History and Politics, Narrative and Truth

Tiassa

Let us not launch the boat ...
Valued Senior Member
On Narrative, Presupposition, and History

"For many, Obama's election was a national exorcism, a purging of the past and a reckoning with the present, as the empire was reeling from massive discontent, economic anxieties, and the perpetual wars fought in its name."

― Sohail Daulatzai

It's the funny thing about disclaimers; I wouldn't know what to tell certain neighbors around the world, because it's true, Americans who think of themselves as somewhat average or normal, have a hard time with this sort of question. To the other, when it comes to certain questions and issues, it might well be there are plenty of people halfway around the world, or some such, who have a better clue than the average American. The underlying point has to do with narrative voice and perspective.

For instance, Sohail Daulatzai reflects, ca. 2012, on the inauguration of Barack Obama:

While the spirit of Dr. King was already present, the figure of Malcolm X was also conjured, if only to try to exorcize him from the national past and the nation's future. A key and telling moment occurred when Senator Dianne Feinstein, of California, gave the introductory remarks at the inauguration, saying, "Those who doubt the supremacy of the ballot over the bullet can never diminish the power engendered by nonviolent struggles for justice and equality―like the one that made this day possible." Feinstein continued, saying that future generations would "look back and remember that this was the moment that the dream that once echoed across history from the steps of the Lincoln Memorial finally reached the walls of the White House" ....

.... Not surprisingly, on the inauguration day of a Black president, both Dr. King and Malcolm X―the twin poles of Black redemptive possibility―were conjured and invoked. And the stark choices they purported to represent no longer seemed relevant with the election of Obama. For the choices between integration and separation, dream and nightmare, Civil Rights and Black Power, patriot and ineternationalist, were now seemingly irrelevant, for as Feinstein suggested, King's and Civil Rights' emphasis on the ballot and nonviolence in contrast with what was assumed about Malcolm and the bullet was vindicated by history through the election of Obama to the White House.

But in celebrating King and Civil Rights that day, Feinstein unsurprisingly viewed King through a narrow interpretive lens, invoking a frozen and ossified memory of him―one in which he is remembered as the "I Have a Dream" American, not the insurgent anti-imperialist who changed his views in 1967 and linked racism and U.S. militarism, vehemently protesting the Vietnam War and calling the United States "the biggest purveyor of violence in the world," only to be assassinated in 1968. While King's internationalism and criticism of the U.S. society were ignored in favor of a more accommodating image of him, Feinstein invoked Malcolm in order to dismiss him not only because of his call for a Black internationalism that tied the fates of Black peoples with decolonization in the Third World but also because of his penetrating critiques of U.S. foreign policy. In celebrating that pacifist memory of King and ignoring and dismissing the penetrating depth of his and Malcolm's thought, not only did Feinstein and the political establishment frame Obama's victory with the triumphalist narrative of Civil Rights, but more important, Obama's victory also served as a vehicle to co-opt, contain, and strip away any of the remaining vestiges of internationalist impulses emanating from Black political culture.

But in the logic of Civil Rights, Feinstein was suggesting and reaffirming that, yes, Black peoples do have a stake in this country and that the feeling is mutual―that not only does their vote count, but it also matters. The narrative of Civil Rights has tremendous purchase and traction in the United States, because it has been used to rewrite the 1960s, underwrite the white backlash and the "culture wars" of the 1980s and '90s, and cement the politics of the New Right, which assumes that race has been transcended, and that the United States has fulfilled its national destiny. Most important, the Civil Rights narrative has assumed that Black freedom could be achieved within the legal frameworks and political institutions of the United States.


(ix-xi)

And, while he does go on, it is worth taking the moment amid that introductory narrative to observe that some people might already be confused. There's good news and bad to that. The good news is that you're not alone; the somewhat normal or average American would be, too. The bad news is that, well, the somewhat normal or average American would be, too.

But it's true, this is one in which certain people abroad probably don't understand, and certain other people abroad might. Indeed, Daulatzai himself is Pakistani-American, not African-American, and his pathway to this narrative is both something the average American is largely unaware of, but also almost literally bleeds through where the internationalist perspective intersects with American Islam.

Even late in Obama's first term it was evident that, no, there was no national exorcism, no purging or reckoning of history. And the would-be exorcism of Malcolm X not only failed, but never could have succeeded; it was either desperate and gratuitous, or else terribly ignorant, take your choice, but it is impossible to pretend around the point. What history informs, since, utterly rejects any vindication of "emphasis on the ballot and nonviolence in contrast with what was assumed about Malcolm and the bullet".

Make the point, then, that feels so obvious. The problem remains, nonetheless; it was always a false equivalence. These are all, in their way, questions of narrative.

And that's what feels confusing; the underlying historical narrative presupposes the world differently, and if Daulatzai would seem to veer and verge toward the radical, two points worth observing are that it is easy, in the prevailing narrative, to pretend any intersection with internationalism is somehow radical, and that the thirteen years since have seriously eroded this part of the prevailing narrative.

It's one thing, for instance, if neoliberalism, as such, sought to chastise what our American prevailing historical narrative considers Black radicalism in saying, "Those who doubt the supremacy of the ballot over the bullet can never diminish the power engendered by nonviolent struggles for justice and equality", but it was conservatives who who brought that doubt to bear.

Maybe we could have gotten away with pretending the historical vindication of "emphasis on the ballot and nonviolence in contrast with what was assumed about Malcolm and the bullet", but these are the United States of America, and that's just too much to ask of people. And, no, not the internationalists, or the radicals; that would be the would-be normal or average Americans.

While Civil Rights has assumed that Black freedom is attainable within U.S. legal frameworks and political institutionalists, critical Black internationalists have historically questioned that assumption, seeing white supremacy as a global phenomenon and looking to international struggles in the Third World as lenses for their own battles with white power .... And while Civil Rights has long assumed that the United States has been a force for good in the world, whether it be through fighting and eradicating communism or any other perceived threats to U.S. national security, Black internationalists have been skeptical and have even outright challenged U.S. foreign policy, viewing it as similar to European colonialism, as an extension of Manifest Destiny and a racist logic that it practices at home.

(xii)

In the time of conservative "anti-woke" obsession, this sort of woke would leave them shook to incoherence because it transcends the boundaries of their historical narrative, i.e., it's a bigger idea and discussion than they are accustomed to imagining, and thus feels implicitly alien and beyond their reach.

More liberal narratives, as such, are fundamentally shook by the collapse of a tepid and timid Civil Rights narrative that never, in the care of the American conscience, stood a chance. Perhaps it seems a nearly radical suggestion: It's one thing if this Civil Rights narrative led to Obama's presidency, but Daulatzi is not wrong that it "has been used to rewrite the 1960s, underwrite the white backlash and the 'culture wars' of the 1980s and '90s, and cement the politics of the New Right, which assumes that race has been transcended, and that the United States has fulfilled its national destiny."

And the important difference is not whether this internationalist narrative is radical or not, nor whether the difference of the last thirteen years changes our assessment; rather, the difference to observe is that the prevailing narratives, and prevailing narrative paradigm, by which those assessments are made and justified, are broken, and perhaps irreparably.
____________________

Notes:

Daulatzai, Sohail. Black Star, Crescent Moon: The Muslim International and Black Freedom Beyond America. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2012.
 
From our neighbor Copilot.

"Black Star, Crescent Moon: The Muslim International and Black Freedom Beyond America" by Sohail Daulatzai explores the connections between Black liberation movements in the United States and anti-imperialist struggles in the Muslim Third World.

The book highlights how Black leaders and activists, such as Malcolm X and Muhammad Ali, drew inspiration from global anti-colonial movements and saw themselves as part of a larger, global community of resistance. It traces these interactions from the Civil Rights movement and Black Power era to the "War on Terror," emphasizing the shared history and solidarity between Black Muslims, Black radicals, and the Muslim Third World.

The book concludes by emphasizing the enduring legacy of Malcolm X and the interconnectedness of Black liberation and global anti-imperialist struggles. It highlights how the shared history and solidarity between Black Muslims, Black radicals, and the Muslim Third World continue to inspire contemporary movements for justice and equality. The epilogue reflects on the ongoing challenges of war, repression, and the importance of remembering and building upon the work of past activists.
 
That's Probably Not What He Meant, But Still

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Here's a line, for you: That's how we end up with fascism.

Wind back fifty years. Imagine an actual old-school tinfoiler. Or fluoride conspiracists. Now, let's put on our Boomer hats and just say it straight up: Leaving those folks in circulation, basic tolerance, the expectation of enduring the unwashed crazy uncle who damn well knows better than everyone else in the room, that's how we end up with fascism.

And, in 1975, the answer would have been obvious: You're joking, right?

Here's another one, historian Jeffrey Burton Russell↗, ca. 1977:

The historical evidence can never be clear enough to know what really happened (wie es eigentlich gewesen), but the evidence as to what people believed to have happened is relatively clear. The concept―what people believed to have happened―is more important than what really did happen, because people act upon what they believe to be true.

(12)

Similarly, if it seems absurd that this should be what leads to fascism, well, that's part of the point. Russell, as an historian, suggests something about how we discuss and understand history, but the choice to actually pursue falsehood, as such, is not inherent to his point. That is, Russell isn't necessarily wrong, but the principle identified in history is a different thing from the same idea carried forward into calculated practice.

As a matter of narrative, the tale of how Russell came to pen that line is actually kind of funny, but it's also obscure compared to contemporary discussion of history, in general or, as is its occasion, religion. And, moreover, its only value compared to the moral relativism of political discourse, is as a juxtaposition from once upon a time. These years later, the difference between what happened and what people believe to have happened is a commodity.

What people believe happened is more important than what actually happened, Russell explains, because people act on what they believe, not what actually is. And, yes, actually, these years later, that's how we end up with fascism, behaviorally, at least.

As a matter of narrative, the funny story about Russell's clarification is both instructive and, comparatively, subtle enough to count as beside the point, but it turns back toward his own narrative context, and the difference between what he thinks happened, and what anyone else might suggest. It's one thing if Russell happened to observe a truism, and something else, entirely, a far more deliberate decision, that anyone would apply that concept toward fraud.

It is merely distracting irony, on this occasion, if an underlying narrative bias in his telling coincides or overlaps in any way with what happened next, as such.

Think about the narrative implications↗: If we consider an historical period in which traditionalist and Christian supremacism wrapped itself in a pretense of literalism that was never actually genuine, perhaps it might stand out that the whole time—that is to say, since even before the Reagan Awakening—literalism had already been ceded as an anti-historical relic of faith. In its way, the period can describe people disputing over the wrong question. And that would be forty-five years, now, at least.

And think it through: The easiest calculation to comprehend is that of the vested interest, i.e., Christianist politics. But while it stings opposition and dissent to recognize how much was conceded at the outset or surrendered to the discussion for whatever reasons, an important consideration is how that acceptance affects other parts of someone's thinking: It is impossible to account the beliefs, habits, and even praxis resulting from a generation spent flailing and drowning in fallacy.

Something goes here about the soft bigotry of low expectations. Inasmuch as we might accept what someone tells us, bigotry is not apparent in our acceptance. But it might occur to wonder, these years later, why we would continue to accept what someone tells us when we know it is wrong. After a while, the low expectation becomes a persistent disdainful prejudice derived from fallacy, and while we might suggest that fallacy was someone else's to begin with, the manner in which it continues to affect our argument, beliefs, behavior, habits, and praxis is our own question to reconcile.

People act according to what they think has happened. And the difference between what we think happened and what actually happened includes implications and effects on other people's lives.

If the grumpy old men of yesteryear complained against humanistic moral relativism in seeking to defend the traditional values that now rely on solipsistic moral relativism for justification, there ought to be at least some, among the oppositional multitudes who play along, who can recognize the ouroboros.

But that is the one thing about playing along, one need not worry about how we get to fascism. The difference between whether that's a joke or an arguable historical assessment is a question of narrative presuppositions, including those we would not necessarily recognize as such.

That fluoride and tinfoil conspiracies are fashionable, again, does not describe any straightforward path to fascism. It is also a question of the crazy↗ uncle↗, and the thing is, they never could have done it without the rest of us.

When it is skeptics criticizing religion or ufos or conspiracy theories, it's easy enough to observe the mysterious element within the crackpottery, the presence of an unresolved secret knowledge by which the believer thinks themselves somehow smarter than everyone else. And while solipsistic contrarian esoterica is not a reliable justification of any political argument, neither is it explicitly how we end up with fascism, though such occultism is nearly an assured waypoint, perhaps a necessary station, along the way.
____________________

Notes:

Russell, Jeffrey Burton. The Devil: Perceptions of Evil from Antiquity to Primitive Christianity. 1977. Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1977.

See Also:

Barthel, Manfred. What The Bible Really Says. 1980. Trans., Mark Howson, 1982. Avenel: Wings Books, 1992.


 
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