Seinfeld in the 1990s was a sitcom unique for its time. There was no central plot nor were the characters blood-related, two typical characteristics of sitcoms in the 90s. Seinfeld focused on minutiae and reflected nihilism, the idea that life is pointless. Furthermore, the characters acted indifferent to the outside world and never learned their lessons at the end of an episode.[1] Yet what creators Larry David and Jerry Seinfeld did do, and perhaps unknowingly, was create multiple scenarios which reflect a modern form of American imperialism.
America’s global empire has produced a culture that is so influential that other nations both emulate and strive to please it. Achieving the “American Dream” has come to define not only our culture but other cultures as well as a result of American imperialistic domination. Yet the modern form of imperialism depicted in Seinfeld proves that American culture is so strong and influential that we can imperialize other nation’s cultures without even physically being there. Two episodes from Seinfeld, “The Café” and “The Tape” illustrate two countries pursuit for “The American Dream” through an immigrant’s failed enterprise and a prospering business overseas.
Laura Cannon, author of “The Butterfly Effect and the Virtues of the American Dream” argues that American identity is defined by our high value for materialistic goods. Moreover, she argues that our consumer culture has been exported to other countries yet at the same time is harmful to our shared environment and to the individuals producing those goods we are consuming.[2] Cannon questions “how we can behave ethically in a global age in which our personal actions may result in the gravest of consequences in places remote in time or space to ourselves?”[3] The scenes from Seinfeld suggest that this modern form of American imperialism, where we can be the most dominating force without actually being in another country, is so powerful that we are too consumed with our perceived roles as world leader and world consumer to recognize the potentially harmful effects being stowed upon other nations, the most harmful being creating a globally homogenized culture.
The episode, “The Café,” from season three is the quintessential example of an immigrant’s failure to achieve the “American Dream.” Babu Bhatt, a Pakistani immigrant, comes to New York and opens up his own café which he calls the “Dream Café.” In an attempt to succeed in America and appeal to Americans, Babu’s restaurant features an American menu and an eclectic atmosphere of various ethnic decorations and artwork. Jerry Seinfeld, the show’s central character, is distraught at the fact that the “Dream Café” has gotten no business so being the thoughtful American he perceives himself to be, he pays Babu’s café a visit. Jerry’s dining experience eventually becomes a heart-to-heart talk where Jerry is depicted as the dominant, parental figure trying to help Babu, the poor immigrant. Babu listens to Jerry intensely and tells him he is a “very smart man” as Jerry advises Babu to make the “Dream Café” a Pakistani restaurant, reflecting his native culture. Babu is hesitant to the idea initially, arguing that there are no Pakistani people in New York; Jerry assures him that it doesn’t matter, saying, “You would have the only Pakistani restaurant in the whole neighborhood.” Beaming with excitement, Babu closes the “Dream Café” and renovates it into a Pakistani restaurant.[4]
At the end of the scene Babu goes back to the kitchen and we see Jerry sitting alone and he says to himself, “I am such a great guy. Who would have gone through all this trouble to help a poor immigrant?”[5] The scene, ending with Jerry’s self-reflection, conveys multiple messages but the primary one is that Jerry is an icon for the dominant American leader and consumer. He represents the father-figure American who tries to help the little man by spreading his influence and advice. Babu strives to become “Americanized” and to attain the “American Dream” by opening up what he assumes, based on the culture we illustrate, will appeal to Americans. A restaurant with American food and an ethnic atmosphere is the exact illustration of how Americans would ideally like to envision our imperialist expansion; the American-style food is the main feature and the ethnic décor is the background. What is important to note is the presence of the ethnic décor; while it is present, it is not the main feature and is overshadowed by the “American Dream” theme of the “Dream Café.”
Jerry’s conversation and attitude with Babu is symbolic of American imperialism; like imperialists, Jerry makes a lasting foot-print in Babu’s establishment and is completely unmindful of the harm his stomp causes Babu. When Babu’s restaurant fails Jerry doesn't feel any remorse because he is too consumed with his role as both the leader, as he still tries to give Babu advice as he critiques the ethnic food, and as the consumer. Babu tried to "Americanize" himself to improve his socioeconomic status and to gain the respect and feeling of inclusion from Americans, yet he still failed, proving that Americanization does not happen immediately despite America’s strong cultural influences.
The “American Dream” is pursued in a different manner in the episode called “The Tape” where character George turns to China to purchase a hair cream the Chinese produced that is the so-called “cure for baldness.” In this example, China is striving to achieve the American dream from their own country by producing and selling a product so highly valued by Americans. They are Americanizing their commercial market by producing what Americans value most, materialistic goods that will improve their appearance. George, being the typical American consumer, is too focused on having the product to think about how the Chinese came up with the product or how the product is affecting their culture and economy. He symbolizes the materialistic obsessed American consumer who fails to take into consideration the physical and mental work put into it. Furthermore, George’s frustration with finding an English-speaker during his phone call with China strengthens the argument that he is too consumed in his role as the consumer from the dominant culture to consider any cultural, environmental, or economical ramifications this product may have on the Chinese. In this example, China has become Americanized by creating this type of product, and as a result, they have lost a little bit of their own culture by creating a product that is so valued by another nation.
[1] http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Seinfeld
[2] Cannon, Laura. “The Butterfly Effect and the Virtues of the American Dream.” Journal of Social Philosophy, Vol.
34 No. 4, Winter 2003, 545-555. 2003 Blackwell Publishing, Inc.
[3] Cannon, Laura. “The Butterfly Effect and the Virtues of the American Dream.” Journal of Social Philosophy, Vol.
34 No. 4, Winter 2003, 545-555. 2003 Blackwell Publishing, Inc.
[4] Seinfeld, “The Café,” Season 3 Disc 2. 1991 Castle Rock Entertaiment.
[5] Et al
jueves, 23 de abril de 2009
miércoles, 25 de marzo de 2009
Draft of Paper 4
A central theme of Anne Moody’s Coming of Age in Mississippi is the role of religion in the black community’s culture. Her childhood memories of church, getting baptized, and the moral beliefs instilled within her and her surrounding communities helped Moody initiate her own ideas of faith, which, consequentially, were pivotal factors in her successes in college and in her work with the Movement. Moody depicts religion as consumption; it is what nourished the black community and fueled their energy for obtaining equality. By participating in religion, blacks could escape the realities of racism and experience inclusion and belonging in a community safe-haven. This paper will argue that the continual violence Moody experienced and witnessed led her to lose the faith in God that once nourished her; this, in turn, drove her escape from religion.
The church was a place blacks could run to in order to escape from the harsh realities that shaped their daily lives. It was a social outlet, a place for extracurricular activities, and most importantly, a safe haven. Yet the church and religious involvement provided different escapes for different individuals and its purposes could change over time. For some, such as Moody’s mother, the church was a place where she thought if she dressed nice enough and acted a certain way, she would be accepted by Raymond’s family who never took a liking to her. For Moody, she first saw Centreville Baptist as a place where she could join the choir (Moody 62). Her involvement in church activities gave her an extracurricular escape from school and work. When she joined the Movement in college, religion became the backbone of the nonviolent passive resistance Moody engaged in. And ultimately, the Birmingham church bombing drove Moody away from the church and religion, disowning the institution which nourished her spirit for so many years.
Many of Moody’s earliest childhood memories revolve around religious occasions, emphasizing the prominent cultural role religion played. Furthermore, Moody’s descriptions of religious celebrations center around consumption, highlighting the nourishment that participating in the event brought, whether that be food, community involvement, or entertainment. She reminisces celebrating Easter Sunday with her family and eating the eggs they found in the grass (Moody 18). She classifies the Christmas where they had all the traditional foods as her first real Christmas:
“The following morning I got up and smelled apples and oranges all over the house. The kitchen was scented with freshly baked cakes and I heard carols playing on the new radio. I thought of the past and what all the other Christmases had been like. For the first time this seemed to me like a real Christmas” (Moody 59).
Moody’s description of the process of joining the church best illustrates the cultural meaning of religion for the black community. The pressure to join the church by becoming baptized was a matter of cultural and community acceptance. Moody’s depiction of the church services were cult-like as the Reverend and other church members preached and sang about how those who were not baptized would be punished by evil sprits and demons. However, the true meaning of becoming baptized was to be included in an institution which through spirit, faith, and energy bonded and nourished the black community.
Despite the church’s spiritual and social nourishment, the violence that happened all too often led Moody to question God and forgiveness. Yet her skepticism with the church began before the violence; rather, it began with her baptism. The first piece of Moody’s foreshadowing evidence of her rejecting the church was when her Mother laid out her two church dresses:
“When she said that the white dress symbolized that I was entering the church pure and the blue one meant that I would always be true and faithful to the church, I felt more than ever like running away,” (Moody 75).
The instances, however, which were the driving forces behind Moody’s ultimate dismissal of religion, were the violent atrocities she experienced and witnessed. As a high school student, the first violent act Moody describes was the murder of 14-year-old Emmett Till. Up until Emmett Till’s death, Moody’s understanding of the murdering of blacks came from her mother’s assertion that it was a punishment from an Evil Spirit; she was told, “You gotta be a good girl or it will kill you too,” (Moody 127). Emmett Till’s death not only marked Moody’s first understanding of racist murder, but also marked her beginning to lose faith in her own community:
“But I also hated Negroes. I hated them for not standing up and doing something about the murders. In fact, I think I had a stronger resentment toward Negroes for letting the whites kill them than toward the whites. Anyway, it was at this stage in my life that I began to look upon Negro men as cowards,” (Moody 136).
Not too long after Emmett Till’s murder, Moody and the black community were haunted by the Taplin burning. Moody’s recollection of staring at the debris and ashes covering the murdered bodies and observing the expressions of hopelessness streaked over the community is another example which foreshadows her abandonment of faith:
“The still, sad faces watched the smoke rising from the remains until the smoke died down to practically nothing. There was something strange about that smoke. It was the thickest and blackest smoke I had ever seen…Those screams, those faces, that smoke, would never leave me,” (Moody 143).
Moody’s language and imagery in this passage are particularly noteworthy; one can interpret that the smoke serves as a metaphor for the dwindling faith and hope Moody has begun to feel for both her religion and her community. The image of thick, black smoke rising and dying to nothing symbolizes the faith and hope that Moody could once, but no longer, connect with. The sound of the screams and the images of the faces and the smoke can be interpreted as constant reminders of her loss of faith and hope. Following this interpretation, those images, which undoubtedly replayed continuously in her head, could have contributed to her eventual dismissal with religion as a whole.
Moody’s loss of faith climaxed with the Birmingham church bombing on September 15, 1963. This was the first account of a violent crime occurring in a church, representing the ultimate heartache for the black community. The church, which symbolized safety, peace, hope, faith, and inclusion, had become a battleground. Moody’s immediate escape into the woods to talk to God reflects that she can no longer find safety or peace in the church. Rather than escaping to God and the church, Moody’s monologue to God is her quintessential escape from the religious institution which once nourished her perseverance:
“You know, I used to go to Sunday school when I was a little girl…we were taught how merciful and forgiving you are…. I believed in you… I bet you those girls in Sunday school were being taught the same as I was when I was their age… As long as I live, I’ll never be beaten by a white man again… Nonviolence is out…. Tell him [Martin Luther King] that nonviolence has served its purpose….If you don’t believe that, then I know you must be white, too. And if I ever find out you are white, then I’m through with you. And if I find out you are black, I’ll try my best to kill you when I get to heaven…. I will be my own God, living my life as I see fit….” (Moody 349).
Moody’s words are powerful and exhibit the personal authority she has given herself. Her anger and frustration have amounted to her decision to, essentially, become agnostic. We expect that her disbelief in God and religion stem from segregation and racism. Interestingly enough, when Moody first experienced participating in a racially integrated church, she comments how uncomfortable she felt. Her questioning of God’s race, as if God has a race, reflect the segregation that is implanted within her. Her commentary argues that God was not a universal being for everyone and could not provide justice or equality; her understanding of God failing her expectations, arguably, drove her away from religion entirely:
“I stood there for a good five minutes before I was able to compose myself. I had never prayed with white people in a white church before….It was as normal as any church service. However, it was by no means normal to me. I was sitting there thinking any moment God would strike the life out of me. I recognized some of the whites, sitting around me in that church. If they were praying to the same God I was, then even God, I thought, was against me” (Moody 312).
In thinking about the Civil Rights Movement, the belief in faith amongst the black community is what fostered their hard will and ultimate accomplishments. It was the backbone of what held their community together in the arduous times. The merciful and hopeful spirits blacks embraced cultivated their nonviolent passive resistance. While it is ironic that Moody rejected the principles which she fought so intensely for with the Movement, it is also understandable for her to have felt rejected from God. Her conversations with God always include her preaching that the God she learned existed was not the God that existed for her at the time. After the Birmingham bombing, George said he prayed for no more violence and Moody spat out, “Why in the hell should we be praying all the time?...We’ve been praying way too long. Yes, as a race all we’ve got is a lot of religion. And the white man’s got everything else, including all the dynamite” (Moody 350). The tone and energy behind her words illustrate her sentiment that praying was not an effective solution for the outcomes they hoped for. She made the assertion that while prayer, faith, religion, and God were at one time enough nourishment for the black community, it was no longer sufficient. They would have to find nourishment and satisfaction from other means.
The church was a place blacks could run to in order to escape from the harsh realities that shaped their daily lives. It was a social outlet, a place for extracurricular activities, and most importantly, a safe haven. Yet the church and religious involvement provided different escapes for different individuals and its purposes could change over time. For some, such as Moody’s mother, the church was a place where she thought if she dressed nice enough and acted a certain way, she would be accepted by Raymond’s family who never took a liking to her. For Moody, she first saw Centreville Baptist as a place where she could join the choir (Moody 62). Her involvement in church activities gave her an extracurricular escape from school and work. When she joined the Movement in college, religion became the backbone of the nonviolent passive resistance Moody engaged in. And ultimately, the Birmingham church bombing drove Moody away from the church and religion, disowning the institution which nourished her spirit for so many years.
Many of Moody’s earliest childhood memories revolve around religious occasions, emphasizing the prominent cultural role religion played. Furthermore, Moody’s descriptions of religious celebrations center around consumption, highlighting the nourishment that participating in the event brought, whether that be food, community involvement, or entertainment. She reminisces celebrating Easter Sunday with her family and eating the eggs they found in the grass (Moody 18). She classifies the Christmas where they had all the traditional foods as her first real Christmas:
“The following morning I got up and smelled apples and oranges all over the house. The kitchen was scented with freshly baked cakes and I heard carols playing on the new radio. I thought of the past and what all the other Christmases had been like. For the first time this seemed to me like a real Christmas” (Moody 59).
Moody’s description of the process of joining the church best illustrates the cultural meaning of religion for the black community. The pressure to join the church by becoming baptized was a matter of cultural and community acceptance. Moody’s depiction of the church services were cult-like as the Reverend and other church members preached and sang about how those who were not baptized would be punished by evil sprits and demons. However, the true meaning of becoming baptized was to be included in an institution which through spirit, faith, and energy bonded and nourished the black community.
Despite the church’s spiritual and social nourishment, the violence that happened all too often led Moody to question God and forgiveness. Yet her skepticism with the church began before the violence; rather, it began with her baptism. The first piece of Moody’s foreshadowing evidence of her rejecting the church was when her Mother laid out her two church dresses:
“When she said that the white dress symbolized that I was entering the church pure and the blue one meant that I would always be true and faithful to the church, I felt more than ever like running away,” (Moody 75).
The instances, however, which were the driving forces behind Moody’s ultimate dismissal of religion, were the violent atrocities she experienced and witnessed. As a high school student, the first violent act Moody describes was the murder of 14-year-old Emmett Till. Up until Emmett Till’s death, Moody’s understanding of the murdering of blacks came from her mother’s assertion that it was a punishment from an Evil Spirit; she was told, “You gotta be a good girl or it will kill you too,” (Moody 127). Emmett Till’s death not only marked Moody’s first understanding of racist murder, but also marked her beginning to lose faith in her own community:
“But I also hated Negroes. I hated them for not standing up and doing something about the murders. In fact, I think I had a stronger resentment toward Negroes for letting the whites kill them than toward the whites. Anyway, it was at this stage in my life that I began to look upon Negro men as cowards,” (Moody 136).
Not too long after Emmett Till’s murder, Moody and the black community were haunted by the Taplin burning. Moody’s recollection of staring at the debris and ashes covering the murdered bodies and observing the expressions of hopelessness streaked over the community is another example which foreshadows her abandonment of faith:
“The still, sad faces watched the smoke rising from the remains until the smoke died down to practically nothing. There was something strange about that smoke. It was the thickest and blackest smoke I had ever seen…Those screams, those faces, that smoke, would never leave me,” (Moody 143).
Moody’s language and imagery in this passage are particularly noteworthy; one can interpret that the smoke serves as a metaphor for the dwindling faith and hope Moody has begun to feel for both her religion and her community. The image of thick, black smoke rising and dying to nothing symbolizes the faith and hope that Moody could once, but no longer, connect with. The sound of the screams and the images of the faces and the smoke can be interpreted as constant reminders of her loss of faith and hope. Following this interpretation, those images, which undoubtedly replayed continuously in her head, could have contributed to her eventual dismissal with religion as a whole.
Moody’s loss of faith climaxed with the Birmingham church bombing on September 15, 1963. This was the first account of a violent crime occurring in a church, representing the ultimate heartache for the black community. The church, which symbolized safety, peace, hope, faith, and inclusion, had become a battleground. Moody’s immediate escape into the woods to talk to God reflects that she can no longer find safety or peace in the church. Rather than escaping to God and the church, Moody’s monologue to God is her quintessential escape from the religious institution which once nourished her perseverance:
“You know, I used to go to Sunday school when I was a little girl…we were taught how merciful and forgiving you are…. I believed in you… I bet you those girls in Sunday school were being taught the same as I was when I was their age… As long as I live, I’ll never be beaten by a white man again… Nonviolence is out…. Tell him [Martin Luther King] that nonviolence has served its purpose….If you don’t believe that, then I know you must be white, too. And if I ever find out you are white, then I’m through with you. And if I find out you are black, I’ll try my best to kill you when I get to heaven…. I will be my own God, living my life as I see fit….” (Moody 349).
Moody’s words are powerful and exhibit the personal authority she has given herself. Her anger and frustration have amounted to her decision to, essentially, become agnostic. We expect that her disbelief in God and religion stem from segregation and racism. Interestingly enough, when Moody first experienced participating in a racially integrated church, she comments how uncomfortable she felt. Her questioning of God’s race, as if God has a race, reflect the segregation that is implanted within her. Her commentary argues that God was not a universal being for everyone and could not provide justice or equality; her understanding of God failing her expectations, arguably, drove her away from religion entirely:
“I stood there for a good five minutes before I was able to compose myself. I had never prayed with white people in a white church before….It was as normal as any church service. However, it was by no means normal to me. I was sitting there thinking any moment God would strike the life out of me. I recognized some of the whites, sitting around me in that church. If they were praying to the same God I was, then even God, I thought, was against me” (Moody 312).
In thinking about the Civil Rights Movement, the belief in faith amongst the black community is what fostered their hard will and ultimate accomplishments. It was the backbone of what held their community together in the arduous times. The merciful and hopeful spirits blacks embraced cultivated their nonviolent passive resistance. While it is ironic that Moody rejected the principles which she fought so intensely for with the Movement, it is also understandable for her to have felt rejected from God. Her conversations with God always include her preaching that the God she learned existed was not the God that existed for her at the time. After the Birmingham bombing, George said he prayed for no more violence and Moody spat out, “Why in the hell should we be praying all the time?...We’ve been praying way too long. Yes, as a race all we’ve got is a lot of religion. And the white man’s got everything else, including all the dynamite” (Moody 350). The tone and energy behind her words illustrate her sentiment that praying was not an effective solution for the outcomes they hoped for. She made the assertion that while prayer, faith, religion, and God were at one time enough nourishment for the black community, it was no longer sufficient. They would have to find nourishment and satisfaction from other means.
miércoles, 25 de febrero de 2009
Draft of Paper 3
The soaring unemployment rates during The Great Depression drove Americans hunting for work all over the nation. While their need to work was primarily for survival, it also reflected the cultural sentiment to feel one’s self a large sense of purpose and inclusion. Warren Susman argues in “Culture as History” that 1930s America “was the decade of participation and belonging” (172). Franklin Delano Roosevelt’s New Deal social welfare liberalism embraced the people’s will and desire to participate through offering them government assistance programs, such as the Civilian Conservation Corps (CCC) which employed them. Furthermore, the New Deal emphasized equal opportunity for all races. Two of the CCC photographs, Wilfred J. Mead’s Work Project and Negro Enrollee, Beltsville, MD 1940 illustrate that government assistance programs did enable Americans to participate in their communities through physical work, however the photos also suggest that whites and blacks do not participate nor belong in communities equally.
Roosevelt’s Commonwealth Club Address expresses his vision of national history, freedom, private property, the role of government and the mood of America in 1932. Roosevelt describes America during the Depression as having fallen under “the hand of discouragement” (Roosevelt 1). Yet the verbal phrase he uses to describe his sense of the landscape he has witnessed from Albany to the Golden Gate is that “America is new” and is in the process of change and development (Roosevelt 1). Roosevelt’s optimism expressed in the initial paragraphs of his Commonwealth Club Address speaks to the image of Americans wanting to participate, belong and to feel a larger sense of purpose by encouraging them to trust that his New Deal will get them out of the Depression. Roosevelt spoke to the notion of community and collective action in his Commonwealth Club Address by both acknowledging his appreciation to those who thought in terms “beyond the immediate present, beyond their own immediate tasks, beyond their own individual interests,” and by considering the relationships between government and the economic lives of individuals and corporations (Roosevelt 2).
His belief that the “function of government must be to favor no small group at the expense of its duty to protect the rights of personal freedom and of private property of all its citizens” (Roosevelt 4) paved the way for the New Deal social welfare liberalism which relied on government assistance to ensure that all citizens had the resources necessary for individual opportunity and self-development. This idea cultivated programs like the CCC which would encourage civic participation through employment and would help improve the economic situation individually and collectively.
The CCC, which employed almost three million young men over a 10 year period on projects such as soil conservation, disaster relief, reforestation, flood control, and building parks and park facilities created a sense of community and belonging amongst those who participated. Between 1933 and 1943, the CCC and other government agencies under the New Deal hired hundreds of photographers, artists, writers, musicians, and actors to create documents and images that would spread New Deal ideals throughout the country (Palmer 2/17/09). All of these artistic mediums could effectively disseminate cultural ideals of the time and served as a means for people to feel more connected, again reflecting the desire for participation and belonging. According to Susman, these mediums “created a novel kind of community, breaking down barriers, creating often new common experiences for millions,” (161). One of the ideals that the New Deal claimed and attempted to showcase in photographs was the idea that it would treat all races equally. While many of the photographs produced during this time did feature more diversity, two of the CCC photos, both of men (one white, the other black) working in what appears to be rural farmlands, presented the two races as being treated unequally.
The CCC photograph Work Project by Wilfred J. Mead presents a young, white man standing tall and erect with a tight grip of a sledge-hammer. The young man appears healthy, strong, and overall physically fit. This is illustrative of one of the main objectives of the CCC, building strong bodies (Mead). He is wearing pants that appear to be middle-class work pants and they are held up to his bellybutton tightly by a belt. He is not wearing a shirt; instead, the sunlight is radiating off of his chest and face. His skin is clean and glowing and his head is protected from the sun by a hat. He appears to be gazing at something in the distance, not making eye contact with the viewer. The sledge-hammer he is holding gives him authority, power, and control. He is holding the sledge-hammer right below his hips and its’ direct, sturdy placement on his legs create balance in the frame. The young man’s placement in the foreground of the photograph makes him dominate the scene. The only thing in the background is the edges of a tree; the lack of elements in the background of this photograph further emphasizes the subject as the dominating force. The frame itself is rather small which makes the young man appear even more gigantic and god-like than he actually is. His attitude appears to be serious and determined and the description below the photo says that another print has the caption “The slogan of the Civilian Conservation Corps is ‘We can take it!’” (Mead). The photograph is in black and white which further symbolizes the hard work, serious attitude, and no play this young enrollee in the CCC faces.
The CCC photograph Negro Enrollees portrays the black worker in a very different light than the white man from Work Project. This man appears overheated, sweating, and tired from the work he’s been doing. His face does not have the serious, determined, god-like look that the white man possesses; his face carries an expression of utter exhaustion. There is no sunlight radiating off of his face or his chest. Rather, he is fully dressed in clothes that look a bit more raggedy than the white man’s pants. His gloves, hat, and shoes all look dirty and as if they’ve been through hard, endless work. He’s sitting in some kind of machine which is helping him do the work, making him appear weak and dependent on technology. This is strikingly different from the white man in Work Project who is holding the sledge-hammer and is in control of the work he is doing. The machine controlling the black man’s work diminishes him and makes him appear inferior to the white man who is in control of his physical labor. Unlike the white man who appears gigantic and dominating in Work Project, the black man shares the foreground of the photograph with the machine, emphasizing that he is not the sole focus nor is he independent and strong. The only feature of the black man that is exaggerated is his hand; the fact that the viewer’s eyes immediately go to his hand before his face further de-humanizes him. The description next to the photograph says he is working on road surfacing; the road extends into the background, symbolizing the work he has already done and how much he has had to do to get to where he is in the photograph. One can interpret that the CCC included the long, surfaced road in the background to symbolize two things: 1.) that the black man could not have gotten to where he is in this photograph without the assistance of the CCC and 2.) the black man should be appreciative of what the CCC has provided him with.
Both photographs utilize hard work as a symbol of Americans’ participation in what American culture prides itself in – working hard to obtain the prized “American Dream.” Even though we don’t see the white man in Work Project physically working, we see him posed, and ready to work; we can infer that he’s gone through physical workouts to reach the level of fitness he is illustrated to have. Yet the fact that he is posed as opposed to working in the photograph emphasizes the notion that work will come relatively easy for him because of his race. It’s inferable that the black man in Black Enrollees has undergone significant mental and physical work to get to where he is in the photograph; we know from history that he will continue to have to go through much more work than the white man to reach the American dream.
While Roosevelt’s New Deal ensured equal opportunity for all races and programs such as the CCC were meant to employ Americans for individual and community benefits, the evidence from the CCC photographs say otherwise. The de-humanization and the hard physical labor the black man is undergoing in Black Enrollees as opposed to the glorification of the white man standing with a sledge-hammer in Work Project, illustrates that even though both men are presented as working under the CCC, they are not participating in nor are belonging to the American way of life of the 1930s equally.
Roosevelt’s Commonwealth Club Address expresses his vision of national history, freedom, private property, the role of government and the mood of America in 1932. Roosevelt describes America during the Depression as having fallen under “the hand of discouragement” (Roosevelt 1). Yet the verbal phrase he uses to describe his sense of the landscape he has witnessed from Albany to the Golden Gate is that “America is new” and is in the process of change and development (Roosevelt 1). Roosevelt’s optimism expressed in the initial paragraphs of his Commonwealth Club Address speaks to the image of Americans wanting to participate, belong and to feel a larger sense of purpose by encouraging them to trust that his New Deal will get them out of the Depression. Roosevelt spoke to the notion of community and collective action in his Commonwealth Club Address by both acknowledging his appreciation to those who thought in terms “beyond the immediate present, beyond their own immediate tasks, beyond their own individual interests,” and by considering the relationships between government and the economic lives of individuals and corporations (Roosevelt 2).
His belief that the “function of government must be to favor no small group at the expense of its duty to protect the rights of personal freedom and of private property of all its citizens” (Roosevelt 4) paved the way for the New Deal social welfare liberalism which relied on government assistance to ensure that all citizens had the resources necessary for individual opportunity and self-development. This idea cultivated programs like the CCC which would encourage civic participation through employment and would help improve the economic situation individually and collectively.
The CCC, which employed almost three million young men over a 10 year period on projects such as soil conservation, disaster relief, reforestation, flood control, and building parks and park facilities created a sense of community and belonging amongst those who participated. Between 1933 and 1943, the CCC and other government agencies under the New Deal hired hundreds of photographers, artists, writers, musicians, and actors to create documents and images that would spread New Deal ideals throughout the country (Palmer 2/17/09). All of these artistic mediums could effectively disseminate cultural ideals of the time and served as a means for people to feel more connected, again reflecting the desire for participation and belonging. According to Susman, these mediums “created a novel kind of community, breaking down barriers, creating often new common experiences for millions,” (161). One of the ideals that the New Deal claimed and attempted to showcase in photographs was the idea that it would treat all races equally. While many of the photographs produced during this time did feature more diversity, two of the CCC photos, both of men (one white, the other black) working in what appears to be rural farmlands, presented the two races as being treated unequally.
The CCC photograph Work Project by Wilfred J. Mead presents a young, white man standing tall and erect with a tight grip of a sledge-hammer. The young man appears healthy, strong, and overall physically fit. This is illustrative of one of the main objectives of the CCC, building strong bodies (Mead). He is wearing pants that appear to be middle-class work pants and they are held up to his bellybutton tightly by a belt. He is not wearing a shirt; instead, the sunlight is radiating off of his chest and face. His skin is clean and glowing and his head is protected from the sun by a hat. He appears to be gazing at something in the distance, not making eye contact with the viewer. The sledge-hammer he is holding gives him authority, power, and control. He is holding the sledge-hammer right below his hips and its’ direct, sturdy placement on his legs create balance in the frame. The young man’s placement in the foreground of the photograph makes him dominate the scene. The only thing in the background is the edges of a tree; the lack of elements in the background of this photograph further emphasizes the subject as the dominating force. The frame itself is rather small which makes the young man appear even more gigantic and god-like than he actually is. His attitude appears to be serious and determined and the description below the photo says that another print has the caption “The slogan of the Civilian Conservation Corps is ‘We can take it!’” (Mead). The photograph is in black and white which further symbolizes the hard work, serious attitude, and no play this young enrollee in the CCC faces.
The CCC photograph Negro Enrollees portrays the black worker in a very different light than the white man from Work Project. This man appears overheated, sweating, and tired from the work he’s been doing. His face does not have the serious, determined, god-like look that the white man possesses; his face carries an expression of utter exhaustion. There is no sunlight radiating off of his face or his chest. Rather, he is fully dressed in clothes that look a bit more raggedy than the white man’s pants. His gloves, hat, and shoes all look dirty and as if they’ve been through hard, endless work. He’s sitting in some kind of machine which is helping him do the work, making him appear weak and dependent on technology. This is strikingly different from the white man in Work Project who is holding the sledge-hammer and is in control of the work he is doing. The machine controlling the black man’s work diminishes him and makes him appear inferior to the white man who is in control of his physical labor. Unlike the white man who appears gigantic and dominating in Work Project, the black man shares the foreground of the photograph with the machine, emphasizing that he is not the sole focus nor is he independent and strong. The only feature of the black man that is exaggerated is his hand; the fact that the viewer’s eyes immediately go to his hand before his face further de-humanizes him. The description next to the photograph says he is working on road surfacing; the road extends into the background, symbolizing the work he has already done and how much he has had to do to get to where he is in the photograph. One can interpret that the CCC included the long, surfaced road in the background to symbolize two things: 1.) that the black man could not have gotten to where he is in this photograph without the assistance of the CCC and 2.) the black man should be appreciative of what the CCC has provided him with.
Both photographs utilize hard work as a symbol of Americans’ participation in what American culture prides itself in – working hard to obtain the prized “American Dream.” Even though we don’t see the white man in Work Project physically working, we see him posed, and ready to work; we can infer that he’s gone through physical workouts to reach the level of fitness he is illustrated to have. Yet the fact that he is posed as opposed to working in the photograph emphasizes the notion that work will come relatively easy for him because of his race. It’s inferable that the black man in Black Enrollees has undergone significant mental and physical work to get to where he is in the photograph; we know from history that he will continue to have to go through much more work than the white man to reach the American dream.
While Roosevelt’s New Deal ensured equal opportunity for all races and programs such as the CCC were meant to employ Americans for individual and community benefits, the evidence from the CCC photographs say otherwise. The de-humanization and the hard physical labor the black man is undergoing in Black Enrollees as opposed to the glorification of the white man standing with a sledge-hammer in Work Project, illustrates that even though both men are presented as working under the CCC, they are not participating in nor are belonging to the American way of life of the 1930s equally.
miércoles, 11 de febrero de 2009
Draft of Paper 2
In a period when all American women were negotiating behavior and self-presentation between older ideals of domesticity and newer ideals of independent womanhood, Kathy Peiss’s “Making Faces: The Cosmetics Industry and the Cultural Construction of Gender, 1890-1930” argues that some black and immigrant women sought out cosmetics as a means of becoming culturally and socially accepted in the white, male-dominant society and as a way of expressing modernity. Yet black and immigrant women were often faced with dire poverty and didn’t necessarily have the time or money to devote toward their own physical appearance. This paper will argue that while many minority women did strive to obtain the materialistic beauty that white, American women embraced, Anzia Yezierska’s character Sara Smolinsky expressed her modernity and femininity through seeking an education, independence, and the natural, pristine beauty that she admired in her fellow college students.
In the time period of Yezierska’s novel Bread Givers, minority women struggled with re-defining themselves to fit not only the mold of the white, American woman, but also the mold of the modern woman. Peiss expresses the idea that make-up was a stepping stone towards women’s success and fulfillment (Peiss 372). According to Peiss, “women linked cosmetics use to an emergent notion of their own modernity, which included hard-work, athleticism, leisure, freer sexual expressiveness, and greater individual consumption,” (372). Futhermore, the assumption evolved that “every woman should be beautiful – as a duty to her husband and children, in order to achieve business success, or to find romance – and those who were not beautiful had only themselves to blame,” (376).
The cosmetic industry created “class,” “mass,” and “ethnic” markets so every woman had the opportunity to use make-up and reap its’ benefits, according to Peiss (372). Some, however, particularly those of different ethnic backgrounds, saw make-up as being used by what Peiss calls “disorderly women oriented toward urban nightlife and sexual pleasure,” (373). Yet the cosmetic and beauty product industry’s widespread advertising through drugstores, hairdressers, magazines, and more, eventually led to its popular use, particularly by black women.
According to Peiss, black people in the nineteenth century were constrained even more than white people by poverty and had little money for anything beyond what they needed (381). Yet Peiss describes how the beauty industry offered new employment opportunities for black women; beauty parlors could easily be opened in homes and small shops and was considered a woman’s type of work. Yet the beauty products that appealed most to black women, according to Peiss, were not cosmetics, but were hair products. Peiss writes, “For black women, hair care, including straightening, was one external marker of personal success and racial progress, signifying a response to the white denigration of black womanhood,” (383). Hence, it can be argued that the new-found beauty in hair products helped define the new, modern black woman who was trying to appear whiter.
For immigrant women, such as Yezierska’s leading character, Sara, there existed unique interpretations of what the new, modern woman was. For Sara, a great part of that was pulling herself away from the strict, traditional ways in which a woman was defined. Her father’s character is the emblem of the old world which they come from; his views on women would be perceived as sexist by today’s standards. Yet for him, they represent the ideals of the Torah. He says, “No girl can live without a father or a husband to look out for her. It says in the Torah, only through a man has a woman an existence,” (Yezierska 136-7). Thus, the driving force behind Sara’s dream of becoming the new, modern woman was independence. Not until later when she started going to school did the idea of beauty become any sort of priority for her. Her idea of modernity was not solely shaped by using make-up and other high fashion as means of improving herself and making herself more attractive to men, as it was for her sister Mashah, who stood “proud in the power of her beauty,” (145). Sara’s dedication to becoming a self-educated, hard-working American supersedes any romantic or materialistic fulfillments. This is illustrated in chapter seven when Sara says to her sister Fania, “Besides, I don’t want to get married. I’ve set out to do something and I’m going to do it, even if it kills me,” (177). Later on in the chapter when her sister asks her to accompany her to visit their mother, Sara responds with, “My work goes on Sundays and holidays. I’m like a soldier in battle. I can’t stop for visiting, even with my own family,” (178). These two quotes exemplify Sara’s work-ethic to fight for the American dream because that will make her the modern woman she wishes to become. Beauty and family, the two ideals that stereotypically define womanhood, no longer apply to Sara; they will only hinder her goals.
Yet despite her strong-will and determination, her poor, immigrant status and dirty appearance makes it hard for her to fit in and we never read of her forming any female friendships. After a catastrophic attempt to use make-up as a means of fitting in with the other girls, Yezierska illustrates Sara’s frustration and return to her initial priority; “I threw myself more desperately than ever into my studies. My one hope was to get to the educated world, where only the thoughts you give out count, and not how you look,” (Yezierska 183).
Despite the fact that minority women had access to what Kathy Peiss calls the “mass” cosmetic products, Sara sees beauty in a more natural sense, one that correlates to Peiss’s description of the “beauty culture” that is reflective of healthy and hygienic primping. Ironically enough and analogous to Sara’s perception of beauty, Peiss describes how beauty culturists of the time initially did not approve of make-up; rather, they stressed the route to natural beauty through breathing, exercise, diet, and bathing. We learn multiple times in Bread Givers, particularly when Sara goes to college, that Sara also finds natural beauty and clean appearances to be more attractive than fake, ostentatious outward displays of beauty. In the scene when she is on the train going to college, she finds the natural beauty in the landscape and people around her. Yezierska writes, “This was the beauty for which I had always longed….Beauty of houses, beauty of streets, beauty shining out of the calm faces and cool eyes of the people! Oh – too cool…” (211). Sara’s surprise at the natural beauty is only amplified when she arrives at college and first observes the college girls - “But never had I seen such plain beautifulness. The simple skirts and sweaters, the stockings and shoes to match. The neat finished quietness of their tailored suits. There was no show-off in their clothes, and yet how much more pulling to the eyes and all the senses than the Grand Street richness I knew,” (212). Even with Sara’s sister Mashah, who is notorious for being fashionable and always looking beautiful, Sara sees in her an effervescent, natural beauty that is far more impressive than any material or cosmetic products:
“When Mashah walked in the street in her everyday work dress that was cut from the same goods and bought from the same pushcart like the rest of us, it looked different on her. Her clothes were always so new and fresh, without the least little wrinkle, like the dressed-up doll lady from the window of the grandest department store. Like from a born queen it shined from her. The pride in her beautiful face, in her golden hair, lifted her head like a diamond crown,” (4).
Sara is on her way to becoming the independent modern woman she aspires to be when she leaves home to live on her own and seek a college education. She finds a dismal but affordable place to live, works as an ironer, and attends night school so she can get in to college. And here, even though she is living in the darkness of poverty and loneliness, she is inspired by Mashah’s natural ability to make things look more beautiful than they initially appear. Sara’s attempt to make her dismal living quarters more furnished and pretty is another expression of how she is turning herself into this new, modern woman. Yezierska writes:
“Against this heart-choking dinginess flashed Mashah’s shining little palace. Her place was once worse than this, and she polished it up. Why can’t I? A pot of paint, a little white oilcloth with brass tacks, a scrubbing brush with soap… I don’t ask for fancy furniture, but only a little light for the eyes…” (162-3).
Yezierska’s character Sara found her own modernity and re-defined herself as a new woman by the end of the novel. She is independent, college-educated, and beautiful by her own natural standards. When she finally has overcome poverty and goes to shop for her new clothes, she makes it clear that she doesn’t choose anything too fancy; “Plain serge only! Yes. But more style in its plainness than the richest velvet,” (239). When she furnishes her new room, she does it very simply:
“A table, a bed, a bureau, a few comfortable chairs. No carpet on the floor. No pictures on the wall. Nothing but a clean, airy emptiness. But when I thought of the crowded dirt from where I came, this simplicity was rich and fragrant with unutterable beauty,” (240-1).
While cosmetics did open the door to culture acceptance and modernity for many black women as described by Peiss, the natural beauty coupled with independence and education was what led other minority women, such as Sara Smolinsky, to finding their own new womanhood.
In the time period of Yezierska’s novel Bread Givers, minority women struggled with re-defining themselves to fit not only the mold of the white, American woman, but also the mold of the modern woman. Peiss expresses the idea that make-up was a stepping stone towards women’s success and fulfillment (Peiss 372). According to Peiss, “women linked cosmetics use to an emergent notion of their own modernity, which included hard-work, athleticism, leisure, freer sexual expressiveness, and greater individual consumption,” (372). Futhermore, the assumption evolved that “every woman should be beautiful – as a duty to her husband and children, in order to achieve business success, or to find romance – and those who were not beautiful had only themselves to blame,” (376).
The cosmetic industry created “class,” “mass,” and “ethnic” markets so every woman had the opportunity to use make-up and reap its’ benefits, according to Peiss (372). Some, however, particularly those of different ethnic backgrounds, saw make-up as being used by what Peiss calls “disorderly women oriented toward urban nightlife and sexual pleasure,” (373). Yet the cosmetic and beauty product industry’s widespread advertising through drugstores, hairdressers, magazines, and more, eventually led to its popular use, particularly by black women.
According to Peiss, black people in the nineteenth century were constrained even more than white people by poverty and had little money for anything beyond what they needed (381). Yet Peiss describes how the beauty industry offered new employment opportunities for black women; beauty parlors could easily be opened in homes and small shops and was considered a woman’s type of work. Yet the beauty products that appealed most to black women, according to Peiss, were not cosmetics, but were hair products. Peiss writes, “For black women, hair care, including straightening, was one external marker of personal success and racial progress, signifying a response to the white denigration of black womanhood,” (383). Hence, it can be argued that the new-found beauty in hair products helped define the new, modern black woman who was trying to appear whiter.
For immigrant women, such as Yezierska’s leading character, Sara, there existed unique interpretations of what the new, modern woman was. For Sara, a great part of that was pulling herself away from the strict, traditional ways in which a woman was defined. Her father’s character is the emblem of the old world which they come from; his views on women would be perceived as sexist by today’s standards. Yet for him, they represent the ideals of the Torah. He says, “No girl can live without a father or a husband to look out for her. It says in the Torah, only through a man has a woman an existence,” (Yezierska 136-7). Thus, the driving force behind Sara’s dream of becoming the new, modern woman was independence. Not until later when she started going to school did the idea of beauty become any sort of priority for her. Her idea of modernity was not solely shaped by using make-up and other high fashion as means of improving herself and making herself more attractive to men, as it was for her sister Mashah, who stood “proud in the power of her beauty,” (145). Sara’s dedication to becoming a self-educated, hard-working American supersedes any romantic or materialistic fulfillments. This is illustrated in chapter seven when Sara says to her sister Fania, “Besides, I don’t want to get married. I’ve set out to do something and I’m going to do it, even if it kills me,” (177). Later on in the chapter when her sister asks her to accompany her to visit their mother, Sara responds with, “My work goes on Sundays and holidays. I’m like a soldier in battle. I can’t stop for visiting, even with my own family,” (178). These two quotes exemplify Sara’s work-ethic to fight for the American dream because that will make her the modern woman she wishes to become. Beauty and family, the two ideals that stereotypically define womanhood, no longer apply to Sara; they will only hinder her goals.
Yet despite her strong-will and determination, her poor, immigrant status and dirty appearance makes it hard for her to fit in and we never read of her forming any female friendships. After a catastrophic attempt to use make-up as a means of fitting in with the other girls, Yezierska illustrates Sara’s frustration and return to her initial priority; “I threw myself more desperately than ever into my studies. My one hope was to get to the educated world, where only the thoughts you give out count, and not how you look,” (Yezierska 183).
Despite the fact that minority women had access to what Kathy Peiss calls the “mass” cosmetic products, Sara sees beauty in a more natural sense, one that correlates to Peiss’s description of the “beauty culture” that is reflective of healthy and hygienic primping. Ironically enough and analogous to Sara’s perception of beauty, Peiss describes how beauty culturists of the time initially did not approve of make-up; rather, they stressed the route to natural beauty through breathing, exercise, diet, and bathing. We learn multiple times in Bread Givers, particularly when Sara goes to college, that Sara also finds natural beauty and clean appearances to be more attractive than fake, ostentatious outward displays of beauty. In the scene when she is on the train going to college, she finds the natural beauty in the landscape and people around her. Yezierska writes, “This was the beauty for which I had always longed….Beauty of houses, beauty of streets, beauty shining out of the calm faces and cool eyes of the people! Oh – too cool…” (211). Sara’s surprise at the natural beauty is only amplified when she arrives at college and first observes the college girls - “But never had I seen such plain beautifulness. The simple skirts and sweaters, the stockings and shoes to match. The neat finished quietness of their tailored suits. There was no show-off in their clothes, and yet how much more pulling to the eyes and all the senses than the Grand Street richness I knew,” (212). Even with Sara’s sister Mashah, who is notorious for being fashionable and always looking beautiful, Sara sees in her an effervescent, natural beauty that is far more impressive than any material or cosmetic products:
“When Mashah walked in the street in her everyday work dress that was cut from the same goods and bought from the same pushcart like the rest of us, it looked different on her. Her clothes were always so new and fresh, without the least little wrinkle, like the dressed-up doll lady from the window of the grandest department store. Like from a born queen it shined from her. The pride in her beautiful face, in her golden hair, lifted her head like a diamond crown,” (4).
Sara is on her way to becoming the independent modern woman she aspires to be when she leaves home to live on her own and seek a college education. She finds a dismal but affordable place to live, works as an ironer, and attends night school so she can get in to college. And here, even though she is living in the darkness of poverty and loneliness, she is inspired by Mashah’s natural ability to make things look more beautiful than they initially appear. Sara’s attempt to make her dismal living quarters more furnished and pretty is another expression of how she is turning herself into this new, modern woman. Yezierska writes:
“Against this heart-choking dinginess flashed Mashah’s shining little palace. Her place was once worse than this, and she polished it up. Why can’t I? A pot of paint, a little white oilcloth with brass tacks, a scrubbing brush with soap… I don’t ask for fancy furniture, but only a little light for the eyes…” (162-3).
Yezierska’s character Sara found her own modernity and re-defined herself as a new woman by the end of the novel. She is independent, college-educated, and beautiful by her own natural standards. When she finally has overcome poverty and goes to shop for her new clothes, she makes it clear that she doesn’t choose anything too fancy; “Plain serge only! Yes. But more style in its plainness than the richest velvet,” (239). When she furnishes her new room, she does it very simply:
“A table, a bed, a bureau, a few comfortable chairs. No carpet on the floor. No pictures on the wall. Nothing but a clean, airy emptiness. But when I thought of the crowded dirt from where I came, this simplicity was rich and fragrant with unutterable beauty,” (240-1).
While cosmetics did open the door to culture acceptance and modernity for many black women as described by Peiss, the natural beauty coupled with independence and education was what led other minority women, such as Sara Smolinsky, to finding their own new womanhood.
jueves, 22 de enero de 2009
Paper Argument
Argument:
The excitement of President Obama’s inauguration mythicized the material displays in Washington DC. Window displays, wall paintings, and public exhibitions of support and enthusiasm held meanings far deeper than the verbal or visual significance. While on first glance these material displays appeared to be just what they were, their veiled messages depict Obama’s presidency as what Roland Barthes defines as a tautology. Furthermore, the constant grouping of Obama with other historical leaders illustrates Barthes’ idea of quantification of quality.
Examples:
Lululemon Athletica’s window display portrays an inspirational quote yet its rhetorical rhythm creates a direct tautology. The sign reads “Rosa sat so Martin could walk, Martin walked so Obama could run, Obama ran so our Children can fly” and is surrounded by three manikins dressed in modern exercise clothes; one is walking, one is running, and the last is flying. The meaning of the message, which is mythical itself, is de-emphasized because of the rhetorical flow of “A did X so B could do Y so C could do Z.” To use Barthes’ terms, the quote’s language has a metalanguage which creates the notion that Obama’s presidency was inevitable thanks to the actions of black leaders before him.
2. On the outside of a building at the corner of 14th and U streets in Washington, D.C. is an enormous wall painting of the famous portrait of Obama with the word “progress” underneath. Right beside him is a painting of Abraham Lincoln, who Obama is constantly compared against. Surrounding this public art display stands a hoard of individuals snapping photos as if there were some kind of religious significance to it all; and in fact, the obsession that people have for placing Obama on the same golden throne of Lincoln before he’s done anything has become a statement of fact and an inoculation. It is a public knowledge that Obama holds deep respect and admires Lincoln greatly, yet the continual grouping of the two leaders as if Obama was pre-destined to follow in Lincoln’s steps is again a tautology and a quantification of quality. The lives of these two men are starkly different and the times in which they live and lived are worlds apart. The grouping of them together is a quantification of quality because it is taking away each individual’s story, both of which are inspiring and different for their respective periods of history.
The excitement of President Obama’s inauguration mythicized the material displays in Washington DC. Window displays, wall paintings, and public exhibitions of support and enthusiasm held meanings far deeper than the verbal or visual significance. While on first glance these material displays appeared to be just what they were, their veiled messages depict Obama’s presidency as what Roland Barthes defines as a tautology. Furthermore, the constant grouping of Obama with other historical leaders illustrates Barthes’ idea of quantification of quality.
Examples:
Lululemon Athletica’s window display portrays an inspirational quote yet its rhetorical rhythm creates a direct tautology. The sign reads “Rosa sat so Martin could walk, Martin walked so Obama could run, Obama ran so our Children can fly” and is surrounded by three manikins dressed in modern exercise clothes; one is walking, one is running, and the last is flying. The meaning of the message, which is mythical itself, is de-emphasized because of the rhetorical flow of “A did X so B could do Y so C could do Z.” To use Barthes’ terms, the quote’s language has a metalanguage which creates the notion that Obama’s presidency was inevitable thanks to the actions of black leaders before him.
2. On the outside of a building at the corner of 14th and U streets in Washington, D.C. is an enormous wall painting of the famous portrait of Obama with the word “progress” underneath. Right beside him is a painting of Abraham Lincoln, who Obama is constantly compared against. Surrounding this public art display stands a hoard of individuals snapping photos as if there were some kind of religious significance to it all; and in fact, the obsession that people have for placing Obama on the same golden throne of Lincoln before he’s done anything has become a statement of fact and an inoculation. It is a public knowledge that Obama holds deep respect and admires Lincoln greatly, yet the continual grouping of the two leaders as if Obama was pre-destined to follow in Lincoln’s steps is again a tautology and a quantification of quality. The lives of these two men are starkly different and the times in which they live and lived are worlds apart. The grouping of them together is a quantification of quality because it is taking away each individual’s story, both of which are inspiring and different for their respective periods of history.
miércoles, 21 de enero de 2009
The Material Culture of the Inauguration: Observing Visual Displays
Amidst the crowds and traditional events of this momentous and historic inauguration weekend was another type of display that had and will continue to have a lasting effect on how we remember the inauguration of President Barak Obama. I originally set out to observe window displays of stores, restaurants, homes, and even on moving transportation. And while I saw some remarkable displays of artwork, paraphernalia, and thoughtful messages displayed across Washington DC’s windows, the displays that shocked and inspired me most were the “live” displays of how individuals were publicly celebrating this event.
Never before has Washington D.C. seemed so alive, so energized, so proud – not to mention the colossal sense of patriotism and nationalism expressed by everyone at Sunday’s concert, Monday’s MLK celebrations, and Tuesday’s inauguration. As I walked through the neighborhoods of Foggy Bottom, Georgetown, Dupont Circle, Logan Circle, and U Street, I discovered that the window displays, wall graffiti, and bus billboards sometimes prompted the live public displays which were so fascinating and sometimes were very secondary, serving as if they were textual support for the greater message. This is not to undermine the messages of these window displays. Some were truly inspirational and thought-provoking. Just from self-observation, it was clear that amongst all the window displays I saw, one got the most attention, and rightfully so. It was a sign in the window of Georgetown’s Lululemon Athletica surrounded by manikins “acting out” the quote, which read:
“Rosa sat so Martin could walk. Martin walked so Obama could run. Obama ran so our children can fly.”
Once you get past staring at the three manikins in colorful workout clothes who are set up to be walking, running, and flying respectively, the message of the quote can start to sink in. The implications of this message are undoubtedly moving and stir many of the common emotions felt and expressed during this weekend. It reflects the history and triumph of African Americans and epitomizes the reality that America is now a racially non-discriminatory society. We’ve reached a level of racial acceptance that was inconceivable for decades; what our children will be able to accomplish years from now is a mystery, but looks promising.
Not many signs and/or other types of visual displays filled the windows of Georgetown or Foggy Bottom, other than the dozen or so Obama signs in residential windows. However there was the barber shop that I discovered later on in Logan Circle that had a picture of Obama getting his hair cut in their window. Whether this was a marketing technique or just enthusiasm for Obama going to a barber shop like any old Joe, I don’t know, but nevertheless, it was a unique window display. It wasn’t until I came to Dupont Circle that I found the most mouth-dropping live display of them all. Propped up in the middle of Dupont Circle was a mammoth inflatable George W. Bush doll, standing at what appeared to be about 12 feet tall. He was dressed in a military uniform, holding his helmet, with a nametag that read “Bushocchio.” In front of him was a sign that said “Give Bush the Boot.” Surrounding him stood a mass of people (about 100), all throwing shoes at him. People were cheering and laughing, videos and pictures were being taken, and there was a giant inflatable George W. Bush with an elongated nose and hundreds of shoes being thrown at him and on the ground below him. If this wasn’t the most symbolic live demonstration of American hate and resentment for our president of the last 8 years, I don’t know what else is.
This of course wasn’t the only place people were snapping pictures and taking videos with their cell phones. The hoards of people stopping at any store with a window display or in front of any wall painting on the outside of a building photographing, video-taking, or just stopping to converse with the stranger next to them was a display in itself. Walking past Dupont, into the trendy Logan Circle neighborhood and finally into the artistic, cultural, and semi-rough U St. corridor was where this was most evident. American flags were draped everywhere. Christmas lights were hung on lampposts with Obama signs everywhere. Store after store on U. St. had manikins in the windows sporting Obama t-shirts. An art gallery had a black and white portrait of Michelle Obama in the window, next to a modern photographed montage of Obama portraits. And almost every other building had painted on it the colorful Obama “Hope” and “Progress” posters. And without a doubt, in front of each one was another hoard of people documenting on cell phones the images that will fill the pages of our children’s history textbooks.
Second to the masses of people throwing shoes at the inflatable George W. Bush, which, frankly, resembled a suppressed nation publicly throwing down a communist dictator, another large crowd gathered at the corner of 14th and U St, taking pictures of what was either a wall mural or a graffiti illustration of the giant Obama “Progress” image next to an image of Obama’s patron saint, Abraham Lincoln. The illustration of the two of them next to each other exemplify not only the immense respect Americans have for these two individuals, but also both the strong similarities people see in these two public figures and the expectation that Obama’s presidency will be on the same caliber as that of Abe Lincoln. While this expectation exuberates a sense of optimism from the American people that has seemingly been suppressed for eight years, we can hope that it’s not too idealistic of an expectation for a man who hasn’t even been officially sworn-in as president for 24 hours.
Immediately having realized that I forgot my camera on this little excursion around the city, I am proud to say I was one of the hundreds of people taking a plethora of pictures with my cell phone. And this is when I realized that the hundreds of visual, and sometimes live, displays around the city are more than just messages or artwork. They are a means of bringing the community together in this exciting and hopeful time of change. There really was a sense of comradery and zest in Washington that I’ve never seen in the nine years I’ve lived in this city. The window displays, the material displays, and the live public displays embody the idea that now, finally, we are one.
Never before has Washington D.C. seemed so alive, so energized, so proud – not to mention the colossal sense of patriotism and nationalism expressed by everyone at Sunday’s concert, Monday’s MLK celebrations, and Tuesday’s inauguration. As I walked through the neighborhoods of Foggy Bottom, Georgetown, Dupont Circle, Logan Circle, and U Street, I discovered that the window displays, wall graffiti, and bus billboards sometimes prompted the live public displays which were so fascinating and sometimes were very secondary, serving as if they were textual support for the greater message. This is not to undermine the messages of these window displays. Some were truly inspirational and thought-provoking. Just from self-observation, it was clear that amongst all the window displays I saw, one got the most attention, and rightfully so. It was a sign in the window of Georgetown’s Lululemon Athletica surrounded by manikins “acting out” the quote, which read:
“Rosa sat so Martin could walk. Martin walked so Obama could run. Obama ran so our children can fly.”
Once you get past staring at the three manikins in colorful workout clothes who are set up to be walking, running, and flying respectively, the message of the quote can start to sink in. The implications of this message are undoubtedly moving and stir many of the common emotions felt and expressed during this weekend. It reflects the history and triumph of African Americans and epitomizes the reality that America is now a racially non-discriminatory society. We’ve reached a level of racial acceptance that was inconceivable for decades; what our children will be able to accomplish years from now is a mystery, but looks promising.
Not many signs and/or other types of visual displays filled the windows of Georgetown or Foggy Bottom, other than the dozen or so Obama signs in residential windows. However there was the barber shop that I discovered later on in Logan Circle that had a picture of Obama getting his hair cut in their window. Whether this was a marketing technique or just enthusiasm for Obama going to a barber shop like any old Joe, I don’t know, but nevertheless, it was a unique window display. It wasn’t until I came to Dupont Circle that I found the most mouth-dropping live display of them all. Propped up in the middle of Dupont Circle was a mammoth inflatable George W. Bush doll, standing at what appeared to be about 12 feet tall. He was dressed in a military uniform, holding his helmet, with a nametag that read “Bushocchio.” In front of him was a sign that said “Give Bush the Boot.” Surrounding him stood a mass of people (about 100), all throwing shoes at him. People were cheering and laughing, videos and pictures were being taken, and there was a giant inflatable George W. Bush with an elongated nose and hundreds of shoes being thrown at him and on the ground below him. If this wasn’t the most symbolic live demonstration of American hate and resentment for our president of the last 8 years, I don’t know what else is.
This of course wasn’t the only place people were snapping pictures and taking videos with their cell phones. The hoards of people stopping at any store with a window display or in front of any wall painting on the outside of a building photographing, video-taking, or just stopping to converse with the stranger next to them was a display in itself. Walking past Dupont, into the trendy Logan Circle neighborhood and finally into the artistic, cultural, and semi-rough U St. corridor was where this was most evident. American flags were draped everywhere. Christmas lights were hung on lampposts with Obama signs everywhere. Store after store on U. St. had manikins in the windows sporting Obama t-shirts. An art gallery had a black and white portrait of Michelle Obama in the window, next to a modern photographed montage of Obama portraits. And almost every other building had painted on it the colorful Obama “Hope” and “Progress” posters. And without a doubt, in front of each one was another hoard of people documenting on cell phones the images that will fill the pages of our children’s history textbooks.
Second to the masses of people throwing shoes at the inflatable George W. Bush, which, frankly, resembled a suppressed nation publicly throwing down a communist dictator, another large crowd gathered at the corner of 14th and U St, taking pictures of what was either a wall mural or a graffiti illustration of the giant Obama “Progress” image next to an image of Obama’s patron saint, Abraham Lincoln. The illustration of the two of them next to each other exemplify not only the immense respect Americans have for these two individuals, but also both the strong similarities people see in these two public figures and the expectation that Obama’s presidency will be on the same caliber as that of Abe Lincoln. While this expectation exuberates a sense of optimism from the American people that has seemingly been suppressed for eight years, we can hope that it’s not too idealistic of an expectation for a man who hasn’t even been officially sworn-in as president for 24 hours.
Immediately having realized that I forgot my camera on this little excursion around the city, I am proud to say I was one of the hundreds of people taking a plethora of pictures with my cell phone. And this is when I realized that the hundreds of visual, and sometimes live, displays around the city are more than just messages or artwork. They are a means of bringing the community together in this exciting and hopeful time of change. There really was a sense of comradery and zest in Washington that I’ve never seen in the nine years I’ve lived in this city. The window displays, the material displays, and the live public displays embody the idea that now, finally, we are one.
jueves, 15 de enero de 2009
"A journey of a thousand miles starts in front of your feet" - Lao-tzu, Father of Taoism
I tried not to do it, I really tried. I thought my yoga class would be the one place where I could get away with not including the word "innauguration" in conversation. Yoga should be a time of personal growth, exploratation, meditation; not to mention the physical challenge and sweat that goes into it. But there I was, leading my class through their shavasana (final relaxation) and I uttered the sacred word.
With yoga comes the OM. You can't have one without the other. That long, bolstering, deep chant that's a harmonious (and sometimes not harmonious) blend of every voice in the room, represents the peace and connectedness yogis and yoginis have within themselves and with their surroundings. The OM initiates the energy of a practice and brings rest and tranquility at the end.
As millions of people crowd together on the metro and at the mall for this momentous innauguration on Tuesday, a hundred or so yoga-fanatics (otherwise known as the Lululemon Athletica ladies, myself included, and a few men) will be practicing 44 sun salutations for our 44th president around the fountain at Dupont Circle. As we OM for Obama, we'll OM for peace, prosperity, change, and for all the tourists trying not to get trampled on.
With yoga comes the OM. You can't have one without the other. That long, bolstering, deep chant that's a harmonious (and sometimes not harmonious) blend of every voice in the room, represents the peace and connectedness yogis and yoginis have within themselves and with their surroundings. The OM initiates the energy of a practice and brings rest and tranquility at the end.
As millions of people crowd together on the metro and at the mall for this momentous innauguration on Tuesday, a hundred or so yoga-fanatics (otherwise known as the Lululemon Athletica ladies, myself included, and a few men) will be practicing 44 sun salutations for our 44th president around the fountain at Dupont Circle. As we OM for Obama, we'll OM for peace, prosperity, change, and for all the tourists trying not to get trampled on.
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