It would be too easy for me, on this Memorial Day’s eve, to merely lob the usual salutations to the legions of American soldiers who have died in combat over the years. Ultimately, such praise for their valor ought to be something we recognize and appreciate more often than once every three hundred and sixty five days.
But since it is only once a year that our vast and often politically wedged people come together to visibly cherish the memories and sacrifices of these brave souls, perhaps we ought to consider what is becoming of this hallowed day in light of our nation’s recent, er, “international conduct.”
The story of Memorial Day begins in 1866, when the burnt and bloodied battlefields of the Civil War still stank of sulfur and rotting limbs. On May 6 of that year, Field General John Murray returned to his hometown of Waterloo, New York, a tiny, thicketed and utterly unimportant township tucked between the Cayuga and Seneca shores, and declared the day in honor of the town’s fallen. Two years later, John A. Logan, then commander of the Grand Army of the Republic, declared May 30 as “Memorial Day,” a holiday which eventually gained congressional recognition to honor the Union dead, and, after World War I, causalities of any American “war or military action.”
Apologies to the Confederacy, whose dead just don’t count. I guess this is how we punish you (besides taking away your slaves) for starting all that.
It has been over sixty years now (despite what certain imbeciles in large White Houses will tell you) since our nation has had to fight a war relevant to preserving our way of life in the manner that the Civil War and two World Wars did in the first eighty years that we celebrated Memorial Day. Sixty years is a long time, and hopefully we will not have to fight another war of that nature for another sixty years, if ever.
But still, during these past sixty some odd years, nearly 390,000 American soldiers have died or been wounded while engaged in a “war or military action.” Perhaps most repugnant is that nearly a third of these soldiers were involuntarily conscripted by the Selective Service, and, more recently, countless others were effectively yanked from their non-combat volunteer positions as Coast and National Guardsmen to die randomly and unceremoniously in some Iraqi desert—like that’s real fucking fair, how is that “supporting our troops?”
Memorial Day has historically been a celebration of our unity as a country. Most explicitly in its roots as a celebration of the soldiers who fought to save our union, but also implicitly in its power to bring communities of diverse backgrounds and politics together. At a time when political ambitions seem to be best served by manipulating the public agenda to emphasize our few differences, Memorial Day is a rare opportunity to reset our social perception, escape Karl Rove’s brilliant delusion, and realize what we all share in common—besides greed, high cholesterol, and an inexplicable attraction to American Idol.
We need Memorial Day as a unifying institution just as much as we need it as a solemn day of remembrance. While Ben Franklin’s adage “UNITE OR DIE!” may be a bit extreme, it nonetheless resonates just as powerfully now as ever before.
But by coercively staffing our armed forces and fighting unjust and irrelevant imperial wars, we not only marginalize the sacrifice of our soldiers, but we also marginalize the sanctity, and reduce the unifying power, of institutions like Memorial Day.
For most of these past sixty years, the US has exacerbated its role as unilateral world policeman and has often crossed into the dangerous territory of liberal imperialist. For most of the past sixty years, the US has also elected Presidents who lacked both the political foresight and knowledge of history to understand the ruinous consequences of attempting to maintain unipolar international dominance: global resentment, over-extension of resources and, last but not least, domestic division.
All in all, a recipe for disaster in America that even a McCain voter could realize.
With the vigorous pan-regional movements of the twentieth century, and the most recent success of the European Union, many leading political scientists suggest that the world is heading toward a Kantian “perpetual peace,” that is, one in which nation-states federate under a single world government. It may sound more science fiction than political science, but the idea is neither new nor farfetched.
As it is then, US belligerence and arrogant international behavior over the past sixty years has not only marginalized our soldiers sacrifices, eroded our country’s unifying institutions, and damaged our respect in the international community, but is has also risked our inevitable future status as a mere nation among nations.
Yeah, that’s right, screaming, “America, fuck yeah!” is going to be a whole hell of a lot like screaming, “Bulgaria, fuck yeah!” a lot sooner than you think.
But if we can right this ship, perhaps at the polls next November, then we might just have a chance in the future to restore the full sanctity of days like Memorial Day, and in so doing, bring our country together to heal the divisiveness of the past political era.
By doing these things, we will restore our international reputation as global leaders, not imperialists, affording the next generation of Americans (my generation) the opportunity to lead, and not merely be lead into, the emerging world order.
So as you fire up that propane grill and fly that flag this Memorial Day, think about where that propane came from and what that flag means. Though our efforts to procure the former may very well have muddied your understanding or appreciation of the latter, know that help is less than six months away and coming to a polling station near you on the second Tuesday in November.
And I’ll give you a hint: he ain’t named John McCain.
26 May 2008
22 May 2008
The Origins and Implications of My Liberal Egalitarianism
As previously alluded to, and after much delay (finals, moving across the country, etc.), here is the entry I promised which explains and reconciles my philosophy with my politics.
In my previous entry, I began to explain my politics by making an argument for liberal egalitarianism which philosophically assumed that the original constitutional values of our country are somehow morally “true” and self-evident. This argument sought to prove how liberal egalitarianism, by reflecting the moral truths embedded in our constitution and in the spirit of our founding, is the only “true” political view.
I felt it necessary to make this argument first because our society largely tends to believe that (for the most part) our constitutional values and the way we arrived at them are expressions of cardinal human truths.
Ultimately, it was really a more functional argument that explains my leanings within the false framework of popular American philosophical understanding than a philosophical argument that explains my views within the proper context.
This latter argument is the one I will now present, and in it I will argue for liberal egalitarianism as a refusal to acquiesce to the normative implications of the post-modern reality in which we contextually exist.
A seminal post-modern philosopher, Michel Foucault explains post-modernity as a consequence of the “power-knowledge” relationship. He argues that, through their interactions, men create social structures (formal and informal) that come to govern and direct human behavior. He argues that the power men export to this “social bureaucracy” restricts their knowledge of the real world. That is to say, their values, their assumptions, their linguistic means of communication—their entire perception of reality—are then shaped by bureaucratic social structures.
At the same time, this restriction of knowledge increases the power of the social bureaucratic structure, completing a vicious cycle. As he writes,
“The formation of knowledge and the increase of power regularly reinforce one another in a circular manner.” (Foucault, 224)
As this cycle continued over history, the nature of human nature changed. The radical contingency into which the first man was born was no more. Indeed, the modern man is not born free, but rather veiled by the reality with which he has been presented—a reality that was shaped by the power structures his ancestors had perpetuated. Not only then does existence precede essence (as Sartre would say), but society precedes all of the above, effectively denying any notion of “free-will.”
Foucault formulates this denial in part through a bureaucratized understanding of linguistics. For Foucault, to even ask the question, “what is true,” either expressively or in one’s mind, is to submit to the terms of a given language. If language were objectively true, or natural to the world, then its use and implications could be considered an act of subjective free will.
However, Foucault believes that language is unstable. Meanings of words change over time and are not, in any way, attached to any particular reality. Therefore, to propose a question—or even to author an original thought—is to have already submitted to the overarching power structure of the social bureaucracy. To this extent he writes, “Power produces. The individual and the knowledge that may be gained of him belongs to this production.”
Since Nietzche introduced genealogical thought, we were bound to realize our baseless existence. I happen to agree with Foucault’s assertion that the knowledge we have is limited by the reality with which we are presented, and that the social structures we created have subsequently imprisoned us.
This sort of thought leads to a quite grim conception of human nature in which men are slaves to false prophets, and zealots crusading for hollow truths. Such conditions do not lend themselves well to the formulation of any sort of moral code or constitution, let alone notions of right or wrong, innocence or guilt.
As a matter of fact, such conditions do not lend themselves to anything but passive submission, a concept I cannot accept. I tend to agree with Noam Chomsky here, who argues that the blind formulation of social improvement based on partial and afflicted knowledge is still worth theorizing. As he said,
“Our concept of human nature is certainly limited by…the intellectual culture in which we exist. Yet at the same time it is of critical importance that we know what impossible goals we are trying to achieve, if we hope to achieve some of the possible goals. That means we have to…create social theories based on partial knowledge, while remaining very open to the strong possibility that…we’re very far off the mark.” (Chomsky-Foucault, 45)
My composite vision thus accepts the existence of Foucauldian post-modern reality, yet refuses to acquiesce to it. Even if we are only groping in the dark, our outstretched arms may very well scratch the surface of partial truths, which we can use to institutionalize a best-case scenario.
Liberal egalitarianism is not perfect, but why should it be? I would rather write down these words, accept that they are meaningless, and strive for something—anything—than simply lie in my cell, motionless yet quivering inside.
Perhaps my efforts are in vain; perhaps their very nature is that which pins me inside my cage. But if to a cage I am to be confined regardless, why not seek to improve that cage to the best of my ability—even if I’m just groping in the dark.
In my previous entry, I began to explain my politics by making an argument for liberal egalitarianism which philosophically assumed that the original constitutional values of our country are somehow morally “true” and self-evident. This argument sought to prove how liberal egalitarianism, by reflecting the moral truths embedded in our constitution and in the spirit of our founding, is the only “true” political view.
I felt it necessary to make this argument first because our society largely tends to believe that (for the most part) our constitutional values and the way we arrived at them are expressions of cardinal human truths.
Ultimately, it was really a more functional argument that explains my leanings within the false framework of popular American philosophical understanding than a philosophical argument that explains my views within the proper context.
This latter argument is the one I will now present, and in it I will argue for liberal egalitarianism as a refusal to acquiesce to the normative implications of the post-modern reality in which we contextually exist.
A seminal post-modern philosopher, Michel Foucault explains post-modernity as a consequence of the “power-knowledge” relationship. He argues that, through their interactions, men create social structures (formal and informal) that come to govern and direct human behavior. He argues that the power men export to this “social bureaucracy” restricts their knowledge of the real world. That is to say, their values, their assumptions, their linguistic means of communication—their entire perception of reality—are then shaped by bureaucratic social structures.
At the same time, this restriction of knowledge increases the power of the social bureaucratic structure, completing a vicious cycle. As he writes,
“The formation of knowledge and the increase of power regularly reinforce one another in a circular manner.” (Foucault, 224)
As this cycle continued over history, the nature of human nature changed. The radical contingency into which the first man was born was no more. Indeed, the modern man is not born free, but rather veiled by the reality with which he has been presented—a reality that was shaped by the power structures his ancestors had perpetuated. Not only then does existence precede essence (as Sartre would say), but society precedes all of the above, effectively denying any notion of “free-will.”
Foucault formulates this denial in part through a bureaucratized understanding of linguistics. For Foucault, to even ask the question, “what is true,” either expressively or in one’s mind, is to submit to the terms of a given language. If language were objectively true, or natural to the world, then its use and implications could be considered an act of subjective free will.
However, Foucault believes that language is unstable. Meanings of words change over time and are not, in any way, attached to any particular reality. Therefore, to propose a question—or even to author an original thought—is to have already submitted to the overarching power structure of the social bureaucracy. To this extent he writes, “Power produces. The individual and the knowledge that may be gained of him belongs to this production.”
Since Nietzche introduced genealogical thought, we were bound to realize our baseless existence. I happen to agree with Foucault’s assertion that the knowledge we have is limited by the reality with which we are presented, and that the social structures we created have subsequently imprisoned us.
This sort of thought leads to a quite grim conception of human nature in which men are slaves to false prophets, and zealots crusading for hollow truths. Such conditions do not lend themselves well to the formulation of any sort of moral code or constitution, let alone notions of right or wrong, innocence or guilt.
As a matter of fact, such conditions do not lend themselves to anything but passive submission, a concept I cannot accept. I tend to agree with Noam Chomsky here, who argues that the blind formulation of social improvement based on partial and afflicted knowledge is still worth theorizing. As he said,
“Our concept of human nature is certainly limited by…the intellectual culture in which we exist. Yet at the same time it is of critical importance that we know what impossible goals we are trying to achieve, if we hope to achieve some of the possible goals. That means we have to…create social theories based on partial knowledge, while remaining very open to the strong possibility that…we’re very far off the mark.” (Chomsky-Foucault, 45)
My composite vision thus accepts the existence of Foucauldian post-modern reality, yet refuses to acquiesce to it. Even if we are only groping in the dark, our outstretched arms may very well scratch the surface of partial truths, which we can use to institutionalize a best-case scenario.
Liberal egalitarianism is not perfect, but why should it be? I would rather write down these words, accept that they are meaningless, and strive for something—anything—than simply lie in my cell, motionless yet quivering inside.
Perhaps my efforts are in vain; perhaps their very nature is that which pins me inside my cage. But if to a cage I am to be confined regardless, why not seek to improve that cage to the best of my ability—even if I’m just groping in the dark.
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