Agora Magazine No. 2

No. 2 - April 2016

AGORA

A Collection of Opinion Articles from Skidmore College http://agoramagazine.club

Table of Contents: On Hyperbole

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By Owen Lily

The Perils and Promise of Change: The Rise of Anti-Establishment Candidates

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By Jack Schreuer

Disarticulating the State-Machine from the 13 War Machine: Towards Maritime Neo-Futurism

By Nate White

West by Way of East

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By Torin Meade

Reconsidering Birdman

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By Walker Gawande

The Face of the Crisis

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By Sydney France

Landing on Foreign Shores

By Matt Marani

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SPECIAL THANKS TO Skidmore Print Services Publius Barbara McDonough

SUBMIT ARTICLES SUBMIT ARTICLES SUBMIT ARTICLES TO AGORAMAGAZINESKID@GMAIL.COM

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Agora is an online and print magazine for Skidmore students, which publishes opinion articles and other student writing. Unlike other publications, it does not have a hierarchical structure. The editorial staff acts as curators rather than gatekeepers, accepting all students’ work. Its aim is to act as a forum for the expression and distribution of student ideas, with the hope of stimulating intellectual discourse on campus. All submissions are welcome and will be published. They should be sent to agoramagazineskid@gmail.com. The print version of Agora is a free magazine published on a monthly or bimonthly basis, and is distributed throughout campus. Agora can also be accessed online at http://agoramagazine.club/. For more information, feel free to contact jschreue@skidmore.edu.

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On Hyperbole

By Owen Lily Language is an entity with a living structure. As hard as some may try to make a language standardized, they seem doomed to be outmatched by the populous of disobedient constituents of that very language. That’s right, we are not just users of our language, but are actually arbiters of it. No single entity, no matter how influential, will be able to control a language, for better or worse: as Forest Gump might say, language is as language does.

I ask now, how has it come to be that “determined” means that you will try, that “terrible” means bad, that “wonderful” means pleasing, and in conversation, most egregiously, that “literally” can mean figuratively. Why do these alterations come about? And what are we to make of the lost meaning, the meaning we can no longer mean? For those who are unacquainted with these older meanings, I advise taking a peek at the Oxford English Dictionary. But I warn you; you may come to disdain your contemporaries.

Answering these questions in full would be more of an undertaking than is called for here. Plus, what unites these instances already has a name and a place in our common understanding; hyperbole. It’s defined in the OED as “A figure of speech consisting in exaggerated or extravagant statement, used to express strong feeling or produce a strong impression, and not intended to be understood literally.” So what we have is a conscious bastardization of meaning for the sake of an effect. But this is not the only "effect" hyperbole has.

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What hyperbole also does is use an inappropriate word to exploit its impression, (by definition), undeservingly. But the word only gives this impression because it is used to describe things that give such an impression. Changing the use changes the definition. So, if we imagine language as an economy, hyperbole would be considered theft.

The effect this has is very straightforward; once the name has been tarnished, no one respects it anymore. Louis C. K. does a great satire of how people use “go right to the top shelf” of language for mundane life. He makes fun of two old fat guys who he sat next to in a coffee shop who used the word “hilarious,” recounting their entire exchange and imitating their painfully bored-sounding voices: "Hey dude, so guess who I saw to day" "Who?" the other garbles "I saw Lisa today" "...That's hi-larious”...

How the fuck is that hilarious?...Do you know what that means? Hilarious means so funny that you almost went insane. It's so funny that it almost ruined your life."

Here I believe Louis C.K. is getting at the degrading effect that hyperbole has, making words mean less in terms not just of their magnitude, which is the dictionary's understanding.

But I believe there is another form of hyperbole, (perhaps even deserving of a new heading), that strips meaning not in terms of magnitude but in terms of richness. This hyperbole is what alters a word like wonderful, from describing the arousal of our capacity to wonder to mean good or excellent. What we

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end up with are a plethora of words that come to mean virtually the same thing, common things.

How many times could we substitute a word for good? For bad? And most noticeably in colloquial language, for cool?

This is not to say that these words are sufficient for every occasion. But the erosion of the idiosyncrasies of more complex words disrespects their meaning. And this lack of prudence, and perhaps desire for distinction, impoverishes our language unnecessarily. We are taught in school not to be repetitive, but at the cost of meaning.

So as arbiters of (at least) the English language, it behooves us to question the word choices of others. For as I stated above, there is no way for a single leader to control a language. Language is always relational, so though we never get the final say, we always have a say in how it's used.

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The Peril and Promise of Change: Rise of AntiEstablishment Candidates

By Jack Schreuer There come moments in history when societies teeter on the brink. The people begin to realize that the existing power structure has failed them, whether it’s due to monarchal oppression or a political system dominated by corporate interests that go unchallenged by the collective political establishment. These are eras of change. Although it is due to these times that society has progressed, throwing off the shackles of despotism and expanding rights, change is not a unanimously positive force. It is also from these moments that the greatest evils have been born. To live in an era of change is not just an opportunity but also a responsibility, an obligation to help shape the future for good or look back at the time you stood by while society slid into ruin. For better or for worse America has entered such an era of change, catalyzed by increasing substantive political disenfranchisement.

This critical time has been brought about by the American people’s growing feeling of disempowerment. Despite the grand promises that lie at the heart of its rhetorical tradition, the democratic nature of the America has eroded. A study conducted by Professor Martin Gilens of Princeton University and Northwestern University’s Professor Benjamin Page concludes that America is in fact no longer a democracy but instead an oligarchy. They claim, "economic elites and organized groups representing business interests have substantial independent impacts on U.S. government policy while mass-based interest groups and average citizens have

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little or no independent influence. Our results provide substantial support for theories of Economic-Elite Domination."1 This idea is not restricted to the ivory tower if you go out and ask people whether or not their vote matters, you would probably receive a torrent of “no�s. This is clearly demonstrated by political scientists' claim that voting is actually illogical; the time you spend voting isn't worth the effort in a cost-benefit analysis. There is something fundamentally wrong with a democratic system it doesn't make sense to participate; this shows not only how disempowered the people feel but also how objectively disenfranchised they are.

This feeling of disempowerment is expressed through approval ratings. Congress has an approval rating of 15% and a disapproval of 75%. Let me say that again five times more people disapprove of Congress than approve. One would imagine that if people were this pissed off at Congress, then there would be vast changes; they'd vote out those hated politicians. But this is far from the truth incumbents have 90% reelection rate. But if people hate Congress how do 9 out of 10 of them stay in office? The answer lies in pockets of the billionaire class, for incumbents commonly outspend their challengers 4 to 1.2 Now one might say that money doesn't matter as much as this crazy ranting guy thinks it does, in the end, it’s about who is the better candidate. But you would be !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

1Gilens,!Martin,!and!Benjamin!Page.!"Testing!Theories!of!

American!Politics:!Elites,!Interest!Groups,!and!Average!

Citizens."!Scholar.princton.edu.!September!2014.!!

2!"Why!We!Need!Reform!Q!Democracy!Matters."!Democracy!

Matters.!Accessed!April!05,!2016.!

8! ! wrong hypothetical person I'm using to prove a point (except about the crazy ranting part, we can all see you nailed that on the head). The candidate with the most money wins the election 91% the time. I hope by now I've thrown enough numbers at you to show that even though almost everyone hates Congress, these politicians keep getting elected because they have far more money than their challengers.

Here we have hit the root of the problem. The elite and their business interests are not known for giving away their money, they want influence. The Koch Brothers alone plan to spend almost $900,000,000 in the 2016 campaign; “It’s no wonder the candidates show up when the Koch brothers call,” said David Axelrod, a former senior adviser to Mr. Obama.

“That’s exponentially more money than any party organization will spend. In many ways, they have superseded the party.”3 Many consider The Koch brothers to be the most influential conservative power brokers, who have rested control from already dubious party structures into even few hands (four to be precise). Although they provide the most glaring examples, this is not solely a conservative problem; the other side of the aisle is equally guilty. Liberal groups, such as unions, pumped funds into the hands of the Democratic establishment. Even Democrats are not free from the every extending tentacles of big business; the industry that has donated to the most to Clinton is securities and investment, representing the interests of the financial sector, for a total of over $21,000,000. With this amount of money pouring in, it is hard to argue that !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

3Confessore,!Nicholas.!"Koch!Brothers’!Budget!of!$889!Million!

for!2016!Is!on!Par!With!Both!Parties’!Spending."!The!New!York!

Times.!2015.!

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donors don’t hold tremendous sway in Washington. So when disenchanted would be voters say that their vote doesn’t matter, there may be some truth to that. All of this goes to prove Gilens and Page's point; America is no longer a democracy but an oligarchy controlled by wealthy elites who have the power to bend politics to their will.

So now that we have that established, let's move to the real question; what does this era of change look like? I claim that Sanders and Trump are the heralds of this coming age. At first, it seems that they are dichotomic. Trump has a private jet and bombastic racism, sexism, and basically every prejudice you can think of. In contrast, Sanders is known for flying coach and has almost Disney princess like support from the avian community. Even looking at the vast majority of their policies one finds no similarities; Trump speaks of a wall while Sanders advocates from free college, Sanders says that climate change is the greatest threat facing our nation while Trump has claimed that "climate change is an expensive hoax" created by the Chinese (yup, a person who could become president actually said that).4 I could go on and on listing all the contradictions between Trump's truly vile policies and in my opinion, Bernie's down right glorious ones. But they are unexpectedly united on a telling policy; campaign finance.

Trump claims that the he is free from the influence of bid business because he is personally funding his campaign (the irony is palpable). In a strangely similar vein, Sanders only accepts small donations, insulating his campaign from !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

4!Confessore,!Nicholas.!"Koch!Brothers’!Budget!of!$889!Million!

for!2016!Is!on!Par!With!Both!Parties’!Spending."!The!New!York!

Times.!2015.!

10! ! capitalist corruption. The truly amazing part is that he has outraised Hilary in January, February, and March. Both have made their freedom from the system of funding that would make them beholden to corporate interests a major plank in the campaign platform. This message is resonating with the American public, and why shouldn’t it. People are becoming increasing aware that their control of politics has become minuscule with both parties aligned with neo-liberal business interests and subservient to the rich.

Sanders and Trump represent the rise of antiestablishmentarianism in American, which will bring about the era of change. They are two sides of the same coin, the light and the dark, the harbingers of the era of change. This election cycle the people have started to struggle against the upper’s class’s oligarchic hegemony. This is even more evident by the fact they have rallied behind two absurd candidates. If you described the state of the race to anyone a year ago they would break into laughter. I would have too, how could a socialist Jew even be competing with Clinton and not to mention have won 15 out 33 contests. Can you even imagine what this primary would be like if a more palatable candidate held the mantle of progressivism (*cough* Elizabeth Warren *cough*). But no the torch of our movement is carried by the most outlandish candidate, and he has challenged Clinton, who was the clear heir apparent of the Democratic Party. The Democratic primary is not just about Sanders; it is a rejection of the status quo, of a party who was ready to crown their nominee with as little resistance as possible.

Throughout the election Sanders has publicly clashed with the DNC on many occasions, culminating in the DNC withholding

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voter information. It is clear that the party elites are furious for at him turning a coronation, the creation of the Clinton Dynasty, into a democratic contest. Even if Sanders doesn't win (I've not given up yet for my youthful idealism has yet to be killed by this cruel, cruel world) his campaign marks a significant turning point in US political history; the rise of progressive bloc, a chance to challenge the Democratic establish, and the promise that one day American democracy can be restored.

Now we must take off our rose colored glasses and take a look at the dark side of this coming change: Trump. I’m not going to enumerate all the reasons why Trump is awful (we would be here for days) but let’s just say he’s a racist, sexist, bigot whose policies make absolutely no sense and would probably destroy America. He has been at war with the Republican establishment since the beginning but still dominated the primary. Republican elites have rallied together in an unprecedented “Stop Trump” campaign. The party is unified by their hatred and desperately scrambling to figure out a way to force a brokered convention, so they deny the clear front-runner the nomination. Anther metric from to demonstrate the establishment's disdain is endorsements; Trump only has 11 (Bernie has but 7). This has led to a brutal civil war in the Republican Party, the kind of bloody conflict from which a party does not easily recover. Whether or not Trump gets the nomination, the party may split; moderates who revile Trump jumping ship or a full-scale revolt by the Trumpians (potential fueled by a third party run). In any event, the movement propelling a crazed megalomaniac into power

12! ! will leave deep scars, permanently changing the Republican Party.

The rise of progressivism and a civil war ignited by neofascism signal that, in the words of a great poet, “the times they are a changing.� But this should not fill us with confidence but instead with responsibility. When the establishment crumbles, whether that be in November or a decade, we must be ready to act. It will bring about a moment when change comes with all its force to smash the status quo; when the future of American politics hangs in the balance. Now is the time for us to sally forth our rhetoric and engage in a great debate. We must demonstrate to the nation that the solution to the current corrupt establishment is not through building ascriptive racial and gender hierarchy but instead creating a more fair and equal society. I believe that we can convince America the path forward is one of progress not regression, inclusion not exclusion, justice not bigotry. But if we fail the world will look on with horror as America tumbles into the jaws of Trump or some other neo-fascist. So there is only one option, we must succeed and lead our nation out of the mire of our corporate controlled neo-liberal paradigm and into a new age of equality and progress.

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Towards a Maritime Neo-Futurism

By Nathaniel White Boccioni and Apollonio had it right in many respects: Absolute Speed; The Ubiquity of Power; Total War. These are all sentiments that we agree with. Looking ahead to the future, we were already looking back at the futurists. Suspended in parallax, we were in search of a new grammar that could articulate our condition. We were moving very fast, and still are–– not because we are chasing after something that does not yet exist, but for the reason that it already does. This new grammar articulates itself in the future-anterior tense–– the antithesis of that which is “to come.” Manifesto writing is now a futile exercise, always secondary and after-the-fact (power precedes justification). The futurism of the sea is already becoming, neither better nor worse, nor this nor that, but external, infinite, and more violent. We only write a manifesto to capture a contemporary (or, contemporizing) phenomenon that our current grammar cannot. There is no future tense of “to be” in English. “Will” and “shall” are the code words of the old Utopia, that which has still yet “to come.” This utopia is already here, but we may be the first to grasp it as such.

“Utopia!?” decried the postmods. “Choose another word, please! Down with the metanarrative!” We chuckled at the postmodernists’ fright. “You’re scared of another Utopia?” we shouted back. “But there have been so many already, and none of those worked out!” Then we rounded up all the utopias we could find, those of the most disparate type, and affirmed each and every one of them. But more kept pouring in, so we had to start building little affirmation-machines that would do

14! ! this work for us. In the meantime, we had more abstract matters to tend to; not abstract as in universal (there is none of that), but abstract as in impersonal, depersonalizing.

(Denationalizing? We are not quite there yet, but they are.) The futurists of the 30s know of this depersonalization, which is to say, externalization. What did the futurists imagine? A world composed of machines, each surging outwards at absolute speed and forming an infinite number of connections– territorializing, de-territorializing, re-territorializing. One can see it in the elevators of the high rises of Sant’Elia: the placement of the inside in contact with the outside, pure exteriority. No more Self, no more Soul, and no more Man: only machines and machines forming connections with other machines, a continuous process of becoming. Becoming what? That’s not the point. But if you must know: becoming-dissimilar, becoming-peripatetic, becoming-violent.

Perhaps we have pulled the Italian futurists too far in our own direction. For despite their affinities for speed, war, power, and novelty, Boccioni and Apollonio were still men of the State.

Marinetti wanted to turn futurism into populism, and he saw the rise of Mussolini as futurism’s kairos. Our war, to the contrary, is directed against the state (the populace), and our becoming beyond the city-walls. We are a group of nomadic philosophers that spread infectious ideas from city to city, paying no heed to national borders: Hence, “becoming-peripatetic” (in the Aristotelian sense of the word). Our philosophy is not that of Plato. Once again, we do not speak of any soul or essential identity (becoming in lieu of [human] being). Rather than seeing philosophy as dialogue, we follow Deleuze in understanding philosophy as the violent confrontation of ideas.

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Thus, when we approach national waters in our warships, armed to the teeth with texts and ammo, the state apparatus immediately recognizes us as the war-machine. Irreducible to the state-machine, the war-machine traverses and obliterates striations, mapping smooth spaces and infesting nation-states with ideas of heterogeneity, becoming, and continuous variation. These ideas, the most abstract of their kind, declare total war on the state. Why? Again, this is not the point; there is no justification for war beyond power. But if you kept asking, you would find that the war-machine’s natural disposition is aimed against the verticality, homogeneity, and ipseity of the state-machine. This is why we take to the sea. Thirteen miles offshore, no one owns the water. Opposed to the striations and verticality of the city-machine (the nucleus of the statemachine), the sea is a smooth, horizontal space that allows for the free-play of becoming.

We repeat: this is not a utopia “to come,” but one that’s already becoming. Today, there are nearly sixty million displaced people worldwide. Fleeing war (state war), hierarchy, and the stratification of desire, tens of millions of itinerant philosophers have taken to the sea and have begun to penetrate the national borders of the various European statemachines in their warships. These philosophers are not those of the soul, but of the diffuse and polymorphous war-machine.

They come bearing new modes of life that will rupture the homogeneity of the state. The operators of the state-machine have already begun to stoke fear, and they should be scared.

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The global diaspora represents the end of the state-machine as we know it.

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West by Way of East

By Torin Meade While studying this summer, I met a guy named Akil, who taught a mask class–– yep, a class with masks. And mask class was heavy. Akil taught me a great many weird and interesting things, but there was one in particular among the most important of his lessons I deemed to be small, inconsequential, and almost humorous in its simplicity at the time: The world can be magic if you let it. Well shit. I figured that was pretty open ended, and the guy had a way of trailing off. He also had a way of diffusing tension with laughter–– a potent remedy for awkward silences in the face of heady/heavy shit. Subsequently you could never predict which of his phrases would catch. It took a few months for this one to land.

I’ll try my damnedest to just tell the story and not shove anything down anyone’s throat.

Class was pretty emotionally taxing; you could get dizzy from all the feelings flying around. After a particularly grueling session around mid-July Akil sat us all down for one of his ‘chats’ usually accompanied by tangential audio/video presentations, scatterbrained sketches, spontaneous improvedancing, and the like. After going on about the energies of the human body and the caste system we live in using a whole lot of triangular symbolism, he made a hella smooth transition in topic to the pyramids of Giza, which at the time had me quietly rolling my eyes since people have a way of mentioning druid architecture, crop-circles, the pyramids, and aliens all in the same breath in a sort of manic glassy-eyed craze, much in the same vein as the hair-brained way Mr. Crocker would conclude

18! ! something was the work of FAIRY GODPARENTS. It is important to note however, that regardless of how crazy it sounded, Mr. Crocker was always right, so I decided to give Akil’s Pyramid speech a shot.

He opened with a story about Napoleon Bonaparte.

Supposedly, the little guy was fascinated with the pharaohs, culture, and architecture of ancient Egypt and embarked on an expedition around 1798 with several astronomers, archeologists, interpreters, and so forth. After holding discussions with locals about history, lore, and faith in Giza he decided to spend a night in the burial chamber of the great pyramid–– alone. He requested his team leave him be, insisting that even if he should run out of the pyramid screaming in the middle of the night that his officers shove him back inside. Sure as shit, a few hours into the night, out runs Napoleon screaming bloody murder and, obeying the express orders from their superior’s own mouth, the officers shove him back inside. The next day lil Napoleon emerges cool as cucumbers and goes on to conquer most of Western Europe.

He was asked if he experienced anything mysterious in the antechamber, but he refused to comment and asked that the incident never be mentioned again. Years later on his deathbed, a close friend and confidant asked what had happened in Giza. Napoleon began to speak on the topic but then stopped abruptly replying, “No, what’s the use. You’d never believe me if I told you.” He took his secret to the grave.

Spooky. Some people have mused that Napoleon was gifted visions of his destiny by ethereal beings. Fairy godparents…..

Akil then went on to draw out how the pyramids came across in their original setups, with the great pyramid being surrounded

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by four obelisks, all of which had been removed. The kicker?

Each obelisk now resided in the cultural and metropolitan centers of the world: Paris, London, Luxor, and…. Central Park, NYC. Now, disregarding completely all Illuminati bullshit, the symbolism was still pretty compelling. Akil basically dropped the mike and said, “Be honest, you don’t think they did that shit for a reason? Power.” And with that class was over.

Something about the way he spun the tale had me fascinated. I decided to make my way over to Central Park after class, which was in the basement of a studio on 37th and Broadway. I hoofed it up to Columbus circle then into the park.

It’s worth mentioning that I had mono this summer as well, only because after the eight-plus hours I’d spend in the studio each day I was practically sleepwalking back to my brother’s apartment. I’d actually accidentally fallen asleep on the 3 a few times on my way home and ended up way, way, way uptown. I only mention this to emphasize how dedicated I felt about finding this obelisk. I wasn’t sure why I needed to go, but it felt significant enough to me to fight my illness and troop along. It was a scorcher of a day, and Sheep’s Meadow was cramped and college-esque with Frisbees whizzing overhead, and shirtless dudes chasing soccerballs always ‘accidentally’ rolling into the vicinity of girls sun-bathing. I got pretty romantic about my little quest: I turned off my phone and decided I would just walk up through the park and towards the east side until I saw the stone structure, never stopping to ask directions. It was one of those weird moments where the fragmented conversations I would walk into all seemed relevant to what I was doing. I walked past the summer stage venue where some indie band was distantly doo-waa-ing for what I assumed to be

20! ! an ‘intimate’ crowd, and I mean like a Nirvana VH1 unplugged turtlenecks and candles kind of intimate because I couldn’t hear any applause or cheering or shit. I walked past a statue of some Polish king, and some actors leaping and bounding around rehearsing for what I assumed to be Shakespeare in the Park.

An hour or so into this trip, I saw it hugging the tree line.

There it was: Cleopatra’s Needle. I realized that, in my naivety, I’d forgotten it was right behind the MET and was a landmark I’d seen and passed by many times before, unconsciously.

Still, my resolve was strong and I approached the fucking thing all dramatic-like. There it sat completely out of place, it’s markings shallower from the erosion of foreign elements, void of purpose or place, robbed of it’s homeland, the victim of countless imperialist conquests, it’s native government unsuccessfully vying for it’s safe return to Egyptian soil or sand or whatever to which the United States basically repeatedly replied “pffft… Fuck that.” The obelisk sat in the center of a semicircle of flakey park benches and I decided to crash on a bench smack dab on the diameter line cutting the incomplete circle in half, partly because I’m a little OCD and partly because it was a socially acceptable distance away from the loudly arguing Italian couple and their two kids to my right and the wall street type with his head in his hands looking like he was thinking of ending it all post-stock-market-crash to my left.

The Italian man was average height, athletic looking but a little loose around the midriff, evidence of encroaching middle age.

He and his son had matching Arsenal jerseys on, which didn’t make any fucking sense to me. I deduced with my sleuthing skills the heritage of the family by how loud and gestural the

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husband was being with his wife, who was busting his balls about something. Meanwhile, I’m staring up at this faded relic of human history thousands and thousands of years old. Kind of a wonderful juxtaposition: People arguing about meaningless bullshit right next to something that was carved with a bunch of bullshit meaningless symbols by other people that were naïve and full of shit thousands of years prior. Those architects or slaves or artists were as alive in that moment and as endearingly innocent and confused as this Italian family.

Here I am, trying to have a ‘moment’ or whatever and the sun is setting, and I’m waiting and waiting for this Italian family to go be Italian somewhere else and the greatest unexplainable phenomena happens: the younger son has been staring at me intently this entire time, I never caught him but I had a feeling, and I think he could tell how important this stupid structure was to me and also how annoyed I was becoming with his mom and dad. In a moment of sheer human brilliance this little shit stands up, grabs a soccer ball, walks over to the obelisk, staring in my direction the entire time. He sets up, and punts the ball off the rock structure, which returns to him expertly with one of those whiff aerosol sounds that lets you know a soccer ball has struck something really hard. And this kid just starts wailing on this fucking obelisk, again and again and again and again staring at me directly in the face with stone cold conviction and manic intent. Simultaneously it seemed as though his parents argument began to crescendo behind him, and our suicidal Jordan Belfort Wall-Streeter on the left-hand side began to cry–– he actually began to fucking cry, right there on the spot. It was so much sensory overload in one moment that my tiny human brain did not know how to

22! ! process or percolate what meaning could be gleaned from the situation or how to make it stop; all of this madness for trying to have a spiritual moment with a rock. And I couldn’t help it, something bubbled up inside of me, some emotional content that needed to be expressed, but it was a feeling of not knowing what’s gonna come out of you until it happens. Could be tears could be anything. My lip quivered and all of a sudden this guttural eruption of laughter came out of me so loudly and suddenly that I scared the shit out of myself, and everything stopped at once. The kid who wanted to destroy the world with his soccer ball whiffed and stopped dead in his tracks, the Italian couple went silent and started staring in my direction with a look of concern, the Wall-Streeter stopped sobbing and looked up fuming probably assuming that I was laughing at him. The truth is, I have no idea what I was laughing at, but it felt damn good in the moment and it went on and on and on.

Over the next couple of minutes, everyone got up and left, probably because I appeared to be a crazy person.

After a while, I was alone with the obelisk to have my moment, but the moment had already passed. I still don’t know what was so funny; maybe I understand some. I’ve felt wayward for years. People in AA turn to a higher power for guidance when they fuck their lives up; I guess in a similar vein, I had opened myself up to eastern philosophy and so-called ‘big ideas’ as a way of coping with my own situation, but none of it really meant anything to me because I wasn’t putting sincere effort into analysis or self-reflection. More just bouncing from one experience to the next the way we do without really giving a shit. But something about this particular experience in Central Park on a hot day, exhausted in the dregs of mono, and how

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anticlimactic and meaningless my pilgrimage seemed to be by objective standards rekindled something in me. I don’t know what I was expecting. I guess I figured if Napoleon conquered most of Western Europe by spending a night in the Great pyramid, then maybe if I touched one of the obelisks for long enough I could….. I don’t know; write a halfway decent book in my lifetime.

Now I understand what Akil meant by that: The world can be magic if you let it. It doesn’t matter that my adventure came up somewhat humorously short of my expectations, or that a surge of supreme knowledge didn’t flow through me when I palmed the obelisk. The important thing was that for a brief moment it felt like existence was on my side. For that hour of searching, life seemed big and mysterious yet purposeful like it did when I was a kid and that was something inexpressibly refreshing compared to this constant nagging wayward feeling that has emerged with the advent of pseudo-adulthood. That experience and the entirety of this summer taught me the importance of indulging in your passions–– ultimately what else is there? Even if ‘logic’ dictates that a piece of stone is a piece of stone, a rose is a rose is a rose is a rose, or that irradiated sand wigged Napoleon out, or that one should say “live a practical life” is that the exclusive truth? The world seems a dreary place when a gridiron of meaning is imposed upon it by the virtue of other people simply because they got here before you. Religion, gender, culture–– you’re literally brainwashed into a system for interpreting the sensorial experience of living based on geography and a whole bunch of sociopolitical circumstance and mumbo-jumbo completely out of your control. A system

24! ! created by other people, who aren’t you. In some ways you owe it to yourself to learn from the great minds that have come before perhaps to avoid the same mistakes, but in other ways you don’t owe anything to anyone. This is your human experience. Yours and yours alone, and you can choose to experience it in whatever way you wish. This is what I really believe Akil meant when he said the world can be magic if you let it. I’m beginning to think that being right has shades, that there is a gradient to it. If you could allow yourself to believe that the world is a magical place suddenly it doesn’t seem so antagonistic, suddenly you don’t feel so alone, suddenly your dreams and ambitions don’t seem so outrageous and they don’t need to be so jealously guarded from harm. Imagine if despite all odds, love happiness and fulfillment could be guaranteed to you in this life. All you needed to do was retune yourself, be quiet, and listen. If logic or practicality contradicts this ethos, is logic really worth following? Who are we to tell you different?

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Reconsidering Birdman: Cultural Truth and Success

By Walker Gawande Riggan Thomson: a washed-up actor trying to reclaim his place “among the greats”, completely devoid of any sense of empathy towards anyone but himself. He is a megalomaniac, riding his white horse in search of personal justice. Welcome, to Birdman.

As the film proceeds, Thomson suffers a cranking mental breakdown that drives him to attempted suicide, a result that many viewers see as a fitting end for such a shitty human being. If we consider the entire cast, almost all of them seem to be dubiously self-centered creatures, or as Steve Jobs once referred to an affiliated supplier, a bunch of “fucking dickless assholes” (Isaacson, 359).

This interpretation of Birdman is widely accepted, but it is woefully flat; more than that, it is mistaken––if interpretations can be mistaken––and this matters in a big way, much bigger than the film itself; but if our interpretation is mistaken (which–– trust me––it is), how is this the case? And why should we care? The second question is the reason I am writing this article. As to the first question, we are mistaken in many ways, beginning with our understanding of film in general: We experience film as if it exists in a box––we go into the theater; we go into the story––and naturally imagine that film is isolated: when we leave the theater, or the living room, or wherever we may be, we exit the imaginary and enter the real world. This belief is clearly false, if we consider the fact that Hollywood saturates our culture, and our culture saturates

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Hollywood: Screenwriters and directors absorb the culture that we, the viewers, create and use it to produce films that we are likely to relate to and appreciate––if they didn’t, we wouldn’t watch their films, and they wouldn’t make any money. What makes this relationship fascinating is that whenever we watch a film, we absorb the ideas it presents and these ideas affect how we think and interact with the world. Consequently, we contributing to the very culture that Hollywood watches so attentively in order to create movies we will pay to see.

Birdman is a product of this process, just like any other film, which brings me to the following notion: if the film is a product of someone’s interpretation of our culture, then our interpretation of the film is a part of our culture, and herein we can find the cultural truth of Birdman: We are washed-up actors trying to reclaim or maintain our perceived place in society. If we are not washed-up, we are still actors, trying to put on a best face for the best gain; we ride our white horses in search of personal justice, and imagine that no one else experiences what we do, and that this fact entitles us to that justice. As I can imagine, you are very dubious of this portrayal, and you are absolutely right to; I myself disagree with this interpretation of society, but not because it is wrong; I disagree because we are wrong––we have misinterpreted Birdman; we have misunderstood Thomson.

We need to consider the fact that Thomson suffers from a severe mental breakdown, and to consider it in evaluating his actions; we need to try to empathize. So before we relegate Thomson to the scum of the Earth, we should consider his situation, beginning with his relationship with his daughter, Sam:

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Thomson feels that he failed as a father: He was never present in her life, always caught up with his own personal crusade for fame. To save their relationship, he brings Sam, fresh out of rehab, to take part in his production. In so doing, not only is Thomson trying to give Sam the childhood she never had, but he is frantically trying to show her his life, to have her understand how he experiences the world––and what better way to do this than through Broadway? In a twist of perfect irony, Thomson is putting on a perpetual act, but in putting on that act he is contradictorily trying to be understood.

On the other hand, he is also trying to understand Sam. Consider the scene in which he attempts a hit from Sam’s joint when she isn’t looking: the joint acts a potential lens into Sam’s life, but every time Thomson ‘holds the lens to the light’ (tries to take a hit), he gets burned, and inevitably he has to put the joint down (1.20.146-150).5 But why doesn’t he go to greater lengths? Why this roundabout way of trying to rebuild his washed-up relationship with his daughter?

Consider the possible outcomes: Thomson fears that if he directly confronts his daughter, that he will fail: the bridge will collapse, the foundations not even properly set. Some of us may ridicule him on his meager attempt at rectification, but our disapproval is clearly a result of our inability to empathize, if we consider that Thomson is trying to reconnect with a person who he has accompanied for much of his adult life, and who shares not only common genes but also common experiences. !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

5!This!particular!scene!is!acted!as!I!have!described,! not!as!proscribed!by!the!screenplay!itself;!I!cite!the! moment!in!the!screenplay!simply!because!I!don’t! own!on!the!movie.!!

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Sam is absolutely special to him, and any attempt to reconnect with her could be his last. If she commits suicide, would he not always imagine that he drove her to it? He wouldn’t be burned in this case; he would be branded. The fact that Thomson brought her back into his life at all is clearly a courageous act of love.

Thomson is not just trying to reconnect with his daughter, of course; he is trying to reconnect with the world. Why? He is washed-up, and he knows it; he is known for what he did, not for what he does, and this fame is rapidly fading with the ascent of the new generations. This is very clearly the case: Sam condemns Thomson at the beginning of the film as obsolete; Mike Shiner ridicules him for pursuing fame instead of prestige. Thomson’s fall from relevance is manifest most vividly during a scene at a local rum house: An excited middleaged approaches him, recognizing him for his past role as Birdman, while her son asks the innocent but damning question, “who is this guy?” to which she gives the equally damning answer, “Come on, Billy. He used to be like Batman” But, all of this is not nearly as fascinating as the opening night of the play itself: When Thomson shoots himself in the play’s final scene, he aims to build his empathetic bridge with the audience: the play is him; the feelings are real; the gun is real; the attempted suicide is real. All of this is his reality. In this light, is it not clear that when he shoots himself, Thomson is far from giving up? Regard, for example, how Thomson shoots his nose instead of head: the distance between the gun and his head undoubtedly minimal––shooting his nose was certainly intentional. More subtly, consider those closing seconds before he shoots himself: He points the gun first at

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Shiner, his primary adversary, and then at what appears to be the audience in general. Thomson’s exclamation, “bang!” as he points his gun, is not an insinuated proposition concerning his target’s life––he is trying to get them to understand. If we are attentive, we should also notice that within the audience, Thomson points the gun at Tabitha Dickinson, the theater critic, seated in the second row of the audience––another adversary who seems to understand him the least (1.55.1-85).

Thomson is going to the greatest lengths he can afford to build his bridge––he had already risked a lawsuit, got his daughter involved with the production, refinanced his house, and jeopardized the entire production by bringing on a wildcard actor in the final days before the play’s preview. Why? Because this play was the foundation on which he strives to reconnect with the world, and the bullet is his ultimate bridge.

The only question left, is does he succeed?

Maybe. One person’s actions suggest that Thomson did: Dickinson. On the surface, her short review of Thomson’s performance is nothing but an ironic parody of the modern critic, but with our new understanding of Thomson, can we not revitalize Dickinson in a similar light? Is Dickinson herself not also desperately attempting to be understood, but via pen versus play? To begin, her glowing review of Thomson’s performance is an endorsement of his intention: empathy.

More than that, Dickinson wants to expand his intention into something greater––an empathetic campaign. She professes this belief in the greatest way any critic can––by dubbing an artist as the founder of a movement: Thomson’s ‘superrealism. To Dickinson, Thomson’s cause is just. Hence, Thomson’s bullet achieves his end.

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Of course, there is still more to be said, as rest of the film insinuates Thomson’s failure: When we see Birdman, Thomson’s torturous ego, pissing in the hospital room bathroom, the scene suggests that Thomson still failed to escape his inner demon. (1.57.12-13) When he stands on the windowsill, looking out at the city skyline, while we don’t see him jump, the final scene suggests that he does; and yet, the film ultimately retains its ambiguity via the final seconds, when Sam enters the room and finds that her father is not there): [Sam] spots the opened window and registers the sounds from outside. Tentatively she walks toward the window. She gets there, summons her courage and looks down. Nothing. Slowly, confused, she tilts her head up and looks up into the sky. A smile, filled with pride, begins to wash over her face.

Different film critics and viewers alike have interpreted this final moment in many ways, and everyone disagrees about whether or not they hate or love the ending. But, this is entirely irrelevant conjecture: there is no way to truly know if Thomson succeeded.

At heart, the real test of his success is us: the viewers. To do this, let us reconstruct the relative truth Birdman reveals about our culture, with new knowledge about the empathetic side of the film: We are washed-up actors, putting on desperate acts in a contradictory attempt to be understood and to understand; we feel entitled to a dignified place in society and seek a personal justice that will achieve this; we want the uniqueness of fame but the collectivity of an empathetic community; we struggle and sometimes fail to empathize with those around us; we struggle to understand; we often mistake actions as selfish without questioning why; we misunderstand and we misunderstand our own understanding. Just like

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Thomson, we are all trying to build bridges; to find the silver bullet that will grant us both identity and empathy.

In this context, the answer to the final question, “does Thomson succeed?” is another question: Do we succeed?

Gonzàlez, Iñárritu A., et al. Birdman, Or, (the Unexpected Virtue of Ignorance). 2015.

Isaacson, Walter. Steve Johns. New York: Simon & Schuster, 2011. Print.

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The Face of the Crisis

By Sydney France I hold a list of ages and genders, while I face a wide warehouse before me. I have gone through piles of baby clothes more times than I can count, choosing warm but comfortable onesies and trying to find matches to mittens that could fit on one of my thumbs. Albany is a cold place compared to the child’s last home. The families come largely from Burma, Afghanistan, Iraq, and the Democratic Republic of the Congo, though I’ve also met a Ukrainian and Cubans. Most are refugees, though others have more complicated legal statuses. Some came from camps, others spent years in cities around the world.

Refugees have become a topic of fierce debate. The day after writing my first draft of this article, I woke up to my phone beeping. The New York Times wanted to inform me that terrorists had set off bombs in Belgium acting in the name of ISIS. I could feel my shoulders rise with stress about how the media, and politicians, would link immigration to insecurity.

Since the attacks in Paris in November 2015, refugees have been labeled as threats. Some politicians have advocated for ending resettlement while others have advocated for more screening, dutifully ignoring the steps refugees already have to undergo. As in the case of any political debate, education on the matter is important. The media is not the only source of information about refugees. Neither are politicians. It helps to seek knowledge directly from the voluntary organizations that are tasked by the Office of Refugee Resettlement to move refugees to the United States. With no need to raise ratings or

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win votes, the information provides a less sensational perspective on the situation of refugees in the United States.

According to the United States Committee of Refugees and Immigrants (USCRI), 60 million people around the globe are displaced today. Only 0.10% of those displaced have the opportunity of resettlement in a country willing to receive them.

Before coming to the Untied States, refugees undergo eleven steps of screening (unless they are Syrian, in which case they are required to undergo extra screening called “Syrian Enhanced Review”). They are then matched with a Sponsor Agency, such as USCRI. Refugees are loaned a plane ticket to fly to the United States; during their first years in the new country, they will pay back to money for this plane ticket. At an American airport, they undergo additional screening and then are met by their case manager and taken to their new home.

USCRI staff finds apartments within the limited income range of the new arrivals. Volunteers and case managers arrange donated furniture, set up dishes, and place basic food items (think rice and oil) in the pantry before arrival. The apartments are older and inexpensive; compromises are made, which means that a living room might be an alarming shade of pink. Yet they are warm and they offer a sense of security. As a Sponsor Agency (VOLAG), USCRI receives grants to help refugees be successful in their new homes.

Volunteers drive families to the DMV to get picture IDs (if you ever need a brain puzzle, try working out the point system on the DMV website). Volunteers and employees call landlords and stay on hold with National Grid. USCRI organizes classes, where arrivals come to community orientations, “job clubs,” and financial literacy courses.

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Refugees and Special Visa Immigrants (SVIs) are legally able to find employment once they arrive in the United States.

For the first five years, clients (refugees, asylees, SVIs — as I mentioned earlier, legal statuses are complicated) have access to job development services. This is where I volunteer.

Together, we write resumes. Sometimes, clients have fabulous English skills. I have terrible spelling and we laugh as I type up their answers to my questions, backspacing every few letters to find the correct order of vowels or the number of double letters before finally submitting to the power of spell check. I am even worse at geography and am constantly forgetting where the “H� in Afghanistan falls. I am human, as are they.

Some are less proficient in English. Those who have arrived in the United States are willing to invest hours of their time to learn the language. It takes resilience, patience and intelligence to navigate the resettlement process. They work with me even when, as a young woman with little experience outside of my own college bubble, I have a hard time understanding how to transform the refugee experience into job experience. There are electricians who worked in hospitals in Malaysia, teachers who taught math to over forty kids in refugee camps, and clients who have held leadership positions within the Red Cross and UN initiatives. Certain politicians imagine free riders, unaware of both how hard it is to receive social services in this country and the eagerness of most refugees to provide for themselves and their families, even if that means cleaning hospitals with a law degree. Most refugees apply for jobs within their resettlement area that are easily accessible. Whether they have finished four years of elementary school or have a masters in engineering, they need

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experience in the United States and an income. Many start at Wal-Mart, Price Chopper, college cafeterias, hotels, and as cleaning aids at local hospitals. ESL classes widen career opportunities. Some clients are able to have their degrees certified and others go back to school. Ultimately, the goal is self-sufficiency.

I do not seek to paint refugees as victims or as heroes.

Rather, I want to highlight that they are more than a source of political debate. They are people. Some have long-term dreams. Others have never thought of long-term goals. Some like to tell jokes, others want to talk about Jane Eyre and the American banking system, all face new opportunities and new challenges.

Read the website of the Office of Refugee Resettlement.

Explore USCRI, Lutheran Immigration and Refugee Offices, International Rescue Committee or any of the other nine VOLAG agencies. Volunteer and find personal testimonies. I encourage anyone interested in migration, human rights, economics or social justice to learn more than what they are given on the news or from politicians.

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Landing on Foreign Shores

By Matt Marani As right wing figures, such as Viktor Orban and Marine Le Pen, consistently harp on the cultural degradation and the bastardization of European culture, the likes of the Danish People’s Party have conveniently forgotten of the benefits stable states have accrued from the influx of refugees. This is not to say that a nation-state’s distinct culture should be erased as a result of the influx of refugees and migrants from foreign lands such as Eritrea, Syria, and Afghanistan. Multiculturalism is a virtuous objective to achieve in such a fractious political, cultural, and religious environment. While Western society is beset with the issue of integration, it is important to differentiate between the obligations of the citizen and resident. If an individual seeks to immigrate to another state without seeking citizenship, their primary responsibility is to act in accordance with the law of the land. However, in seeking citizenship one must conform or assimilate to the host nation’s cultural and moral attitudes. Unfortunately, discourse from the right on the issue of immigration appears to be stuck in limbo, lacking the ability to differentiate between these two segments of society.

When examining certain European states, it becomes clear that immigration has played a substantial role in their rise to power.

Established as a Duchy in 1525, Prussia expeditiously conducted a strategy of geopolitical expansion in Germany and Central Europe. In Christopher Clark’s Iron Kingdom, the author asserts that the migration of 20,000 Huguenot Protestants played a crucial role in the development of Prussia

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as a European state to be reckoned. Similar to the skill set provided by those of Jewish heritage in the Roman, and later Spanish Empire prior to the Inquisition, the Huguenots provided much needed expertise in the textile industry. Both ethno-religious groups have shared the same attraction from enterprising host governments and revulsion from indigenous populations. The House of Hohenzollern, the ruling dynasty of Prussia, ascended to the pinnacle of power with a united German Empire. Considering the widespread decimation of the Thirty Years War, and the estimated 50% population decline in Prussia’s population during this religious conflagration, the acceptance of a beleaguered religious minority undoubtedly benefited the rise of such as an influential Duchy, Kingdom and ultimately, Empire.

Prussia is not alone in its acceptance of refugees as an effective instrument for population and commercial growth. As Western Europe expanded its influence globally during the Age of Discovery and Enlightenment, even small states such as the Dutch Republic were able to enlarge their global influence and domestic economies. Perhaps the Netherlands predominantly Protestant population being under constant threat from neighboring Catholic states influenced the fledging mercantile republic’s culture of tolerance, a realization that their economic and demographic survival depended on the migration of persecuted minorities.

In Cities & the Sea, a study of port city planning in Early Modern Europe, Josef W. Konitz provides Zaanstreek, an unincorporated town bordering the city of Amsterdam, as an ideal example of harnessing the entrepreneurial spirit of religious minorities, specifically Baptists. During the 17th

38! ! century, an average of one hundred and nine ships were built in Zaanstreek, ultimately growing to three hundred a year, nearly half the annual ship production of the Dutch Republic.

As a state built upon the mercantile industry, the efficiency of this unincorporated district directly benefited the country’s shipping industry, providing competitively priced sea-faring vessels. An abnormally large percentage of this burgeoning settlement was Baptist, upwards of 22 percent, with many tending to cluster in Zaanstreek’s largest shipbuilding areas.

The success of Dutch Baptists in Zaanstreek demonstrates that a laizzes-faire approach to migration can lead to the creation of self-sustaining communities to the benefit of their host countries.

Immigration is a contentious issue, one that cannot be answered with a uniform response. Additionally, a nation hoping to retain its cultural identity is a legitimate position to uphold. However, undermining this position are xenophobic statements that call for a complete halt of immigration, or more radically the deportation of existing immigrant populations. As seen in the Kingdom of Prussia and the Republic of the Netherlands, immigrants can be a powerful social and economic resource for burgeoning states to call upon. The right must adjust its rhetoric to recognize the importance of immigration whilst maintaining criticism of unbridled resettlement.

CONTRIBUTORS Sydney France Walker Gawande Owen Lily Matt Marani Torin Meade Jack Schreuer Nate White DESIGNER Izzy Gaw WEB EDITOR Matt Marani PRINT EDITOR Jack Schreuer For more information contact: jschreue@skidmore.edu or mmarani@skidmore.edu