In a statement conceding defeat, the Iona Institute, the main opposition group, said it would continue to affirm ‘the importance of biological ties and of motherhood and fatherhood.’ The absurdity of that statement speaks for itself.
Any time I make [on Twitter] some sort of joke along racial lines or dealing with racial politics, I know that immediately there’s going to be a wave of positive response from people who know where I’m coming from and who share a basic aesthetic. The first five minutes, I know that I’m going to get positive responses. Then, minute six, it starts to go beyond that little bubble. Some people come in who don’t even recognize the humor, because humor is a declaration of in-group status. The further away you go from the center, the less they understand the context of it. Twitter is not just American. Race is completely based on context, so as soon as the discussion goes out of America, say once it gets to Britain, it gets a slightly different take. Then it goes past that and things get more and more absurd. Once that wave hits outside of America, all of a sudden people are looking at my picture going, ‘Why is this guy talking like he’s black?’
"Thirty years ago, in the ‘1984’ Macintosh commercial directed by Ridley Scott, a young..."
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Thirty years ago, in the ‘1984’ Macintosh commercial directed by Ridley Scott, a young woman smashed the big screen her fellow citizens were forced to watch and obey. You imagine them standing up and rebelling afterwards.
Today, in the 'Up’ Apple Watch commercial seemingly directed by Stanley Milgram, a young woman docilely stands when a little screen strapped to her wrist tells her to.
”- Dr. Drang
via tumblr [ift.tt/1JMUt7k](http://ift.tt/1JMUt7k)
Thirty years ago, in the ‘1984’ Macintosh commercial directed by Ridley Scott, a young woman smashed the big screen her fellow citizens were forced to watch and obey. You imagine them standing up and rebelling afterwards.Today, in the 'Up’ Apple Watch commercial seemingly directed by Stanley Milgram, a young woman docilely stands when a little screen strapped to her wrist tells her to.
"In a time when ‘to other’ has become a condemnatory verb, randos are the other. If the..."
“In a time when ‘to other’ has become a condemnatory verb, randos are the other. If the mores in a given ZIP code preclude snarling at people for their race, sex, creed or sexual orientation, those uncertain of their own grip on the social center can always dump on randos. It is a nice, clean slur, free of identifying social characteristics. It refers to the extras, the spear-carriers in the background, the people who apparently have only themselves to blame for their exclusion, those you’ll forget all about when you move away. Their being tagged with that handle may indeed derive, at bottom, from their race, sex, creed, sexual orientation, body shape, economic misfortune or anything else, but users always have convenient deniability at their service. After all, there are so many people around nowadays, perhaps more than all the collected dead of ages past — who can keep track? We rest secure in the knowledge that while those people over there represent arbitrary collisions of data, we ourselves are a result of long and careful planning.”
- Luc Sante. I’m feeling kinda convicted by this.
via tumblr ift.tt/1RaZZD6
In a time when ‘to other’ has become a condemnatory verb, randos are the other. If the mores in a given ZIP code preclude snarling at people for their race, sex, creed or sexual orientation, those uncertain of their own grip on the social center can always dump on randos. It is a nice, clean slur, free of identifying social characteristics. It refers to the extras, the spear-carriers in the background, the people who apparently have only themselves to blame for their exclusion, those you’ll forget all about when you move away. Their being tagged with that handle may indeed derive, at bottom, from their race, sex, creed, sexual orientation, body shape, economic misfortune or anything else, but users always have convenient deniability at their service. After all, there are so many people around nowadays, perhaps more than all the collected dead of ages past — who can keep track? We rest secure in the knowledge that while those people over there represent arbitrary collisions of data, we ourselves are a result of long and careful planning.
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The eros of weakness and power that fuels public shaming shows up in one last uncanny and sickening detail of Sacco’s case: the delight her shamers took in the fact that, for 11 hours after she’d sent her fateful tweet, Justine Sacco was in the air, off Twitter, devoid of agency, both deaf and mute, basically unconscious. She was the very image of passivity and proneness and ruin. Her shame-mob, which convened and grew around this image in the hours before she woke to take it in herself, found it highly arousing.