Critical Race Theory



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CRT excludes Asians



CRT excludes Asian communities


Chang 93 – (Robert S. Seattle University Professor of Law and Executive Director of the Fred T. Korematsu Center for Law and Equality “Toward an Asian American Legal Scholarship: Critical Race Theory, Post-Structuralism, and Narrative Space” California Law Review, Vol. 81, No. 5 (Oct., 1993), pp. 1241+1243-1323 http://www.jstor.org/stable/3480919 , cayla_)

As a result, critical race scholarship tends to focus on the black-white racial paradigm, excluding Asian Americans and other racial minorities. For example, in a recent Colloquy entitled Racism in the Wake of the Los Angeles Riots, •"8 the Korean American African American conflict was not addressed, with the exception of two footnotes in one article"9 and a discussion of the actions taken by the Korean government to try to protect Korean citizens and immigrants in another article.'20 Nor were the perspectives of Korean Americans represented. These are serious omissions.'21 The result is that the Colloquy, and more generally, the discourse on race and the law, is not as rich or complete as it might or should be. These omissions foreclosed the possibility of reaching a greater understanding of why the racial tensions exist, how they have been fostered by legal decisions, and what might be done to bridge the differences. To focus on the black-white racial paradigm is to misunderstand the complicated racial situation in the United States. It ignores such things as nativistic racism. It ignores the complexity of a racial hierarchy that has more than just a top and a bottom. Asian American Legal Scholarship has a vested interest in helping to flesh out the racial paradigm. Asian American Legal Scholarship is needed to address the coverage problem in both traditional civil rights work and in critical race scholarship.'22 Perceptions fostered by the model minority myth contribute to the lack of coverage. Thus, one of the tasks of Asian American Legal Scholarship is to break the silence that surrounds our oppression. An important tool in breaking this silence is the use of personal narrative. Narrative will allow us to speak our oppression into existence, for it must first be represented before it can be erased.'23


Wilderson K vs CRT Aff

The only ethical means of political discourse lies in the position of Slave and Savage. The [affirmative or status quo discourse] calls for larger institutional access within the Slave Master civil society without questioning its very existence. The assumptive logic doesn’t account for the political ontology of Redness and Blackness, thus sets the stage for conflictual relationships like class conflict, gender conflict, immigrant rights etc.


Wilderson 10 (Frank B. American writer, dramatist, filmmaker, critic and professor of Drama and African American studies at the University of California, Irvine Red White & Black: Cinema and the Structure of U.S. Antagonisms Duke University Press Durham & London 2010 page 1-5, cayla_)

WHEN I WAS a young student at Columbia University in New York there was a Black woman who used to stand outside the gate and yell at Whites, Latinos, and East and South Asian students, staff, and faculty as they entered the university She accused them of having stolen her sofa and of selling her into slavery She always winked at the Blacks, though we didn't wink back. Some of us thought her outbursts bigoted and out of step with the burgeoning ethos of multicultural-ism and "rainbow coalitions." But others did not wink back because we were too fearful of the possibility that her isolation would become our isolation, and we had come to Columbia for the precise, though largely assumed and unspoken, purpose of foreclosing on that peril. Besides, people said she was crazy. Later, when I attended the University of California at Berkeley, I saw a Native American man sitting on the sidewalk of Telegraph Avenue. On the ground in front of him was an upside-down hat and a sign informing pedestrians that here they could settle the "Land Lease Accounts" that they had neglected to settle all of their lives. He, too, was "crazy. Leaving aside for the moment their state of mind, it would seem that the structure, that is to say the rebar, or better still the grammar of their demands—and, by extension, the grammar of their suffering—was indeed an ethical grammar. Perhaps it is the only ethical grammar available to modern politics and modernity writ large, for it draws our attention not to how space and time are used and abused by enfranchised and violently powerful interests, but to the violence that underwrites the modern world's capacity to think, act, and exist spatially and temporally. The violence that robbed her of her body and him of his land provided the stage on which other violent and consensual dramas could be enacted. Thus, they would have to be crazy, crazy enough to call not merely the actions of the world but the world itself to account, and to account for them no less! The woman at Columbia was not demanding to be a participant in an unethical network of distribution: she was not demanding a place within capital, a piece of the pie (the demand for her sofa notwithstanding). Rather, she was articulating a triangulation between two things. On the one hand was the loss of her body, the very dereliction of her corporeal integrity, what Hortense Spillers charts as the transition from being a being to becoming a "being for the captor,"1 the drama of value (the stage on which surplus value is extracted from labor power through commodity production and sale). On the other was the corporeal integrity that, once ripped from her body, fortified and extended the corporeal integrity of everyone else on the street. She gave birth to the commodity and to the Human, yet she had neither subjectivity nor a sofa to show for it. In her eyes, the world—not its myriad discriminatory practices, but the world itself—was unethical. And yet, the world passes by her without the slightest inclination to stop and disabuse her of her claim. Instead, it calls her "crazy." And to what does the world attribute the Native American mans insanity? "He's crazy if he thinks he's getting any money out of us"? Surely, that doesn't make him crazy. Rather it is simply an indication that he does not have a big enough gun. What are we to make of a world that responds to the most lucid enunciation of ethics with violence? What are the foundational questions of the ethico-political? Why are these questions so scandalous that they are rarely posed politically, intellectually, and cinematically—unless they are posed obliquely and unconsciously, as if by accident? Give Turtle Island back to the "Savage." Give life itself back to the Slave. Two simple sentences, fourteen simple words, and the structure of U.S. (and perhaps global) antagonisms would be dismantled. An "ethical modernity" would no longer sound like an oxymoron. From there we could busy ourselves with important conflicts that have been promoted to the level of antagonisms, such as class struggle, gender conflict, and immigrants' rights. One cannot but wonder why questions that go to the heart of the ethico-political, questions of political ontology, are so unspeakable in intellectual meditations, political broadsides, and even socially and politically engaged feature films. Clearly they can be spoken, even a child could speak those lines, so they would pose no problem for a scholar, an activist, or a filmmaker. And yet, what is also clear—if the filmographies of socially and politically engaged directors, the archive of progressive scholars, and the plethora of left-wing broadsides are anything to go by—is that what can so easily be spoken is now (500 years and 250 million Settlers/Masters on) so ubiquitously unspoken that these two simple sentences, these fourteen words not only render their speaker "crazy" but become themselves impossible to imagine. Soon it will be forty years since radical politics, left-leaning scholarship, and socially engaged feature films began to speak the unspeakable.2 In the 1960s and early 1970s the questions asked by radical politics and scholarship were not Should the United States be overthrown? or even Would it be overthrown? but when and how—and, for some, what would come in its wake. Those steadfast in their conviction that there remained a discernable quantum of ethics in the United States writ large (and here I am speaking of everyone from Martin Luther King Jr. prior to his 1968 shift, to the Tom Hayden wing of Students for Democratic Society, to the Julian Bond and Marion Barry faction of the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee, to Bobby Kennedy Democrats) were accountable, in their rhetorical machinations, to the paradigmatic Zeitgeist of the Black Panthers, the American Indian Movement, and the Weather Underground. Radicals and progressives could deride, reject, or chastise armed struggle mercilessly and cavalierly with respect to tactics and the possibility of "success," but they could not dismiss revolution-as-ethic because they could not make a convincing case—by way of a paradigmatic analysis—that the United States was an ethical formation and still hope to maintain credibility as radicals and progressives. Even Bobby Kennedy (as a U.S. attorney general) mused that the law and its enforcers had no ethical standing in the presence of Blacks.3 One could (and many did) acknowledge America's strength and power. This seldom rose to the level of an ethical assessment, however, remaining instead an assessment of the "balance of forces." The political discourse of Blacks, and to a lesser extent Indians, circulated too widely to wed the United States and ethics credibly. The raw force of COINTELPRO put an end to this trajectory toward a possible hegemony of ethical accountability. Consequently, the power of Blackness and Redness to pose the question—and the power to pose the question is the greatest power of all—retreated as did White radicals and progressives who "retired" from the struggle. The question lies buried in the graves of young Black Panthers, AIM warriors, and Black Liberation Army soldiers, or in prison cells where so many of them have been rotting (some in solitary confinement) for ten, twenty, or thirty years, and at the gates of the academy where the "crazies" shout at passersby. Gone are not only the young and vibrant voices that effected a seismic shift on the political landscape, but also the intellectual protocols of inquiry, and with them a spate of feature films that became authorized, if not by an unabashed revolutionary polemic, then certainly by a revolutionary Zeitgeist. Is it still possible for a dream of unfettered ethics, a dream of the Settlement and the Slave estate's4 destruction, to manifest itself at the ethical core of cinematic discourse when this dream is no longer a constituent element of political discourse in the streets or of intellectual discourse in the academy? The answer is "no" in the sense that, as history has shown, what cannot be articulated as political discourse in the streets is doubly foreclosed on in screenplays and in scholarly prose, but "yes" in the sense that in even the most taciturn historical moments, such as ours, the grammar of Black and Red suffering breaks in on this foreclosure, albeit like the somatic compliance of hysterical symptoms—it registers in both cinema and scholarship as a symptom of awareness of the structural antagonisms. The election of President Barack Obama does not mitigate the claim that this is a taciturn historical moment. Neoliberalism with a Black face is neither the index of a revolutionary advance nor the end of anti-Blackness as a constituent element of U.S. antagonisms. If anything, the election of Obama enables a plethora of shaming discourses in response to revolutionary politics and "legitimates" widespread disavowal of any notion that the United States itself, and not merely its policies and practices, is unethical. Between 1967 and 1980, we could think cinematically and intellectually of Blackness and Redness as having the coherence of full-blown discourses. From 1980 to the present, however, Blackness and Redness manifest only in the rebar of cinematic and intellectual (political) discourse, that is, as unspoken grammars. This grammar can be discerned in the cinematic strategies (lighting, camera angles, image composition, and acoustic design), even when the script labors for the spectator to imagine social turmoil through the rubric of conflict (i.e., a rubric of problems that can be posed and conceptually solved) as opposed to the rubric of antagonism (an irreconcilable struggle between entities, or positions, the resolution of which is not dialectical but entails the obliteration of one of the positions). In other words, even when films narrate a story in which Blacks or Indians are beleaguered with problems that the script insists are conceptually coherent (usually having to do with poverty or the absence of "family values"), the nonnarrative, or cinematic, strategies of the film often disrupt this coherence by posing the irreconcilable questions of Red and Black political ontology—or nonontology. The grammar of antagonism breaks in on the mendacity of conflict. Semiotics and linguistics teach us that when we speak, our grammar goes unspoken. Our grammar is assumed. It is the structure through which the labor of speech is possible.5 Likewise, the grammar of political ethics— the grammar of assumptions regarding the ontology of suffering—which underwrites film theory and political discourse (in this book, discourse elaborated in direct relation to radical action), and which underwrites cinematic speech (in this book, Red, White, and Black films from the mid-1960s to the present) is also unspoken. This notwithstanding, film theory, political discourse, and cinema assume an ontological grammar, a structure of suffering. And this structure of suffering crowds out others, regardless of the sentiment of the film or the spirit of unity mobilized by the political discourse in question. To put a finer point on it, structures of ontological suffering stand in antagonistic, rather then conflictual, relation to one another (despite the fact that antagonists themselves may not be aware of the ontological position from which they speak).

We need a new language to explain this horror—within the current political ontology, the subaltern is left voiceless. Political ontology can never take into account gratuitous violence—it’s founded upon alienation and exploitation—their reliance on Humanism makes this fungibilization of the Slave’s struggle inevitable.


Wilderson 10 (Frank B. American writer, dramatist, filmmaker, critic and professor of Drama and African American studies at the University of California, Irvine Red White & Black: Cinema and the Structure of U.S. Antagonisms Duke University Press Durham & London 2010 page 55-57, cayla_)

IN THE INTRODUCTION and chapter 1, we saw how the aporia between Black being and political ontology has existed since Arab and European enslavement of Africans. The crafting of questions through which one might arrive at an unflinching paradigmatic analysis of political ontology, a language that could express the structural and performative violence of Slave-making, is repeatedly thwarted. Humanist discourse, whose epistemological machinations provide our conceptual frameworks for thinking political ontology, is diverse and contrary. But for all its diversity and contrariness it is sutured by an implicit rhetorical consensus that violence accrues to the Human body as a result of transgressions, whether real or imagined, within the symbolic order. That is to say, Humanist discourse can only think a subject's relation to violence as a contingency and not as a matrix that positions the subject. Put another way, Humanism has no theory of the Slave because it imagines a subject who has been either alienated in language or alienated from his or her cartographic and temporal capacities.1 It cannot imagine an object who has been positioned by gratuitous violence and who has no cartographic and temporal capacities to lose—a sentient being for whom recognition and incorporation is impossible. In short, political ontology, as imagined through Humanism, can only produce discourse that has as its foundation alienation and exploitation as a grammar of suffering, when what is needed (for the Black, who is always already a Slave) is an ensemble of ontological questions that has as its foundation accumulation and fungibility as a grammar of suffering.2 The violence of the Middle Passage and the Slave estate,3 technologies of accumulation and fungibility, recompose and reenact their horrors on each succeeding generation of Blacks. This violence is both gratuitous (not contingent on transgressions against the hegemony of civil society) and structural (positioning Blacks onto logically outside of Humanity and civil society). Simultaneously, it renders the ontological status of Humanity (life itself) wholly dependent on civil society's repetition compulsion: the frenzied and fragmented machinations through which civil society reenacts gratuitous violence on the Black—that civil society might know itself as the domain of Humans—generation after generation. Again, we need a new language of abstraction to explain this horror. The explanatory power of Humanist discourse is bankrupt in the face of the Black. It is inadequate and inessential to, as well as parasitic on, the ensemble of questions which the dead but sentient thing, the Black, struggles to articulate in a world of living subjects. My work on film, cultural theory, and political ontology is my attempt to contribute to this often fragmented and constantly assaulted quest to forge a language of abstraction with explanatory powers emphatic enough to embrace the Black, an accumulated and fungible object, in a Human world of exploited and alienated subjects. The imposition of Humanism's assumptive logic has encumbered Black film studies to the extent that it is underwritten by the assumptive logic of White or non-Black film studies. This is a problem of cultural studies writ large. In this chapter, I want to illustrate briefly how we might break the theoretical impasse between, on the one hand, the assumptive logic of cultural studies and, on the other, the theoretical aphasia to which cultural studies is reduced when it encounters the (non)ontological status of the Black. I will do so not by launching a frontal attack against White film theory, in particular, or even cultural studies broadly speaking, but by interrogating Jacques Lacan—because Lacanian psychoanalysis is one of the twin pillars buttressing film theory and cultural studies.4 Unfortunately, cultural studies that theorizes the interface between Blacks and Humans is hobbled in its attempts to (a) expose power relationships and (b) examine how relations of power influence and shape cultural practice. Cultural studies insists on a grammar of suffering which assumes that we are all positioned essentially by way of the symbolic order, what Lacan calls the wall of language—and as such our potential for stasis or change (our capacity for being oppressed or free) is overdeter-mined by our "universal" ability or inability to seize and wield discursive weapons. This idea corrupts the explanatory power of most socially engaged films and even the most radical line of political action because it produces a cinema and a politics that cannot account for the grammar of suffering of the Black—the Slave. To put it bluntly, the imaginative labor of cinema, political action, and cultural studies are all afflicted with the same theoretical aphasia. They are speechless in the face of gratuitous violence. This theoretical aphasia is symptomatic of a debilitated ensemble of questions regarding political ontology. At its heart are two registers of imaginative labor. The first register is that of description, the rhetorical labor aimed at explaining the way relations of power are named, categorized, and explored. The second register can be characterized as prescription, the rhetorical labor predicated on the notion that everyone can be emancipated through some form of discursive, or symbolic, intervention.

Their ontology can never reclaim freedom and humanity because the exclusion of Blackness and its founding contradistinctions. Their humanism relies on the murder of the slave.

Wilderson 10 (Frank B. American writer, dramatist, filmmaker, critic and professor of Drama and African American studies at the University of California, Irvine Red White & Black: Cinema and the Structure of U.S. Antagonisms Duke University Press Durham & London 2010 page 19-23, cayla_)

Again, what is important for us to glean from these historians is that the pre-Columbian period, the late Middle Ages, reveals no archive of debate on these three questions as they might be related to that massive group of black-skinned people south of the Sahara. Eltis suggests that there was indeed massive debate which ultimately led to Britain taking the lead in the abolition of slavery, but he reminds us that that debate did not have its roots in the late Middle Ages, the post-Columbian period of the 1500s or the Virginia colony period of the 1600s. It was, he asserts, an outgrowth of the mid- to late eighteenth-century emancipatory thrust— intra-Human disputes such as the French and American revolutions— that swept through Europe. But Eltis does not take his analysis further than this. Therefore, it is important that we not be swayed by his optimism about the Enlightenment and its subsequent abolitionist discourses. It is highly conceivable that the discourse that elaborates the justification for freeing the slave is not the product of the Human being having suddenly and miraculously recognized the slave. Rather, as Saidiya Hartman argues, emancipatory discourses present themselves to us as further evidence of the Slave's fungibility: "The figurative capacities of blackness enable white flights of fancy while increasing the likelihood of the captive's disappearance."27 First, the questions of Humanism were elaborated in contradistinction to the human void, to the African qua chattel (the 1200s to the end of the 1600s). Second, as the presence of Black chattel in the midst of exploited and unexploited Humans (workers and bosses, respectively) became a fact of the world, exploited Humans (in the throes of class conflict with unexploited Humans) seized the image of the Slave as an enabling vehicle that animated the evolving discourses of their own emancipation, just as unexploited Humans had seized the flesh of the Slave to increase their profits. Without this gratuitous violence, a violence that marks everyone ex-perientially until the late Middle Ages when it starts to mark the Black onto logically, the so-called great emancipatory discourses of modernity— Marxism, feminism, postcolonialism, sexual liberation, and the ecology movement—political discourses predicated on grammars of suffering and whose constituent elements are exploitation and alienation, might not have developed.28 Chattel slavery did not simply reterritorialize the ontology of the African. It also created the Human out of culturally disparate entities from Europe to the East. I am not suggesting that across the globe Humanism developed in the same way regardless of region or culture; what I am saying is that the late Middle Ages gave rise to an ontological category—an ensemble of common existential concerns—which made and continues to make possible both war and peace, conflict and resolution, between the disparate members of the human race, East and West. Senator Thomas Hart Benton intuited this notion of the existential commons when he wrote that though the "Yellow race" and its culture had been "torpid and stationary for thousands of years . . . [Whites and Asians] must talk together, and trade together, and marry together. Commerce is a great civilizer—social intercourse as great—and marriage greater."29 Eltis points out that as late as the seventeenth century, "prisoners taken in the course of European military action... could expect death if they were leaders, or banishment if they were deemed followers, but never enslavement.... Detention followed by prisoner exchanges or ransoming was common." "By the seventeenth century, enslavement of fellow Europeans was beyond the limits" of Humanism's existential commons, even in times of war.30 Slave status "was reserved for non-Christians. Even the latter group however . . . had some prospect of release in exchange for Christians held by rulers of Algiers, Tunis, and other Mediterranean Muslim powers."31 But though the practice of enslaving the vanquished was beyond the limit of wars among Western peoples and only practiced provisionally in East-West conflicts, the baseness of the option was not debated when it came to the African. The race of Humanism (White, Asian, South Asian, and Arab) could not have produced itself without the simultaneous production of that walking destruction which became known as the Black. Put another way, through chattel slavery the world gave birth and coherence to both its joys of domesticity and to its struggles of political discontent; and with these joys and struggles the Human was born, but not before it murdered the Black, forging a symbiosis between the political ontology of Humanity and the social death of Blacks. In his essay "To 'Corroborate Our Claims': Public Positioning and the Slavery Metaphor in Revolutionary America," Peter Dorsey (in his concurrence with the cultural historians F. Nwabueze Okoye and Patricia Bradley) suggests that in mid- to late eighteenth-century America Blackness was such a fungible commodity that it was traded as freely between the exploited (workers who did not "own" slaves) as it was between the unexploited (planters who did). This was due to the effective uses to which Whites could put the Slave as both flesh and metaphor. For the revolutionaries, "slavery represented a nightmare' that white Americans were trying to avoid."32 Dorsey's claim is provocative, but not unsupported: he maintains that had Blacks-as-Slaves not been in the White field of vision on a daily basis that it would have been virtually impossible for Whites to transform themselves from colonial subjects into revolutionaries: Especially prominent in the rhetoric and reality of the [revolutionary] era, the concepts of freedom and slavery were applied to a wide variety of events and values and were constantly being defined and redefined. ... Early understandings of American freedom were in many ways dependent on the existence of chattel slavery. . . . [We should] see slavery in revolutionary discourse, not merely as a hyperbolic rhetorical device but as a crucial and fluid [fungible] concept that had a major impact on the way early Americans thought about their political future. . . . The slavery metaphor destabilized previously accepted categories of thought about politics, race, and the early republic.33 Though the idea of "taxation without representation" may have spoken concretely to the idiom of power that marked the British/American relation as being structurally unethical, it did not provide metaphors powerful and fungible enough for Whites to meditate and move on when resisting the structure of their own subordination at the hands of "unchecked political power."34 The most salient feature of Dorsey's findings is not his understanding of the way Blackness, as a crucial and fungible conceptual possession of civil society, impacts and destabilizes previously accepted categories of intra-White thought. Most important, instead, is his contribution to the evidence that, even when Blackness is deployed to stretch the elasticity of civil society to the point of civil war, that expansion is never elastic enough to embrace the very Black who catalyzed the expansion. In fact, Dorsey, building on Bradley's historical research, asserts that just the opposite is true. The more the political imagination of civil society is enabled by the fungibility of the slave metaphor, the less legible the condition of the slave becomes: "Focusing primarily on colonial newspapers . . . Bradley finds that the slavery metaphor 'served to distance the patriot agenda from the antislavery movement.' If anything, Bradley states, widespread use of the metaphor 'gave first evidence that the issue of real slavery was not to have a part in the revolutionary messages.'"35 And Eltis believes that this philosophical incongruity between the image of the Slave and freedom for the Slave begins in Europe and predates the American Revolution by at least one hundred years: "The [European] countries least likely to enslave their own had the harshest and most sophisticated system of exploiting enslaved non-Europeans. Overall, the English and Dutch conception of the role of the individual in metropolitan society ensured the accelerated development of African chattel slavery in the Americas ... because their own subjects could not become chattel slaves or even convicts for life."36 Furthermore, the circulation of Blackness as metaphor and image at the most politically volatile and progressive moments in history (e.g., the French, English, and American revolutions) produces dreams of liberation which are more inessential to and more parasitic on the Black, and more emphatic in their guarantee of Black suffering, than any dream of human liberation in any era heretofore. Black slavery is foundational to modern Humanism's ontics because "freedom" is the hub of Humanism's infinite conceptual trajectories. But these trajectories only appear to be infinite. They are finite in the sense that they are predicated on the idea of freedom from some contingency that can be named, or at least conceptualized. The contingent rider could be freedom from patriarchy, freedom from economic exploitation, freedom from political tyranny (e.g., taxation without representation), freedom from heteronormativity, and so on. What I am suggesting is that first political discourse recognizes freedom as a structuring ontologic and then it works to disavow this recognition by imagining freedom not through political ontology—where it rightfully began—but through political experience (and practice); whereupon it immediately loses its ontological foundations. Why would anyone do this? Why would anyone start off with, quite literally, an earth-shattering ontologic and, in the process of meditating on it and acting through it, reduce it to an earth-reforming experience? Why do Humans take such pride in self-adjustment, in diminishing, rather than intensifying, the project of liberation (how did we get from 1968 to the present)? Because, I contend, in allowing the notion of freedom to attain the ethical purity of its ontological status, one would have to lose one's Human coordinates and become Black. Which is to say one would have to die. For the Black, freedom is an ontological, rather than experiential, question. There is no philosophically credible way to attach an experiential, a contingent, rider onto the notion of freedom when one considers the Black—such as freedom from gender or economic oppression, the kind of contingent riders rightfully placed on the non-Black when thinking freedom. Rather, the riders that one could place on Black freedom would be hyperbolic—though no less true—and ultimately untenable: freedom from the world, freedom from Humanity, freedom from everyone (including one's Black self). Given the reigning episteme, what are the chances of elaborating a comprehensive, much less translatable and communicable, political project out of the necessity of freedom as an absolute? Gratuitous freedom has never been a trajectory of Humanist thought, which is why the infinite trajectories of freedom that emanate from Humanism's hub are anything but infinite—for they have no line of flight leading to the Slave.

Their calls for more public policy limits our revolutionary demands—the base grammar of suffering can never encompass the gratuity of anti-black violence. Humanity is constituted in opposition to the anti-human position of the Slave. This anti-blackness sets the stage for the violence of the world.


Wilderson 10 (Frank B. American writer, dramatist, filmmaker, critic and professor of Drama and African American studies at the University of California, Irvine Red White & Black: Cinema and the Structure of U.S. Antagonisms Duke University Press Durham & London 2010 page 10-11, cayla_)

Regarding the Black position, some might ask why, after claims successfully made on the state by the Civil Rights Movement, do I insist on positing an operational analytic for cinema, film studies, and political theory that appears to be a dichotomous and essentialist pairing of Masters and Slaves? In other words, why should we think of today's Blacks in the United States as Slaves and everyone else (with the exception of Indians) as Masters? One could answer these questions by demonstrating how nothing remotely approaching claims successfully made on the state has come to pass. In other words, the election of a Black president aside, police brutality, mass incarceration, segregated and substandard schools and housing, astronomical rates of HIV infection, and the threat of being turned away en masse at the polls still constitute the lived experience of Black life. But such empirically based rejoinders would lead us in the wrong direction; we would find ourselves on "solid" ground, which would only mystify, rather than clarify, the question. We would be forced to appeal to "facts," the "historical record," and empirical markers of stasis and change, all of which could be turned on their head with more of the same. Underlying such a downward spiral into sociology, political science, history, and public policy debates would be the very rubric that I am calling into question: the grammar of suffering known as exploitation and alienation, the assumptive logic whereby subjective dispossession is arrived at in the calculations between those who sell labor power and those who acquire it. The Black qua the worker. Orlando Patterson has already dispelled this faulty ontological grammar in Slavery and Social Death, where he demonstrates how and why work, or forced labor, is not a constituent element of slavery. Once the "solid" plank of "work" is removed from slavery, then the conceptually coherent notion of "claims against the state"—the proposition that the state and civil society are elastic enough to even contemplate the possibility of an emancipatory project for the Black position—disintegrates into thin air. The imaginary of the state and civil society is parasitic on the Middle Passage. Put another way, No slave, no world. And, in addition, as Patterson argues, no slave is in the world. If, as an ontological position, that is, as a grammar of suffering, the Slave is not a laborer but an anti-Human, a position against which Humanity establishes, maintains, and renews its coherence, its corporeal integrity; if the Slave is, to borrow from Patterson, generally dishonored, perpetually open to gratuitous violence, and void of kinship structure, that is, having no relations that need be recognized, a being outside of relationality, then our analysis cannot be approached through the rubric of gains or reversals in struggles with the state and civil society, not unless and until the interlocutor first explains how the Slave is of the world. The onus is not on one who posits the Master/Slave dichotomy but on the one who argues there is a distinction between Slaveness and Blackness. How, when, and where did such a split occur? The woman at the gates of Columbia University awaits an answer. In "The Black Boy Looks at the White Boy," James Baldwin wrote about "the terrible gap between [Norman Mailer's] life and my own." It is a painful essay in which Baldwin explains how he experienced, through beginning and ending his "friendship" with Mailer, those moments when Blackness inspires White emancipatory dreams and how it feels to suddenly realize the impossibility of the inverse: "The really ghastly thing about trying to convey to a white man the reality of the Negro experience has nothing whatever to do with the fact of color, but has to do with this mans relationship to his own life. He will face in your life only what he is willing to face in his." His long Paris nights with Mailer bore fruit only to the extent that Mailer was able to say, "Me, too." Beyond that was the void which Baldwin carried with him into and, subsequently, out of the "friendship." Baldwins condemnation of discourses that utilize exploitation and alienations grammar of suffering is unflinching: "I am afraid that most of the white people I have ever known impressed me as being in the grip of a weird nostalgia, dreaming of a vanished state of security and order, against which dream, unfailingly and unconsciously, they tested and very often lost their lives."10 He is writing about the encounters between Blacks and Whites in Paris and New York in the 1950s, but he may as well be writing about the eighteenth-century encounters between Slaves and the rhetoric of new republics like revolutionary France and America.11

No conciliation is possible. Their methodology can’t access anti-Blackness: social movements use the language of the hegemon, ultimately accommodating civil society.


Wilderson 03 (Frank B. American writer, dramatist, filmmaker, critic and professor of Drama and African American studies at the University of California, Irvine “The Prison Slave as Hegemony’s (Silent) Scandal Social Justice, Vol. 30, No. 2 (92), War, Dissent, and Justice: A Dialogue, Social Justice/Global Options 2003 pp. 18-27 http://www.jstor.org/stable/29768181 , cayla_)

There is something organic to black positionality that makes it essential to the destruction of civil society. There is nothing willful or speculative in this statement, for one could just as well state the claim the other way around: There is something organic to civil society that makes it essential to the destruction of the Black body. Blackness is a positionality of "absolute dereliction" (Fanon), abandonment, in the face of civil society, and therefore cannot establish itself, or be established, through hegemonic interventions. Blackness cannot become one of civil society's many junior partners: Black citizenship, or Black civic obligation, are oxymorons. In light of this, coalitions and social movements, even radical social movements like the Prison Abolition Movement, bound up in the solicitation of hegemony, so as to fortify and extend the interlocutory life of civil society, ultimately accommodate only the satiable demands and finite antagonisms of civil society's junior partners (i.e., immigrants, white women, and the working class), but foreclose upon the insatiable demands and endless antagonisms of the prison slave and the prison-slave-in-waiting. In short, whereas such coalitions and social movements cannot be called the outright handmaidens of white supremacy, their rhetorical structures and political desire are underwritten by a supplemental anti Blackness. In her autobiography, Assata Shakur's comments vacillate between being interesting and insightful to painfully programmatic and "responsible." The expository method of conveyance accounts for this air of responsibility. However, toward the end of the book, she accounts for coalition work by way of extended narrative as opposed to exposition. We accompany her on one of Zayd Shakur's many Panther projects with outside groups, work "dealing with white support groups who were involved in raising bail for the Panther 21 members in jail" (Shakur, 1987: 224). With no more than three words, her recollection becomes matter of fact and unfiltered. She writes, "I hated it." At the time, i felt that anything below 110th street was another country. All my activities were centered in Harlem and i almost never left it. Doing defense committee work was definitely not up my alley.... i hated standing around while all these white people asked me to explain myself, my existence, i became a master of the one-liner (Shakur, 1987: 224). Her hatred of this work is bound up in her anticipation, fully realized, of all the zonal violations to come when a white woman asks her if Zayd is her "panther.. .you know, is he your black cat?" and then runs her fingers through Assata's hair to cop a kinky feel. Her narrative anticipates these violations-to-come at the level of the street, as well as at the level of the body. Here is the moment in her life as a prison-slave-in-waiting, which is to say, a moment as an ordinary Black person, when she finds herself among "friends" abolitionists, at least partners in purpose, and yet she feels it necessary to adopt the same muscular constriction, the same coiled anticipation, the same combative "one-liners" that she will need to adopt just one year later to steel herself against the encroachment of prison guards. The verisimilitude between Assata's well known police encounters, and her experiences in civil society's most nurturing nook, the radical coalition, raises disturbing questions about political desire, Black positionality, and hegemony as a modality of struggle. In The Wretched of the Earth, Fanon makes two moves with respect to civil society. First, he locates its genuine manifestation in Europe, the motherland. Then, with respect to the colony, he locates it only in the zone of the settler. This second move is vital for our understanding of Black positionality in America and for understanding the, at best, limitations of radical social movements in America. For if we are to follow Fanon's analysis, and the gestures toward this understanding in some of the work of imprisoned intellectuals, then we have to come to grips with the fact that, for Black people, civil society itself, rather than its abuses or shortcomings, is a state of emergency. For Fanon, civil society is predicated on the Manicheasm of divided zones, opposed to each other "but not in service of a higher unity" (Fanon, 1968:38-39). This is the basis of his later assertion that the two zones produce two different "species," between which "no conciliation is possible" {Ibid.). The phrase "not in service of a higher unity" dismisses any kind of dialectical optimism for a future synthesis. In "The Avant-Garde of White Supremacy," Martinot and Sexton assert the primacy of Fanon's Manichean zones (without the promise of higher unity), even in the face of American integration facticity. Fanon's specific colonial context does not share Martinot and Sexton's historical or national context. Common to both texts, however, is the settler/native dynamic, the differential zoning, and the gratuity (as opposed to the contingency) of violence that accrues to the blackened position. The dichotomy between white ethics [the discourse of civil society] and its irrelevance to the violence of police profiling is not dialectical; the two are incommensurable whenever one attempts to speak about the paradigm of policing, one is forced back into a discussion of particular events ? high-profile homicides and their related courtroom battles, for in? stance (Martinot and Sexton, 2002: 6; emphasis added). It makes no difference that in the U.S. the "casbah" and the "European" zone are laid one on top of the other. What is being asserted here is an isomorphic schematic relation, the schematic interchangeability, between Fanon's settler society and Martinot and Sexton's policing paradigm. For Fanon, it is the policeman and soldier (not the discursive, or hegemonic, agents) of colonialism that make one town white and the other Black. For Martinot and Sexton, this Manichean delirium manifests itself by way of the U.S. paradigm of policing that (re)produces, repetitively, the inside/outside, the civil society/Black world, by virtue of the difference between those bodies that do not magnetize bullets and those that do. "Police impunity serves to distinguish between the racial itself and the elsewhere that mandates it...the distinction between those whose human being is put permanently in question and those for whom it goes without saying" (Ibid.: 8). In such a paradigm, white people are, ipso facto, deputized in the face of Black people, whether they know it (consciously) or not. Whiteness, then, and by extension civil society, cannot be solely "represented" as some monumentalized coherence of phallic signifiers, but must first be understood as a social formation of contemporaries who do not magnetize bullets. This is the essence of their construction through a signifying absence; their signifying presence is manifested by the fact that they are, if only by default, deputized against those who do magnetize bullets. In short, white people are not simply "protected" by the police, they are, in their very corporeality, the police. This ipso facto deputization of white people in the face of Black people accounts for Fanon's materiality, and Martinot and Sexton's Manichean delirium in America. What remains to be addressed, however, is the way in which the political contestation between civil society's junior partners (i.e., workers, white women, and immigrants), on the one hand, and white supremacist institutionality, on the other hand, is produced by, and reproductive of, a supplemental anti Blackness. Put another way: How is the production and accumulation of junior partner social capital dependent upon on an anti-Black rhetorical structure and a decomposed Black body? Any serious musing on the question of antagonistic identity formation a formation, the mass mobilization of which can precipitate a crisis in the institutions and assumptive logic that undergird the United State of America must come to grips with the contradictions between the political demands of radical social movements, such as the large prison abolition movement, which seeks to abolish the prison-industrial complex, and the ideological structure that under writes its political desire. I contend that the positionality of Black subjectivity is at the heart of those contradictions and that this unspoken desire is bound up with the political limitations of several naturalized and uncritically accepted categories that have their genesis mainly in the works of Antonio Gramsci, namely, work or labor, the wage, exploitation, hegemony, and civil society. I wish to theorize the symptoms of rage and resignation I hear in the words of George Jackson, when he boils reform down to a single word, "fascism," or in Assata's brief declaration, "i hated it," as well as in the Manichean delirium of Fanon, Martinot, and Sexton. Today, the failure of radical social movements to embrace symptoms of all three gestures is tantamount to the reproduction of an anti-Black politics that nonetheless represents itself as being in the service of the emancipation of the Black prison slave. By examining the strategy and structure of the Black subject's absence in, and incommensurability with, the key categories of Gramscian theory, we come face to face with three unsettling consequences: (1) The Black American subject imposes a radical incoherence upon the assumptive logic of Gramscian discourse and on today's coalition politics. In other words, s/he implies a scandal. (2) The Black subject reveals the inability of social movements grounded in Gramscian discourse to think of white supremacy (rather than capitalism) as the base and thereby calls into question their claim to elaborate a comprehensive and decisive antagonism. Stated another way, Gramscian discourse and coalition politics are indeed able to imagine the subject that transforms itself into a mass of antagonistic identity formations, formations that can precipitate a crisis in wage slavery, exploitation, and hegemony, but they are asleep at the wheel when asked to provide enabling antagonisms toward unwaged slavery, despotism, and terror. (3) We begin to see how Marxism suffers from a kind of conceptual anxiety. There is a desire for socialism on the other side of crisis, a society that does away not with the category of worker, but with the imposition workers suffer under the approach of variable capital. In other words, the mark of its conceptual anxiety is in its desire to democratize work and thus help to keep in place and insure the coherence of Reformation and Enlightenment foundational values of productivity and progress. This scenario crowds out other postrevolutionary possibilities, i.e., idleness. The scandal, with which the Black subject position "threatens" Gramscian and coalition discourse, is manifest in the Black subject's incommensurability with, or disarticulation of, Gramscian categories: work, progress, production, exploitation, hegemony, and historical self-awareness. Through what strategies does the Black subject destabilize emerge as the unthought, and thus the scandal of, historical materialism, How does the Black subject function within the "American desiring machine" differently than the quintessential Gramscian subaltern, the worker?

Voting for the alternative is an act of burning down the civil society that produces violence against the slave. Their calls for freedom will never leave the plantations and colorlines of society. We must reject their call for equality to abandon the white-over-black system.


Farley 05 (Anthony P. specialist in Constitutional Law, Criminal Procedure and Legal Theory and a tenured member of the Boston College Law School faculty “Perfecting Slavery” Boston College Law School Faculty Papers 1-27-2005, http://lawdigitalcommons.bc.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1028&context=lsfp , cayla_)

What is to be done? Two hundred years ago, when the slaves in Haiti rose up, they, of necessity, burned everything: They burned San Domingo flat so that at the end of the war it was a charred desert. Why do you burn everything? asked a French officer of a prisoner. We have a right to burn what we cultivate because a man has a right to dispose of his own labour, was the reply of this unknown anarchist.48 The slaves burned everything because everything was against them. Everything was against the slaves, the entire order that it was their lot to follow, the entire order in which they were positioned as worse than senseless things, every plantation, everything.49 “Leave nothing white behind you,” said Toussaint to those dedicated to the end of white-overblack.50 “God gave Noah the rainbow sign. No more water, the fire next time.”51 The slaves burned everything, yes, but, unfortunately, they only burned everything in Haiti.52 Theirs was the greatest and most successful revolution in the history of the world but the failure of their fire to cross the waters was the great tragedy of the nineteenth century.53 At the dawn of the twentieth century, W.E.B. Du Bois wrote, “The colorline belts the world.”54 Du Bois said that the problem of the twentieth century was the problem of the colorline.55 The problem, now, at the dawn of the twenty-first century is the problem of the colorline. The colorline continues to belt the world. Indeed, the slave power that is the United States now threatens an entire world with the death that it has become and so the slaves of yesterday, today, and tomorrow, those with nothing but their chains to lose, must, if they would be free, if they would escape slavery, win the entire world. We begin as children. We are called and we become our response to the call. Slaves are not called. What becomes of them? What becomes of the broken-hearted? The slaves are divided souls, they are brokenhearted, the slaves are split asunder by what they are called upon to become. The slaves are called upon to become objects but objecthood is not a calling. The slave, then, during its loneliest loneliness, is divided from itself. This is schizophrenia. The slaves are not called, or, rather, the slaves are called to not be. The slaves are called unfree but this the living can never be and so the slaves burst apart and die. The slaves begin as death, not as children, and death is not a beginning but an end. There is no progress and no exit from the undiscovered country of the slave, or so it seems. We are trained to think through a progress narrative, a grand narrative, the grandest narrative, that takes us up from slavery. There is no up from slavery. The progress from slavery to the end of history is the progress from white-over-black to white-over-black to white-over-black. The progress of slavery runs in the opposite direction of the past-present-future timeline. The slave only becomes the perfect slave at the end of the timeline, only under conditions of total juridical freedom. It is only under conditions of freedom, of bourgeois legality, that the slave can perfect itself as a slave by freely choosing to bow down before its master. The slave perfects itself as a slave by offering a prayer for equal rights. The system of marks is a plantation. The system of property is a plantation. The system of law is a plantation. These plantations, all part of the same system, hierarchy, produce white-overblack, white-over-black only, and that continually. The slave perfects itself as a slave through its prayers for equal rights. The plantation system will not commit suicide and the slave, as stated above, has knowing non-knowledge of this fact. The slave finds its way back from the undiscovered country only by burning down every plantation. When the slave prays for equal rights it makes the free choice to be dead, and it makes the free choice to not be. Education is the call. We are called to be and then we become something. We become that which we make of ourselves. We follow the call, we pursue a calling. Freedom is the only calling—it alone contains all possible directions, all of the choices that may later blossom into the fullness of our lives. We can only be free. Slavery is death. How do slaves die? Slaves are not born, they are made. The slave must be trained to be that which the living cannot be. The only thing that the living are not free to be is dead. The slave must be trained to follow the call that is not a call. The slave must be trained to pursue the calling that is not a calling. The slave must be trained to objecthood. The slave must become death. Slavery is white-over-black. White-over-black is death. White-over-black, death, then, is what the slave must become to pursue its calling that is not a calling. We can be trained in many things. White-over-black requires training. It is with education that we begin. Judge Waring of the United States District Court for the Eastern District of South Carolina, Charleston Division, penned an instructive dissenting opinion in which he referred to expert witness testimony regarding training and whiteover-black and training in white-over-black: These witnesses testified as to their study and researches and their actual tests with children of varying ages and showed that the humiliation and disgrace of being set aside and segregated as unfit to associate with others of a different color had an evil and ineradicable effect upon the mental processes of our young which would remain with them and deform their view of life until and throughout their maturity . . . And from their testimony as well as from common experience and knowledge and from our own reasoning, we must unavoidably come to the conclusion that racial prejudice is something that is acquired and that acquiring is in early childhood.56 The case, Briggs v. Elliot, was one of four cases consolidated and decided by the United States Supreme Court under the heading Brown v. Board of Education. 57 Judge Waring, over half a century ago, asked and answered a question that vexes us still: When do we get our first ideas of religion, nationality and other basic ideologies? The vast number of individuals follow religious and political groups because of their childhood training. . . . Let the little child’s mind be poisoned by prejudice of this kind and it is practically impossible to ever remove these impressions however many years he may have of teaching by philosophers, religious leaders or patriotic citizens.58 We can be trained in many things, even death, or so it seems. We can be trained because we have a capacity for pleasure, because we have a faculty of desire, because we can imagine our pleasures and orient ourselves by our desires in ways that close the gaps, resolve the conflicts, and clarify the ambiguities of life. The slave can be trained in its calling that is not a calling. The slave becomes a slave when it chooses to pursue its calling that is not a calling.

Their evidence isn’t contextual—none of the violence they solve accounts for the objective violence inflicted upon the black body. Make a distinction between a life CONSTITUTED by violence and one DISRUPTED by violence.


Wilderson 11 (Frank B., American writer, dramatist, filmmaker, critic and professor of Drama and African American studies at the University of California, Irvine “The Vengeance of Vertigo: Aphasia and Abjection in the Political Trials of Black Insurgents” [De]Fatalizing the Object and Creating Radica Alternatives Issue 5.0 2011, cayla_)

The guerilla war that the Black Liberation Army waged against the United States in the late 1960s, 1970s, and early 1980s was part of a multifaceted struggle to redress Black dispossession which has been waged since the first Africans landed in the “New” World. ii But the political trials of BLA soldiers marked an unprecedented moment in the history of that struggle; a moment when it became de rigueur for revolutionaries to refuse the role of defendant and assume (while still in custody and often handcuffed) the role of prosecutor and judge—with the public gallery as jury. This shift comprised an unparalleled inversion of jurisprudential casting in which the court itself (and by extension the U.S. government) became defendants. Assata Shakur recalls how brothers and sisters came to her trial every day to “watch the circus.” Her narrative paints a vibrant picture of an intra-mural conversation between Black folks from all walks of life, for whom the court and the trials functioned much like backwoods churches did during slavery. A courtroom of people who joined the defendants in their refusal to rise when the judge came in; folks giving each other the Black Power salute in full view of the U.S. Marshals; Black Muslim men and women spreading their prayer rugs in the corridors of the court and praying to Allah; Black parents explaining the underlying racism of the American legal system to their children. As the judge entered the courtroom, one such well-educated child looked up and said, “Mommy, is that the fascist pig?” to the laughter and applause of the gallery (Assata 212). [2] With only small arms and crude explosives at their disposal, with little of nothing in the way of logistical support,iii with no liberated zone to claim or reclaim, and with no more than a vague knowledge that there were a few hundred other insurgents scattered throughout the U.S. operating in largely uncoordinated and decentralized units,iv the BLA launched 66 operations against the largest police state in the world. Vertigo must have seized them each time they clashed with agents of a nuclear-weapons regime with three million troops in uniform, a regime that could put 150,000 new police on the streets in any given year, and whose ordinary White citizens frequently deputize themselves in the name of law and order. Subjective vertigo, no doubt: a dizzying sense that one is moving or spinning in an otherwise stationary world, a vertigo brought on by a clash of grossly asymmetrical forces. There are suitable analogies, for this kind of vertigo must have also seized Native Americans who launched the AIM’s occupation of Wounded Knee, and FALN insurgents who battled the FBI. [3] Subjective vertigo is vertigo of the event. But the sensation that one is not simply spinning in an otherwise stable environment, that one’s environment is perpetually unhinged stems from a relationship to violence that cannot be analogized. This is called objective vertigo, a life constituted by disorientation rather than a life interrupted by disorientation. This is structural as opposed to performative violence. Black subjectivity is a crossroads where vertigoes meet, the intersection of performative and structural violence. [4] Elsewhere I have argued that the Black is a sentient being though not a Human being. The Black’s and the Human’s disparate relationship to violence is at the heart of this failure of incorporation and analogy. The Human suffers contingent violence, violence that kicks in when s/he resists (or is perceived to resist) the disciplinary discourse of capital and/or Oedipus. But Black peoples’ subsumption by violence is a paradigmatic necessity, not just a performative contingency. To be constituted by and disciplined by violence, to be gripped simultaneously by subjective and objective vertigo, is indicative of a political ontology which is radically different from the political ontology of a sentient being who is constituted by discourse and disciplined by violence when s/he breaks with the ruling discursive codes.vi When we begin to assess revolutionary armed struggle in this comparative context, we find that Human revolutionaries (workers, women, gays and lesbians, post-colonial subjects) suffer subjective vertigo when they meet the state’s disciplinary violence with the revolutionary violence of the subaltern; but they are spared objective vertigo. This is because the most disorienting aspects of their lives are induced by the struggles that arise from intra-Human conflicts over competing conceptual frameworks and disputed cognitive maps, such as the American Indian Movement’s demand for the return of Turtle Island vs. the U.S.’s desire to maintain territorial integrity, or the Fuerzas Armadas de Liberación Nacional’s (FALN) demand for Puerto Rican independence vs. the U.S.’s desire to maintain Puerto Rico as a territory. But for the Black, as for the slave, there are no cognitive maps, no conceptual frameworks of suffering and dispossession which are analogic with the myriad maps and frameworks which explain the dispossession of Human subalterns. [5] The structural, or paradigmatic, violence that subsumes Black insurgents’ cognitive maps and conceptual frameworks, subsumes my scholarly efforts as well. As a Black scholar, I am tasked with making sense of this violence without being overwhelmed and disoriented by it. In other words, the writing must somehow be indexical of that which exceeds narration, while being ever mindful of the incomprehension the writing would foster, the failure, that is, of interpretation were the indices to actually escape the narrative. The stakes of this dilemma are almost as high for the Black scholar facing his/her reader as they are for the Black insurgent facing the police and the courts. For the scholarly act of embracing members of the Black Liberation Army as beings worthy of empathic critique is terrifying. One’s writing proceeds with fits and starts which have little to do with the problems of building the thesis or finding the methodology to make the case. As I write, I am more aware of the rage and anger of my reader-ideal (an angry mob as readers) than I am of my own interventions and strategies for assembling my argument. Vertigo seizes me with a rash of condemnations that emanate from within me and swirl around me. I am speaking to me but not through me, yet there seems to be no other way to speak. I am speaking through the voice and gaze of a mob of, let’s just say it, White Americans; and my efforts to marshal a mob of Black people, to conjure the Black Liberation Army smack of compensatory gestures. It is not that the BLA doesn’t come to my aid, that they don’t push back, but neither I nor my insurgent allies can make the case that we are worthy of our suffering and justified in our actions and not terrorists and apologists for terror who should be locked away forever. How can we be worthy of our suffering without being worthy of ourselves? I press on, even though the vertigo that seizes me is so overwhelming that its precise nature—subjective, stemming from within me, or objective, catalyzed by my context, the raging throng—cannot be determined. I have no reference points apart from the mob that gives no quarter. If I write “freedom fighter,” from within my ear they scream “terrorist”! If I say “prisoner of war,” they chant “cop killer”! Their denunciations are sustained only by assertion, but they ring truer than my painstaking exegesis. No firewall protects me from them; no liberated psychic zone offers me sanctuary. I want to stop and turn myself in.

Anarchism Good

Anarchism works and solves their liberty claims better.


Stringham ’11 Davis Professor of Economic Innovation at Trinity College (Dec. 31, Edward P., Anarchy and the Law, http://fullchan4jtta4sx.onion.city/ancap/src/1428172519929.pdf)//DWB -

The state has worked for years attempting to indoctrinate people of the necessity of government law enforcement. The chapters in this volume suggest that this government wisdom is wrong. Just because monopolization of law was a convenient way¶ for government to enhance revenue and exert control does not mean that government law is necessary. The articles in this volume are important from two perspectives. From an ¶ academic perspective they show that anarchism might be a useful lens to help us analyze the world. Do people only cooperate because of the threat of government law? Perhaps¶ the answer is no. By taking a more realistic perspective, the anarchists have the potential to shed light on many situations that others cannot explain. The articles in this book,¶ especially in the case study section, represent the tip of the iceberg of possible articles¶ about anarchy. Like the farmers and ranchers in Shasta County, self-governance is all around us, and this presents a tremendous opportunity for academic research.¶ From a normative perspective private-property anarchism may be important for promoting liberty in both the short and long run. For those interested in marginal change¶ in the short run, private-property anarchism has practical policy implications today. For¶ example, should individuals be able to opt for arbitration (if all parties agree), or should¶ government regulate and overturn arbitration decisions as it does today? Likewise, should¶ landowners be allowed to create gated communities with private security, or should¶ government make their streets open to the public and patrol them with government¶ police? Private-property anarchism sheds light in on these issues.¶ Private-property anarchism is also important for the long-run prospects for liberty.¶ Markets have been a blessing wherever they have been implemented and government has been a calamity wherever it has been implemented. Instead of advocating a system that¶ we know does not work, why not advocate a system that might? Limited government appears to be inherently unstable and anarchism might offer the libertarian the only alternative. In the past 250 years the world has successfully thrown off the yoke of¶ monarchism and in the past twenty-five years the world has successfully thrown off the¶ yoke of communism. Why not continue and throw off the bonds of all government?

Racial Profiling Good – Protects Muslim mosques

Surveillance of mosques helps protect Muslims from hate crimes


Lininger 04- defense attorney and a graduate of Kent State University with a BA in Political Science and graduated from the University of the Pacific's McGeorge School of Law (Tom Lininger “Sects, Lies, and Videotape: The Surveillance and Infiltration of Religious Groups” http://heinonline.org/HOL/Page?handle=hein.journals/ilr89&div=34&g_sent=1&collection=journals#1216 , p.1204)

Predictably, mosques have occupied most of the F.B.I.'s attention since Ashcroft eased the restrictions on investigations of religious organizations. In January 2003, F.B.I. Director Robert Mueller ordered all fifty-six of the F.B.I.'s branch offices to count the number of mosques within their jurisdictional boundaries.7 An F.B.I. spokesman initially told Congress that 4. The Attorney General made these remarks at a press conference on May 30, 2002, and the Department ofJustice has posted a copy of the Attorney General's statement on its Web site. Attorney General John Ashcroft, Remarks at Press Conference Announcing the Adoption of New Investigative Guidelines (May 30, 2002) [hereinafter Ashcroft Press Conference], http:// www.fas.org/irp/news/2002/05/ag053002.html (last visited Feb. 11, 2004) (on file with the Iowa Law Review). this inventory of mosques was useful as a starting point for proactive investigations of potential terrorists.8 After civil libertarians raised concerns about the burdens on religious freedom, the F.B.I. offered an entirely different rationale, claiming in public statements that mosque-counting was necessary to protect Muslims from hate crimes.9 This explanation did not put the critics at ease. When Mueller attended the A.C.L.U.'s annual conference in June 2003 to answer questions about investigations of mosques and other subjects, he drew strident rebukes-although he also drew laughter when he joked that "I think you really do owe me" for the recent increase in the A.C.L.U.'s membership.
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