Archive for the ‘ideology’ Category

Stephen Harper Wants to Spank Canada

April 28, 2011

The same Conservative government that shut down parliament twice and orchestrated one of the greatest human rights abuses in modern Canadian history, has also attempted to invalidate votes cast in an advance ballot by students at Guelph University. Elections Canada has decided that the 241 advance ballots were, in fact, valid, but that all subsequent advance ballots at universities, implemented to encourage students to more easily engage in the democratic process during the busy exam season, will be shut down for this election. The image of Michael Sona, the communications director for Guelph Conservative candidate Marty Burke, barging into the student voting station and attempting to make off with the ballot box would be comic if it did not typify the conservative orientation to political practice, which is characterized by a flagrant disregard for the central tenants of participatory democracy.

“He tried to grab for the ballot box. I’m not sure he got his hand on the box, but he definitely grabbed for it,” said Brenna Anstett, a student, who at the time of the reported incident was sealing her second of two envelopes containing her vote. (The

But what does Harperite cynicism and disrespect for due political practice indicate about the larger socio-political landscape of Canadian? John Meisel of Queen’s University suggests that the “Harperizing of our Minds” has its roots in a political culture based on a top-down model that implements policy from the ideas and mandates of a governmental elite. While Meisel’s article overlooks the way in which progressive agendas such as gay marriage or respect for diverse cultural heritages are grounded in the overlapping concerns of a large portion of the population, it does raise questions about the composition of our post-political society that minimizes democratic participation in favour of cultural or “lifestyle politics.”

This depoliticization works to the benefit of a strong, centralized state that cloaks its hold on power in the guise pastoral care for the population. The modern development that Foucault called the rise of “biopower” turns governance into a form of population management, casting the governed into a largely passive position as the recipients of various programs and policies aimed at fostering the flourishing and productivity of society as a whole. I would argue that this, and not political elitism, is the larger context behind the “top-down” structure of modern politics (political and technocratic elitism being just one of several ideological guises under which biopolitical structures manifest). If this is the case, how are we to understand the popularity of a leader like Harper, whose conservative policies serve to further dismantle social programs, labour protections and other guarantors of communal well-being?

This is where the biopolitical model needs to be coupled with an understanding of the anti-social, capitalist principles that attempt to cast the generation of huge profits for a small minority of shareholders into the guiding principle of economic, and hence social prosperity in current dominant discourses. The incompatibility of the neoliberal economic model with the basic tenets of biopolitics forms the central contradiction of what we might call “biopolitical capitalism,” and provides the ideological milieu in which the popularity of a dictatorial leader like Stephen Harper can be properly understood. For while neoliberalism champions the individualizing and personalizing of risk, it can only do so by liking this privatization — the shifting of the onus for social well being from collectively owned, governmental agencies to private institutions and individuals — to the greater flourishing of society as a whole. This is done by focusing on an image of a “free market economy” as the sole guarantor of social prosperity, and relegating all other issues to a secondary status.

Neoliberal economics demands the privatization and degrading of collectively-funded projects aimed at providing material well being for citizens, while simultaneously strengthening government’s surveillance and control of the people in the service of transnational capital. In place of social equity and security for the most vulnerable, neoliberal governments offer increased policing and incarceration for the growing poor, while the less poor suffer the radical instability of a volatile and irrational capitalist market whose “invisible hand” has been systematically reorganizing global politics for the last forty years in the interests of a tiny minority of extremely wealthy elites. In this context, the biopolitical function of government, coopted by capital, is focused almost exclusively on one function: guaranteeing the reproduction of a cheap, available labour force. The mounting sense of anxiety over loss of job security, erosion of living standards, compromised healthcare and familial support — not to mention degraded cultural institutions and educational systems — translates into a feeling of existential uncertainty and fear whose underlying causes are then disguised and deflected onto the ideology of the “free market” as the final term dictating the health and welfare of communities, countries and individuals.

This climate of fear coupled with ideological obfuscation encourages popular desire for strong, authoritarian leadership whose central platform of economic stewardship promises to lead the country through its difficulties. The cynicism and “realpolitik” exhibited by Harper’s government speaks to a concealed intuition, shared by explicit Conservatives and the merely apathetic alike, that democratic politics has been all but hollowed out by rampant economism. The belief that no alternatives are possible to global capitalism cements this cynism and anxiety, leading to a covert respect for authoritarian figures who are able to “tell it like it is.”

"Which version of the free market would you like us to beat you with?"

Under these circumstances, the biopolitical function of government gradually transmutes into a sado-masochistic relationship between the people and their leaders, a tendency that can be detected, not just in a figure like Harper, but in popular television shows like CBC’s Dragon’s Den and other reality shows. The popular draw of both Conservative politics and reality TV is grounded in the domination of a striving, utopian impulse by a stern and dictatorial “reality principle.” What has been described by Liberal leader Michael Ignatieff as “the politics of fear” might thus be more accurately characterized as the strategic management of ressentiment: convincing people to take pleasure in another’s domination as a form of consolation for one’s own unrecognized subjugation.

Slavoj Žižek characterizes the permissive post-modern superego which, rather than dominating by directly forbidding certain paths of action, allows one to follow one’s forbidden desires by displacing responsibility for them onto an authoritarian figure:

Although, on the surface, the totalitarian master…issues stern orders compelling us to renounce pleasure and to sacrifice ourselves in some higher cause, his effective injunction, discernible between the lines, is a call to unconstrained transgression. Far from imposing on us a firm set of standards to be complied with, the totalitarian master suspends (moral) punishment. His secret injunction is: ‘You may.’ He tells us that the prohibitions which regulate social life and guarantee a minimum of decency are worthless, just a device to keep the common people at bay – we, on the other hand, are free to let ourselves go, to kill, rape, plunder, but only insofar as we follow the master. The London Review

This characterization perfectly describes Steven Harper’s political strategy. By reducing the complexity of democratic governance to a single issue, Harper gives his supporters license to engage in the kind of anti-social — one might even say sociopathic — behaviour that the biopolitical model of contemporary society would not, by its own precepts, allow. With The Economy as their stern Master or Mistress, conservative supporters can freely indulge their desires to oppress women, the poor, immigrants and other vulnerable segments of the population by systematically dismantling the programs and protections whose democratic articulation and institution have been the product of centuries-long struggle.

Should we, then, look to the failure of Canada’s Liberal party to circumvent Harper’s strategic appeal to what is actually a structurally produced political disengagement as evidence of a Frankfurt School-type argument for the latent totalitarian character of modern Western rationality and culture? I would look rather to the strong tone of critique that is present in both the embattled left and in popular vocalizations of dissent circulating through the new media, in cafe and dinner table conversations, and on university campuses such as Guelph’s. Though the line separating liberal democracy from a totalitarian biopolitical-capitalist state may be difficult to draw, Canada’s historical socialist tendencies have seem to preserved at least the possibility for a position of critique that could save us from a Conservative majority in the coming election. The recent and surprising rise in NDP support is a strong indicator that socialism has not been entirely undermined by neoliberal economic fear mongering. The conservatives also seem to have underestimated the extent to which a younger generation, weaned on alternative media and perhaps inspired by the recent political upheavals in the Middle East, might sieze on this moment to flex their political muscle in favour of a more just and democratic Canadian society.

China’s Ban on Time Travel

April 14, 2011

The attention of Kulturbot surveillance satellites were called away from cataloguing some spectacular sunspot activity today by news that the Chinese government has banned television and film that feature plots about time travel. As explained in the China Hush blog, the decision to ban time travel was made by the Television Director Committee on April 1st, due to the “disrespect for history” demonstrated by the genre:

From the end of last year, the time-travel themed drama is becoming more and more popular. Most of these time-travel dramas are based on real historical stories but with many newly added, and usually exaggerated elements to make it funny and more attractive. Nothing is off limits in this television genre. While some find it hilarious, others think the exaggeration and even ridiculous elements added into the story is a real source of annoyance and is a disrespectful for history. (from the China Hush blog)

Though having all the characteristics of a good April Fool’s prank, the alleged declaration does not seem to be a hoax, and it raises interesting questions regarding the utopian and political potential of narrative in its relation to history. Echoing Plato’s criticism of poetry in Book II of The Republic where Socrates would ban any representation that does not provide a model of virtue for citizens to emulate, the Chinese government complains that “The producers and writers [of time travel stories] are treating the serious history in a frivolous way, which should by no means be encouraged anymore.”

More than simple frivolity, the time travel genre allows for a form of escapism that might speak to needs and desires that contemporary Chinese social reality cannot satisfy for the majority of subjects, opening into what Fredric Jameson describes as the utopian class dimension of narrative. As Jameson argues in The Political Unconscious (Cornel UP, 1981), the feeling of “rage, helplessness, victimization, oppression by a common enemy” generated by the situation of subjugated workers produces a sense of class solidarity (289). It is the awareness of the threat posed by this “sullen resistance” that produces the dominant class’s own sense of solidarity as a kind of mirror image of the original and foundational subaltern consciousness (289-90). The affect that binds groups together, even when limited to a particular segment of the total population, has its roots in “the ultimate concrete collective life of an achieved Utopian or classless society” (291). Thus, alongside the “negative hermeneutic” that seeks to unmask the ruling class interests served by dominant discourses, Marxian scholarship must also practice a “positive hermeneutic” that identifies the Utopian promise within a text or practice.

"By the Key of Time! Where am I going to go now to get a decent dumpling?"

This element is “anticipatory” (296) in that it announces or prefigures the arrival of a post-class social order, even while the text in which it appears might coopt the utopian element by pretending that the hoped-for eventuality has already come to pass.

While the ideological-Utopian interpretive technique developed by Jameson is useful for deciphering the latent class dynamics of Western cultural texts, where everything from car commercials to TV sitcoms to Hollywood films can be seen as exhibiting these dual tendencies, nowhere are issues of class consciousness more pressing than in China, a country whose post WWII industrialization has seen the largest enclosure process (the capturing of previously rural populations in urban factory environments) in human history. By exploiting the hokou laws (the official household registration system implemented by the communists in the 50s to control the migration of populations) Chinese industry is able to create a system of migrational labour that employs the offspring of rural families without offering them the social services and resources available to urban families. Lured to the city with hopes of a better life, educated rural youth find themselves working ten or twelve hour days in large factory complexes whose working and living conditions have made suicide into a form of political and existential protest. (It should be noted that Western investors, manufacturers and consumers are prime beneficiaries of this exploitative labour system, and so the periodic token Western protest against Chinese human rights abuses constitutes a hypocritical and ideological position).

In this context, it should come as no surprise that Shen Hua (“Myth”), China’s first time-travel TV drama projects fantasies of political empowerment and social revolution into past history, and that this displacement of Utopian energies should be perceived as a threat to the current regime. As the China Hush blog explains, “The play depicts how a young adolescent travels through time to the China of 2000 years ago and becomes [a] sworn brother with Xiang Yu and Liu Bang, (both are prominent military leaders and political figures during the late Qin Dynasty period of Chinese history) and eventually ends up being an army general leading troops of thousands of soldiers. [At] the same time, his twin brother and [family] in modern [time] is fighting with a mystery man to find him.”

As Jacques Rancière points out in The Politics of Aesthetics (Continuum, 2004), “the word utopia harbours two contradictory meanings” (40), being both a “no-place” or the break-down of all accepted understandings of place, and a proper place of complete presence “where what one sees, what one says, and what one makes or does are rigorously adapted to one another” (ibid). Rancière notes how this ambiguity is exploited by historical regimes, who’s attempts to make reality conform with utopian impulses more often lead to the kind of ideological obfuscation that Jameson’s hermeneutics are designed to debunk. Rancière sides with the necessary unreality of utopia as a fictional “reconfiguring [of] the territory of the visible, the thinkable, and the possible” (41) which offers an imagined horizon from which to judge the present. This concept is similar to the Marxian vision of a (perhaps always to come) classless society that provides the coordinates from which to make effective political critique of the here-and-now. Projected into the past, as in the case of the banned Chinese television drama, Utopian critique points toward Alain Badiou’s concept of the political event whose eruption into actuality retroactively changes popular opinion about what is and isn’t historically possible. To this extent, the Chinese government is right to fear the power of fiction to harness and focus the energy of dissent, but there is a great irony to the fact that the Marxian analysis that best captures the political dimension of historical discourse should issue from Badiou’s revisiting of the very Maoist heritage that laid the foundation for the rise to power of the current Chinese regime.

The Spectaclular Politics of Security

November 30, 2010

The arrest of the teenager Mohamed Osman Mohamud for attempting to detonate what he thought to be a car bomb at a Christmas tree lighting ceremony in Portland Oregon provides the latest example of the conservative strategy to relegate political discourse to concerns over the physical security of the population by manufacturing a climate of fear which acts to buttress the increasing power given to repressive organs of the state. What Georgio Agamben calls the politics of security, or the distortion of government’s pastoral function under pressure of a perpetual state of crisis management, effecting the dramatic incursion of state power into the lives of citizens (both domestic and foreign), is supported by these periodic “attacks” by “terrorists” on Western soil. Alongside gaining support for authoritarian government policies from a cowed populace, these incidents serve the further purpose of disguising the root causes of social anxiety (the unraveling of the social fabric by neo-liberal policies?) by deflecting them onto an alien threat which often takes the form of a racial other. Rather than questioning the political and economic structures that have stripped citizens of the protections offered by the post World War Two social settlement, the new politics of security locates the dangers to Western society in external threats (immigrants, the Middle East, the Global South), framing the current social and political crisis as an epic “clash of civilizations” and thereby deflecting public attention from the infiltration of capitalist, profit-oriented paradigms into ever more spheres of social and individual life.

Coming soon to a downtown near you

The recent event in Portland has been constructed by the media in a way that reads like the plot of an episode of the popular “realtime” television drama 24: the ruthless, Somolia-born killer Mohamud attempts to strike at the heart of America’s “greenest” city, choosing this location precisely because it is the place where no one would expect such an attack to happen. His desire for everyone attending the tree-lighting ceremony at Pioneer Courthouse Square (affectionately known as “Portland’s living room”) to “leave dead or injured” (Associated Press) appears to have been expertly neutralized by the FBI, who outmaneuvered Mohamud, arresting him as soon as the nineteen year old would-be killer dialed the number on a cell phone that he believed would set off a car bomb. Borrowing from the stock plot components of theater, the media coverage framed this as a moment of dramatic reversal in which the explosion failed to occur and Mohamud was swarmed by FBI agents while the lighting of the Christmas tree proceeded as planned. Mimicking Jack Bauer and his operatives from 24, and in a display of sentimental pathos that would be almost comical if its effects were not so perniciously and cynically positioned, the FBI agents saved Christmas from the heathen Muslim jihadist.

This narrative nakedly illustrates the disheartening reality of a discursively produced racism that, in the new climate of xenophobic paranoia, seemingly must attend the Western tribal ritual of Christmas: the public kindling of the tree of light as a symbol of hope at the darkest point of the year is spectacularly linked to the public humiliation of a nineteen year old boy who becomes the cipher for an Orientalist view of Muslim culture as violently opposed to everything America stands for. The psychological and social realities that would lead this young person to attempt such an act are paved over by a sensationalist focus on the heartlessness of the perpetrator and the mastering of this threatening alien by a skillful police force, and we are left to wonder the extent to which Mohamed Osman Mohamud might have been coached and encouraged by the FBI in its sting operation. Is it possible that Mohamud’s sense of disenfranchisement and anger was detected by security forces and directed toward the production of the act which they could then step in and play the part of the hero in neutralizing? To what extent was this alleged terrorist event enabled or even encouraged by the intervention of the FBI in the first place?

The manner in which the event unfolded, with the FBI secretly in control of the situation, the car bomb a mere prop provided by the security agents, and the would-be perpetrator thwarted at the very instant he expected to execute his plan, plants it firmly within the realm of a spectacular politics in which crime does not constitute a rupture with the given social order, but rather becomes the orchestrated means by which that order reifies and justifies itself. As in Jean Baudrillard’s concept of the simulacrum, the difference between an actual crime and its simulation becomes irrelevant: what matters is that reality—the actual social relations between Christian America and Muslims, for instance—is effaced beneath a construction that is no longer even ideological, but rather inscribes the relations of domination directly into a carnivalesque spectacle of state-controlled violence and oppression. To this extent, the burning of the Corvallis mosque which Mohamud attended can be seen as the direct result of the FBI’s, rather than Mohamud’s, actions: knowing full well the strong anti-Muslim sentiments the spectacular arrest would make, state power nevertheless chose to apprehend Mohamud in this, rather than in a less public and inflammatory manner.

And yet, the question of whether Mohamud was a victim of entrapment or not, while important from the perspective of determining the guilt or innocence of the accused, is absolutely irrelevant to the spectacular politics of security that the event was constructed to support. Even were an investigation to reveal entrapment on the part of the FBI and thus at least partially absolve Mohamud, the roles played by the actors in this drama were scripted well ahead of time, and the event has already done its work of confirming dominant social mythologies. The idea of an FBI conspiracy behind Mohamud’s alleged plan to detonate the bomb actually serves to reinforce the spectacular nature of this “event” by producing the illusion of a political reality beyond the generated fiction. Following Baudrillard’s advice, we must resist the temptation to call this event a political scandal, as to do so simply reinforces the idea that there is a legitimate, moral order to contemporary politics that this particular instance ideologically manipulates and distorts. The Portland event, like the Watergate of Baudrillard’s historical example, is neither real nor unreal, but hyperreal. The hyperreal is fiction that conceals an absence by producing the illusion of depth. To believe that Nixon’s deception was a scandal is to assert that the political order has a modicum of accountability that it does not, in actuality, hold as an operating principle. In a similar vein, to assert that the Portland bomber’s arrest is a travesty because he is the victim of entrapment is to overlook the fact that the current “war on terror” is, itself, a screen for Western colonial interests in the Middle East, and that unjust American policies have generated the social tensions that would dispose a young Muslim man to such an act in the first place, with or without encouragement from the FBI. To navigate past the obfuscation provided by hyperreality, we must accept the two versions of “reality”–the bomber as “genuine” or as victim of entrapment–as interdependent and mutually-reinforcing products of an immanent yet unrepresentable social Real that prevents people from identifying the actual adversary exploiting them. It is this misrecognition which leads us to generate false threats (whether they be in the form of a racial other or a conspiratorial state power) to placate a sense of anxiety which originates in a completely different location altogether.

Economic Weather Report from the Dentist’s Chair

September 10, 2010

This morning as the dentist and I waited for the freezing to take effect on the left side of my mouth, wherein two small cavities needed to be repaired, we had a short conversation about the skateboarding project I am working on, the life of a graduate student, and other related matters. As the hygienist and and dentist hovered over my reclined chair, waiting for telltale signs of speech slurring that would indicate that the local anesthetic was taking effect, I had a chance to ramble on about topics that are of interest to me. We came, eventually to the issue of dental benefits for graduate students, and mention was made of the teaching assistant’s strike that went on for about ten days last year at my university. Gladness was expressed by all that the strike hadn’t run on as long as the one at York University in Toronto, which caused great setbacks in the educational process of so many undergraduate students, and, in the end, accomplished very little in terms of improving the deal for the teachers and grad students who were on strike. This sentiment in itself is an indication of the manner in which education has come to be seen more akin to job training, to a regimented, goal-oriented set of proceedures, the slightest interruption of which is cause for serious alarm, even if it is an interruption designed to draw attention to issues which effect the very quality and nature of the education being provided.

But the lack of public sympathy and support for the York strike, as well as for labour movement actions in other sectors such as the recent miner’s strike in Sudbury, Ontario, was encapsulated by my dentist, who in the most inoffensive manner possible, pointed out that it is particularly difficult to elicit support for strike actions in the current economic hard times, where most people feel lucky for just having a job. This tack on the part of my dentist was an attempt to turn the conversation away from the political territory into which it had ventured, to preempt my getting too excited over an issue for which I showed clear bias and interest, and to keep to the primary goal of the conversation, which was to provide a relaxing distraction while we waited for the anesthetic to take effect.

And so the old chestnut of “economic hard times” was evoked, a trope which, like the weather, is designed to set the mind at ease by gesturing toward a larger, all-encompassing and autonomous system to which we puny humans must submit in resignation and humility. Yes, it would be nice if collective labour movements could convince capitalists to share more of their profits with the workers, to provide them with the minimal requirements to ensure their material comfort and survival, but, unfortunately, the economy just won’t permit those kinds of sentiments to sway public opinion into upholding any significant solidarity for striking workers. We’re all suffering, and we all have to accept cutbacks and reductions in our expectations and standards of living. Maybe eventually, things will get better, and we will be able to petition for the reinstatement of the amenities that have been dismantled and denies us, but until then we will just have to grin and bear it, much as one does the Canadian winter (and summer, for that matter).

Luckily, the second round of freezing that the doctor was obliged to administer started to kick in just as we got to this point of the conversation, and the benumbing of my tongue preventing my launching into a deconstruction of the alleged naturalness of the mythological entity known as “the economy”. But the operant metaphor of this exchange, that the economy is a natural system akin to the weather, is one of the central ideological tools by which capitalist structures of domination are implemented on a population that is tricked into the resigned acceptance of their own powerlessness in the face of a mechanism that is actually created for, and by, human beings. However, because the means by which wealth is generated in global capitalism are privatized, it is possible for the minority interests who have a controlling share in wealth production to generate the illusion that our prosperity, or lack thereof, is dependent of factors that are beyond anyone’s control.

Despite the dramatic examples recent history has supplied of actual natural systems wreaking havoc with human societies, the modern age has developed the means for providing the necessities of human life to the extent that, at least in the prosperous Western nations, the adverse effects of “untamed nature” on human life have been mitigated to a degree unprecedented in human history. In place of the old tyranny of the seasons and the weather, of droughts, disease, plagues and disasters, we have a new tyranny of the human economic system itself, a system whose determinate coordinates are not the whimsy of unpredictable environmental factors (though these do play a role), but the actions of private individuals and corporations which have the ability to shape the destiny of entire nations and continents. As we saw with the global financial crisis of 2008, the actions of these people and institutions can have a dramatic effect on the lives of millions, displacing people from their homes and lives with the efficiency of the most violent natural disaster. The difference is, of course, that this economic disaster was the result of the conscious decisions and actions of actual people, and not some unaccountable “act of God” or perfect storm.

The fact remains that the people who work to produce the illusion that the economy is a natural system are not the same ones who suffer from the alleged “downturns” of this same system. The economy-as-weather metaphor is useful to these parties because it undermines belief in our collective ability to determine our own lives and destinies, and so produces a gereralized psycho-social “climate” (if I may indulge in my own meteorological metaphor) of anxiety which further individualizes and personalizes what are actually collective problems regarding the distribution of wealth and resources.

The social reality of contemporary life in the developed world I would characterize as a mixture of fear and guilt. We feel vaguely guilty for whatever affluence we do enjoy–an affect fed, I would surmise, by a unspecific background awareness that our prosperity here is bought at the expense of someone else’s unpaid or barely paid labour over there–while we feel, at the same time, fear about losing what comforts and necessities we do possess. It is this latter which, sharpened to a point by the recent spectre of economic depression, effectively punctures the sails of collective labour movements that would attempt to assert worker’s rights by temporarily shutting down the mechanisms of production. How dare workers petition for better pay or benefits, or for more job security when so many of us are in a state of what is neologistically called “underemployment”! The destabilization of national economies that has occurred even in the most prosperous nations in the wake of the globalization of capital has undermined the old models of disenfranchisement and entitlement, but the representation of the fallout from this process as akin to a natural weather system is just the product of a centuries-old campaign of ideological warfare involving debates over the innate nature of what it means to be human and to live in society.

To counter this tendency I would argue for a rejection of the dialectical and mutually supportive categories of nature/artifice themselves. I would even go so far as to agree with the liberal economists: the economy is indeed natural, just so long as we recognize that so is every other product of human activity–including alternative economic structures like socialism or communism. Nature, far from being subsumed or “colonized” by modern culture as some critics would hold, has always been, and still is, everywhere. Human beings and human practices are natural, just as the weather and oceans are, and the nature that is the weather is effected by the nature that is human society just as much as the inverse is true. The human economy is a natural system, a subset of a larger totality of nature that interacts with this larger whole in complex and often unpredictable ways, but this is no excuse for relinquishing all efforts to be responsible for that part of nature which is human economy. If anything, as the realm of activity that can be defined as the product of the interaction of human practices with larger nature, the economy is the primary realm where we should take care to ensure that the forces of production, distribution and consumption are managed in a fair and equitable way.

I would like to say that I contemplated these issues as a form of distraction while the dentist drilled away at my now insensate tooth, but my attention was firmly focused on keeping my numb jaw open as wide as possible to prevent the buzzing metal implement from rubbing up against the glob of inert rubber my tongue had become. The mysteries of the weather is indeed a pleasant source of distraction in such situations, and I was comforted during the operation by a not bad oil painting of purplish rain clouds advancing across a northern lake, which the artist had perhaps unintentionally painted at ever so slight an angle so that it appeared the entire lake might eventually leak out the left corner of the frame. But whereas the quirky particularities of our generalized environment (and our quirky misrepresentations of the same) might provide welcome distractions to ease a trip to the dentist or an awkward moment in an elevator, the same trope should not be used as a means for disavowing our collective responsibility for the shape and direction our societal activities take. Until it starts raining money, the economy is not the weather, and (to borrow from a famous song) you can’t trust an economist to tell you which way the wind blows. (more…)