Monday, February 15, 2010
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Avatar's Crude Environmentalism
I've been meaning to write this post for a while, but I think it's still timely as Avatar's buzz isn't going away anytime soon.
On the one hand, the movie has received a ton of praise for its groundbreaking technical prowess. On the other hand, the movie has been criticized for its rehashing of white liberal fantasy, the predictably colonial undertones that drive the narrative forward.
Discussion of the movie in these two regards is well-traversed territory. What I haven't seen much of is criticism of the movie's environmentalism. The environmentalist message is typically noted in passing and subsequently folded into the politics of colonial subjugation.
In its Manichean scheme, Avatar pits humans versus nature, as though one could conceive these two categories essentially and in isolation. Humans relate to the environment in purely corporate, extractive terms; meanwhile, the enviable Na'vi exist in perfect harmony with their natural surroundings. Clearly, the movie espouses a vindictive reproach of capitalist kowtowing to the Almighty Quarterly Earnings Statement. The threat embedded at the heart of the movie: we who in our consumer culture continue to be champions of industry are doomed to moral and economic depravity.
Let me step back from this plot line for a moment and channel Break Through, as I am apt to do:
The movie wants us to buddy up with those lovable scientists who are oh-so-dedicated to protecting Mother Tree and "the environment." In turn we are expected to demonize the mechanical logic of corporate interests. But as the Break Through quote states, the categories of "industry" and "environment" or "humans" and "nature" are simply untenable. Why must economic growth be inherently parasitic and unsustainably extractive? Why is it impossible to imagine technological innovation that brings us towards greater resource efficiency rather than increased resource consumption?
The answer is pretty obvious. Fear sells. We are captivated by the prospect of civilization's eventual demise. But fear doesn't inspire action. I'd like to think that James Cameron aspires in his movies to more than simple-minded entertainment (why else produce an environmental allegory?). In fact, I'd like to think that James Cameron, by virtue of the popularity of his movies, has a responsibility to be thoughtful and critical of his movies' messages. But in this regard, Avatar demonstrates a frightening failure of the imagination.
I relish saying that last sentence.
On the one hand, the movie has received a ton of praise for its groundbreaking technical prowess. On the other hand, the movie has been criticized for its rehashing of white liberal fantasy, the predictably colonial undertones that drive the narrative forward.
Discussion of the movie in these two regards is well-traversed territory. What I haven't seen much of is criticism of the movie's environmentalism. The environmentalist message is typically noted in passing and subsequently folded into the politics of colonial subjugation.
In its Manichean scheme, Avatar pits humans versus nature, as though one could conceive these two categories essentially and in isolation. Humans relate to the environment in purely corporate, extractive terms; meanwhile, the enviable Na'vi exist in perfect harmony with their natural surroundings. Clearly, the movie espouses a vindictive reproach of capitalist kowtowing to the Almighty Quarterly Earnings Statement. The threat embedded at the heart of the movie: we who in our consumer culture continue to be champions of industry are doomed to moral and economic depravity.
Let me step back from this plot line for a moment and channel Break Through, as I am apt to do:
"If 'the environment' includes humans, then everything is environmental and the concept has little use other than being a poor synonym for 'everything.' If it excludes humans, then it is scientifically specious, not to mention politically suicidal." (emphasis in original)
The movie wants us to buddy up with those lovable scientists who are oh-so-dedicated to protecting Mother Tree and "the environment." In turn we are expected to demonize the mechanical logic of corporate interests. But as the Break Through quote states, the categories of "industry" and "environment" or "humans" and "nature" are simply untenable. Why must economic growth be inherently parasitic and unsustainably extractive? Why is it impossible to imagine technological innovation that brings us towards greater resource efficiency rather than increased resource consumption?
The answer is pretty obvious. Fear sells. We are captivated by the prospect of civilization's eventual demise. But fear doesn't inspire action. I'd like to think that James Cameron aspires in his movies to more than simple-minded entertainment (why else produce an environmental allegory?). In fact, I'd like to think that James Cameron, by virtue of the popularity of his movies, has a responsibility to be thoughtful and critical of his movies' messages. But in this regard, Avatar demonstrates a frightening failure of the imagination.
I relish saying that last sentence.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
I am a Public Transit Enthusiast
On Saturday, I rode the 38 Geary bus line from the Financial District to Outer Richmond. The trip took longer than I anticipated (45 minutes), but it was heartening as a reminder of the diversity and sense of community that can exist in San Francisco.
In cities of high population density, public transportation is used by everybody. San Francisco and New York City come to mind. Contrast this to Los Angeles, where public transit is used pretty exclusively by people who cannot afford cars. The 38 Geary line is used by hipsters and yuppie douchebags alike, families, students, professionals, bums, the young and the elderly, locals and tourists, people of all colors and stripes. Within this panoply of difference, there is an implicit sense of community trust. If the bus has to stop longer than usual for a wheelchair-user to board, nobody bitches about the wait. When an elderly person gets on, someone sitting will almost always volunteer his or her seat. When a tourist looks lost, a local will typically offer a guiding hand. In these simple acts of decency are important lessons for us all.
Being on a bus requires patience. No amount of rage will move the bus along its route any faster. When you board a public bus, you surrender yourself to a service largely outside your control. You implicitly accept the limits of your ability to manipulate time and space. You will arrive at your destination when the bus arrives, and you have to be okay with that. A dose of such humility would do us all well.
The exposure to diversity demands courtesy. In order to ride comfortably, you will have to address others with such phrases of respect as "Excuse me, sir," and "Thank you." Pushing and prodding might get you to where you want to go, but it is very obviously not the path of least resistance. You may well have to give up your seat for someone in greater need of sitting, but when you do, you will see your act not as personal loss but as social gain. In the setting of a bus, courtesy makes eminent sense.
For me, forty-five minutes on the bus really lifted my spirits. Decency between strangers is really great to behold.
Does it come as a surprise that a public bus served quite literally as a vehicle for social change during the civil rights movement in the United States?
In cities of high population density, public transportation is used by everybody. San Francisco and New York City come to mind. Contrast this to Los Angeles, where public transit is used pretty exclusively by people who cannot afford cars. The 38 Geary line is used by hipsters and yuppie douchebags alike, families, students, professionals, bums, the young and the elderly, locals and tourists, people of all colors and stripes. Within this panoply of difference, there is an implicit sense of community trust. If the bus has to stop longer than usual for a wheelchair-user to board, nobody bitches about the wait. When an elderly person gets on, someone sitting will almost always volunteer his or her seat. When a tourist looks lost, a local will typically offer a guiding hand. In these simple acts of decency are important lessons for us all.
Being on a bus requires patience. No amount of rage will move the bus along its route any faster. When you board a public bus, you surrender yourself to a service largely outside your control. You implicitly accept the limits of your ability to manipulate time and space. You will arrive at your destination when the bus arrives, and you have to be okay with that. A dose of such humility would do us all well.
The exposure to diversity demands courtesy. In order to ride comfortably, you will have to address others with such phrases of respect as "Excuse me, sir," and "Thank you." Pushing and prodding might get you to where you want to go, but it is very obviously not the path of least resistance. You may well have to give up your seat for someone in greater need of sitting, but when you do, you will see your act not as personal loss but as social gain. In the setting of a bus, courtesy makes eminent sense.
For me, forty-five minutes on the bus really lifted my spirits. Decency between strangers is really great to behold.
Does it come as a surprise that a public bus served quite literally as a vehicle for social change during the civil rights movement in the United States?
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
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