corporations are hiding from us or the murderers that put on a uniform and claim to protect us. Like DeLuca and Peeples state, this sort of exposure can force big corporations into bending the knee or to bring justice to black folks murdered by the police. But there's another side to this coin and it has the power to destroy democracy--if it hasn't already (sorry for being so cynical, Mike).

On any given day we might see a tweet that directs us to a trending topic. We then read from that source. If maximum virality is achieved, then we might see this same story mediated through other mediums (memes, images, gifs, tik-tok videos, etc.). There is simply too much to consume on any given day. And most of it is meant to enrage us, nudging us to sharpen our pitchforks. Alas, we sit furiously behind our computer screens, tablets, or cellphones, tweeting and posting and sharing. DeLuca and Peeples sort of address this onslaught of information by saying its simply impossible to keep up with all of it (135). To them, it isn't a bad thing and, perhaps, even good that we choose what to consume and what not to consume. 

But DeLuca and Peeples don't talk about algorithms. They don't talk about the rich white dudes in silicon valley forcibly colonizing the entire planet with their toxic social media platforms (see this article). How could they when Zuckerberg didn't start Facebook until 2004? Since then, many scholars have discussed this same dissolution of the public sphere. Instead of the media cherry picking images of violence, it's artificial intelligence and it knows all about you. It knows what gifs you'll watch or likely skip, it knows when you are near your crush, and it's fighting for your attention. Though this new frontier of public discourse is promising, affording movements like BLM to take hold and gain traction, the flip side of the coin is much, much darker. Truth is bent and shaped into a grotesque monster on this side of the coin and information, regardless of credibility, is used advantageously, often against the common good.

DeLuca and Peeples have many important and valuable things to say that we in 2020 should be paying attention to. But, like the rich white boys in silicon valley, they couldn't anticipate how fucked these screens and devices would make us. 

The Public Screen and Symbolic Violence in 2020

 DeLuca and Peeples’ discussion of the productive role of violence in social protests on the public screen seems even more relevant almost 20 years later.  

In covering the WTO protests in Seattle, newspapers and television news casts alike came to the same mistaken conclusion, “violence and property destruction diverted attention from the basic point the demonstrators sought to make – the need to reform the WTO’s procedures and values.” We hear this today in onscreen debates – that violent protestors would more effectively get their points across if they were protesting peacefully. Yet, DeLuca and Peeples’ analysis of news coverage found that the visuals of the violent protests actually increased coverage for the cause and were paired with quotes from demonstrators and information about the goals of the protest. In addition to the visually compelling nature of the violent protests, the demonstration’s emphasis on conflict and drama increased coverage as the news cycle progressed through the week. 

DeLuca and Peeples concluded that “symbolic protest violence is often a necessary prerequisite to highlight the nonviolent elements of a movement that might otherwise be marginalized in the daily struggle for media coverage.” Today it seems, news media still cover protests because of their violent nature - and still mistakenly claim that they would get more attention if they protested peacefully - but because they no longer cover the intent of the protest and offer first-hand accounts of protestors and counter-protestors to the same extent, they cease to play as productive a role as before in the participatory democracy of the public screen.  

Not only have I noticed a failure to discuss the intent of movements like BLM, but a general spread of disinformation for adjacent movement Defund the Police has become increasingly prevalent. Right-leaning news media often characterize the Defund the Police movement as an attempt to abolish the police force and encourage a socialist agenda. However, left-leaning media tend to either assume audiences already understand the intent of the Defund the Police movement or simply fail to mention it.  

Another factor that potentially denigrates the productive role of symbolic violence in protests today is the violence perpetrated by those attempting to rein in the protestors and counter-protestors and the general increase in bodily harm and death – or at least the increased reporting of bodily harm and death. The current trend of violence leading to more violence seems to call into question the productive role of symbolically violent protests.  

So, what is the impact of symbolically violent protests today? What does their role look like now? What does participatory democracy look like within the public screen in 2020?  I’d also be interested in examining the role social media has played in transforming not only news coverage but the public screen in general. Not only are movements easier to organize more quickly and on a larger scale, but they give individuals more agency when communicating with larger groups.  

Amusing Ourselves to Death: Huxley Fanfic or Habermas?

 Throughout Amusing Ourselves to Death, author Neil Postman repeatedly references George Orwell and Aldous Huxley, famous utopian novelists. So much so that readers should have been warned that 1984, Animal Farm and Brave New World were required prerequisite reading.  

While their relevance to Postman’s argument is unmistakable, I found it difficult to separate Postman’s arguments from Habermas’ description of the bourgeois public sphere and its subsequent disintegration. Instead of prerequisite reading, I’d argue Habermas and Postman are companion reads. They are better understood as supporting texts. 

Habermas defines a few key characteristics of the bourgeois public sphere that Postman uses to define the Age of Typography. Habermas describes the bourgeois public sphere as rational, equal, open and democratic as seen in early colonial America as described by Postman (Habermas, Donnelly lecture notes). In “The Typographic Mind’ chapter, Postman uses politics, theology, law and advertising to demonstrate how early Americans would sit for hours consuming content that instilled critical thinking skills and demonstrated a love for learning and discourse. Thousands gathered to hear the Lincoln-Douglas debates, hour-long debates structured as written arguments spoken aloud, for politicians who weren’t even up for the presidential office. They wanted to hear both sides of a fully flushed out argument. In addition, all advertisements were descriptive and honest. Someone was convicted or indicted based on the quality of the argument rather than the quality of the opposing counsel’s suit. These all exemplified the rational, equal, open, democratic bourgeois public sphere, which was possible through the critical-rational American mindset developed by the age of typography (Postman, p. 45-63). 

Habermas describes the bourgeois public sphere as capable of rational-critical, disinterested debate among diverse people who function as relative equals, despite unequal social positions (Habermas, Donnelly). Postman uses Thomas Paine as an example of how someone with lowly origins, with little formal schooling and of the lowest laboring class before emigrating, could be placed on the same level as Voltaire and Rousseau. What’s more, his Common Sense sold an unprecedented number of copies, meaning that all citizens in America were discussing and debating his philosophy no matter their station (p. 35). 

Finally, Habermas describes the bourgeois class as a new form of publicness. Individuals have access to reliable information that makes critical debate of public opinion possible (Habermas, Donnelly). Postman argues that America experienced unprecedented literacy rates, incomparable to anywhere in Europe. Book sales in early America couldn’t hold a candle to today, despite a dramatic increase in formal schooling (p. 31-35). Postman uses these examples to argue early Americans’ critical-rational mindset developed because of the age of typography, yet they also reinforce early America as a bourgeois public sphere. 

Habermas argues that the bourgeois public sphere disintegrated as a result of increased inclusivity, the commodification of mass media and the blurring distinction between state and society (Donnelly). 

While Postman does not explicitly detail increased inclusivity in America, we can see it through the lens of the Age of Television nonetheless. Today, it’s difficult to find two people who have read the same book (present company excluded). However, it is very easy to find dozens of shows or movies two individuals have shared (every student in my ENG 103 placement has seen Lucifer – and rightfully so). In fact, it’s nearly impossible to consider the inaccessibility of television to Americans today. Even if you don’t have a particular platform subscription, you have your roommate’s ex-boyfriend's brother’s HBO Go account information to watch the series finale of Game of Thrones. While Postman does not explicitly detail television’s impact on increased inclusivity, it can be inferred by the sheer ubiquity of television in America, or at least by his description of the sheer ubiquity of American television abroad (p. 88).  

It is difficult to find a specific example to illustrate the Age of Television’s impact of the commodification of mass media, not because it’s elusive, but because you can’t choose just one. Mass media has commodified everything. Postman dedicates an entire chapter just to the commodification of religion through television as just one example (pp. 114-125).  

Finally, the blurring of the distinction between state and society can be attributed to the Age of Television through, well – let's just look at who was president of the United States when Amusing Ourselves to Death was written. Hint, it was an actor-turned-president.  

In an effort to reclaim this blog-turned-thesis-driven essay, I will leave you with this. Habermas and Postman should have collaborated (I checked, they were born 2 years apart). If only to have made Habermas a bit more palatable and Postman a bit less reliant on Huxley and Orwell to drive home his points.  

TL;DR - The Age of Typography created a bourgeois public sphere in early America that was destroyed by The Age of Television using means defined by Habermas. NP + JH.