Commies vs. AnCaps: Welcome to the Rap Metal Terrordome

Throughout America and the West, the political Left have overwhelmingly dominated the culture through the arts. This dominion extends across the entire sphere of pop and rock music. With the possible exception of country, the political opinions in the pop and rock world tend to run the gamut between progressive and communist. While most generally save their grandstanding for DNC appearances, award ceremonies and social media, there is a notable handful of artists who put radical leftist politics front and center. Rage Against the Machine made Marxist angst a mass market success, so it should come as little surprise that the supergroup followup, Prophets of Rage, cashes in on the same sensibilities. Comprised of the rhythm section reactor that powered RATM and augmented by members of Public Enemy and Cypress Hill, Prophets of Rage want to make America rage again by synthesizing the combined legacies of its members.

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While propping up establishment politics under the veneer of radicalism passes for “rebellion” on the Left, you’d think that liberty would resonate as a theme in a genre that prides itself on being the Voice of the Disaffected™. For whatever reason, very little liberty oriented subject matter has translated into mass success beyond the odd Rush or Megadeth record. Libertarians are starting to recognize that culture is upstream from politics and are now making inroads into the pop culture realm. One of the unexpected success stories has been the emergence of rap-metal Rothbardians, Backwordz. Fronted by Eric July, a man who is already recognized as a rising star in the liberty movement, Backwordz is plying their own brand of rap-metal but with a message that stands in polar opposition to the leftist grunting of the Prophets. Drawing almost exclusively from the more recent history of rap-rock hybrids, Backwordz sound invokes comparisons to Limp Bizkit, Linkin Park, Static-X and Body Count. If you had told me even a year ago that the nexus of politically fueled music converges at the intersection of hip-hop and hard rock, I’d have looked at you sideways. Yet here we are. So let’s jump into the rap-metal terrordome and see how they stack up.

Prophets of Rage vs. Backwordz

In many ways, Prophets of Rage is one of the most successful rap-rock hybrids I’ve heard. It pains me to say it because the politics of the album alternate between idiotic sloganeering, boring clichés and braindead incoherence. Prophets of Rage seem tailor made for the Age of #SocialJustice, and they’re cashing in on it by openly advertising themselves as the soundtrack to the #RESISTANCE. If you simply gathered up the highest trending hashtags from #WOKE Twitter from the past couple years (#Blacklivesmatter, #RESIST, #DumpTrump, #TakeAKnee, #HandsUpDontShoot, etc), that pretty much sums up what they have to say as a band. Add in some communist iconography, weed references and Antifa-inspired branded merchandise, and the package is complete. I wouldn’t be surprised to hear some group of campus SJWs chanting the chorus to “Unfuck the World” at any given protest.

No Hatred
Fuck Racists
Blank Faces
Time’s Changin’
One Nation
Unification The Vibration
Unfuck the World!

 

Wow. That’s deep, bro. Pass the bong.

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Conversely, Backwordz have a lot of interesting things to say on their debut release, “Veracity”, but it is simply less enjoyable as a musical experience. And by interesting, I mean songs that represent the perspective of a full throated Rothbard style anarcho-capitalist. That’s not to say that they are less accomplished musicians or that their vision is any less cohesive. It’s just that I found myself wanting to sing along with Prophets, but didn’t have the same experience with Backwordz. If nothing else, the fact that Backwordz have written an anti-Keynesian rap-metal anthem which name checks Ludwig von Mises and The Road to Serfdom makes them deserving of respect. “Praxeology” is not necessarily a song I want to put on repeat, but I think it’s commendable that they wrote it in the first place. There’s probably more than a few people out there who scooped up copies of Anthem and The Fountainhead after rocking out to 2112, so I suspect it won’t be long before we begin to hear testimonials of kids who picked up Human Action after jamming Backwordz.

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Backwordz songs follow a general formula. Eric July spits out a manic flow over some chunky syncopated riffage which is followed by a melodic emo chorus sung by Alex James. What the riffs lack in memorability, they make up for in rhythmic interest and mechanical precision. At their best, Backwordz’ riffage falls somewhere in between the jagged chugging of Meshuggah and the militant ratatat of Disturbed. July alternates between a smooth, rhythmically energetic flow and a full on aggro scream. There is the occasional chill electro beat section, too.

Backwordz cover a lot of ground in one record. A tour through the song titles and lyrics reveal a pretty broad spectrum of liberty oriented themes. Unfortunately, the songs are a little like monologues from Randian heroes. The content is great, but there’s something wooden and slightly cringe inducing about it. July is hitting excellent subjects, but he’s just not the greatest wordsmith. However, the one song that’s both lyrically and thematically devastating is “Statheist”. If there’s one thing that progressives don’t like to hear, it’s having their own religious faith called out.

Say it, we know the truth
Saying Hail Mary’s at the voter booth
You are a fraud
Stop acting like you don’t believe in god
Acting like they made us
Politicians are your saviors
You are a fraud
Stop acting like you don’t believe in god

 

To my ears, the Prophets’ overall sound has more breath and a deeper reach back into rock history. The Prophets successfully negotiate a rhythmic pocket that reconciles Led Zeppelin, P-Funk, MC5 and The Stooges. Tom Morello’s politics are vile and stupid but the man is quite simply one of the most innovative guitarists in rock working today. I defy any rock lover to say that the chorus to “Hail to the Chief” isn’t the very epitome of The Riff. The Prophets’ superior conception of groove also ties into their superiority in songcraft. I can’t remember a single hook from the Backwordz record, but I can remember practically every single one from the Prophets of Rage. Having the Morgan Freeman of hip-hop doesn’t hurt, either. Chuck D’s gruff, leathery bass and relaxed flow is just more appealing to listen to than July’s rapid fire rhymes. If there was only one message that I hope to convey to the members of Backwordz, I would encourage them to learn from the Prophets’ songwriting example.

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What pisses me off the most about the Prophets of Rage is that, in contrast to their ideological brethren GY!BE, they’re cashing in on leftist anger without being explicit about that for which they stand. Admittedly, it’s not that hard to discern their intentions, but it’s masked amidst the fist pumping sloganeering. They want you to “know your rights”, but exhort you to “burn that goddamn flag”. They lament that you “pretend there’s democracy” in one song, but insist that you should “legalize me” in another. Morello himself has been pretty explicit about his communist convictions throughout his career, and Prophets of Rage is just the latest update to the packaging. Their anti-authoritarian posture masks their authoritarian designs. It’s not that just that they want to “Smashit”; they want to “go Molotov” and “become the gun”. They insist that you know “who owns who”, but want you to ignore the question of who owns them. I contend that the following photo from their Twitter account summarizes their true intentions. The Statue of Liberty is a symbol of the one political ideal that America sought to institutionalize: liberty. Though the #TakeAKnee campaign was supposedly meant to symbolize a protest against police brutality and racial injustice, the act of kneeling is actually an act of submission. Not defiance. The fact that the Prophets of Rage would promote an image of Lady Liberty kneeling in submission is exactly what I’d expect from communists, sadly.

I realize Backwordz don’t need my support, but I sincerely wish that I could offer a more unequivocal endorsement. If there was a way to swap the message of Backwordz with the Prophets’ sound, I’d be singing a different tune. Backwordz’ music belongs to different generation, and the fact that they’ve attracted as much attention as they have is a testament to the fact that their music is speaking to people and providing value. The Left have been tremendously successful in mainstreaming their ideas through culture, so I’m glad they’re out there doing their thing. It’s entirely possible that they’ll reach more new people with rap-metal than the combined efforts of every single Mises Institute fellow.

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Heterotopia Live: Oberon, September 29, 2017

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Warriors of the Metaphysical Wasteland: Schooltree

Among the various types of rockers one encounters in the world, I believe the heart of the prog rocker is uniquely romantic. In contrast to all other genres, the prog rocker is the one who sees music making as a mythic quest and a sacred calling. The prog rocker has a story to tell that is so epic, the danger and drama can only be conveyed through labyrinthine compositions and spellbinding feats of musical virtuosity.  The prog rocker is going to unsheath Excalibur from the stone and slay the dragon while on his way to Mordor to destroy the One Ring while simultaneously telling you the story of how Stonehenge was built. It’s an artistic quest that many attempt, but at which very few truly succeed. Especially in 2017.

Ladies and gentlemen, I’m here to attest that Lainey Schooltree has chased that Holy Grail and brought it back to the land of the mortals in the form of 100 minute epic called Heterotopia. She has kept her covenant with the ancient gods of progressive rock and delivered a work that deserves a place in the pantheon. After seeing Heterotopia in its embryonic state, I was especially excited to see how it translated in a proper live setting in its final form. Not only did it exceed my already high expectations, but I left having the sense that I had witnessed the launch of a significant work that demands to be judged on the global stage.

Heterotopia has an elaborate narrative, but you don’t need to follow it or even understand it in order to enjoy it as a pure rock spectacle. Backed by a 10 person Greek chorus, some choice lighting and two exceptionally well timed releases of dry ice, the five members of Schooltree powered through Heterotopia in its entirety like world class heavyweight champions.

Every band aspires to make an album that’s all killer and no filler, but Heterotopia actually is one of those records. There were, of course, notable standouts. In the role of Metanoia, Kristin Santangelo was positively captivating in “The Leitmaiden” and “Enantiodromia”. There is probably no one on earth better suited to the role of Enantiodromia than the incomparable Mali Sastri. “The River” is the one track on Heterotopia where the emotional tenor turns pitch black, but it delivers just as much doom laden grandeur as you’ll get from Magma or Van Der Graaf Generator. In addition to her already considerable feats of vocal sorcery, the combination of her wild eyed stare, gothic makeup and flared black dress left you feeling as though you were in the presence of a supernatural being. And a rather terrifying one at that.

Besides providing so many of the glorious backup harmonies to many of the songs, the 10 person Greek chorus had several standout sections of their own. “The Bottom of the River” managed to synthesize English folk music and Sondheim all in one piece. “Rocksinger” sounds something like a track The Sweet were commissioned to write for Schoolhouse Rock, but was rejected for its references to Suzi’s indiscriminate drug usage and sexual favors.

Heterotopia is solidly a work of progressive rock, but it never strays too far from its rhythmic anchors in the straight ahead rock tradition. The motorik pulse of “Dead Girl” draws you in and builds up to an outrageous climax.

For my money, “The Edge Annihilate” is the song for the ages. I’m convinced it’s the hidden track from The Sensual World in which Kate Bush collaborated with Journey. It’s “Don’t Stop Believing” for the goth crowd with backup harmonies provided by the Trio Bulgarka. It’s a strange conjunction, but I swear I was ready to hoist a lighter aloft as soon as Tom Collins’ fill kicked off that final chorus.

By far, the musical and emotional pinnacle of the performance was “Day of the Rogue”. Starting with a piano riff that sounds damn close to “Great Gig in the Sky”, “Day of the Rogue” is the culmination of Suzi’s transformation and the beginning of her reentry into the physical world.  It’s a testament to Schooltree’s artistry that she’s able to constantly subvert your expectations by setting the emotional tenor of the music against the dramatic events and make it soar. The final stretch of the song was among the most triumphant two minutes of gloom I’ve ever heard. Even without a Stonehenge replica descending from the ceiling to cap it all off, it was an experience that was only heightened by the release of dry ice and a dazzling flourish of psychedelic lights. One could imagine that if they continued to ramp up the design and visual production values, Heterotopia could easily be a big ticket entertainment option in any major city. 

This incarnation of Schooltree is the second iteration I’ve seen and is marked by a complete turnover in the bass and guitar duties and the welcome addition of a dedicated synthesizer player. While it’s eminently clear each musician is accomplished in his own right, they exercise such discipline in executing this music, it’s often hard to tell where Lainey’s vision ends and their individualism begins. Filling the role vacated by the estimable Brendan Burns, Sam Crawford more than proved his mettle by juggling rhythmic chores, melodic lines, sonic textures and one all too short solo in “Specter Lyfe”. The addition of Peter Danilchuk on synthesizer was an inspired and welcome addition to the Schooltree sound. Besides all of the excellent written material, he churned out some first rate spacey psychedelia on “The Abyss”. Forming the foundation of the entire musical edifice of Heterotopia, Ryan Schwartzel on bass and Tom Collins on drums were models of taste, economy and restraint.

Decked out in goth chick glam, Schooltree herself seemed content to let Heterotopia speak for itself. And that’s exactly as it should be. While so many are eager to confer automatic legitimacy and priority to “womyn in rock” these days, Lainey Schooltree has simply thrown down a gauntlet of stone cold artistic achievement. Heterotopia is a musical monument that stands tall in the valley of its ancestors and demands to be judged alongside them. I may not have seen Yes, Pink Floyd and Genesis back in their heyday. But I did see Heterotopia at Oberon in 2017. As far as I’m concerned, that’s a perfectly comparable experience.

Masters of Unreality: Sam Crawford, Peter Danilchuk, Lainey Schooltree, Tom Collins, Ryan Schwartzel

 

Artificial Intelligence: Building the Perfect Precog

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Philip K. Dick’s dystopian short story from 1956, “The Minority Report”, presented a future police state where a collection of mutants with parapsychic abilities anticipate violent crime before it happens. Subsequently, most violent crime was eliminated, but thousands of citizens who technically hadn’t committed a single crime filled detention camps. The central speculative conceit of the story was the idea that mutants with precognitive abilities could foresee the future. Given the near absence of violent crime, their forecasts were presumed correct and the Precrime unit was accorded legitimacy by the public. Needless to say, we have yet to identify people, with or without mutations, who possess such abilities. Regardless, Dick’s vision was prescient all the same. The central idea he was exploring was the human capacity to exercise free will. If Precogs could predict violent behavior, then that suggested that human behavior was deterministic and Precogs possessed the ability to anticipate these actions.

The fact that humans possess free will has frustrated bureaucrats and central planners for ages. Despite all their best efforts to make it so, humans never behave in completely predictable ways. However, it appears as though the Silicon Valley technorati are determined to design a world which simultaneously removes human agency and lends itself towards the micromanagement of human behavior. If humans can effectively be “programmed” to behave in predictable ways, then the task of designing AI algorithms which anticipate human behavior becomes much easier. In short, artificial intelligence is starting to look like an attempt to build the perfect algorithmic Precog. More specifically, it’s starting to feel like the technorati are trying to become God by manufacturing an omniscient digital substitute.

The most explicit manifestation of the police state foretold by PKD is the facial recognition software which supposedly can detect your sexual orientation, IQ, political views and your disposition towards “criminal behavior”.  What could possibly go wrong with that?

Using photos, AI will be able to identify people’s political views, whether they have high IQs, whether they are predisposed to criminal behavior, whether they have specific personality traits and many other private, personal details that could carry huge social consequences, he said.

Not only is the AI project taking on the aura of a PKD-style cyberpunk police state, it’s also starting to resemble a Logan’s Run-style dystopia. In other words, lull the unwashed masses into submission with automated comfort and convenience and you remove the opportunity for individuals to exercise agency. Automobiles, for example. People are too stupid to be trusted with driving, so let the AI take over. It’ll be fine.

And we will have no choice but to get in and hope for the best – because vehicle automation will not be a matter of choice. Stevie Wonder can see what’s coming. Automated car technology will be mandated; the SELF DRIVE Act being the preparatory groundwork. It standardizes things at the federal level; gives the federal regulatory apparat the power to nudge.

All of this begs some deep questions of where the AI project is heading and whether it’s benign or malevolent.

How much control of our lives do we want to give over to machines – and to the corporations that build and operate them?

How much control do we want to give over to machines and the corporations that build them now that the ideological biases and political allegiances of the Overlords of Silicon Valley are well known?

I am everything the religious right despises: a scientist, an atheist, a leftist (by American standards, at least), a university professor and a Frenchman. – Yann LeCun

Furthermore, to what degree are we destroying the physical work ethic by automating so much low skill labor? To what degree are we sacrificing variety and the vitality of individual innovation in favor of mass produced plenitude? Surely, there are many successes to applaud, but given the influx of an immigrant population which tilts heavily towards the low skill end of the employment spectrum, how many will have the proclivity or intelligence for high tech training? The same question applies to unemployed and underemployed working-class Americans.

Last month’s White House economic report predicted that if a job pays less than $20 an hour, there’s an 83 percent chance it will eventually be eliminated by automation.

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Elon Musk along with several other technocrats and thinkers have gone public with their reservations over the AI project. But True Believers like Ray Kurzweil would have you believe we’re headed to techno-utopia.

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When you’ve got powerful and influential industrialists and intellectuals offering such vocal opposition to the AI project, how might you help accelerate the willing acceptance of technocratic rule? By creating a religion with an AI godhead, that’s how.

Enter AI mogul and True Believer, Anthony Levandowski. Way of the Future is what he has branded this cybernetic theocracy, and at present, little is known about it. It’s already receiving a fanfare in the progressive media, so that should be an indication of the ultimate trajectory of the AI project. To quote Jung, wherever the spirit of God is extruded from our human calculations, an unconscious substitute takes its place. There is arguably nothing that ideologues crave more than unquestioned allegiance, and if one aspires towards such an end, you are going to do it by exploiting the human psyche’s capacity for faith. I think the technorati are keenly aware of this and want to pave the path while it’s still relatively early in the game.

The entire artificial intelligence debate is as old as Frankenstein. I suspect that few of us really thought that cyberpunk future would be a reality quite this quickly, but it’s here and the debate over its ramifications will intensify. Films like the Ghost in the Shell remake are starting to feel less like distant future speculations and more like statements of intent. Technology has given us a wealth of marvels, but the pursuit of the One Algorithm to Rule Them All seems more like the height of hubris and megalomania.

And researchers still have a long way to go in achieving anything that resembles human intelligence or consciousness.

There’s a certain cold blooded cynicism at the core of the AI project that strikes me as Benthamite calculus taken to its absurd and inhuman conclusion. It glorifies the notion that humanity itself can be reduced to an algorithm. It consigns our individuality to bytes of data to be managed by a cadre of unaccountable elites. While I enjoy the convenience and connectivity the information age has ushered in, I’m more than a little skeptical over what the AI project portends for the future of humanity.

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Schadenfreude: Harvey Weinstein and the Herculean Hypocrisy of Democrats

Harvey Weinstein’s decades-long career of sexual harassment is now coming to light, and there’s a ton being written about it. I just thought it would be fun to take a tour through some choice tweets made by alleged champions of Womyn’s Rights and the deafening silence we hear when the allegations are directed towards a wealthy and powerful Hollywood patron of the Democratic Party.  

And of course, right at the top of the hypocrisy hit parade is none other than Queen Hillary herself. Fearless Champion of Womyn’s Rights. But only when it’s politically expedient. 

Just change “survivor” to “perpetrator”, and the tweet actually works, Hillary

Birds of a feather as they say.

And the virtue signalling hits keep coming. 

And of course, who can forget Michelle Obama’s moving tribute to Mr. Weinstein? Or the plum internship Malia got at the Weinstein company?

Progressivism.

The radical notion that you can claim the moral high ground when the facts fit the narrative. 

Red Rockers: GY!BE’s Empty Commie Agitprop

Luciferian Towers is the seventh release from Canada’s preeminent purveyors of apocalyptic art rock, Godspeed You! Black Emperor. As expected, the music media have rolled out the red carpet and showered the album with praise. And understandably so. They are a band for which the most hushed tones of reverence are reserved, and the album delivers the musical goods that GY!BE fans have come to expect. Doom laden slow burn reveries build up to ecstatic peaks which manage to be beautiful and foreboding all at once. Jagged and charred dronescapes which channel a multitudinous howl at the injustices of the world lodge themselves into the deepest recesses of your mind. It’s all good stuff, and GY!BE truly are among the best at this kind of thing. Like Swans and NIN, existential angst and politically charged dread have a place in the artistic landscape. I would argue that their particular brand of paranoid musical fever dream is effective precisely because they have successfully given a musical voice to the anxiety, fear, and embittered rage that lives at the heart of the Left’s political worldview. 

And that brings us to my beef with what is otherwise a fantastic art rock record. GY!BE have always worn their political stripes on their sleeve, but on Luciferian Towers, they’ve basically hoisted the hammer and sickle flag and started singing the “International”. This is not a startling revelation, but I applaud them for being forthright and specific about their political goals. Communists tend not to be open to arguing the merits of their ideology, but I’m happy to take this opportunity to hopefully disabuse Menuck and company of this barbaric and regressive point of view. My bigger problem is that they’re a band that asks to be taken seriously, but if we take the message at face value, I’m not sure they’re entirely serious about their own message. If the critical response is any indication, I’m not sure the critics or the fans do either. My sense is that, like Rage Against the Machine and other Marxist poseurs, it’s a way to score points with the cool kids and affect the standard leftist posture of being some revolutionary badass. And if they are as serious as they seem to be, this is yet another example of the Left’s insanely pathological fawning and blasé indifference to what is quite clearly a call for open borders, violent revolution, and another socialist dictatorship. Admittedly, that’s apparently what the Left is after, but one hopes that such an explicit declaration of political intent would elicit a little bit of concern for anyone who might have misgivings over that agenda. 

Think I’m being hyperbolic? Let’s listen to each track, take a look at the editorial behind it and discuss the list of “demands” that served as inspiration for this recording. 

Apparently written by GY!BE’s prime mover, Efrim Menuck, the Luciferian Towers press release is written in affected, broken English that’s straddles the line between half baked poetry, pretentious art school twaddle, and infantile, semi-literate rantings. This kind of fractured, would-be deconstructionism is barely distinguishable from Tumblr grade bilge and practically memes itself. The deliberate insertion of an incorrect and unnecessary indefinite article in the title to the opening track, “Undoing a Luciferian Towers”, sounds retarded and feels pointless. So are we to take this editorial as boilerplate Marxist contempt for urban architecture and all of the capitalist rapacity it symbolizes or is it a tacit endorsement of terrorist destruction? Or is it a veiled celebration of 9/11? It’s not entirely clear, but one presumes that the violent nihilism of the image is sufficient to convey their “revolutionary” contempt for modern society. Setting that uncertainty aside, the song itself is another triumph of GY!BE’s tormented beauty. Sheets of kaleidoscopic noise punctuated by shards of atonal shrieks march into the gloom accompanied by a lonely and spartan snare drum cadence. The song culminates in a surprisingly triumphant sounding melody reminiscent of Albert Ayler if he were backed by Black Sabbath. It’s more upbeat variation on the kind of song on which GY!BE have built their career, and it’s a stunning opener. 

“Bosses Hang” is a three part suite which picks up where the previous song left off. Part I gives us another soaring anthem which sounds something like an electrified Liberation Music Orchestra track in a major key. Part II is a minimalist heavenward climb worthy of Branca which ratchets up the tension through steady accretion of rhythmic and harmonic layers and explodes into climatic recapitulation the original theme.

Because the music is so expertly conceived and executed, I’m especially annoyed by what they’re saying on this track. The press release spews more dumb Marxist clichés about capitalist producers extracting surplus value from the proles while whinging about how beleaguered and alienated they are. Listen, guys. Suck it in and cope, cupcakes. You’ve achieved more commercial success than most musicians on the planet achieve in an entire career. I get that it’s hard to feed a family on this stuff, but you make music that mostly appeals to young, urban hipsters. This whole posture of oppression smacks of spoiled ingratitude. You make make music on your own terms while promoting a political ideology that would absolutely destroy the ability to make this music in the first place. What more do you want, guys? But hey. Whatever, man. DOWN WITH THE BOURGEOISIE, AMIRITE COMRADES?! HANG ‘EM HIGH! THAT’LL SOLVE EVERYTHING. IT’S NOT LIKE THIS VERY AGENDA HAS ALREADY RESULTED IN THE DEATH OF 200 MILLION PEOPLE OR ANYTHING. WE’LL FINALLY GET IT RIGHT THIS TIME AND MAKE IT 400 MILLION. And what’s with all this horseshit about shovels, wells and barricades? Are you planning on building the Montreal Commune or are you digging mass graves for the executions you and your fellow revolutionaries plan on carrying out? 

Do GY!BE LITERALLY want bosses to hang? If I had to bet, I’d wager that they aren’t serious and just want to be regarded as edgelords. But then again, I can’t be sure. The actions of the radical Left are getting closer to their overheated rhetoric lately, so maybe this is another provocation. Lately, this kind of sentiment is de rigueur, and leftist calls for violence are A-OK. But man, if you say “nigger” on a live stream while playing a video game, WATCH THE FUCK OUT, BRO. 

Even if we get past the dumb postmodern affectations and tortured blathering that accompanies “Fam/Famine”, it’s another sad projection of what their ideology actually produces in the world. The socialist always blames privation, repression and conflict on capitalism, but mysteriously dismisses the ACTUAL privation, repression and conflict of socialism. Venezuela is resorting to rabbits to feed its population, and like clockwork, socialist apologists have already declared socialism blameless. While I’m sure they’ve got some variation of #NotRealSocialism at the ready for people like me, this is basically GY!BE telling you exactly what you can expect if their utopia were implemented. 

They wrap up the record by bitching about kanada and agitating for “anarchy” in the three part epic, “Anthem for No State”. Once again, when it comes down to the music, they have earned the accolades. If Sergio Leone collaborated with Alejandro Jodorowsky on a follow-up to El Topo, this would be my top pick for the soundtrack. Part III begins with a thundering wall of toms while peals of feedback scream overhead like some infernal hellbeast. The Morricone inspired battle cry enters on guitar and is answered by the strings. As is the case with everything they do, it’s very dramatic and it has a rousing, martial quality to it. This GY!BE suite wants to be a call to arms, but I sense that it’s more a soundtrack to anarchist LARPing. 

All in all, the record is very good as a pure musical achievement. I actually like GY!BE and consider myself a fan. I just can’t abide all this AnCom horseshit. Either it’s a pose or they haven’t thought it through. But if you are serious, Efrim and company, may you get all the communism you ask for, Comrades. Clearly, some of us only learn the hard way.

But what about the “grand demands” that informed this record? Because, after all, nothing says you’re dedicated to the emancipation of humanity quite like a set of DEMANDS I always say. 

An end to foreign invasions.

Ok. Fine. I’m with you on this one, Comrades. I gotta say though. This doesn’t seem too high on the progressive agenda. It also doesn’t really square with the whole trend towards arbitrarily declaring everyone who disagrees with you a Nazi and then punching them. That seems to be the MO of your fellow Antifa LARPers these days. Not exactly the most peaceful approach to things, IMHO. But kudos to you for your antiwar position, brothers. 

An end to borders.

I’m calling bullshit on this one, fellas. You don’t really want this. You don’t. I know it makes you look cool and it’s a great way to virtue signal how #TOLERANT you are, but this is a terrible policy. This is actually being attempted right now in a place called Europe, and guess what? It’s not working so well. Ask anyone who isn’t drinking EU KoolAid. Notice that most of the immigrants are coming FROM the Islamic world TO the West. If they’re all just good hearted people trying to improve their station, what does this say about the quality of life in Islamic countries? Is it possible that there are limits to the great experiment of multiculturalism? Is it possible that some cultures have no intention of assimilating the values to which those of us who grew up in America and the West have become accustomed? Is it possible that even in a borderless world, you will have to contend with the issue of creating social cohesion? If Western countries are just bigoted shitholes, why are so many people from other countries clamoring to get here? How many of you would emigrate to an Islamic or African country? 

Let me guess. #Brexit, Poland and the Netherlands are all just death throes of reactionary, residual Eurocentric white nationalism. All that pesky Islamic terrorism will go away when the capitalist pigs stop waging war and white people stop being such Islamophobes. Everyone needs to learn to love the EU, be more like Sweden and take their daily dose of oxytocin and everything will be great. What an edgy and contrarian position to take. I wonder where Mr. Menuck and company got this radical and fringe opinion. 

How anti-establishment are GY!BE?

Open borders. That’s just WAY OUT ON THE EDGE, dudes.

Besides, what about the immigration policy that’s being enforced by your homeboy, Justin Trudeau? Come on now, Comrades. Surely, you guys are up in his shit every day for upholding such an oppressive border policy. 

And what about all that crap about shovels, wells and BARRICADES you wrote in the notes to “Bosses Hang”? A barricade is a form of BARRIER to limit egress, is it not? Sounds a little bit like a BORDER if you ask me. 

The total dismantling of the prison-industrial complex.

LMAO! It’s the Virtue Signal, Batman! Look, I’m sure we can agree that the pursuit of law and order has gone too far and the system has swallowed up nonviolent offenders and ruined a few too many lives. But guess what? Even if we allow for the slim possibility that there is some percentage of the prison population who are nonviolent offenders or victims of a miscarriage of justice that can reenter society and function as law abiding citizens, we’re still left with a significant population of ACTUAL FELONS. You know. Rapists. Murderers. Terrorists. 

What then, Comrades? A peaceful reign of brotherly harmony where we all drink kombucha, listen to GY!BE and chill? I suggest you think this through a little more. 

Healthcare, housing, food and water acknowledged as an inalienable human right.

Ah yes. At last we arrive at the “anarchist” conception of rights.  What you actually have here, Comrades, is a self-detonating argument. If you consider the provision of material goods and professional services to be RIGHTS, then that means that certain individuals who possess the ABILITY to produce said goods and services are now OBLIGATED to provide them for others. So if you truly consider these rights to be INALIENABLE, as in cannot be taken away, then that means that some group of people will be FORCED to provide goods and services for others. And another group will be charged with ENFORCEMENT of said rights. As in through the barrel of a gun. I don’t see how you can declare all of these things inalienable rights given that the forcible provision of these goods and services destroys the humane incentives that are built into the market economy and necessitates the creation of a permanent class of enforcers. As in RULERS. Not very anarchist, is it, Comrades? Lots of contingencies if you catch my drift. Pardon me for raining on your parade, but that sounds like a recipe for enslavement. Maybe you’re cool with that. This little trick has been tried before, Comrades. It doesn’t have a happy ending.

Not only that, you’ll have shot yourselves in the foot by executing the capitalists. I know it’s hard to believe, but you can’t run businesses unless you have….wait for it….SKILLS. I know. You guys love your Marxism and insist that they’re just soulless predators, but your anarchist utopia is going to be badly thwarted if you go through with the purges. Just sayin’.

Also, I don’t get why you guys are grousing about all this. Canada is lauded as a model of progressive governance by leftists throughout the world. Rolling Stone had such a hard on for Justin Trudeau, they gave him what amounted to an act of journalistic fellatio. If you think things are so shitty in kanada that you’d enslave others at gunpoint in order to bring about utopia, then what does this say about the progressive agenda? I’ll tell you what it suggests to me. Either you can’t be content with the soft socialism you already have, or that progressivism inevitably leads to totalitarianism. Or maybe you’re just saying all this shit in order to look cool.

Or maybe all three.

Isn’t he dreamy?

The expert fuckers who broke this world never get to speak again.

I’ll just leave this right here.  

Dataist Reformation Revisited: Technocratic Tyranny or Digital Deliverance?

A little over a year ago, I wrote a piece in response to David Runciman’s review of Yuval Noah Harari’s book Homo Deus. In it, I argued that Runciman was manufacturing paranoia about the so-called “dataists” of Silicon Valley in order to advance the standard progressive narrative that is The Guardian’s raison d’être. Though I stand behind the piece, I also think Runciman and Harari were making a larger point that I glossed over in order to draw more attention to what I believed to be the underlying ideological agenda. Not only has Runciman presented a standard albeit wonky piece of progressive propaganda, he’s also very explicit about the contempt he and his Silicon Valley cohorts hold towards the broader population. Given all that has come to light from the Silicon Valley technorati in the year since the piece was written, the cynical and dehumanized terms in which Runciman describes all of us lowly proles couldn’t be a more transparent view into the malevolent machinations and mindset of these contemptible elites.

The steady media drumbeat of hysteria about the alleged advent of fascism which began before the election has only escalated since Trump took the oath of office. As much as progressives are fond of attributing fascism to conservative ideology, nationalism and the perceived proximity of these phenomena to any kind of white identitarian movement, what they omit is that fascist regimes were socialist at the core. Their success hinged on the regime’s ability to manufacture a uniform consensus which fused the individual with the State. The Left presently dominate every institution which contributes to the formation of ideology. This includes the entire spectrum of educational institutions, the media, the Hollywood entertainment complex, and most importantly, Silicon Valley. Since we now live in a world increasingly driven by social media enabled internet connectivity, the Silicon Valley chokehold on the flow of information and the ways they are intentionally trying to engineer an ideological consensus cannot be ignored. Take, for example, this gem from Runciman’s piece.

Google – the search engine, not the company – doesn’t have beliefs and desires of its own. It doesn’t care what we search for and it won’t feel hurt by our behaviour.

Anyone who isn’t confining themselves to the Google-enabled information Matrix will find this laughably false. Google’s search engine is a product made by a company with a very clear and rigidly enforced beliefs and desires. But don’t take my word for it. Listen to Eric Schmidt himself.

We should be able to give you the right answer just once.

We don’t need to look very hard to discover the myriad ways that Google have gone to great lengths to ensure that you arrive at the “right answer”. Accompanied by her coterie of deep state denizens and media sycophants, Hillary Clinton and the entire Democratic establishment have been engaged in a nonstop collective autistic howl over Russia’s alleged meddling in the 2016 election. However, they remain conveniently silent on the invisible thumb Google placed on the information scale on her behalf when it came to gaming search and autocomplete algorithms.

And then there’s the scourge of so-called “fake news”. Tainted news sources from Macedonian mercenaries and other malignant Russian malefactors allegedly infiltrated social media sites and brainwashed the easily duped sheeple with misinformation. All of this meddling turned public sentiment against poor Hillary and sent the progressive aristocracy into paroxysms of apoplectic rage. Thankfully, our blessed Dataist Overlords are helping the poor, defenseless proles to #RESIST these malicious “waves of information”. After all, we’re apparently little more than an accumulation of information points in an organic skin bag according to Runciman.

Who will “we” be any more? Nothing more than an accumulation of information points. Twentieth-century political dystopias sought to stamp on individuals with the power of the state. That won’t be necessary in the coming century. As Harari says: “The individual will not be crushed by Big Brother; it will disintegrate from within.”

Both Runciman and Harari couldn’t be more forthright about the cynicism and contempt that they hold towards humanity. Both contend that we are “accidents” and that there’s nothing “special” about who we are. But this posture of progressive insouciance is disingenuous and masks the fact that Google and the Silicon Valley technorati are deeply concerned about controlling the range of thought and opinion that can be expressed and heard. If it’s all just a clinical and antiseptic flow of data within a vast network of human and digital nodes, why are they going so far out of their way to limit one set of opinions and privilege the other?

Clearly, Google doesn’t want certain kinds of information to be disseminated. James Damore learned that the hard way when he published the now infamous “Google Memo”.

Add this to the growing list of YouTube content creators who dare to deviate from the technocratic GoodThink, and a pretty clear set of ideological imperatives emerges.

But how could the individual “disintegrate from within” unless the engineers of the social media revolution actually know something about decoupling intelligence and consciousness? Studies are starting to be done on the effects of social media and smartphone usage on the youth, and much of it seems to confirm that the generation being raised inside the internet bubble are experiencing negative side effects. Reports of depression and anxiety increase while attention spans decrease. If the ability to think and evaluate different points of view is being hamstrung, then the business of engineering a consensus becomes an easier task.

But it doesn’t stop there. The tentacles of Silicon Valley extend from the classroom to the deepest recesses of the military and surveillance state. The Silicon Valley empire’s origins and connections to the entire apparatus of the deep state are well known at this point. The Benthamite dream of a digital panopticon has finally been achieved through the glorious allure of internet connectivity and on demand consumption.

And if all this isn’t enough to stir up Alex Jones-esque fever dreams of globalist dystopia, the advent of microchip implants ought to chill your blood. Nothing says Big Brother is Watching quite like a microchip embedded beneath your skin.

Runciman is downplaying the uniqueness of human life and consigning consciousness and volition to the digital hive mind because he wants the proles to get comfortable with their overlords. Clearly, humanity isn’t just a neutral flow of data points because the technorati wouldn’t be spending every conceivable resource on monitoring every facet of human life in order to ensure that no one gets a single unapproved thought into their heads. This is precisely why I argued that there’s nothing inherently malevolent about “waves of information”.  Information is incredibly powerful because is the medium through which ideas are transmitted. Ideas and individuals can affect civilization either positively or negatively.

Fortunately, there is a rising tide of technologists who recognize the stultifying omnipresence of Silicon Valley’s influence and are trying to formulate alternatives. Dubbed “alt tech”, this new generation of tech savvy savants are trying to deliver the promise of the information age by building social media platforms that are ideologically neutral and actually honor the principle of free speech. Even if it means building the internet from the ground up by creating new ISPs and domain registrars.

Modern society is standing at a critical juncture. We’ve reached a point in history where the values that have ushered in unprecedented levels of human freedom and prosperity have also given the puppet masters a whole new opportunity to design a set of technological marvels with which to enslave. The problem is that the chains come in very appealing packages. Information is power and ensuring that free access to the marketplace of ideas remains an urgent priority. Even if the Silicon Valley technorati have totalitarian ambitions, they have succeeded in democratizing the marketplace of ideas. The curtain has been pulled back, and they are now clamoring to maintain control of the narrative. Contrary to what David Runciman and his ilk would lead you to believe, you are not just an accumulation of data points waiting for instructions from technocratic overlords. As much as they don’t want it to be true, the individual does matter. Because if it truly didn’t, the technorati wouldn’t have to work so hard trying to control everything you see or hear on the internet.

Mr. Universe: Can’t stop the signal, Mal. Everything goes somewhere, and I go everywhere.

George Orwell: Animal Farm

I remember being assigned Animal Farm sometime around late grade school. I also remember coming away from it knowing that it had an important message, but not necessarily grasping the full weight of its implications. Whether it was the naïveté of youth or the institutional bias of public education, the poignancy of Animal Farm was mostly lost on me at the time. After having the benefit of the passage of time, a willingness to challenge my own ideological biases and the accumulation of a bit of knowledge since then, I can unequivocally say this. If there is a more cutting and incisive critique of the entire spectrum of radical Leftism than Animal Farm, I haven’t yet read it. Concise yet sweeping in scope, Animal Farm’s sting applies just as sharply to Stalinism as it does to contemporary intersectional feminism and #SocialJustice activism. It’s hard to believe that Orwell considered himself a socialist after reading this and 1984, but as the saying goes, life is sometimes stranger than fiction. Published in 1945, Animal Farm is widely perceived to be a critique of the Bolsheviks and Stalinism, but it more than adequately covers the entire spectrum of Marxist and neo-Marxist thought since the underlying pillars of the ideology remain the same regardless of how the parameters are modified to fit the times and demographics. 

One imagines that an allegory filled with anthropomorphized animals would be geared towards kids, but I had definitely forgotten just how heavy the subject matter actually was. Besides being full of surprisingly grim detail leavened ever so slightly by some very dark humor, Animal Farm packs a lot of ideas into a small narrative space. Set somewhere in the English countryside, the animals of Manor Farm live under the occasionally negligent yet basically benign stewardship of Mr. Jones. The boar elder of the farm, Old Major, gathers the collective livestock together to share his revolutionary dream of emancipation for all of the animals living under the oppression of human ownership. Old Major proclaims all of humanity to be cruel oppressors and animals will only be liberated if they band together and rebel against their human owners. Once they’ve cast off the yoke of human ownership, they will finally enjoy a life of unimaginable plenitude and brotherly harmony. 

Man is the only real enemy we have. Remove Man from the scene, and the root cause of hunger and overwork is abolished forever.

Orwell’s ability to synthesize the core essence of Marxist and neo-Marxist thought in such a short space cannot be overstated. Despite the daunting voluminosity and aura of unfathomable depth to this vein of thought, Orwell cuts through the pretentious excesses and insufferable sanctimony and spins out its inevitable conclusions with devastating accuracy. Not only is this anti-capitalist mentality the sole article of faith for anarcho-communists, socialists, and seemingly everyone in the ranks of Antifa, you can simply add a racial component and transport the entire template over to the BLM or feminist worldview in order to have the same readymade good versus evil dichotomy. 

Old Major is essentially the Karl Marx of the animal revolution. Like Marx himself, Major had been well cared for by his human patrons. He’d lived a long life and fathered lots of children. He had suffered no cruel treatment that would warrant the creation of a revolutionary doctrine that called for the extermination of humanity. Also like Marx, he sends them off towards their revolutionary future by portraying himself as a prophet who’s been bestowed with a quasi-divine revelation. He recalls a song he heard as a young piglet the words to which he’d long forgotten. Casting away the veil of bourgeois false consciousness that had clouded his thought throughout his life, the full glory of this liberated animal utopia had returned to him in the form of a song called “Beasts of England”. 

Beasts of England, beasts of Ireland
Beasts of every land and clime
Hearken to my joyful tidings
Of the golden future time

Soon or late the day is coming
Tyrant Man shall be o’erthrown
And the fruitful fields of England
Shall be trod by beasts alone

Orwell is keenly attuned to the various tools of propaganda that are deployed by demagogues, and the inclusion of this song is one of many brilliant details which exposes the mechanics of socialism when it is implemented. The entire book is a goldmine of metaphorical and symbolic masterstrokes, but putting “Beasts of England” into the mouths of the sheep simply cannot be topped. Anyone who’s ever tweeted about “sheeple” ironically or not owes it all to Orwell. Modeled very closely off the Socialist Internationale, the invocation of “Beasts of England” throughout the novel perfectly captures how socialism reduces men to mindless bleating herds and completely short circuits the capacity for independent thought. Whether it’s the various campus outrage mobs who swarm together to shout down the slightest perception of WrongThink or the cult-like mantras of BLM activists, the contemporary manifestations of “Beasts of England” aren’t hard to find. 

The Major eventually dies, but the dream of realizing an animal utopia invigorates the minds of the Manor Farm livestock. For some, “Beasts of England” all by itself is sufficient to keep the revolutionary dream alive. After the Major’s death, his pig disciples, Napoleon and Snowball, condense his thought into a doctrine called Animalism. Not only does Animalism serve as a pitch perfect proxy for Marxism, it could easily be seen as dogmatic adherence to any set of ideas used for the purpose of manufacturing a moral consensus, enforcing ideological conformity and consolidating state power. In order to ensure that the utopian dream is fulfilled, the two pigs take it upon themselves to educate their comrades to adopt a revolutionary spirit. 

All the animals nodded in complete agreement, and the cleverer ones at once began to learn the Commandments by heart.

These two had great difficulty in thinking anything out for themselves, but having once accepted the pigs as their teachers, they absorbed everything that they were told, and passed it on to the other animals by simple arguments. 

The adoption of a revolutionary mindset requires constant education and reinforcement of dogma, so the pigs set out to propagandize their livestock comrades. To their dismay, they discover wide disparities in intelligence, interest and attention. They’re also none too pleased with animals who ask too many questions. Mollie doesn’t understand why she must prepare for the revolution if the revolution is a historical inevitability. Snowball doesn’t have time to get into the details of dialectical materialism, so he just tells her to STFU and stop thinking counter-revolutionary thoughts. Despite the fact that the doctrine of Animalism is comprised of only seven rules, this was a bit much for some. The sheep are the least able to memorize the tenets of Animalism, so the entire doctrine is reduced to one very simplistic dichotomy:

Four legs good, two legs bad!


It sounds even better if you imitate the bleating of sheep when you say the word “bad”. At the end of the day, this is all that Marxism and progressivism inculcates. Proletariat good, bourgeoisie bad! 99% good, 1% bad! Progressives good, conservatives bad! POC good, wypipo bad! Womyn good, m*n bad! Science good, faith bad! Orwell is making a supremely important point about the psychological levers that any ideology pulls. The entire apparatus of human consciousness filters the world through a moral lens of one kind or another. The success of the adoption of Animalism hinged on its ability to ascribe evil and deceit to an entire group. It doesn’t matter if it’s the bourgeoisie, the patriarchy or white supremacy. Ultimately, this mentality would be applied to anyone deemed a traitor to the Animalist revolution. Including animals themselves.

It seemed to them as though Snowball were some kind of invisible influence, pervading the air about them and menacing them with all kinds of dangers.

The revolution comes rather swiftly because they are able to exploit Jones’ drunken negligence. After a brief but violent coup d’état, the animals take control of the farm. They celebrate by destroying all artifacts and materials that were associated with humanity. This thirst for purging and destroying the relics of the Enemy is a pattern that has played out in both the French and Bolshevik Revolutions, and is mirrored today in the vandalistic rampages of ISIS, Antifa and campus Jacobins alike. 

All the animals capered with joy when they saw the whips going up in flames.

Their first act was to gallop in a body right round the boundaries of the farm, as though to make quite sure that no human being was hiding anywhere upon it; then they raced back to the farm buildings to wipe out the last traces of Jones’s hated reign.

After Snowball is driven off the farm and branded an enemy of the Animal Farm State, not only is he blamed for all their misfortune, but his historically heroic role in the Battle of the Cowshed is erased. Even worse, collaboration with Snowball, or suspicion thereof, is a treasonous act punishable by death. I had definitely forgotten just how dark Animal Farm was because I had to pick my jaw off the floor after reading the gruesome details of Napoleon’s purge of counter-revolutionaries. I don’t know which demographic Orwell had in mind when he wrote Animal Farm, but even the psychological distance of anthropomorphic animals doesn’t really diminish the sheer brutality of these scenes. But it’s both appropriate and true. Whether it’s the trial of Bukharin or the racial supremacist neo-Bolsheviks at Evergreen or the hypersensitive Yale triggerkin berating Nicholas Christakis, the Animalist pursuit of WrongThink always looks the same. The only real difference is the severity of the punishment. 

The enforcement of Animalist orthodoxy resulted in the destruction of free speech and eventually gave way to despotism. The phenomenon to which Orwell alludes is bone chilling in its ramifications; secular liberalism and the pure pursuit of equality taken to its fullest conclusion necessarily leads to totalitarianism. After Snowball is deposed, Napoleon shuts down all public debate. Under Animalism, the individual not only cannot be trusted to self-govern, but must subordinate himself to the diktats of the anointed vanguard and their emissaries. The animal proles want to contest the edict, but they lack the critical thinking skills that can only be cultivated in a system which encourages a competition of thought. Since Animalist doctrine required strict fealty to core principles in order to forge a unified consensus, post-revolution Animal Farm could not forestall its inexorable slide towards totalitarianism and absolute thought control.

The animals would still assemble on Sunday mornings to salute the flag, sing Beasts of England, and receive their orders for the week; but there would be no more debates.

The prohibition of free speech also liberated Napoleon and his cohorts to completely control information, alter the tenets of Animalism, and rewrite history itself. When Napoleon eventually declares that trade with humans must be permitted in order to procure necessities that the farm simply could not produce, it also required the abandonment of previously sacred Animalist commandments. After Napoleon changed one tenet, it was merely a matter of time until all of Animalism had been rewritten to the point where the porcine politburo had exempted themselves from every commandment they imposed on the proles. 

Among its many pointed critiques, post-revolution Animal Farm is yet another righteous kick in the teeth to the failure of economic planning. Though the animals were somewhat successful in carrying out the duties of managing Animal Farm in the beginning, the age old problems of thwarted incentives, mismanaged resources, and inadequate technology that have plagued socialist economies throughout the ages reared their ugly heads. Food shortages and rationing became a way of life for all the proles except for the porcine Kremlin and their canine goon squad. 

In addition to being throttled by the absence of price signals and normal forces of supply and demand, the revolutionary ruminants of Animal Farm had to contend with the problem of producing a harvest using a population of animals with wildly disparate skill and intelligence levels and none of the humane incentives normally cultivated under a healthy market economy. Since Animalist (Marxist) orthodoxy proclaimed humanity to be parasitic, it blinded the hidebound herd to the laws of market economics. As clever as the cloven hooved revolutionary clerisy were in fomenting animosity towards humans, what they failed to grasp was that humans possessed skills they simply did not have. Animalism had nothing to say about how exactly economic life would carry on after the revolution. It simply indoctrinated the idea that the act of comandeering the means of production by force would somehow magically bring about an era of unbounded abundance. 

The storyline pertaining to Mollie the horse offers a scathing rebuke to contemporary feminism. Mollie is a mare who likes the attention of humans (men), likes to accentuate her beauty with ribbons, and likes the indulgences (sugar) that are created by humans (men). Prior to the revolution, Orwell describes Mollie’s questions as the “stupidest” ones, but they’re only stupid to Animalist elites like Snowball who care only about submission and obedience from the herd. Mollie quite reasonably wonders about the availability of sugar and the permissibility of ribbons after the revolution. Snowball haughtily mansplains to her that neither will be permitted because they are the product of mankind and indulging either pleasure is counter-revolutionary. Mollie finds her fears of post-revolution Animal Farm confirmed when she discovers that the very creature comforts and attention she enjoyed from humans had been outlawed by the porcine politburo. Mollie defects and returns to human ownership, but her existence is never acknowledged again by the remainder of Animal Farm. 

Snowball’s dismissal of Mollie’s concern perfectly encapsulates feminism’s sheer hostility to marriage, feminine beauty and manhood itself as it is expressed through the entire “body positivity” movement. Feminists are hostile to women who are naturally attractive and physically fit. Especially towards those who allow themselves to be “objectified” by the male gaze. Mollie wants the attention and companionship of humans (men) while Boxer and Snowball treat her with suspicion and contempt for having these desires. Fat positive activists promote the idea that losing weight and exercising restraint around eating is some patriarchal conspiracy to force body size conformity, but so-called “body positivity” is simply an overt attempt to normalize a natural tendency in women to seek indulgence and remove any accountability to make themselves more attractive to men. It is also a potent reminder that, by and large, women like to beautify themselves and to be recognized for it. Even the most fat positive, pierced, tattooed, blue haired, non-binary, black lipstick wearing feminist is looking for validation of her looks even if it only comes from their personal online hugbox of sycophants. 

For anyone who thinks that Orwell belongs to the Left and his seemingly inexplicable attachment to democratic socialism somehow exonerates socialism, the joke’s on you. Over the years, many of the most trenchant critiques of leftism have come from within the ranks of the Left. The message of Animal Farm couldn’t be more explicit or urgent. If I knew why people, Orwell included, remained committed to the Left after enduring an ideological wrecking ball like Animal Farm, I certainly wouldn’t be writing this piece. Regardless, Animal Farm is happening right before our eyes. The first step towards actual liberation is recognizing that the only chains that exist are the ones that the ideology itself places within your own mind. 

The Red Pill (2016)

Generally speaking, documentary filmmaking is the realm of cinema that sets out to dive deeply into a story that isn’t being told or is poorly understood. Needless to say, it is a genre rife with progressive political agenda building. As films like Inside Job, An Inconvenient Truth and the entire Michael Moore oeuvre attest, there’s no shortage of documentaries which promote a standard leftist narrative. However, when done properly, a documentary film genuinely opens people’s eyes to an issue hidden from public discourse and provokes real debate. It maybe even changes a few minds. Without a doubt, Cassie Jaye’s exploration of the Men’s Rights Movement, The Red Pill, is one of those documentaries. 

The Red Pill is appropriately named and the net effect of the film is best summed up by the explanation given by MRM activist, Paul Elam, in response to Jaye’s inquiry about the the origins of the popular usage of the term “red pill”. In a pivotal scene from the 1999 classic, The Matrix, Morpheus offers Neo two choices. He can take the red pill and have the veil of illusion permanently lifted in order to see reality as it truly is. Or he can take the blue pill and remain anaesthetized and asleep. If being “red pilled” represents being awakened to the plight of men in the Western world, Jaye then asks Elam what the blue pill represents. Elam proceeds to explain that the blue pill is the matriarchal political matrix constructed by the feminist media-academic industrial complex. This matrix is comprised of every article of faith in the contemporary Feminist Bible: the wage gap, rape culture, the epidemic of female domestic abuse, “reproductive freedom” for women, and child custody law. 

By making what amounts to nearly two hours of cinematic kryptonite for the entire feminist movement, Cassie Jaye has made one of the most fearless and important films in recent memory. Rather than being a shrill diatribe against feminism, Cassie Jaye sets up the film by sharing about how her own feminist convictions piqued her curiosity about the Men’s Rights Movement. She opens with a brilliant montage of standard MRM hatemongering found throughout the feminist mediasphere which predictably portrays the hate and bigotry coming exclusively from men. Despite being repulsed by the tone and appearance of actual misogyny, she confides that she found herself drawn in by the magnetic pull of leading MRM website, A Voice for Men. Throughout the film, Jaye shares her own video diaries in which she finds her beliefs and biases repeatedly challenged. And understandably so. As she proceeds to interview the most visible voices of the MRM, you can hear the entire edifice of feminist narrative getting demolished like Godzilla rampaging through the streets of Tokyo. 

Paul Elam

A significant portion of the MRM interview time is allotted to the founder of A Voice for Men, Paul Elam. He begins by letting the gas out of feminism’s hot air balloon of hyperbole. The feminist mediasphere almost uniformly portrays the MRM as a movement of knuckle dragging, mouth breathing, misogynistic Neanderthals who want women barefoot and pregnant. The net result of this sustained campaign of hatred and dehumanization is that men’s issues have been completely ignored. Elam lays out the dire state of manhood in clear and dispassionate terms. Rising rates of suicide, depression, drug addiction, pornography consumption, and unemployment are all well documented trends that are routinely buried under the omnipresent narrative of female oppression. When it comes to workplace fatalities, combat deaths, jobs involving hard physical labor, men are the overwhelming majority in each category yet you hear a deafening silence from the feminist establishment when it comes promoting equality in these pursuits.

Male privilege

Warren Farrell

Former feminist activist, Warren Farrell, pulls the rug from under the entire feminist mythology of patriarchal oppression by simply pointing out the inverse corollary to the axiom of female objectification: female hypergamy. Farrell found himself excommunicated from the Church of Feminism by attempting to point out what’s readily apparent to anyone who isn’t looking at life blinkered by feminist dogma. Women are valued for their sexual appeal and fertility, but men are valued for their ability to gather resources and provide for a family. While feminists seemingly never tire from flogging the notion that a man working 50 to 70 hours a week is part of some nefarious conspiracy to keep womanhood subjugated, there’s little willingness to recognize that this is how men express love and it’s what gives their lives meaning. 

Marc Angelucci

The demolition of feminist dogma accelerates when Jaye offers the mic to men’s rights attorney, Marc Angelucci, and president of the National Coalition for Men, Harry Crouch. While we’ve become accustomed to the narrative of deadbeat dads and absentee fathers, Crouch and Angelucci both provide a sobering reminder about how the legal playing field is overwhelmingly tilted towards women in issues of child custody, paternal suits and domestic abuse. If a man wants to be a father or wants child custody, good luck, pal. The feminist establishment has been very successful in turning the legal system against men in every legal dispute. If you’re socked with a paternity suit, brace yourself because the odds are not in your favor. The founder of Men’s Rights Inc., Fred Taylor, tells the heartbreaking story of his failed attempt at gaining custody of his son despite being the better equipped parent. Given feminism’s current crusade to rewrite gender roles, it’s ironic that feminists want to consign women to the motherhood role by legal fiat. 

Erin Pizzey and Cassie Jaye

Permanently laying waste to the one-sided narrative of female domestic abuse perpetrated exclusively by men, Erin Pizzey shares the story of her pathbreaking work in forming the first domestic abuse shelter for women in the UK. On the surface, Pizzey’s story makes her a prime candidate for the Feminism Hall of Fame. But Pizzey’s blasphemy is that she refused to remain silent about the reality of the women that she took into her shelter. Almost without exception, these abuse victims were violent themselves and often initiated violence against their husbands and children. Since Pizzey was unwilling to give these women a moral pass on their problems, she found herself vilified as an apostate by the Church of Feminism. 

After falling so far down the MRM rabbit hole, Jaye seeks the feminist perspective for some counterpoint. Jaye is subtle, but devastatingly effective as she sets up her meeting with Executive Vice President of the Feminist Majority Foundation and Executive Editor of Ms. Magazine, Katherine Spillar. Jaye gives us a brief montage of the plush and very exclusive headquarters of the FMF in Beverly Hills, California. Using around 10 seconds worth of footage, the irony is readily apparent. Feminism consistently portrays itself as a radical and heterodox ideology. On the contrary, it is a deeply resourced interest group and a highly organized establishment orthodoxy governed by moneyed elites. 

Katherine Spillar

Spillar comes across as a classic hidebound ideologue gripped by cognitive bias with touches of smug condescension and religious zealotry. Jaye sets up the interview by saying that she’d like to hear a feminist rebuttal to the MRM grievances and arguments. Spillar expresses what sounds like a mixture of relief and revulsion; relief that she has finally sought the Truth from the Church of Feminism, but revulsion at the fact that Jaye has deigned to consort with, let alone make a film which features such degenerates. Every single response she gives is straight out of Feminism Incorporated and is made even more creepy by her bug eyed fanaticism. Men’s reproductive rights end after conception. Women are still oppressed. There is no real male domestic abuse problem. The wage gap is real. Men need to get over the dissolution of traditional gender roles. Case closed. Discussion over. 


Naturally, no proper feminist perspective would be complete without consultation with the Experts® in academia. Jaye managed to get two male professors of sociology and gender studies to offer their scholarly “expertise”. There’s a reason that pejoratives like “cuck” and “mangina” have escalated in usage and I have little doubt it’s because of guys like Michael Messner and Michael Kimmel. There’s a reason that people are paying more attention to the work of evolutionary psychologists like Gad Saad and social psychologists like Jonathan Haidt, too. It’s because people know they’re being force fed mealy mouthed dogma and canned ideological talking points by stooges like Messner and Kimmel. When Jaye shows the opening ceremony the new Center for Studies of Men and Masculinities at SUNY Stony Brook, you’ll be laughing right along with Elam and the other MRM activists in attendance. 

Chanty Binx aka Big Red

By far, the crown jewel of the feminist portion of The Red Pill is the interview with Chanty Binx, aka Big Red. Binx has become a living meme factory and along with Trigglypuff, is perhaps the ultimate self-parody of third wave feminism. Her dyed red hair perfectly complements the artificial indignation and canned outrage she spews. She reinforces all of the worst stereotypes about feminists by hurling invective and abuse at her presumed audience in a voice that would make nails on a chalkboard seem like sweet relief. 

Patriarchy, fuckface!

Karen Straughan

The final coup de grâce against feminism is delivered by the redoubtable Karen Straughan in two devastating segments. Straughan exposes the ways that feminists endanger the lives of women in countries like Nigeria by focusing exclusively on the plight of girls. Boko Haram have repeatedly brutalized men and boys for years, but this atrocity has received zero attention on the international stage because the Church of Feminism won’t allow the world to sympathize with boys. Boko Haram exploited this cultural bias by kidnapping girls when they’d normally allow them to escape. So just keep that in mind when you virtue signal with a #BringBackOurGirls hashtag. 

But the final blow is delivered when Jaye asks Straughan why she thinks feminism has such enduring appeal. Her response is succinct and dead on. When you attribute the very notion of Justice with womanhood and Oppression with manhood, you’ve got the building blocks for a religious faith. Not a scientific pursuit. Rather, you have an ideology of Good versus Evil which offers no real emancipation for either gender and is permanently welded to the political apparatus. A combination that’s been remarkably effective and durable. 

As expected, the reaction to the film from the feminist establishment has ranged from disdainful and dismissive to full on autistic screeching and calls for censorship. Film screenings have been cancelled as a result of the online feminist hate mob campaigns not unlike those Jaye filmed outside the Warren Farrell lectures. If any additional proof of the overwhelming bias towards the Church of Feminism is needed, the bumbling idiots from Australia’s Weekend Sunrise provide ample evidence. 

Unlike the propagandistic twaddle proffered by the Michael Moores of the world, The Red Pill is vital and important because it’s a film that tells the truth. It’s a film that refuses to pander to feminist bigotry and elitism. Cassie Jaye has actually lived up to the promise of documentary filmmaking by making a film which draws attention to real problems and the rank hypocrisy of feminism’s hollow rhetoric around “equality”. While some still subscribe to the idea that feminism is still simply about gender equality, the words and deeds of the feminist establishment in relation to the issues raised by the MRM speak for themselves. With The Red Pill, Jaye joins Christina Sommers, Camille Paglia, and Erin Pizzey on the blacklist of apostates who committed blasphemy against the Church of Feminism. And if you’ve made that blacklist, chances are better than good that some sanity, civility, objectivity and genuine compassion has been restored. 

Social Justice is the Death Knell of Comedy

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It’s a point that’s been made by comedians and cultural commentators alike, but it bears repeating: #SocialJustice is the death knell of comedy. Over the years, the increasing encroachment of political correctness in the pop culture sphere has been assailed by everyone from George Carlin to John Cleese. And rightfully so. To be fair, neo-Marxist, postmodern PC culture is destroying pretty much everything that’s beautiful, ennobling and fun, but the toll it’s exacting on the realms of pop culture and entertainment that I always considered sacrosanct zones of unfettered creativity cannot be gainsaid. Comedy will always be judged based on subjective tastes and preferences, but we can distinguish a few core principles which make comedy funny. Moreover, it’s important to draw these distinctions because the goals of the neo-Marxist Left are completely at odds with making actual comedy.

Comedy is an essential art form because it provides a necessary escape valve from the pressure cooker of daily life. When done well, comedy transforms the deepest miseries and the most forbidden taboos into laughter. It serves as a coping mechanism and as a release.  In order to do this properly, the comedian can only invite the audience to see its own reflection in proportion to the degree that the comedian is doing it for himself.  In other words, the comedian’s jokes are funny because you recognize the truth of the comedian’s experience and empathize with him. This may even include judgments and caricatures that will make people uncomfortable. The job of the comedian is to put thoughts that remain hidden from view of normal discussion on loudspeakers. Generally speaking, the more uncomfortable the confession, the greater the comedy payoff. Even in the case of insult comedians like Don Rickles and Joan Rivers, the insults were funny because at some level, you had that thought yourself. The comedian must have a sufficient level of self-awareness about his own foibles and limitations in addition to being well attuned to the judgments and opinions he holds about others.

Most importantly, comedy is meant to be the province of breaking cultural taboos. Comedy is the art form that’s going to go there if that’s where the laugh is going to be found. Especially if it’s painful or uncomfortable subject matter.  It’s a cliché, but laughter is the best medicine. Of course, comedy is a vast art form and for the sake of concision, I’m not including slapstick, sight gags, and pranks nor do I intend to make this essay an extended exploration of every comedic style. My intention is merely to underscore the psychological mechanics of comedy which make it tick and the ways intersectional social justice completely undermines comedy’s most fundamental building blocks.

Given that comedy requires both emotional honesty and unconstrained access to every realm of life where jokes might be found, this dual mandate puts the entire art form of comedy on a collision course with #SocialJustice. The success of neo-Marxist Left hinges on carving society into groups and placing everyone within the hierarchy of oppression. Subsequently, anything done or said by the privileged group that is perceived to be disparaging of the oppressed groups creates an unacceptable perpetuation of oppression which must be condemned and silenced. Since this now includes pretty much everything that is a product of Western civilization, everything that was once considered funny is now in the crosshairs.

Take Mel Brooks’ 1967 lampoon of the show business industry, The Producers. Anyone with a functioning brain knows that Brooks made a Nazi musical the object of the producers’ quest because it was the epitome of bad taste. That’s the joke. Apparently, it’s not good enough for the pearl clutching moralists of the #SocialJustice Left.  Despite Blazing Saddles being a satire of racism and bigotry, how long before his 1974 classic gets the same puritanical reprimand from the Church Ladies of the Left?

Making matters worse is the ever shifting standards of #SocialJustice piety. The nature of intersectional social justice is to constantly move the goalposts of oppression in order to find the group believed to be the most aggrieved. The Kids in the Hall perfectly ridiculed the PC culture Oppression Olympics in 1992, but with the exception of South Park, you won’t find a single mainstream comedy show touch this stuff today. Back in the 90’s, Julia Sweeney managed to get a lot of mileage from her gender ambiguous SNL character, Pat. The comedy came from watching the confused reactions of everyone who wasn’t sure about Pat’s gender. It would be a perfect character to revive today given the white hot controversies over transgender bathrooms and military service, but I have little confidence that SNL would move beyond the self imposed confines of their ideological bubble.

All of which brings us to the core of the problem. Intersectional social justice is a microcosm of the moral relativism, situational ethics, and absence of principle that’s emblematic the Left. The Left has so badly corrupted and destroyed the idea of individual liberty and equality before the law that the only way one can express moral virtue is by circumscribing what you think and what you say to the realm of politics. It encourages people to be overly self-conscious and to self-censor. Needless to say, this is a recipe for totalitarianism. Intersectional social justice is breeding a police state mentality in which people are actively looking for WrongThink and stoking the thirst for retribution and punishment. It’s even more pernicious than if it was a top down legislation because people are freely adopting the mindset as a mark of moral virtue.

Unfunny partisan stooge, Trevor Noah, recently appeared on The View to make the following pronouncement about jokes he and his comedy peers made in the past.

“There were things we shouldn’t have been saying”

Unbelievable! A so-called “liberal” comedian delineating boundaries around what can be proper subjects for humor and calling it “progress”. Even Joy Behar concedes the constraints PC culture has imposed on today’s comedians. Lenny Bruce is surely turning in his grave.

The most odious and detestable pearl clutching SJW to rise to semi-prominence is the painfully irritating Dylan Marron. A sanctimonious prig who affects an utterly repellent pretense of cheeky irreverence and edgy contrarianism, Marron looks at older films and judges them through the lens of intersectional social justice. And SURPRISE! He finds them #PROBLEMATIC. Just like his feminist analogue, Anita Sarkeesian, Marron is one of the Left’s new self-appointed Culture Cops.

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The Left would argue that protesting offense is itself an exercise of free speech. It’s an argument to which I would respond by offering that you just not attend the performance and allow those who want to consume the comedy to enjoy it without being hectored by obnoxious scolds. It’s one thing to protest a comedian or a film screening, but if you are actively trying to prevent others from exercising their right through riots or threats, then you can’t really call that “free speech”. That’s the behavior of a complete totalitarian. Trevor Noah and the media dittoheads within the progressive echo chamber laughably argue that these arbitrary constraints on topics are improving comedy. How about you stop trying to define what’s acceptable in comedy and just allow the art form to progress organically? But we all know that’s not how the intersectional social justice game is played. It’s a one-sided particularist argument and if you’re on the side of oppression, you get the muzzle.
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If you go back through the past 50 years of television and cinematic comedy alone, there’s nothing that passes the #SocialJustice litmus test. Whether it’s Monty Python, Mel Brooks, Cheech and Chong, Sam Kinison, Eddie Murphy or Airplane!, today’s #SocialJustice activists will find nothing redeeming in the comedy tradition.

Comedy can’t take one ideological position nor can it cordon off select people or topics as subjects of potential ridicule while exempting others. When it does that it stops being comedy and metastasizes into propaganda. The traditional comedy television axis of late night talk, Comedy Central and SNL has become a dull and monolithic bastion of partisan talking points and smug condescension. The Amy Schumers and Sarah Silvermans are lionized as torchbearers of new school PC comedy, but shrill anti-Trump diatribes and vagina jokes will only get you so far. If anything, the quasi-McCarthyist, anti-Trump hysteria that has gripped the Left for well over a year deserves to be viciously ridiculed.  As do the idiotic straw men that are constantly being built and recycled by the media lackeys.

The Left’s de facto speech cops in Silicon Valley aren’t helping by throttling conservatives, classical liberals and libertarians on social media. The nascent shitlord community on YouTube has been kneecapped by the Google Gestapo and are seeing their videos flagged for demonetization and sequestered from trending algorithms. Facebook’s Politburo has been equally aggressive in policing meme pages that deviate from leftist orthodoxy.  Milo Yiannopolous and Sargon of Akkad are the latest people who’ve been disappeared by the Twitter Stasi. Comedy needs to be wrested from the deadening chokehold of the Puritans, scolds, and killjoys of Left. Progressives affect a pretense of being anti-authoritarian while simultaneously ignoring the vast institutional power they possess. You can’t claim a monopoly on pushing the envelope when your ideas already pervade every corner of culture. The real heroes of comedy today are the meme warriors and YouTube shitlords who dare to commit blasphemy against the Imams of #SocialJustice. The best comedy always comes from people who push back against the prudes, scolds and the killjoys. So fear not, shitlords. Kekistan will rise again. 

Stalker (Сталкер) (1979)

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Andrei Tarkovsky’s enigmatic, brooding and grindingly slow SF film from 1979 is a favorite among artsy film connoisseurs and tastemakers, but the praise that has been heaped upon it needs to be taken with several grains of salt. Stalker is indeed a masterfully made film, and as far as I can tell, is a fairly explicit metaphor for the crushing despair of life under socialism. It is also an extended exploration of the nihilistic mindset that gave birth to one of the most repressive regimes in the 20th century. Criterion has just released a newly remastered blu-ray, so the world can now enjoy its bleak splendor as never before. That said, I don’t know that it will appeal to anyone beyond the hardcore cinephile set due to its grim aesthetics, cerebral artiness and glacial tempo.

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Since the storyline of Stalker is fairly straightforward on the surface, the allure of the film lies in attempting to peel back the layers of metaphor and symbolism. Tarkovsky’s work invites painstaking analysis because his film lives mostly in the realm of abstraction and semiotics. Considering that Stalker alone has inspired reams of film school exegeses and an entire book which deconstructs every minute detail, it has gained a reputation of being a puzzle of infinite depth.  Despite having a reputation which verges on a near mystical reverence, I think the film is quite possibly much more straightforward than prevailing opinion suggests.

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First and foremost, the film cannot be disassociated from socialist context in which it was created. This was, after all, a Mosfilm production, and by default, a work of art made by people living under a socialist dictatorship. Art was tightly controlled under the Soviets, so no filmmaker could make anything that was too explicitly critical of the regime. Making a ponderously slow film which buries its editorial under abstractions but still lends itself to a multiplicity of subjective interpretations was perhaps the only way to attempt to say anything that wasn’t boilerplate party propaganda.

Writer: While I am digging for the truth, so much happens to it that instead of discovering the truth I dig up a heap of, pardon… I’d better not name it.

The degree to which Tarkovsky’s aesthetic was a purely organic phenomenon in contrast to the extent that it was an adaptation to the confines of Party diktats are questions which must be considered. Stalker poses questions about the nature and role of art, and the fact that this film’s emotional spectrum ranges from sadness to suffering certainly tells us something about how art was affected by the psychological strictures imposed by socialist rule. I propose that the SF premise merely provided the necessary metaphorical pretext for the underlying editorial.  Since absolute fealty to socialist orthodoxy and groupthink was a way of life, telling the truth in a direct way was a counter-revolutionary act all by itself. In this film’s case, the ponderous pace and desolate tone was likely Tarkovsky’s way of pulling you deeply into the experience of life through Soviet eyes.

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Based loosely on Arkady and Boris Strugatsky’s 1971 book, Roadside Picnic, Stalker tells the story of three men who enter a quarantined area called the Zone. The Zone was declared off limits to the public as a result of some unknown incident that may have been paranormal in nature or simply an industrial accident. The big attraction of entering the Zone is the presumed existence of the Room; a place where all wishes can be granted. Two of the men, known only as the Writer and the Professor, enlist the services of the titular Stalker to navigate the Zone and lead them to the Room. Theoretically, this sounds like it could be a premise for a SF action thriller, but the film has more in common with existential theatre like Waiting for Godot or No Exit than anything in the conventional SF cinematic canon. Needless to say, the film is completely devoid of aliens, space travel, futuristic technology or any of the features we normally associate with cinema that calls itself science fiction.

The broad themes are spelled out very clearly in the first part of the film albeit in a somewhat oblique manner. As the film opens, we’re taken into the bedroom of the Stalker over the course of roughly nine dialogue-free minutes as he awakens next to his wife and disabled child. While dressing and preparing for the day, his distressed wife joins him in the kitchen and warns him that he risks returning to his old ways and being sent back to jail. Right away, Tarkovsky is revealing an important fact of life in the Soviet Union: the USSR was essentially an open air prison camp. Socialism had criminalized freedom itself, and the citizens had become complicit in their own enslavement.

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We discover in the subsequent scene that the Stalker is being enlisted to guide two other men into the Zone to find the Room. Since the Room was a place where one’s deepest wishes could be fulfilled, the Room could be viewed as a metaphor for hope, redemption, and the attainment of human dreams. In a word, freedom. No one can reach the Room without first passing through the heavily guarded perimeter of the Zone. The Zone is both an explicit metaphor for the Soviet state as well as the psychological confinement it engendered. The State had outlawed freedom, so the Stalker’s willingness to defy the State and lead others through the Zone is what makes him an outlaw. Naturally, his wife is fearful of caring for their disabled daughter without him, so she implores him not to go.

Stalker: The Zone wants to be respected. Otherwise it will punish.

Tarkovsky seems to have a view of humanity that alternates between nihilism and idealism, but tilts heavily towards the former. In one of Stalker’s monologues, he describes the Zone as an entity whose malevolence is both triggered by the appearance of people and a reflection of man’s nature.

Stalker: The Zone is a very complicated system of traps, and they’re all deadly. I don’t know what’s going on here in the absence of people, but the moment someone shows up, everything comes into motion. Old traps disappear and new ones emerge. Safe spots become impassable. Now your path is easy, now it’s hopelessly involved. That’s the Zone. It may even seem capricious. But it is what we’ve made it with our condition. It happened that people had to stop halfway and go back. Some of them even died on the very threshold of the room. But everything that’s going on here depends not on the Zone, but on us!

The Stalker eventually meets the Writer and his glamorous girlfriend at the waterfront. Stalker rudely dismisses the woman as he and the Writer climb into a car to meet the Professor. Both the Writer and the Professor are quite possibly archetypes for the artistic and academic intelligentsia who have largely been conscribed to the role of being apologists for the State. The rudeness and disdain the Stalker exhibits towards his girlfriend is easily understood when examined in this light. After a contentious rendezvous with the Professor which symbolized internecine Party squabbling, the two men reveal their motivations for undertaking this treacherous journey. The Writer wishes to recover his lost inspiration while the Professor claims pure scientific curiosity. Since the arts had been completely subordinated to service of state propaganda, it makes perfect sense that the Writer would take such a dangerous risk in order to have a taste of genuine inspiration that has been so badly thwarted by demands for ideological conformity.  The Professor’s scientific curiosity is perhaps a jab at the misplaced faith that socialist society had placed in scientism.  A Room which grants your deepest wish is already an idea that lives beyond science.  Bringing a scientific mentality to such a phenomenon is misguided at best. Their desire to reach the Room was by itself an act of faith, and by extension, Tarkovsky’s affirmation of the necessity for such leaps of faith.

Upon arriving in the Zone, the color palette switches from lifeless, desaturated browns and greys to actual color. Once they had traversed past the boundaries of allowable thought, the color and vibrancy of life was accessible to them. Despite the landscape of ruin and desolation that lay before the trio, they managed to marvel at beauty. Once again, Tarkovsky reveals his cynicism towards humanity by having the Stalker note that the beauty was the product of the absence of other people.

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The Writer’s ideological convictions are challenged as they travel deeper into the Zone. As an archetype for the artistic class, Tarkovsky lays bare the psychological schism that Marxism created amongst the creatives in one of the film’s few moments of dry levity.

Writer: My conscience wants vegetarianism to win over the world. And my subconscious is yearning for a piece of juicy meat. But what do I want?

Marxism had supplanted any notion of higher morality and placed the locus of virtue squarely within the hands of the State. Subsequently, the Writer’s desire to see vegetarianism win over was merely a metaphor for the political orthodoxy he’d been trained to uphold. He views his desire for meat as bourgeois false consciousness. Ultimately, he’s conflicted because his sense of Self had been disrupted by venturing beyond the ideological boundaries that were protected and enforced by the Zone.

When the three men reach the Room, they become suspicious of one another’s motivations. The Professor produces a nuclear bomb and threatens to detonate it because he doesn’t want the power of the Room to fall into the wrong hands. Conflict ensues and recriminations are exchanged. After some tortured confessions, the Professor disassembles the bomb and the scene grinds to a halt in a cloud of defeat and resignation. I suggest that Tarkovsky is saying something about how deeply uncomfortable and distrustful Russians were with the idea of freedom. So much so that they constructed their own ideological panopticon.

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Upon returning from the Zone, the Stalker is reunited with his wife and child. In one of the monologues delivered by Stalker’s wife, Tarkovsky is attempting to access something truly primeval within the Russian soul. Some kind of deep sadness which insists that happiness can only emerge unless there is sorrow. Yet it is a sorrow leavened ever so slightly with a tiny granule of hope. Who knows exactly from where this emanates, but it does perhaps offer an additional cultural insight into the psychological legacy of the Russian people on which Marxism so hungrily feasted.

Stalker’s Wife: You know, Mama was very opposed to it. You’ve probably already guessed, that he’s one of God’s fools. Everyone around here used to laugh at him. He was such a wretched muddler. Mama used to say: “he’s a stalker, a marked man, an eternal jailbird. Remember the kind of children stalkers have.” I didn’t even argue. I knew all about it, that he was a marked man, a jailbird. I knew about the kids. Only what could I do? I was sure I’d be happy with him. I knew there’d be a lot of sorrow, but I’d rather know bitter-sweet happiness, than a grey, uneventful life. Perhaps I invented all this later. But when he come up to me and said: “Come with me”, I went. And I’ve never regretted it. Never. There was a lot of grief, and fear, and pain, but I’ve never regretted it, nor envied anyone. It’s just fate. It’s life, it’s us. And if there were no sorrow in our lives, it wouldn’t be better, it would be worse. Because then there’d be no happiness, either. And there’d be no hope.

The resolution of the film reveals the Stalker’s daughter moving three glasses using what is apparently telekinetic power as a snatch of “Ode to Joy” surfaces. It’s enigmatic, but I believe this is the glimmer of hope that Tarkovsky is offering. Monkey represents a new generation which possesses abilities that were unimaginable to their forebears: the ability to cultivate and express joy. An ability so powerful it can only be represented as a paranormal psychic power.

Aesthetically, the film leverages the decrepit and dilapidated architecture of the USSR to create a post-apocalyptic vibe that’s easily among the bleakest natural settings committed to film.  The Zone was inspired by the 1957 Chelyabinsk incident which was both the first major nuclear accident prior to Chernobyl and third largest in history. Ever dedicated to the purity of his vision, Tarkovsky filmed the Zone at an abandoned Estonian power plant which quite possibly hastened his own demise along with two other members of the film crew resulting from exposure to toxic chemicals.

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I suspect that a large part of the allure of Tarkovsky and Stalker in particular is that it represents a manifestation of the great Holy Grail sought by artists across the world throughout the ages: a pure artistic expression unsullied by the taint of capitalistic profit seeking. Stalker is very much a film made with painstaking attention to the most minute details. Almost nothing that makes it into the frame seems left to chance. However, that doesn’t necessarily mean that it’s a film that people will actually want to watch.

Stalker is a film which elicits admiration more than enjoyment. As much as I am tempted to get lost in the labyrinth of symbolic possibility that so enraptures the cinephiles, I see this as a pretty explicit manifestation of the Russian pysche’s very fragile grasp at humanity desperately laboring under the weight of emotional and physical devastation wrought by 60 years of iron fisted subjugation and state enforced social engineering. Since this is a work of art which leans very heavily on symbolism, people will extract a meaning from it which confirms their own bias and disposition. Predictably, the progressive media in America has heaped praise on it because they see it as antidote to Trumpism and a rallying cry for socialism itself. The fact that a film that’s this unremittingly dreary and downcast is perceived as some kind of rallying cry for socialism just goes to show how deeply this ideology warps the psyche and possesses the will of the individual.  If anything, Stalker should be taken as a dire warning of the inhospitable future that awaits should we allow this ideology to hollow out what remains of our souls.

Stalker is indeed a work of Serious Art® and I completely understand the cult of devotion it has inspired. Like all good works of high modernism, it contains the possibility of extracting multitudes of meaning. However, I genuinely don’t think Tarkovsky intended this film to be another occasion for endless academic navel gazing or a self-centered circle jerk for the intelligentsia. Tarkovsky was making an earnest attempt to tell the truth of the Russian experience by using a SF premise as a metaphysical allegory. John Semley’s dumb Salon piece praises the film for all the wrong reasons. Yes, the plodding pace feels radical in contrast to the engineered dopamine rushes we get from contemporary cinema, but it’s because the film conveys a deep sense of despair. Being boring is not an aesthetic virtue that is inherently good. Good art encompasses the entirety of the human experience, but most importantly, it has intention and should actually connect with its audience. Would Stalker have been funded on the free market? Probably not. Grim meditations on the human experience don’t make for big ticket sales. Especially if they’re the product of life under socialist rule. I’m deeply sympathetic to artistic expression which challenges norms and defies expectations. Most people do not share this belief, and as a result, won’t bother watching Stalker. And that’s fine. No one is required to consume art which evokes boredom and despair. In the end, that is perhaps that is the true legacy of the film. Just as millions died chasing the abstraction that Marxism represented, few will heed the subtle warning buried under Tarkovsky’s abstractions.

Stalker: Are you awake? You were talking recently about the meaning… of our… life… unselfishness of art… Let’s take music… It’s really least of all connected; to say the truth, if it is connected at all, then in an idealess way, mechanically, with an empty sound… Without… without associations… Nonetheless the music miraculously penetrates into the very soul! What is resonating in us in answer to the harmonized noise? And turns it for us into the source of great delight… And unites us, and shakes us? What is its purpose? And, above all, for whom? You will say: for nothing, and… and for nobody, just so. Unselfish. Though it’s not so… perhaps… For everything, in the end, has its own meaning… Both the meaning and the cause…

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