Ruben Brave reports from post-truth conference in Malta

By Ruben Brave

On October 10/11 2019 I presented our applied science project Make Media Great Again (MMGA) at the Post-Truth Society from Fake News, Datafication and Mass Surveillance to the Death of Trust conference on Malta; an initiative of new media teacher of the University of Malta and founding Director of the Commonwealth Centre for Connected Learning, Alec Grech. The Post-Truth conference included speakers from The Economist, Worldbank and Google.

In my talk I not only summarized how participatory journalism can be a cost-effective and inclusive solution for quality control in online publishing but also indicated how MMGA’s curated process leads to reciprocity and reflection.

The atmosphere on the Malta conference seemed a starting point for higher awareness and consciousness of the roles and responsibility all agents have on the internet when it concerns mis- or disinformation, the two pillars of fake news.

The very real impact of fake news on people lives was evident by at least two situations at the Post-Truth event. First a kaleidoscopic situation occurred when speaker and Iranian blogging pioneer who was imprisoned for 6 years, Hossein Derakhshan, held his talk named “Post-Enlightenment and the Personalization of Public Truths”; he was publically verbally attacked from the audience by co-speaker Maral Karimi who claimed that Derakhshan himself was guilty of spreading fake news that had supported people getting incarcerated or even worse.

Also, a moderator (and journalist) was under police surveillance during the event as he/she had key information concerning the offender(s) on the murdered Maltese Panama-papers journalist, Daphne Caruana Galizia; a societal disruptive case due to the various investigations with an abundance of dubious reporting to the public. The social indignation concerning the handling of the Galizia case erupted at several unexpected moments on the event.

Fake news leads to real problems and is tied to social injustice. What can we do as citizens? Read my media-enriched talk below:

Public Rebuttal, Reflection and Responsibility – An Inconvenient Answer to Fake News

I’m co-founder of Make Media Great Again [3], shortened called MMGA, a Dutch non-profit initiative [4] focussed on providing a possible part of the solution concerning fake news. A Dutch project with an (according to some people) funny name [5] but with a serious mission.

What do we do at MMGA? Collaborating with publishers and community to fight misinformation.  We improve the quality of media together with their pool of involved readers, viewers and listeners. We have built a transparent system for actionable suggestions and specific remarks from this community pool. NU.nl (translated as NOW.nl) with 7 to 8 million visitors a month and by far the most important news service in the Netherlands is our test partner [6]. We test with a group of critical and knowledgable NU.nl readers (called ‘annotators’) [7] who offer suggestions to increase the journalistic quality through the balanced use of sources and clearer transfer of information.

And when I talk to my American friends [8] about Make Media Great Again they all agree what a great potential our endeavour has. But also they echo their main remark:

Change the name,  change the name,  change the name. 

And to be fully honest to a large extent I must agree with this. Because for some reason, we keep getting enthusiastic emails with subjects such as: “Yeah let’s build that wall!” [9]

But nonetheless, we are not changing the name, not yet…

“In this day and age, our biggest asset is information but it’s increasing amount makes it hard to see through. News guides us through the daily disorder which impacts us directly…” [10]

My personal realization for the need for MMGA started when I was confronted with “fake news” on the publicly funded national NOS website, the Dutch Broadcasting Foundation. For some of us, it might not be a surprise that a state-funded medium spreads wrong information but in the Netherlands people still put a lot of trust in them.

The case was quite remarkable. During election period the website reported that the frontman of the Labour party was asking questions in Parliament about ethnic profiling by the Dutch police. [11]

figure 1: example of misinformation on the website of the national Dutch Broadcasting Foundation concerning a political party asking Parliamentary questions concerning ethnic profiling by the Police in the Netherlands

After investigating the Parliament website and ultimately asking the Registry what these questions actually were, I got an email that the Labour Party did not at all had asked questions about ethnic profiling. It seemed that a female member of Parliament of the Democratic Party with a migration background had asked the relevant questions.

figure 2: update on Dutch Parliament website concerning the party and person that did ask questions concerning ethnic profiling by the Police in the Netherlands

This information could have impacted voting behaviour, at least it influenced mine. When I confronted the Dutch Broadcasting Foundation and asked if they would at least consider editing the headline of the concerning article the editor-in-chief responded agitated with the remark: “I’m not going to contribute to history falsification!”

How curious…

And how can anyone tell these days what is factually accurate and what isn’t? What is formulated to reveal and what is written to conceal or even to mislead? These are increasingly pressing questions, especially as a new historical round of disinformation is upon us and ‘fake news’ is flourishing in all its glory. Could critical readers help in improving the reliability of “our information”?

Our society would benefit from better news. Yet we don’t have the tools to improve this ourselves. This has changed with our open-source movement MMGA as we offer transparent tools for journalistic reporting. Where everyone can contribute and we invite everyone to join our cause. For a clearer world.

Up to 50,000 readers were involved in our first pilot, with candidates individually selected from the news organization’s readers’ commentary panel (their forum NUJij). From these readers, more than 300 are now registered as an annotator.

figure 3: screening, selection and training process overview

And from this group, we selected, screened, and trained knowledgeable and/or critical thinking readers to actually work on annotation assignments.

How we do it?  Improving the quality of media through annotations? Well, we believe people have unique, diverse views and also relevant knowledge that helps the editorial process and quality. With our digital tools, people are able to detect misinformation, biased language and false contextualization. MMGA annotations are practicable suggestions, labelled notes, directly attributed to words, sentences or paragraphs. They are actionable for the editor, avoid debate based on personal preferences and, if correct, directly trigger a correction within articles.

Editors are free to implement or not. Because the annotations are immediately executable and based on the principle of journalistic objectivity, they overcome the known issue of lengthy debate due to subjectivity that arises with regular reader comments.  The system differs from the well-known response form, whereby the reaction usually concerns disagreement with the online paper’s opinion or the tenor of the whole article. Annotations focus on specific elements of an article and are structured according to annotation labels. Our tests not only were to test the annotation system itself but also see how those involved respond to and work with it.

Furthermore, provided these annotations are clear, factually accurate and presented with proper transparency, they provide the necessary motivation for their immediate implementation, given that doing so will only improve the quality of the work in question.

Why we do it? To improve the credibility of media and strengthen the bond with their audience. The credibility of the media is being questioned more and more, whereas the media are seen as the first party to protect us from wrong information. This fundamental role of media is essential to enable proper functioning of democracy and constructive social debate, thus fortify social cohesion.

The potential of this idea goes beyond journalism; in fact, any organization or body that provides information as a ‘public service’ could benefit from it, be they governmental institutions or museums. And it is arguably becoming increasingly important to use the openness of the internet to facilitate the representation and participation of diverse and hitherto underrepresented groups in media and society at large.

Editorships, newsrooms and the army of opinion leaders typically reveal a skewed distribution in their composition with respect to gender and place of origin and residence, among other things. Whereas MMGA, with its “diversity panels” geared towards the nuanced use of language in journalism and its emphasis on multiple perspectives in reporting, holds the possibility of genuine balance. True quality is arguably impossible without diversity. We find it important that our group of annotators is as diverse as possible. Men, women, people from various ethnic backgrounds and minorities of all sorts. This minimises the chance of overlooking particular contexts. A more diverse group can, according to scientific research ([12] see pages, 21, 31 and 38), improve the quality of news offerings and build trust in the sources of these offerings. Trust, in particular, is now one of the major issues in mainstream journalism. The study that yielded the findings involved globally recognized names such as the New York Times, the Washington Post, the Wall Street Journal, the BBC and, last but not least, The Guardian. We, therefore, invite anyone who shares our concerns and wants to help to contact us [13].

MMGA sees diversity as a means of improving the quality of published content, rather than an end in itself.

The fact that media organizations themselves are beginning to admit the need to fight fake news to maintain their readership’s trust opens the door for collaborations. And this is how we hope to work, too. After all, the idea isn’t to destroy existing organizations but to improve the quality of what they produce.

So there you have it! MMGA is cost-effective (because we mainly work with volunteers) and a value-added layer of contributors who create a safety net against misinformation, thus giving the hardcore fake news no change. We collaborate with universities, well-known investigative journalists and impactful media for a maximum reach [14]. Solution found it’s even politically correct because it’s all-inclusive… Yep, case closed… Couldn’t anybody else come up with this? Oh well. No problem, we got it covered…

At least… we thought. Before the post-truth reality punched me in the face!

It happened to me when I was vigorously watching a new tv series: The Man in the High Castle [15].

Figure 4: poster tv-series Man in the High Castle

An American alternate history television series [16] depicting a parallel universe where the Axis powers (Rome–Berlin–Tokyo-axis) win World War II – so the Nazis and their partners won instead of the Allies. It is produced by Amazon Studios and based on Philip K. Dick‘s 1962 science fiction novel of the same name [17]. Dick is popularly known as the writer of the books behind movies as Blade Runner and Minority report.

Side-note: As Ta-Nehisi Paul Coates, national correspondent for The Atlantic, states that for a lot of African-Americans the world Philips K Dick sketches has a lot of resemblance with their actual reality. But also other more general ethical questions Western society currently has in “our reality” are addressed.

So back to me and the series. During the period I’m binge-watching the series I’m using Facebook and there – for some reason – I’m directed to a journalistic looking Facebook-post with the purport that Bill and Melinda Gates are not trying to save the world from malaria or polio but instead actually are testing experimental medicines (on behalf of large pharmaceutical companies)  on poor Indian kids…just like the Nazi’s would do!

And I must be honest, for a second I felt the rage and indignation coming up inside of me. This was big news! The world needed to know about this. And I was ready as ever to share this post with my friends and relatives. To shine the light on this wrongdoing and work to a clearer world.

But then I remembered MMGA’s code of conduct, inspired by the journalistic ethical code the Bordeaux Declaration, multiple Dutch guidelines concerning journalism and prevention of improper influencing by conflicts of interest and last but not least the Five Pillars of Wikipedia. Our first directive states: 

“Your annotations are based on facts for which you can indicate a reliable source (which thus are verifiable and can be held accountable), as completely as possible and regardless of the opinions expressed about this source.”

I couldn’t even find one reliable source backing up the claims made in the Facebook-post. Thus even so how much I felt I was obliged to spread this “news” I also did not want to have the responsibility for an unverifiable article.

And this reminded me of the results of one of the first MMGA tests we conducted concerning our Trustmark on 500 random internet users. The Trustmark signifies and guarantees that all articles are under audit of an independent community, sources are easily viewable to the public and any alterations to the article are also tracked and viewable by the public.

figure 5: test results adoption indication MMGA Trustmark

To create more transparency and trust. From our survey with these 500 readers, nine out of ten stated they experience an article with a Trustmark as more trustworthy. Also, more than 6 out of ten were likely to share an article with a trust mark.

figure 6: overall function MMGA Trustmark

So what will happen when people become more aware when such trustmarks are missing in the article they are reading? Would they be more conscious when they are sharing unmarked articles?

Without the network effects of the Internet wrong information would probably have the same damaging effects as simple “false gossip” in the contained context of let’s say a school class. We are keen to look at platforms such as Facebook and news media like the Dutch Broadcasting Foundation as guilty parties for the fake news problem. And reach for all kinds of tech-related solutions to save us.

But based on my own Man in the High Castle experience I suspect we still need to make a leap in our societal consciousness if we are going to survive this post-truth era:

“We are not merely using the technical infrastructure of the internet, as if it is something outside of us. Beyond our own power and responsibility. We are an integral and decisive part, the living nodes, of this global information network.” 

figure 7: Quote of Daphne Caruana Galizia at the protest memorial in Valetta on the night before the conference

And therefore the name of our organisation stays as it is. To remind us of the easily overlooked fact, another inconvenient truth, that we all individually have to play our part – as reflective and responsible citizens – to make media great again.

Figure 8: MMGA co-founder Ruben Brave being interviewed at the post-truth conference “From Fake News, Datafication and Mass Surveillance to the Death of Trust” held 10-11 October 2019 in Valetta on Malta. Copyright photo’s by Harry Anthony Patrinos, Practice Manager World Bank for Europe’s and Central Asia’s education global practice.

Finding: Article processing charges (APCs) decreased in ANSInet

According to the Asian Network for Scientific Information (ANSInet) website, the article processing charges (APCs) for almost all the listed journals dropped from 625 USD in 2018 to 325 USD in 2019 which is 48 percent decrease. Only the ‘International Journal of Pharmacology’ dropped from 1000 USD to 625 USD, about a 38 percent decrease. On the contrary, two journals experienced a slight increase for their article processing charges (APCs) from 250 USD to 275 USD. This is good news for authors who do not have enough funding but try to publish through Asian Network for Scientific Information (ANSInet). From the journal number perspective, 3 new journals have been added in the Asian Network for Scientific Information (ANSInet).

ANSInet is included in our study as this publisher was formerly in DOAJ. ANSInet no longer listed in DOAJ now; we do not know whether this publisher did not complete the re-application process or if ANSInet applied and was not accepted.

De Gruyter and Sciendo Open Access journals expanding in 2019

by Hamid Pashaei and Heather Morrison

Abstract
De Gruyter is a well-known traditional academic publisher with 270 years of experience. We first noted the dramatic expansion of De Gruyter into open access publishing in 2016 (French: Dumais-DesRosiers, M. & Brutus, W. (2016); English: Morrison (2016). In 2014, there were no De Gruyter titles listed in DOAJ; by the end of 2015, De Gruyter was the third largest publisher in DOAJ. In 2019, De Gruyter’s expansion into open access is even more remarkable, primarily through De Gruyter’s new imprint Sciendo, which has added more than 300 OA journals in 2019. The majority of De Gruyter / Sciendo journals (57%) do not charge APCs. In many cases we were not able to ascertain whether or not there is a fee.

Details
Both De Gruyter and Sciendo publish journals through either Open Access or Paid access model.

The analysis of Open Access journals for these two publishers reveal that especially Sciendo is expanding its number of open access journals significantly, as almost 300 new journals were added to their database in 2019 alone.

Out of the new journals, 33 titles were published for the first time in 2019.

A deeper glance into the list of Sciendo journals shows that most of them are published through collaboration with different universities and academic societies and institutions in Europe.

There is not a clear pattern for pricing model of open access journals for authors by Sciendo. About 57 percent of the open access journals published by Sciendo are free of charge to publish in for authors, while almost 14 percent charge processing fees to publish articles. We were unable to find information regarding the rest of the journals.

For the open access journals with article processing charge (APC) model, the range of processing fees was approximately 50 Euros to 1000 Euros, depending on the journals in which the authors want to publish their articles (To write this blog post, we converted the cost from local currencies to Euros).

On the other, there were less changes in De Gruyter open access journals, though we found 21 new journals in the list of their journals comparing to the previous year. The data regarding their publishing model could be seen in the following chart.

For the journals with article processing charge model, the range was almost between 500 to 2000 Euros, with the average cost about 1000 Euros.

On a side note, there were some journals that were transferred between De Gruyter and Sciendo as the publisher, so it could be beneficial to authors and people who are interested in finding journals if De Gruyter was more clear in pointing out this on their website.

References
Dumais-DesRosiers, M. & Brutus, W. (2016). De Gruyter maintenant 3rd éditeur en importance sur le Directory of Open Access Journals (DOAJ). Sustaining the Knowledge Commons https://sustainingknowledgecommons.org/2016/04/27/de-gruyter-maintenant-3e-editeur-en-importance-sur-le-directory-of-open-access-journals-doaj/

Morrison, H. (2016). De Gruyter open (English). Translation of Dumais-DesRosiers, M. & Brutus, W. (2016) De Gruyter maintenant 3rd éditeur en importance sur le Directory of Open Access Journals (DOAJ). Sustaining the Knowledge Commons https://sustainingknowledgecommons.org/2016/04/27/de-gruyter-maintenant-3e-editeur-en-importance-sur-le-directory-of-open-access-journals-doaj/ Sustaining the Knowledge Commons
https://sustainingknowledgecommons.org/2016/04/27/de-gruyter-open-english/

“Heavy Airplay, All Day with No Chorus”: Classroom Sonic Consciousness in the Playlist Project

For a number of semesters, I invited composition students to explore the idea of using the mixtape as a lens for envisioning a writing assignment about themselves. Initially called “The Mixtape Project,” this auto-ethnographical assignment employed philosophies from various scholars, but focused on Jared Ball and his concept of the mixtape as “emancipatory journalism.” In I Mix What I Like!: A Mixtape Manifesto, Ball pushed readers to imagine the mixtape as a counter-systematic soundbombing, circumventing elements of traditional record industry copyright practices (2011).

Essentially, a DJ could use a myriad of songs from different artists and labels to curate a mixtape with a desired theme and overarching message, then distribute the mixtape as a “for promotional use only” artifact. Throughout the 1980s, but predominantly in the 1990s and early 2000s, many DJs used mixtapes as the medium to promote their DJ brands and generate income. It wasn’t long before labels began to give hip-hop DJs record deals to release “album-style” mixtapes where the DJs record original content from artists made specifically for the DJ album (see DJ Clue, Funkmaster Flex, Tony Touch). This idea evolved into producer-based compilation albums, best depicted today by global icon DJ Khalid. Rappers also hopped on the mixtape wave, using the medium to jump-start their careers, create a “street buzz” around their music, and ultimately gauge the success of certain songs to craft and promote upcoming albums.

Image by Flickr User Backpackerz: “K7 mixtape – Exposition Hip Hop, du Bronx aux rues arabes (Institut du monde arabe)” (CC BY-SA 2.0)

The assignment revolved around mixtape framework in the earlier portion of my teaching career. Most recently, I began to realize as my students evolve (and I simultaneously age), that the “mixtape” – a sonic artifact distributed on cassette tape or CD – is becoming more remote to students. This thinking led to revising the assignment with a more contemporary twist. Thus, “The Playlist Project” was born: the first in a set of four major writing projects in a first-year writing classroom. The ultimate goal of the assignment was to immediately disrupt students’ relationships with academic writing, and to help them (re)envision the ways they embrace some of the cultural capital they value in college classrooms. Be clear, this was a particular type of mental break for students, a shift that was welcomed yet also uncomfortable for them.

“I Get It How I Live It”: Framing and Foregrounding the Assignment Set-Up

The course started with readings on plagiarism, intertextuality, and the hip-hop DJ’s use of sampling, curating, and storytelling. Next were readings by hip-hop artists describing their creative process and detailing their artistic choices sonically. These early readings helped pivot students from their stereotypical notions of what college writing courses – and writing assignments – looked like, and how they could enter scholarly discourse around composing. This conversation was foregrounded in students’ knowledge that they bring with them into the new academic space in the college classroom. My goal was to really focus on student-centered learning and culturally relevant pedagogy; ideally, if you are immersed in hip-hop music and culture, I want you to share that knowledge with the class. This sharing begins to create a community of thinking peers instead of a classroom with an English professor and a bunch of students who have to take the course “cuz it’s required in the Gen Ed, so I can’t take anything else ‘til I pass this!”

My research is entrenched in both hip-hop pedagogy and culture, specifically looking at the DJ as 21st century new media reader and writer. I liken my role as instructor to that of the DJ: a tastemaker and curator for the ways we understand sonic sources we know, and couple them with new and necessary soundbites that become critical to the cutting edge of the learning we need. I’ve engaged in the craft of DJing for more than half of my life, and use DJ practices as pedagogical strategies in my classroom environments.

DJ Rupture, Image by Flickr User JD A (CC BY-NC-ND 2.0)

The outcome of this curatorial moment was “the Playlist Project.” Students were asked to create their own playlists, which served as mixtapes that either “described the writer as a person” or “depicted the soundtrack to the writer’s perfect day.” This assignment was due during Week 6 of a 16-week semester, and was the first major writing assignment within the course. The assignment called for two specific parts: an actual playlist of the songs and an essay which served as a meta-text, describing not only the songs, but also the reasons why the songs were chosen and sequenced in a specific order. As an example, the guiding text we used was a DJ mixtape I created called “Heavy Airplay, All Day.”

“Heavy Airplay, All Day with No Chorus”: DJ Mixtape by Todd Craig

My playlist was a DJ-crafted tribute to a family friend who passed away in the summer of 2017: Albert “Prodigy” Johnson, Jr. Hearing the news of his untimely death reverberated through my psyche on that warm June afternoon; I remember meeting Prodigy when I was 15 years old. Many avid hip-hop listeners not only know Prodigy as one of the signature vocalists of the 1990s New York hip-hop sound, but also as one of the premier lyricists responsible for a shift in sonic content from emcees in New York and globally. His voice is one of the most sampled in hip-hop music.

One of the most anticipated moments of the mid 1990’s was the release of Prodigy’s first solo album, H.N.I.C. P was already shaking the industry with his lethal and bone-chilling visuals in his verses. But everyone knew he was on his way to dominance upon hearing the single “Keep it Thoro.” On this Alchemist-produced record, P basically broke industry rules in regards to typical hip-hop song construction; his verses were longer than the traditional 16-bar count, and the song had no chorus.

He returned to hip-hop basics: hard-hitting rhymes with undeniable visuals served atop a sonic landscape that kept everyone’s head nodding. P ends the song with the classic line “and I don’t care about what you sold/ that shit is trash/ bang this – cuz I guarantee that you bought it/ heavy airplay all day with no chorus/ I keep it thoro” (Prodigy 2000).

It was only right for me to create a tribute mixtape for Prodigy. And it felt right to start the Fall 2017 semester with the Playlist Project that used a shared text that celebrated and honored his memory. It highlighted the soundtrack to my perfect day: having my friend back to rewind all the memories that come with every song.

Fan Memorial to Prodigy, Image by Flickr User Nick Normal (CC BY-NC-ND 2.0)

“I Got a New Flex and I Think I Like It”: (Re)inventing Mixtape Sensibilities in the Comp Classroom

The Playlist Project was aimed at achieving three different outcomes. The first goal was to invite students to use audio sources to envision a soundscape that explains a thread of logic. These sonic sources would hold as much value in our academic space as text-based sources, and would allow them to (re)envision what “evidence-based academic writing” looks like. Thus, students could utilize their own cultural capital to negotiate sound sources of their choosing.

The second was to get students to use DJ framework to think about sorting, sequencing and organization in writing. In our class discussions, one of the critical objectives was to get students to understand the sequencing of divergent sound sources could drastically alter the story one is trying to tell. Overall aspects of mood, tone, and pacing all become critical components of how a message is expressed in writing, but it becomes even more evident when thinking about the sonic sources used by a DJ. Each song – a source in and of itself – is a piece of a puzzle that constructs a picture and tells a story. Starting with one source can create a completely different effect if it is reconfigured to sit in the middle or the end. Explaining these sonic choices in text-based writing would be the second step in the assignment.

Finally, students would engage in editing by joining both sound and text based on a theme they have selected. Again, sequencing becomes a critical DJ tool translated into the comp classroom. Using this pedagogical strategy echoes the ideas of using DJ techniques such as “blends” and “drops” as viable teaching tools (see Jennings and Petchauer 2017). Students would need to critically think through an important question: in creating the playlist, how does one manipulate and (re)configure sound to create a sonic landscape that “writes” its own unique story?

DJ Sai by Flickr User Mixtribe (CC BY 2.0)

“But Does It Go In the Club?”: Outcomes and Initial Findings of The Playlist Project

The first iteration of the Playlist Project bore mixed results. Students found it difficult to think of this project as one whole assignment consisting of three different parts. Instead, they envisioned each of the three different pieces as isolated assignments. So the playlist was one part of the assignment. They picked the songs they liked, however ordering and sequencing to convey a logical theme or argument fell from the forefront of their composing. The essay then became its own piece divorced from the organic creation of the playlist. Thus, students weren’t “engaged in telling the story of the playlist.” Instead, students were making a playlist, then summarizing why their playlists contained certain songs.

For students who were more successful integrating the elements of the assignment, we were able to have rich and fruitful classroom conversations about both selection and sequencing. For example, one student chose the theme of “the Soundtrack to the Perfect Day.” Within that theme, the student chose the song “XO TOUR Llif3” by Lil Uzi Vert.

In the song’s hook, he croons “push me to the edge/ all my friends are dead/ push me to the edge/ all my friends are dead” (Vert 2017). When this song came up in class discussion, we were able to have a formative conversation around the idea that a perfect day entailed all of someone’s friends being “dead.” This also sparked a conversation about the double meaning of the quote; it didn’t stem from traditional print-based sources, but instead arose from a student-generated idea based in the cultural capital of the classroom community. In this moment, I was able to learn more from students about the meteoric rise in relevance of both the artist and the song which seemed to depict an extreme darkness.

“Big Big Tings a Gwaan”: Future Tweaks and Goals for The Playlist Project

Moving forward with this assignment, I have considered breaking the assignment up into three pieces for more introductory composition courses: constructing the playlist, sequencing the playlist, and writing the meta-text. In this configuration, the meta-text would truly become the afterthought (instead of the forethought) of the sonic creation. As well, more in-depth soundwriting could emanate from the playlist construction, manipulation, (re)sequencing and editing. I also plan to use the assignment with a more advanced-level composition course to gauge if the assignment unfolds differently. Using an upper-level course to attain the trajectory of the assignment may be helpful in walking backwards to calibrate the assignment for students in introductory-level classes.

Another objective will be to move away from just a “playlist” and back into a “digital mixtape” format, where the playlist songs and sequencing become the fodder for a one-track, “one-take” DJ-inspired mixtape. While students don’t have to be DJs, creating a singular sonic moment digitally may imbed students in marrying the idea of soundwriting to depicting that sonic work in a meta-text. This work may also engage students in constructing sonic meta-texts, thereby submersing themselves in soundwriting practices. This work can be done in Audacity, GarageBand and any other software students are familiar with and comfortable using.

Featured Image: By Flickr User Gemma Zoey (CC BY-NC-ND 2.0)

Dr. Todd Craig is a native of Queens, New York: a product of Ravenswood and Queensbridge Houses in Long Island City. He is a writer, educator and DJ whose career meshes his love of writing, teaching and music. Craig’s research examines the hip-hop DJ as twenty-first century new media reader and writer, and investigates the modes and practices of the DJ as creating the discursive elements of DJ rhetoric and literacy. Craig’s publications include the multimodal novel tor’cha, a short story in Staten Island Noir and essays in textbooks and scholarly journals including Across Cultures: A Reader for Writers, Fiction International, Radical Teacher and Modern Language Studies. He was guest editor of Changing English: Studies in Culture and Education for the special issue “Straight Outta English” (2017). Craig is currently working on his full-length manuscript entitled “K for the Way”: DJ Literacy and Rhetoric for Comp 2.0 and Beyond. Dr. Craig has taught English Composition within the City University of New York for over fifteen years. Presently, Craig is an Associate Professor of English at Medgar Evers College, where he serves as the Composition Coordinator and City University of New York Writing Discipline Council co-chair.

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Deejaying her Listening: Learning through Life Stories of Human Rights Violations– Emmanuelle Sonntag and Bronwen Low

Audio Culture Studies: Scaffolding a Sequence of Assignments– Jentery Sayers

Deep Listening as Philogynoir: Playlists, Black Girl Idiom, and Love–Shakira Holt

Patricia de Vries: ‘Het Internet’, in real life-fetisjisme en Søren Kierkegaard

(oorspronkelijk gepubliceerd op de website van de Nederlandse Boekengids, 11 oktober 2019)

https://www.nederlandseboekengids.com/20191011-patricia-de-vries/

Het internet is niet alleen alomtegenwoordig, ook boezemt het ons steeds meer angst in: zijn onze data wel veilig, en kunnen we nog wel zonder onze smartphone? Patricia de Vries gaat online met Søren Kierkegaard, de angstfilosoof par excellence, en laat zien dat we de invloed van het internet pas kunnen begrijpen als we het als deel van onze werkelijkheid beschouwen.

Waar cyberspace eerst de mogelijkheid van een utopische ruimte leek voor te stellen, lijkt het internet vandaag de dag meer op het paard van Troje. Van de talloze internetkritieken is de meest voorkomende dat een handjevol sociale media- en tech giganten het internet domineert en astronomisch rijk is geworden door onze persoonlijke gegevens te verzamelen, op te slaan en te gebruiken als handelswaar. Wij zijn geen gebruikers van het internet, wij worden gebruikt door the Big Five: Facebook, Apple, Google, Microsoft en Amazon. Wij zijn het product, en de inkomstenbron. Het scala aan beangstigende scenario’s waar deze situatie toe kan leiden spant van kleine rampen tot dystopische vergezichten: van aan individuele levensstijlen gekoppelde verzekeringspremies en inkomensafhankelijke vliegticketprijzen, tot onderdrukking door harteloze en vrekkige werkgevers of zelfs door rechts-radicale despotische politieke regimes.

In een tweede populaire vorm van internetkritiek staat een angst voor de invloed van ons internetgebruik op de kwaliteit van ons leven en cerebraal welbevinden centraal. Dergelijke ‘internetangst’ heeft zich gedurende het afgelopen decennium gemanifesteerd in een groeiende stapel boeken. Ergens onderaan die stapel ligt The Cult of the Amateur: How Today’s Internet Is Killing Our Culture (2007) van Andrew Keen. Boeken over internetangst vonden een paar jaar later een groot publiek, met onder meer The Shallows: What the Internet is Doing to our Brains, van Nicholas Carr (2010) en Alone Together: Why We Expect More from Technology and Less from Each Other (2011) van Sherry Turkle. Carr stelde dat ons geheugen en onze cognitieve vermogens eroderen wanneer we urenlang van de ene webpagina naar de andere springen. Turkle waarschuwde voor de psychosociale gevaren die schuilen in onze toenemende afhankelijkheid van technologie voor betekenisvol sociaal contact, waardoor we continu alleen zijn – zelfs in gezelschap. Naarmate deze afhankelijkheid toeneemt, zouden mensen het vermogen verliezen om authentieke en betekenisvolle relaties met elkaar te hebben. We staan aan de vooravond van een ‘robotmoment’, stelt zij, waarna robots plaats zullen maken voor ‘real life interactions’.

Ergens bovenaan de stapel boeken over internetangst ligt The Age of Surveillance Capitalism: The Fight for a Human Future at the New Frontier of Power (2018) van Shoshana Zuboff, waarin zij ervoor waarschuwt dat techgigant Google met onze gegevens toegang krijgt tot ons dagelijks leven, onze ‘realiteit’, waardoor het ons gedrag kan voorspellen en – uit winstbejag of machtswellust – kan beïnvloeden. In Zullen we contact houden. Hoe we de geest uit ons wereldbeeld verwijderen – een recente Nederlandstalige vertegenwoordiger van het genre – stelt ook Rob van Gerwen dat zich een zogenaamde ‘dementificatie van ons wereldbeeld’ voltrekt, gekenmerkt door het verlies van onze geest en subjectiviteit. De menselijke leefwereld wordt steeds meer gestuurd door een voortdurende mechanisering en kwantificering, versterkt door een neoliberale marktstructuur en ‘de digitale wereld’. Van Gerwen ontwaart een ‘digitale wereld’ die is losgezongen van de ‘leefwereld’. In deze digitale wereld maken de algoritmen van Twitter, Facebook en Google de dienst uit. In zijn boek beschrijft hij wat dat met onze geest en subjectiviteit doet. Hij schetst een somber beeld waarin mensen wrijvend over oplichtende rechthoeken veranderen in ‘smartphone-zombies’. Voortdurend afgeleid door binnenkomende WhatsAppberichten en notificaties van socialemedia-apps, hebben we geen echte aandacht meer voor elkaar. We zijn continu ‘online’ en als gevolg daarvan altijd ‘afwezig’, meent Van Gerwen. We lopen rond, of erger nog, we fietsen en rijden rond, met onze ogen gericht op onze apparaten. Voorrang verlenen we alleen aan onze smartphones: menselijke verstandhoudingen zijn ontdaan van oogcontact en lichamelijke en geestelijke aanwezigheid. Doordat we almaar ‘online’ zijn verleren we zelfs het converseren, want gesprekken op het internet bestaan vooral uit losse expressies of emotioneel commentaar gekenmerkt door slordig taalgebruik. En dit zijn volgens Van Gerwen slechts enkele van de zorgwekkende gevolgen voor onze dementerende geest en verdrukte subjectiviteit.

In de verschillende uitingen van internetangst ligt het accent steeds net anders, maar het refrein luidt al tien jaar hetzelfde: het internet helpt alles wat werkelijk van waarde is naar zijn grootje, en wij graven, scrollend en klikkend, ons eigen graf. Internetangst kent een lange voorgeschiedenis, met een vrijwel ongewijzigde structuur. Wetenschappers, schrijvers en critici buigen zich al eeuwenlang over de consequenties van technologische ontwikkelingen op het menselijk leven. Kort samengevat luidt de formule: de opkomst van een specifieke technologie wordt verketterd door haar in verband te brengen met negatieve effecten op onze cognitieve vermogens en de sociale vaardigheden van met name toekomstige generaties. Bovenal is de angst voor afnemende autonomie en (keuze)vrijheid een gouwe ouwe binnen zulke technologiekritieken.

De veronderstelde negatieve effecten van ‘het internet’ worden dikwijls in de schoenen van een of meerdere technologiegiganten geschoven. Zonder die vervloekte platformmonopolisten en hun slimme dragers zou het echte leven er beter uit zien. We zouden weer wat rechterop lopen, en wat meer aandacht hebben voor elkaar. We zouden weer moeilijke boeken lezen en goede gesprekken voeren tijdens de lunchpauze. Onze filterbubbels zouden kunnen barsten en polarisatie en fragmentatie zouden plaats kunnen maken voor een breed gedragen waardesysteem. Misschien zouden we ons weer wat vaker vervelen, wat de deur zou kunnen openen naar nog veel meer groots en moois. Kortom: de manier waarop wij de wereld waarnemen zou niet langer afhankelijk zijn van de algoritmen van op winst beluste internetbedrijven.

Maar een fixatie op ‘het internet’ als almachtige overheerser veronderstelt een vals dualisme tussen de digitale of virtuele wereld enerzijds en de werkelijke wereld anderzijds. Die visie laat weinig ruimte voor een problematisering van ‘het internet’ als onderdeel van de complexe en rommelige socio-technische kluwen waarin wij leven, die onder meer bestaat uit grootheden als geografische locatie, kapitaal en arbeid, politiek en economie, maar ook uit kleinere eenheden, zoals u en ik – en alle verwachtingen, ideeën, verlangens en aspiraties van de voornoemde betrokken spelers. Belangrijker nog: we hangen maar al te gemakkelijk de oorzaak van onze angsten op aan iets dat buiten onszelf ligt en daarmee buiten ons bereik. Deze gedachte onderzocht de grote angstfilosoof Søren Kierkegaard al. Door angsten buiten onszelf te plaatsen verliezen we de onderliggende oorzaken van onze angsten uit het oog, want zoals hoogtevrees niet over hoogte gaat, zo heeft internetangst geen directe betrekking op het internet.

Kierkegaard over angst

In Het begrip angst beweert Kierkegaard dat momenten van angst onvermijdelijk een fundamenteel onderdeel zijn van het menselijk bestaan en zelfs dat ons begrip van de wereld geworteld is in angst. Anders gezegd, onze relatie tot de wereld – onze kennis ervan, ons handelen in de wereld en onze ideeën erover – zijn gegrond in angst. Hoewel we angst in het lichaam voelen, en in het hier en nu ervaren, is het een toekomstgerichte emotie. In De ziekte tot de dood stelt Kierkegaard dat angst wordt gevormd door het onbekende, door iets waar we geen kennis mee durven te maken. Dat kan angst zijn voor een mogelijkheid van het bestaan of een angst voor jezelf. De voorwaarde voor angst, zo betoogt hij, is de onmogelijkheid om in de toekomst te kunnen kijken; het is de openheid en onbekendheid van de toekomst die ons angst inboezemt.

Kierkegaards visie op angst ligt besloten in zijn idee van menszijn. In De ziekte tot de dood stelt hij dat de mens zelf een verhouding is, namelijk een verhouding tot het zelf. Deze zelfverhouding stelt een synthese tussen eindigheid en oneindigheid voor, tussen het tijdelijke en het eeuwige, tussen noodzakelijkheid en mogelijkheid. Volgens Kierkegaard wordt deze synthese door God gedragen en door de mens gesteld. Doordat de mens een verhouding is, een synthese van tegenstellingen, is hij vatbaar voor angst. Mogelijkheid, oneindigheid en het eeuwige maken dat de toekomst radicaal open en onbepaald is. De mens heeft wat dat betreft niets in de melk te brokkelen. Onder meer sekse, etniciteit, economische klasse, geografische positie, burgerschap, gezondheid, en uiteindelijk sterfelijkheid begrenzen de mogelijkheden van de mens, maar deze begrenzingen zijn nooit absoluut noch allesomvattend. Mogelijkheid omvat al het mogelijke, en ‘al’ omvat zelfs het ondenkbare, onkenbare en onvoorstelbare. Zou dat niet zo zijn, dan zou de toekomst in zekere mate berekenbaar, voorspelbaar en waarschijnlijk worden. Angst is daarom ook mogelijkheid van verandering, het mogelijke verlies van iets en het begin van iets anders – het toekomstige, het onvermoede. De onvoorspelbaarheid van de toekomst weerhoudt mensen er niet van haar te voorspellen, maar dat verandert echter niets aan de fundamentele openheid van de toekomst, benadrukt Kierkegaard. Wat maakt angstwekkende toekomstvisioenen over het internet een populair genre? Wat winnen we als straks alles verloren gaat aan het internet? In Present Shock: When Everything Happens Now (2013) beweert Douglas Rushkoff dat apocalyptisch denken houvast biedt. En, nog belangrijker, het geeft inhoud en richting aan een open en onvoorspelbare toekomst. Dit is wat er gaat gebeuren. We staan nu hier. Op deze manier gaan we ten onder. Speculeren over waar het heen gaat met het internet biedt die illusie van houvast in een onstandvastig leven. Maar daarmee kom je niet van je angst af, je moet er namelijk doorheen, meent Kierkegaard.

Internetangst als IRL-fetisjisme

Angst komt voort uit een scheve verhouding van de mens tot zichzelf, een scheefstand in de synthese waarbij de ene kant van de tegenstelling de boventoon voert ten opzichte van de andere. Wanneer iemand zich bijvoorbeeld verliest in grenzeloze fantasieën en dromen, wanneer hij denkt dat hij onbegrensd is, is er sprake van een gebrek aan eindigheid, en een teveel aan oneindigheid. En omgekeerd, wanneer je nadruk legt op je beperkingen en op noodzakelijkheid, kun je verzanden in determinisme, fatalisme of nihilisme. Wat dan ontbreekt is een gevoel van verbreding, van mogelijkheid. In angstige toekomstvisioenen lijkt er dan ook sprake van een wanverhouding tussen het eindige en het oneindige, noodzakelijkheid en mogelijkheid. Meer concreet: internetangst berust op een vals dualisme tussen de virtuele en de werkelijke wereld, waarin de nadruk met name op de virtuele wereld komt te liggen. Dat leidt iemand als John Cheney-Lippold, auteur van We Are Data: Algorithms and the Making of Our Digital Selves (2017), ertoe te stellen dat we worden onderworpen aan een ‘algoritmische regeringsvorm met biopolitieke dimensies’. En diezelfde wanverhouding verklaart waarom Jamie Susskind in Future Politics: Living in a World Transformed by Tech (2018) beweert dat ‘we will be who the algorithms say we are.’

Er bestaat ook een schat aan literatuur die het denken in termen van online versus offline en mens versus machine problematiseert. Dominic Fox, bijvoorbeeld, hoort in de tegenstelling tussen technologie en verbeeldingskracht vooral de echo’s van een romantisch humanisme. Technologieën die zijn ontworpen om onze geestelijke ervaring te verrijken, zouden die uiteindelijk juist verarmen. Het probleem met dergelijke tegenstellingen is dat zij een complexe verhouding samenvatten in een tweedimensionaal verhaal over hoe we onze geest en verbeelding hebben verloren aan de sirenen van het gemak. Nathan Jurgenson spreekt in dit verband van een in real life– of IRL-fetisj. Deze kijk op de wereld maakt een hard onderscheid tussen mens en machine, tussen objectiviteit en subjectiviteit, tussen virtualiteit en werkelijkheid, offline en online, en tussen ervaring en informatie. Online wordt begrepen als niet-offline, als niet-aanwezig, als ergens anders. Waar offline staat voor ‘echt’, ‘authentiek’ en ‘werkelijk’, wordt online afgedaan als ‘virtueel’ en ‘niet-werkelijk.’ IRL-fetisjisten klagen dat mensen, en vooral millennials, de rug hebben gekeerd naar het ‘echte leven’. Ze hebben werkelijk contact ingeruild voor online contact, en echte vrienden voor Facebookvrienden. Volgens de fetisjisten leeft de toekomstige generatie daardoor in simulacra: iedereen heeft een eigen virtuele werkelijkheid in zijn tas zitten die we overal mee naartoe slepen en vervolgens op tafel leggen. IRL-fetisjisme laat zich daarom beschrijven door een fixatie op de ‘werkelijkheid’, ‘het echte leven’ en de ‘ongemedieerde ervaring’. De IRL-fetisjist schept graag op dat hij niet of niet meer op Facebook zit, geen Instagramaccount heeft, niet aan Twitter doet en nog nooit van TikTok heeft gehoord. Hij wil niet langer beïnvloed worden door de algoritmen van sociale mediagiganten; hij is de internetverslaving de baas. Met zijn telefoon diep in de tas en volledig uitgelogd, staat hij met beide voeten in het ‘echte’ leven. IRL-fetisjisme is een wanverhouding tussen het eindige en het oneindige. De wanverhouding bestaat er onder meer in dat er magische krachten aan het ‘echte’ en het ‘werkelijke’ worden toegeschreven. Er is inmiddels zelfs een verdienstelijke markt ontstaan die zich richt op de IRL-fetisjist, bestaande uit stapels boeken en publicaties over de magie van verveling, en reisjes naar Digital Detox Camps waar je met je partner, vrienden of het hele gezin eindeloos lang stenen op elkaar kunt stapelen, ver weg van een wifi-signaal.

It’s complicated

Internetangst stelt ons voor de taak om werk te maken van de wanverhouding tussen begrenzing ten koste van verbreding, tussen mogelijkheid en noodzakelijkheid. Wanneer we de digitale wereld en de leefwereld als verstrengeld zien, als een synthese, kunnen we genuanceerder naar het internet kijken. Dan kunnen we zien dat het internet geen monoliet is. En dat onze online bezigheden onlosmakelijk verbonden zijn met wat we offline doen. De echte wereld is juist een synthese van online en offline, van mens en machine, van lichamelijkheid en virtualiteit. Het internet is het echte leven: het is de scheiding tussen offline en online die ‘on-echt’ en ‘on-werkelijk’ is.

In It’s Complicated (2014) bespreekt Danah Boyd de typische Grote Verhalen die over de internetgeneratie worden verteld. Het onlinegedrag van jongeren blijkt al gauw gecompliceerder te zijn dan vaak wordt beweerd. It’s Complicated verlegt de aandacht naar wat jongeren uit hun smartphones halen en de betekenis die zij aan online-zijn toeschrijven: zo biedt de smartphone een manier om weerstand te bieden aan de druk en beperkingen die zij op school en thuis ervaren. Tegelijkertijd vormen apps hangplekken voor vriendengroepen waarmee jongeren hun leefwereld delen: ze zoeken er steun bij elkaar, en vinden de mogelijkheid om zich zonder de bemoeienissen van ouders uit te drukken – vaak in een eigen taal. Ze maken geregeld gebruik van verschillende socialemediaplatforms waarop ze vorm geven aan verschillende persona’s. Dat neemt niet weg dat dezelfde smartphone een middel tot (cyber)pesten kan zijn en toegang biedt tot de goorste uithoeken van het internet. Bovendien, aangezien socialemediaplatforms zichtbaar zijn voor derden, en de gedeelde data doorzoekbaar is, dienen jongeren ook rekening te houden met de mogelijke langetermijngevolgen van hun online presentatie. Impressiebeheer en groepsdruk spelen hierbij een belangrijke rol. Het internet, legt Boyd uit, is hierbij noch het probleem noch de oplossing – het is inderdaad gecompliceerd. Dat punt is sterk en actueel: de overspannen bezorgdheid van ouders en leraren duidt niet alleen op bekommernis over de toekomstige impact van ‘het internet’ van nu, maar laat ook zien dat zij het internetgedrag van jongeren veroordelen aan de hand van overtuigingen, verwachtingen en ideeën uit hun eigen generatie en leefwereld. Daarmee riskeert hun zorg niet alleen een morele vingerwijzing te worden, maar dragen zij ook onbedoeld bij aan angstbeelden over ‘het internet’.

Beweging op de plaats

Kierkegaard stelt de taak om kennis te maken met angst, en om onze angsten te leren kennen dienen we onze innerlijke bewegingen, onze zelfverhouding, te doorgronden – onze verhouding tot verandering te ontrafelen. Wie met een kierkegaardiaans oog naar internetangst kijkt, beseft hoezeer de angst die we op het internet projecteren samenhangt met de bestaansonzekerheid die we in onszelf terugvinden. Angst is de botsing tussen de menselijke zoektocht naar houvast, rede en zekerheid – desnoods in apocalyptische verhalen – en de oorverdovende stilte van de toekomst. Zou het kunnen dat het IRL-fetisjisme van Van Gerwen en de zijnen symbool staat voor hun eigen angst voor het verlies van grip op de werkelijkheid? Angst voor vervreemding van het bekende? Is het wellicht een angst voor de mogelijkheid om zelf dement te worden?

Werk maken van internetangst begint met beweging. ‘Beweging ter plaatse’ welteverstaan, een begrip dat centraal staat in Kierkegaards denken over het zelf. Kierkegaard drukt beweging vaak uit met begrippen zoals ‘geloofssprong’, of de ‘beweging van oneindigheid’, en doelt dus niet op voorwaartse beweging, noch op lineaire of progressieve veranderingen. Beweging heeft geen doel, noch een adres of bestemming: beweging ter plaatse, legt Kierkegaard uit, ‘beweegt zich niet van de plaats waar het is noch komt het ergens aan’. In zekere zin is beweging ter plaatse een manier om stilstand tegen te gaan, om te voorkomen dat je vastloopt in ofwel noodzakelijkheid ofwel mogelijkheid.

Kortom: een manier om begrenzing en verbreding tegelijk te denken en daarnaar te handelen. Terwijl zijn tijdgenoten zich concentreerden op overkoepelende denksystemen en theorieën van vrijwel alles, verzette Kierkegaard zich tegen dit soort filosofie door in zijn schrijven anti-systemisch te denken. Dit deed hij onder meer door zichzelf tegen te spreken, verschillende posities in en binnen zijn oeuvre in te nemen, evenals door te schrijven in verschillende stijlen en genres. Zodoende spiegelt de vorm van zijn oeuvre zijn overtuiging dat we ‘denken’ en ‘zijn’ moeten synthetiseren. Door middel van een constant spel van posities en standpunten desoriënteert hij zijn lezers en helpt hij hen open te staan voor andere perspectieven en verschillende manieren van denken. Kierkegaards eigenzinnige opvatting van beweging is niet alleen een theoretisch construct. Bewegen – of preciezer, wandelen – was essentieel voor de manier waarop hij zijn filosofie leefde, zowel een eerbetoon aan zijn grote inspirator, Socrates, als een manier om stagnatie, vernauwing en verlamming in zijn denken te voorkomen. Zo voerde Kierkegaard tijdens zijn wandelingen door Kopenhagen regelmatig socratische gesprekken met zijn stadsgenoten.

Beweging ter plaatse kan weerstand bieden aan cultuurpessimisme, internetdeterminisme, en heimwee naar een geromantiseerd verleden. Aan zijn schoonzuster schrijft Kierkegaard dat hij elke dag van zijn kwalen wegloopt en hij geen gedachte kent die zo omslachtig is dat je er niet omheen kunt lopen. Beweging is wat vorm geeft aan de vormloosheid van de toekomst. Voor Van Gerwen en de zijnen, die het verlies van de geest en subjectiviteit aan het internet betreuren, zal het wellicht een geruststelling zijn te weten dat je iets wat je niet bezit ook niet kunt verliezen. Mocht ook beweging ter plaatse geen rust bieden: online kun je stapelstenen bestellen.

Amsterdam Design Manifesto Nominated for the Simon Mari Pruys Prize

The Amsterdam Design Manifesto by Mieke Gerritzen and Geert Lovink is one of three nominees for the Simon Mari Pruys Prize for design criticism.

The Pruys jury, consisting of Kirsten Algera (design historian, critic and editor-in-chief of MacGuffin magazine), Jan Boelen (rector at Karlsruhe University of Arts and Design), and Hicham Khalidi (director of the Van Eyck, Maastricht), nominated the following texts:

Florian Cramer – ‘Welcome to the Crapularity: Design as a Problem’. The text is a provocative argument for the design of problems instead of solutions.

Mieke Gerritzen and Geert Lovink – ‘Made in China, Designed in California, Criticized in Europe. Amsterdam Design Manifest‘. Well-written overview of the inflation of design: “the discipline has been democratized from cross-discipline to anti-discipline”.

Alice Twemlow – ‘Conflicting Definitions of Key Terms’. This timely essay convincingly shows that design history can serve as a mirror for contemporary design issues.

The winner will be announced during the Pruys-Bekaert Event, Saturday 16 November at 19.30 at TENT, Witte de Withstraat 50, Rotterdam.The Pruys-Bekaert Event takes place during the Design Chewing Festival, which runs from 15‒17 October at TENT. Admission to the festival permits access to the Pruys-Bekaert Event.

More information can be found here.

Why political scientists and linguists are now talking about language politics in the Himalaya

Why political scientists and linguists are now talking about language politics in the Himalaya

Why a book on The Politics of Language Contact in the Himalaya and why now? The title of the book might provide some answers. As the title indicates, the contributions to the book address: 1) politics, 2) language contact, and 3) the Himalaya region. Most important are the connections between the three.

Let’s start with the connection between politics and language. It was George Orwell with his novel 1984 who made us all aware of the connection between politics and language. But there’s another way to think about politics and language, namely, despite the ubiquity of the Western European nation-state model as a political ideal, most states in the globe are multinational, multicultural and multilingual.

“Multiculturalism” became a politically preferred global buzzword, with intellectuals and academicians engaging with its linguistic aspect. The Canadian political theorist, Will Kymlicka, connected with applied linguists with his seminal 2003 article entitled “Language Rights and Political Theory.” Significantly, this article wasn’t in a political theory journal but instead in the Annual Review of Applied Linguistics. This intervention in the field of Language Policy and Planning (LPP) had such an impact that many applied linguists assume that political theory and the study of politics are synonymous—that is, they assume that political theory is the whole of political science.

While The Politics of Language Contact in the Himalaya, particularly the first chapter, titled “Language Contact and the Politics of Recognition Amongst Tibetans in the People’s Republic of China,” offers a distinct political theory take on Tibetan languages, the book as a whole focuses on the politics of language not just theoretically but in the real-world context of the Himalaya—making it an important and timely expansion of the academic discourse on the politics of language of the past decade or so.

Moreover, the book focuses not just on the politics of language but rather on the politics of language contact. Language contact is both a socio-political and linguistic phenomenon by which speakers of different languages (or different dialects of the same language) interact with one another, leading to a transfer or shift of linguistic features and potentially language itself. This added focus on linguistic features is a much needed contribution to studies of the politics of language—one reason being that non-linguists, particularly political scientists including political theorists, rarely have an understanding of linguistic phenomena. While there have been more recent attempts by applied linguists to explain language to political theorists—witness Tom Ricento’s 2014 article in the journal Language Policy titled “Thinking about language: what political theorists need to know about language in the real world”, the focus on language contact in this volume brings linguists into the dialogue, and not just applied linguists and sociolinguists working in the LPP field.

Let me offer but one example of the type of dialogue that the book has generated, drawing on my own research. In my chapter, entitled “What Happened to the Ahom Language? The Politics of Language Contact in Assam,” I focus on the politics of the language shift from a Tai-Kadai language to an Indo-Aryan language—the shift occurring on account of language contact—in the pre-colonial Ahom kingdom of the 17th-18th century in what is now the state of Assam in Northeast India. I explain the shift in political terms and argue that the state traditions of the Ahom kingdom were transforming from a non-territorial concept of the state to a territorial one and that the rigid, steep sociopolitical hierarchy of the kingdom’s nobility was flattening out. One of the contributing authors to our volume, Gerald Roche, put me in touch with a linguist, Stephen Morey, who is one of the very few experts on the Ahom language. Here follows some of our recent email exchange about my chapter:

I wrote to Stephen: “I’m a political scientist, so have a different take on language issues than you, as a linguist, has. So I’m always a bit nervous—and curious—about what linguists have to say about my work. But I think it’s an important conversation to have, one reason being that most political scientists writing about language politics know nothing about language(s). So any feedback you may have would be greatly appreciated.”

Stephen responded: “You’re right that your work is a very different sphere from mine; after 23 trips to Assam I try to steer clear of politics as much as possible although as various articles in the book indicate, language is an inherently political matter and it’s clearly necessary to understand the political aspect.” He then made some comments about the phonology and script of the Ahom language which I’m still pondering, without fully comprehending the linguistics!

This brings me to the third element in the book’s title, the Himalaya, and its significance for the politics of language contact. The Himalaya is a trans-border area of immense linguistic diversity that is undergoing rapid sociopolitical change—making the area a timely context for the study of the politics of language contact—and the perfect context for a dialogue on the politics of language outside of the usual Western European milieu. As Rémi Léger, a Francophone Canadian political theorist, noted in his comments on The Politics of Language Contact in the Himalaya at the book’s launch, the Himalayan context of our book is a critical intervention in the dialogue.

Equally important, scholars working on and in the Himalaya have constituted it, in recent decades, as a field of area studies, providing a forum for interdisciplinary exchange of the type exemplified by our edited volume. Himalayan studies is a smaller forum than other area studies, but and a very active one as exemplified by the UBC Himalaya Program, the Tibet Himalaya Initiative at the University of Colorado Boulder and the Himalayan Studies Conferences sponsored by the Association of Nepal and Himalayan Studies. All of these platforms, programs and intellectual spaces played a significant role in the conception and realization of the book, bringing together in creative and interdisciplinary dialogue scholars such as the contributors to this book and those who joined in the conversation through its launch.

Bio

Selma K. (“Sam”) Sonntag is Professor Emerita of Politics at Humboldt State University in California and Affiliate Professor at the University of Colorado, Boulder. Her extensive research and publications focus on the politics of language, primarily in South Asia, but also in the United States, Europe and South Africa.

You can now read ‘The Politics of Language Contact in the Himalaya’ by Selma K. Sonntag and Mark Turin here. You can also read the first post of this series ‘Why the politics of language needs examples from beyond the Global North’ by Rémi Léger here and the second post ‘The Shifting Politics of Representations of the Himalaya: From Colonial Authority to Open Access’ by Mark Turin here.

Photo: Himalayan Mountains

Pour une linguistique du développement. Essai d’épistémologie sur l’émergence d’un nouveau paradigme en sciences du langage

par Léonie Métangmo-Tatou

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Acheter un livre, c’est nous soutenir et permettre à ceux et celles qui ne peuvent l’acheter de le lire en libre accès.

Le développement des sociétés africaines n’est-il qu’une question économique? La linguistique est-elle condamnée à n’être qu’une science positiviste qui observe sans s’impliquer? Ce livre offre de riches perspectives à ceux et celles qui répondent non à ces deux questions. Il montre qu’il est possible de faire place, dans les sciences du langage, à des préoccupations citoyennes orientées vers la correction d’une précarité communicationnelle nuisible à l’épanouissement des sociétés africaines.

Ce que l’autrice propose de nommer « linguistique du développement » peut, par exemple, aider l’agronome intervenant dans le monde paysan à adopter la langue la plus appropriée. Des travaux linguistiques de codification ou de traduction peuvent contribuer à préserver et valoriser des savoirs locaux d’une pertinence sociale attestée. Les linguistes peuvent aussi mettre au jour les ressorts langagiers des pratiques corruptives. Il s’agit là de quelques-uns des chantiers de la linguistique du développement, nouveau paradigme des sciences du langage au service du bien commun, qui trouve dans ce livre ses fondements théoriques et éthiques.

Léonie Métangmo-Tatou est HDR en sciences du langage (Paris 3). Maîtresse de conférences à l’Université de Ngaoundéré (Cameroun), elle est fondatrice et responsable du laboratoire Langues, Dynamiques & Usages (LADYRUS). Ses travaux de recherche et son engagement social s’articulent autour des dynamiques multilingues et multiculturelles observables en Afrique. Elle s’intéresse particulièrement à la mise en cohérence de ces dynamiques avec la problématique du développement humain et la promotion de la justice cognitive. Pionnière, parmi quelques autres, d’une épistémologie de ce qu’elle a appelé linguistique du développement, elle est coresponsable de la revue Jeynitaare. Son questionnement épistémologique se poursuit dans son engagement en réflexivité (dans le blog Espaces réflexifs) Dernier ouvrage, en collaboration avec Joseph Fometeu et Philippe Briand : La langue et le droit (L’Harmattan, 2018).

Mingus and the Chill of Death

In his autobiography, Beneath the Underdog, jazz musician Charles Mingus recounts his hatred of being ignored during his bass solos. When it was finally his turn to enter the foreground, suddenly musicians and audience members alike found drinks, food, conversations, and everything else more important. However, this small, and somewhat ironic, anecdote of Mingus’s relationship with the jazz community has now become a foreshadowing of his current status in sound studies–but no longer! This series–featuring myself (Earl Brooks), Brittnay Proctor, Jessica Teague, and Nichole Rustin-Paschal— re/hears, re/sounds and re/mixes the contributions of Mingus for his ingenious approach to jazz performance and composition as well as his far-reaching theorizations of sound in relation to liberation and social equality, all in honor of the 60th anniversary of Mingus’s sublimely idiosyncratic album Mingus Ah Um this month. The final installment of this series presents Nichole Rustin-Paschal and her gripping reflection on jazz, death, and mourning. Her opening line requires no introduction: “There was a time when I believed that Mingus was haunting me.” You can catch up with the full series by clicking here.–Guest Editor Earl Brooks


Image courtesy of author

There was a time when I believed that Mingus was haunting me. In the small college town where I was then living, I would occasionally see a man with Mingus’s profile, wearing a black hat, leather vest, and sunglasses, in a wheelchair out and about. He was always alone. Mingus had spent the last year of his life increasingly dependent on a wheelchair as the ALS stripped him of his motility. There is a joyous photo of him in his wheelchair, hair in a riot of curls, mouth open in uproarious laughter with Joni Mitchell embracing him from behind, her face aglow with an open-mouthed smile. I can imagine the sound, caught perhaps during a break as they were collaborating on Mingus, his last effort and the album Mitchell said killed her career. Yes, God Must Be a Boogie Man, sending me messages to write and write some more through the sight of this man looking so much like Mingus. Never did I see him with anyone, he was always a solitary figure traveling the main streets. I do not know if he was real.

Listen to Mingus, and you can eavesdrop on his 53rd birthday party (though he thought he was actually 54), his end of life plan (to be buried in India), and his Midas touch, through sound clips from events and interviews happening years earlier, interspersed among the songs. In his quick, low rumbling of voice Mingus proclaimed that he “was lucky, man. Blessed by God.” Mingus was released after his death, the sounds of celebration, funerary plans, and gratitude leading to the final performance, Goodbye Pork Pie Hat.

Mitchell’s lyrics tell both the story of Mingus’s elegy for Lester Young and his own efforts to ward off death among the healers in Cuernavaca, Mexico. It is a story about the black musician as underdog, first reviled, then celebrated with dancing in the street. It is a story about the threat of interracial love and the promise of children. “Love is never easy street,” Mitchell writes, but still, we dance, make music, hope.

The only other time I have felt the dead come to me was some years later while I was rushing through Penn Station to catch my train. The sight of a man sitting cross-legged by one of the columns, surrounded by his belongings, nearly stopped me in my tracks. Surely, that couldn’t be my father, looking at me so calmly and certainly in the crush of Penn Station? A Hoodoo Hollerin’ Ghost he was not, but he was a haint sent to calm me, I’m sure of it. My father had died not too long before. I saw him there and he saw me. Every time I hear Horace Silver’s “Song for My Father,” cliche as it may seem, I think of him, the Mayor of Bum’s Square in Harlem.

Lithe and tall, brown-skinned and handsome, my father loved music and to dance, he dreamed of Egypt and having a son, loved his three daughters and shared his wisdom with them, found a soul mate to get clean with. In a frame by my desk I keep two pictures of us; in both we mirror each other’s expressions. In the first, I may be three and he twenty-two. We are both serious. In the second, he is about the age I am now and we are sitting side by side, smiling, at my baby brother’s first birthday party. They shared a birthday month. I had already given my father is own gift, Francis Paudras’s biography of Bud Powell, his favorite jazz musician. It was the last gift I gave him.

It strikes me that with both these haunting, despite their love of music, I felt closest to them through sightings of them–the clarity with which I could imagine them in settings so seemingly out of character–Mingus in Western Mass., my father south of 125th St.–resonated with me more than any particular piece of music that I could associate with them. For each, death came with physical decline and, for two vibrantly garrulous people, the loss of speech. Each had a way of speaking in tones that were intimate and confiding, even as they reveled in having an audience. For language and voice to fail as they came closer to death, must have been as unbearable for them as it was for we who loved them, and hoped to hear them utter our names, say they loved us, one last time. Buddy Collette speaks of seeing Mingus in his final days and the difficulty of looking at his eyes, which were expressive of pain, despair, and longing. He felt Mingus was imploring him to do something, but he did not know what. Helplessness. My father spent his last weeks in the hospital and with each visit, I could see him turn inward, chasing down memories only he could see. For both, a yearning for a golden age, time past; for we who remain, their absence remolding the shape of things to come.

How do artists teach us to mourn? We are accustomed to thinking about the Second Line, a New Orleans tradition, celebrating the passing on of a loved one. Mourning is public and communal, dancers and musicians moving together to escort the dead to their rest. We think of elegies penned by close friends of other artists, such as Dizzy Gillespie’s “I Remember Clifford,” Miles Davis’ “He Loved Him Madly,Mingus’s “Goodbye Pork-Pie Hat”—the pain becoming a standard, its changes reimagined, its melody a constant. How do hauntings give color to the music and the memories?

“Ghost in the Machine,” close-up of jazz bass, image by Flickr User RubyT (CC BY-NC-ND 2.0)

The death that looms so heavily over jazz of the postwar era is that of Charlie “Bird” Parker’s in 1955. Shortly after his death, graffiti was seen remarking “Bird Lives.” Parker’s death hit Mingus, like so many others, quite hard. In the liner notes to the album Reincarnation of a Lovebird, Mingus explained how the composition originated. “I wouldn’t say I started out to write a piece about Bird. I knew it was a mournful thing when I was writing it. Suddenly, I realized, it was Bird.”

It is these moments of éclat that make me love Mingus even more. The movement between the conscious and the unconscious, the openness to revelations of the spirit.

In some ways this piece isn’t like him. It’s built on long lines and most of his pieces were short lines. But it’s my feeling about Bird. I felt like crying when I wrote it. If everybody could play it the way I felt it. The altoist (Curtis Porter) did, finally.

Here we see again, Mingus’s insistence that no matter the ostensible subject of the composition, it is he himself, his own feelings that determine his satisfaction with what he has written. Satisfaction, gradually given, with its performance by others, is another story.

Bird, recalls Mingus, 

encouraged me about my writing. He never mentioned whether he thought my bass playing was good or bad, but he always thought I was a good writer. In California, in the mid-40s he heard a poem-with-music I’d written, “The Chill of Death.” He heard it in the studio, they never released it. He said that was the sort of thing I should keep on doing, and that I shouldn’t be discouraged.

For Mingus, to mourn Bird was to recognize his life as “a new beginning in jazz not a suspended ending for everyone else to go on copying from.”  Jean-Michel Basquiat, born years after Bird’s death, felt haunted by him as well, I think. He memorialized Bird on canvas, recognizing him as a king, Charles the First, a god, an angel, done in by society. To make a visual record of Bird meant that he still lived among us, resurrected in sound; listen, Basquiat implores us to Cherokee.

Jean Michel Basquiat’s “CPRKR” (1982) Image by Author

Long before he died in 1979, Charles Mingus imagined meeting death in his 1939 poem “The Chill of Death.” Mingus depicts Death as a beautiful woman. Like a spurned lover, Death clutches at his hands and throws her arms around him, but he resists, not yet ready to succumb to her fatal embrace. She warns that he will not cheat her this time. Mingus put “The Chill of Death” to music on his Let My Children Hear Music (1974), heard by the public at last, and a debt he still had to pay. Soon, but not yet.

The figure of Death loomed over Mingus throughout his life. He begins Beneath the Underdog with his near death and resurrection as a toddler and ends it with the death of Fats Navarro. The cover of Hal Wilner’s 1992 tribute album, Weird Nightmare, depicts a young child facing down a bull in a ghostly field. It recalls that constant flux Mingus expressed between the conscious and unconscious, his fears and his strengths. The hardback cover of Beneath the Underdog features a picture of Mingus, a Taurus, as a child and one can imagine that the knock-kneed child whom we see from the back confronting the bull is one and the same. Mingus mourned by celebrating the deaths of other musicians in his compositions like the aforementioned “Goodbye Pork Pie Hat” for Lester Young and “So Long Eric” for Eric Dolphy.

He bemoaned the fate of musicians who did not receive accolades during their lifetimes and worried that the same fate would meet him. He understood his body as mortal but his music as evidence of his soul’s immortality. And here we are, celebrating his music, reflecting on the sounds he produced about the world he lived and loved in. Mingus was blessed, man. Mingus lives!

Featured Image: Mingus Woodblock Print, Image by Housing Works Thrift Shops(CC BY-SA 2.0)

Nichole Rustin-Paschal earned a Ph.D. in American Studies from New York University and a J.D. from the University of Virginia. She is an Assistant Professor at the Rhode Island School of Design. Nichole is working on a new book project exploring how artists use the law as their medium and how law frames art. Her book, The Kind of Man I  Am: Jazzmasculinity and the World of Charles Mingus Jr. (Wesleyan 2017) is a gendered cultural history of jazz in the postwar period. She draws on archival records, published memoirs, and previously conducted interviews to explore how Mingus’s ideas about music, racial identity, and masculinity—as well as those of other individuals in his circle, like Celia Mingus, Hazel Scott, and Joni Mitchell—challenged jazz itself as a model of freedom, inclusion, creativity, and emotional expressivity. Nichole is co-editor of Big Ears: Listening for Gender in Jazz Studies(Duke 2008), the first anthology of work in jazz and gender studies. She is co-editor of The Routledge Companion to Jazz Studies (Routledge 2019), an anthology of cross-disciplinary and transnational studies in jazz. In addition, her work has been published in Critical SociologyJazzDebates/JazzDebattenRadical History ReviewBill Traylor, William Edmondson, and the Modernist ImpulseWilliam & Mary Bill of Rights JournalSouth Atlantic Quarterly,and Organizing Black America.She has taught at Kansas City Academy, the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign, Williams College, and New York University. In addition to her writing and teaching, Nichole is an advocate for the underserved in her education, First Amendment, and privacy law practice.

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REWIND! . . .If you liked this post, you may also dig:

SO! Amplifies: The Blues and Jazz Dance Book Club–Chelsea Adams

The Listening Body in Death–Denise Gill

Black Mourning, Black Movement(s): Savion Glover’s Dance for Amiri Baraka–Kristin Moriah