Architectural Violence and Creative Resistance colouring book Images and writings in response to readings on the relationship between architectural space and violence.
Tim Brooks s3163187
Eyal Weizman, ‘Critical Theory’ in Log 7, Winter/Spring 2006 In his discussion of the Israeli Defence Force’s co-option of critical theory in the article ‘Lethal Theory’, Eyal Weizman discusses the Israeli Defence Force’s restructuring of standard ‘urban syntax’ to one of non-hierarchical space. Modern warfare takes place in urban environments, and through this re-imaging of the city the IDF is able to intellectually (but more importantly physically) remove the lines between public/private and bring warfare into the living room. Instead of traversing roads and alleys, the IDF (using the theories of Deleuze and Guattari’s A Thousand Plateaus), re-image the urban environment – traditionally a ‘striated’ space, enclosed with fences, borders, walls – into a ‘smooth’ space, one where “borders do not effect [them]”(Shimon Naveh, page 59). Instead of enemy territory dictating army manoeuvres, the built urban fabric is reorganized and reformed so that traditional physical and psychological boundaries are blurred or simply removed. What is most striking in this co-option is the fact that these theories are being used as a weapon – to communicate, explain and justify their military actions amongst themselves (within the Defence Force), the greater public, and the enemy. Weizman argues that the strong use of theoretical rhetoric and language (see Shimon Naveh’s powerpoint slide, page 60) allows the IDF to elevate their actions to those of intellectual pursuit, helping to hide their violent and often devastatingly destructive nature. In this case philosophical reasoning abstracts physical actions into an attractive portrayal of war that is an easier sell to superiors. Weizman argues however that this form of self-narration is merely a layer of theory over the existing structure, that talk of swarms and non-linearity are in fact “positioned at the very end of a very linear geometrical order” and that the self-sufficiency and non-hierarchical system of the ‘autarkic units’ are actually based “at the tactical end of a very hierarchical system” (Weizman, page 63). What the Israeli Defence Force (and the many other military theorists around the world) appear to have recognised most clearly however is the inherent power that comes with knowledge. To the public the use of strong theoretical reasoning makes violence seem reasonable and legitimises the IDF’s actions. The clearest message sent through the use of theory as a weapon however is to the enemy – one of intimidation and fear, not only through the physical actions theory can inspire, but the potential for future actions which the enemy cannot comprehend. Theory, and the knowledge gained therein, has the ability to be used outside of its initial discipline, however as the Israeli Defence Force have shown the inherent power can be co-opted to meanings quite disparate to its ethical beginnings.
the built urban fabric is
reorganized and re formed
so that traditional physical and psychological boundaries are
blurred or simply removed.
Michael Sorkin, ‘Introduction: Up Against the Wall’ in Against the Wall: Israel’s Barrier to Peace, New York: The New Press, 2005.
Baarle-Hertog, Belgium
Michael Sorkin, in his article ‘Up Against the Wall’, describes the IsraeliPalestinian conflict as one “played out in spatial terms”. The Israeli government, as a means of protecting its citizens, has constructed a physical wall which demarcates and separates the Palestinian border. This wall acts as a very literal definition of nationality, a definition based on exclusion. Sorkin discusses the “dispersal of the body politic into bodies politic”, marking the “transition from geopolitics to bio-politics”. That is the change from ideas of nation state based on the physical to one more ephemerally based on the individual (an extreme example of this is the city of Baarle-Hertog, Belgium, where traditional notions of borders and nationality are dissipated (from Geoff Manaugh, bldgblog.blogspot.com)). These “gated communities of one”, most evident when an Israeli enters Palestinian space yet is governed only by Israeli law, begin to show the internalisation of the physical wall into the personal. What is also evident is that through the building of the wall the Israeli government is forcing this internalised ‘bio-politic’ on the Palestinian people. Kim Dovey in his book Framing Places categorises ‘power over’ into varying categories. The most overt and basic form of ‘power over’ is described as force, which “strips the subject of any choice of noncompliance”. Examples of force, which the wall fundamentally is, “prevent action more easily than it can create it”. In this way the Wall negates action, so limits a solution. The wall not only creates a barrier for the Palestinians but is an overt demonstration of this power, and as Sorkin states “the wall is designed to both contain and demean the Palestinians”. The Wall very heavy-handedly (and unsuccessfully) aims to use the ‘seduction method’ (Kim Dovey)– by “shaping their perceptions, cognitions and preferences is such a way that they accept their role in the existing order of things, either because they can see or imagine no alternative to it” (Lukes, Power a Radical View 1974, from Dovey). This amounts to an obvious abuse of authority, where power is ultimately undermined by the individual. This can be seen physically in the illegitimate excavation of small trade tunnels underneath the wall between the two nations, effectively demeaning the overt power signifier (Nancy Updike, Bridge and Tunnel, This American Life episode 407).
Tilted Arc, Richard Serra, 1981
In contemporary urban environments such explicit built forms of force are met with fierce public opposition, such as the protests against Richard Serra’s installation Tilted Arc in Federal Plaza, New York.
The wall not only creates a barrier for the Palestinians but is an
overt demonstration of this power.
Hannah Arendt, ‘We Refugees’ in Mennorah Journal, vol. 31, 1943. Giorgio Agamben, ‘Beyond Human Rights’ in Means Without Ends, Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2000. Agamben defines the nation-state as “a state that makes nativity or birth… the foundation of its own sovereignty”. He believes this is founded on a fallacy, as although implied by the sovereign the birth of a person is not binding to its birth place. When an individual leaves its birthplace, this inherent nationality cannot be left behind, but cannot be taken with them. Refugees create a rupture in the nation-state “by breaking the identity between the human and the citizen and that between nativity and nationality”, a rupture which sovereignty cannot reconcile. What then happens to this “pure human”? Agamben believes, similarly to Arendt, that with these refugee “vanguards” lies the future. The nation-state believes that a refugee is only temporarily a refugee, that their status “ought to lead either to naturalization or to repatriation”. It is this struggle that Hannah Arendt describes in We Refugees, and the subsequent loss of personal identity when assimilation is “optimistically” sought. The willingness to adapt to a new environment in the hopes it is easier to ‘fit-in’ than ‘stand-out’ means that the refugee is merely replacing one nation-state’s control over the self with that of a new nation-state. For Arendt patriotism is not a matter of practise and the act of assimilation does not necessarily result in healing this rupture between self-identity and place. Instead “our [refugee’s] identities are changed so quickly that nobody can find out who we [they] actually are”. When the nation-state decides that the individual is no longer a citizen then they are able to no longer treat them as a citizen – the rights which were before seen as ‘sacred’ and inherent from birth are no longer protected. This applies equally in the refugee’s birth nation as in their new ‘host’ nation. This means that an individual can change geography but not necessarily treatment or ‘status’. Unless of course the nation-state they are entering will recognise the individual as a new citizen whilst acknowledging the fact they were born elsewhere? Agamben argues for a nation-state to no longer be defined as a collection of ‘citizens’ with inherent rights but as a state of “refuge of the singular”. The rise of the refugee as a dominant status of humanity would suggest that this arrangement could work however does not seem to work unless everyone is a refugee. If “the status of European would then mean the being-in-exodus of the citizen” it seems to suggest a loss of the local within self-identity. In Agamben’s scenario where European space is defined by a greater distinction between birth and nation the importance of the local place to humanity appears to be undermined.
How do you heal the rupture between self-identity and place? Colour-in the grid
- try to mirror the other half - or start anew?
Giorgio Agamben, ‘The Camp as the ‘Nomos’ of the Modern’, in Homo Sacer: Sovereign Power and Bare Life, Stanford, California: Stanford Universit Press, 1998. Agamben proposes in his book Homo Sacer that a state of emergency does not result gradually from normal judicial procedure (the regular means of a state mandating its rule over the population) but rather as a complete break from this. The resulting rule outside of this norm allows the State to define what it is not (through exclusion) to protect what it is. The exclusion of this ‘other’ removes the rights associated with a citizen and reduces them to what Agamben terms “bare life”. Because this is done in the name of protection, it is then easier to prolong this rule of exception until it becomes the norm, resulting in the formation of camps. This creates “a permanent spatial arrangement, which as such nevertheless remains outside the normal order”. Because the camp “operate[s] between outside and inside, exception and rule, licit and illicit” they become what Agamben terms an “absolute biopolitical space”. In the National Socialist State of Germany it was required for citizens to align themselves solely by race (the triad of nation, state and territory) rather than fact and law. Once this distinction was made between ‘our race’ (that of the ruling State) and ‘your race’ (the other), it was thus easy to enable the relegation of the other to “bare life”. This “permanent state of exception” is so dangerous because the State is able define the ‘other’ whilst simultaneously ruling judicially against them. Agamben notes that in this way the Fuhrer in Germany was “living law”. The camp is “a space in which bare life and the juridical rule enter into a threshold of indistinction”. Agamben sets forward the proposition that the camp is not an abnormality of modern political space but is in fact a resultant of it. In modern political life there is a great discrepancy between the nation-state (birth and territory) and “bare life”, which results in a camp. Because the camp operates in this fission it shows the crumbling and ultimate failure of modern political states. The resulting “dislocating localization” means for Agamben there can never be a solution until “there will no longer be, strictly speaking, any people”, in this case people as defined by a nation. This internalization of nation to the singular is a hint at a particular alternative to the narrative Agamben sets out, however it is not clear what Agamben proposes beyond the vague assumption of a porous territory. If the camp has taken over the city as the dominant paradigm of the West, what does this mean for the built form? If we are to become global nomads with no fixed sense of identity based on local place, do we no longer require any permanency in our urban fabric? How does this porosity manifest itself in buildings beyond the literal?
The resulting “dislocating localization” means for Agamben there can never be a solution until “there will no longer be, strictly speaking,
any people”
Lieven De Cauter, ‘The Capsule and the Network: Notes for a General Theory’ in The Capsular Civilization, Rotterdam: NAi Publishers, 2004. Lieven De Cauter writes in The Capsular and the Network that we are living in a world consisting of individual capsules which, because of their characteristics, perpetuate and accelerate ever more capsules. The basis of this view is that human beings are fragile (de Cauter going so far as to say “one of the most delicate creatures since the invention of evolution”) and because of this we create capsules to protect us from the outside. These capsules can be physical, such as architecture (the third skin) but can also be cultural constructs. Although “all civilizations have been ‘capsular’ ” De Cauter believes that when capsule scenarios self-perpetuate ever more capsules they are overly ‘reinforced” and thus we become “voluntary prisoners of architecture”. In this sense capsules justify their presence by creating more capsules, further validating their inherent power which occupants are then willing to submit to. De Cauter believes contemporary (Western) society has accelerated further into “high intensity capsularization” because of an enormous increase in speed, both physical and informational. This increase creates a marginalized society of peoples who are not connected (or cannot connect) into this new high speed network. By defining the excluded the capsule strengthens its boundaries, and thus further excludes those outside. These repetitive circles, propagating more capsules, begin to turn the world into “an archipelago of insular identities”. This occurs at a large scale but also at that of the individual, where the rise in capitalism has resulted in the rise of individualism (and the subsequent loss of the welfare state). Further compounding this is the rise in biopolitics, where sovereign states can define who they are by excluding what they are not, and thus proportioning the ‘other’ with less rights. De Cauter concludes that these cycles continue and externalise control, with power stripped from the individual and residing in factors outside of their control. It is interesting however to challenge the theory that an initial capsule is vital for human survival. David Greene, a member of Archigram, advocated in a 1969 essay a “moratorium on buildings”, in essence an end to a reliance on capsules. Writing about an ‘electric aborigine’, Greene advocates instead for a greater reliance on the actual networks. He writes “our architectures are the residue of a desire to secure ourselves to the surface of the planet…our anchors to the planet, like the aborigine’s, should be software, like songs or dreams, or myths. Abandon hardware, earth’s surface anchors.” Instead of giving precedence to capsules foremost as nodes linked by a network it is possible to instead only rely on the network itself as ‘protector’. In this way the individual becomes “walking architecture”. No longer de Cauter’s “sedentary nomads” the individual then has much greater flexibility. Greene argues further that with this greater flexibility comes greater power to challenge the capsularized society “The more people who actively try being a social chameleon, the more chance they have of demonstrating the power of an alternative and weakening the power of a controlling system. to demonstrate the alternative means that if an alternative is recognized then it can be used as a lever, a tactic.”
You choose - the
PLUG or the CAPSULE?
Fill in the landscape and ignore the ‘third skin’
OR
define the house as a capsule and fill with objects necessary for survival.
Image and Text Source: Archigram, Edited by Peter Cook, Warren Chalk, Dennis Crompton, David Greene, Ron Herron & Mike Webb, 1972 [reprinted New York: Princeton Architectural Press, 1999]
Peter Sloterdijk, ‘Foam-City,’ in Log 9, Winter/Spring 2007. Peter Sloterdijk writes in Foam City that individuals operate in their own ‘bubble’, distinct from others because of their individuality. Accordingly we operate and connect not as a collective under the umbrella term of ‘society’ but rather through “symbolic exchange and contracts based on transactions”. With every man an island the world we operate in is ‘flatter’ than the uneven power distribution of the last century, which heavily focused on “the division and recombination of labour”. However, rather than society as an archipelago, Sloterdijk uses the analogy of foam, with its “co-isolated islands” where each distinct bubble shares “at least one partition wall with an adjacent world cell”. Sloterdijk asks that we no longer define ourselves as the ‘masses’ whose collective will is controlled by those in power. This no longer (indeed never did) apply. In recognising this we are able to reclaim the power which resides in the foam analogy. Here, the isolated island is not a negative withdrawing from ‘the other’ (as de Cauter argues) but instead is seen as a positive. However similar each individual unit is, it is still uniquely disparate, which means it is almost impossible to amalgamate into a directed whole – a “totality” can never form. Outside control from a sovereign body or State is much harder to enact. Sloterdijk outlines the challenge for architecture is to create a spatial configuration which recognises the foam behaviour of our society – one that “enable[s] both the isolation of individuals, and the concentration of isolated entities into collective ensembles of cooperation and contemplation”. Using the interesting social and political awakening of France during its revolutionary years in the 18th century, we are shown a number of methods which were used to assert the power of the collective. Using the process of Umfunktionierung, or refunctioning an existing building into a new function, does not work as the new event is “still housed in the past”. Despite bids to create a new world, they were inhabiting spaces which were symbolic of the old. New spaces must be created. Using the creation of the Champ de Mars as an example, we see however that new spaces created during the French Revolution were still based on historical models, such as the Greek amphitheatre and the Roman circus. These spaces were a place for individuals to assemble, conceived to contain the “mass of the society itself”. The overarching theme of these spatial types however are that they are “absolutist fantasies of administration and control”. Here the crowd can unify and cooperate but only with the loss of any sense of individuality. If there can be “no dough without a vessel to form it in” then architecture must lose its (historically) inherent controlling nature with the creation of entirely new spatial conditions.
create a spatial
configuration which recognises the
foam behaviour of our society
– one that “enable[s] both the isolation of individuals, and the concentration of isolated entities into collective ensembles of cooperation and contemplation”.
Michel Foucault, ‘Space, Knowledge and Power’ in Power, London: Penguin, 2000, pp. 349-364. In Paul Rabinow’s interview with Michel Foucault from 1982’s Skyline, Foucault explains that during the 18th century there was great interest in the role of architecture as a means of expression by the “government of societies”. Given the requirements of those in power, a city was to behave in a certain manner. Because of this, architecture became a concern of the political. The city (and its means of being controlled) began to represent the new form of governance during this period (especially in France with new notions of democracy), where it “became the matrix for the regulations that apply to a whole state”, rather than being the exception. The aim of those in power was to create a self-regulating system that was selfsustaining and did not require outside intervention. It was in this time that over-governance, or exerting too much power, resulted in conditions other than those desired by the State. That is, with the new awareness of the people came a ‘reality’ other than that of the governing body, that of society. Rather than concentrating on controlling the State’s territory and its ‘subjects’, the State now had to somehow engage with society, a “complex and independent reality that has its own laws and mechanisms of reaction, its regulations as well as its possibilities of disturbance”. Whilst this new society was primarily spatial because of the emphasis on “urbanization of the territory” during the 18th century (and hence was an architectural concern), Foucault believes that with the rise in urban diseases, the advent of the railway and the discovery of electricity the way in which spatial issues were thought changed. During this period, “engineers, and builders of bridges, roads, viaducts, railways” thought out spatial issues. Foucault believes that we are still living in this period, that “we have until now remained with the developers of the territory”, and that architects are no longer, as Rabinow puts it, the “masters of space that they once were, or believe themselves to be”. What is so interesting in this idea is that although “space is fundamental in any exercise of power”, and the architect can influence quite strongly the use of space and its inhabitants, they cannot dictate or overtly control the use of any space they design. After the spatial qualities have been set up, the user or occupant can go about destroying this – walls can be erected or destroyed and spaces can be used for purposes other than those they were designed for. Through the example of Jean-Baptiste’s Familistere we see a space that was designed with a courtyard in the middle which was overlooked on all four sides by workers apartments. This space could be incredibly oppressive, with every movement (potentially) monitored by the gaze of others. However, if this gaze was wanted, or indeed completely ignored (as in Foucault’s example of “a community of unlimited sexual practices that might be established there”) then the space could be interpreted as liberating. Foucault believes that “Liberty of men is never assured but the institutions and laws intended to guarantee them”, and that it must be practiced. Whilst architecture cannot be liberative in itself, it can contribute if the liberative intentions of the architect are combined with “the real practice of people in the exercise of their freedom”.
Colour-in the pattern
BUT decide whether to express the PANOPTICON diagram
or work out a way to lessen the power of the central circles...
Walter Benjamin, ‘Critique of Violence’ in Reflections, New York: Schocken Books, 1978. Benjamin argues that at the base of any critique of violence are morals. In the eyes of the law, there is a reasoning that violence can be justified depending on a judgement of its purposes – its ends. Benjamin questions the assumption however, posing the question in terms of positive versus natural law. Natural law states that violence is merely a “product of nature”, and that if the ends is appropriate it can justify the means. Positive law however “sees violence as a product of history”, judging violence by “criticizing its means”. Within both of these views is the belief that one can define violence as appropriate (and therefore sanctioned) or not (unsanctioned). Violence can be used by a State as a law-making action or a law-preserving action. The former is used to legitimise those in power, to prove they are in power with the law on their side. Benjamin calls this “executive violence”. Law-preserving violence, such as involuntary conscription, is “used as a means of legal ends”, to maintain the sanctity of their power. Benjamin notes however that this “is subject to the restriction that it may not set itself new ends”. It can no longer preserve the law with the initial violent act if the ends (the law) are changed. Because of this it is termed “administrative violence”. The police are an interesting exception in that they operate in a combination of these, in so far as they can justify violence as both a means and an ends. There can be a third category of violence termed divine violence, “which is the sign and seal but never the means of sacred execution”. This is almost a preventative constriction (and hence an act of violence) as it stops action before the thought has occurred. Devine judgement doesn’t understand the specifics of the case however so if the act has occurred, there can be no further judgement. This is also described as “sovereign” violence. You can claim it as a justification but not a means, as in calling a higher judgement you are recognising that you yourself are not divine.
\ divine
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Jacques Derrida, ‘On Cosmopolitanism’ in On Cosmopolitanism and Forgiveness, London: Routledge, 2002. A city, from the Greek origin polis, is a body of citizens. Derrida argues in his article On Cosmopolitanism that it is impossible to distinguish between modern cities and the State (that which controls it). International law that relates to the description, classification and reaction of the people is the domain solely of the Sovereign State and not of the city. Sitting completely outside of these State laws are the stateless – those that for political, economic, social or humanitarian needs are no longer protected under the definition of their (previous) State. Derrida argues that we must look to the city, rather than the State, and instigate the ‘duty’ of hospitality alongside the ‘right’ to hospitality in the creation of “cities of refuge” to house those displaced by inflexible State laws. From Hannah Arendt’s writing, in particular The Decline of the Nation-State and the End of the Rights of Man, we learn that two “upheavals” occurred in the mid twentieth century. The first was that the right to asylum, which previously had a “sacred history”, was taken away. The second was the discovery that, with the great amount of displaced people that followed the two World Wars, repatriation or naturalisation were no longer viable options. Derrida argues that the State still does not have a valid alternative. Derrida agrees with Arendt in her statement that all international law “still operates in terms of reciprocal agreements and treaties between sovereign states”. In this way, international law serves primarily the State and secondly the people. Inherent in this relationship is some sort of ‘transaction’ that must take place between the immigrant and the host. The recent immigration policy of the Gillard government and previous Australian policies such as the “Pacific Solution” clearly illustrate this. There is an expectation of return on investment by the State. Derrida paraphrases Luc Legoux in saying that in France “asylum will be granted only to those who cannot expect the slightest economic benefit upon immigration”. To combat this Derrida argues that the city must “elevate itself above nation-states or at least free itself from them”. The manner that this occurs practically is not as clearly defined as the philosophical shift needed. Derrida argues that “ethics is hospitality”. At the basis for all ethics is the willingness to allow the Other into your home. This recognition of the Other, “Whether it be the foreigner in general, the immigrant, the exiled, the deported, the stateless or the displaced person” as being different but equal is the foundation for Derrida’s “cities of refuge”. These cities must be made of citizens who are willing to honour the ‘duty’ of hospitality to allow the Other their ‘right’ to hospitality.
How
EQUAL is the Other?
pick a line
Isabelle Stengers, ‘The Cosmopolitical Proposal’, in Bruno Latour and Peter Weibel, eds. Making Things Public: Atmospheres of Democracy, MIT Press, Cambridge, Massachusetts, 2005. Isabelle Stengers advocates in “The Cosmopolitan Proposal” for an active ‘cosmo-political’ discussion whereby an individual can freely contribute ideas/thoughts/feelings without the implication that they are (or are aligned with) the ‘truth’. The “Cosmopolitical Proposal” is one where differing views positively add to the discussion without undermining others, where “it is a matter of imbuing political voices with the feeling that they do not master the situation they discuss”. This constructivist viewpoint aims to produce an environment in which other world-views are treated with “equality” rather than judged by “equivalence”. Stenger is clear to differentiate between these two categories. Equivalence suggests “a common measure and thus an interchangeability of positions”, whereas equality recognises the Other as differening yet with a likeness in value. Stengers’ ‘cosmos’ is not in terms of a Kantian “perpetual peace”, which she believes is too all encompassing, especially in regards to those that may not wish to be encompassed. Here, ‘cosmos’ refers instead “to the unknown constituted by these multiple, divergent worlds and to the articulations of which they could eventually be capable”. Instead of discovering a “good common world” the proposal is to “slow down the construction of the common world, to create a space for hesitation regarding what it means to say ‘good’”. From Deleuze and Dostoevsky the character of the ‘idiot’ emerges, which Stenger uses to represent those that by definition operate outside the accepted discussion. Stenger champions this character as they help re-position the discussion from a binary right/ wrong dialogue to one of multifarious opinions. This “slowing-down” of the dialogue allows the voice of the Other to be recognised. The power of the ‘idiot’ character however is that they can behave indifferently, or chose to ignore the dialogue completely. What this does is serve as a “fright” – because the idiot acts outside of the accepted dialogue it jolts those participating and “scares self-assurance”. Stenger’s proposal is utopian, but not in the sense that the current world can be discarded with the introduction of a better, truer world. The point is to challenge the accepted world-view, and that with additional viewpoints comes “an interpretation that indicates how a transformation could take place that leaves no one unaffected”. It is only through acknowledging the complexity of the world, and the treatment of the Other as “equal” (without judgement of its equivalence), that we can “create a slightly different awareness of the problems and situations mobilizing us”.
Here, ‘cosmos’ refers instead
“to the unknown constituted by these multiple, divergent worlds and to the articulations of which they could eventually be capable”
Slavov Zizek, ‘Passions of the Real, Passions of Semblance’ in Welcome to the Desert of the Real, London: Verso, 2002. Zizek discusses in “Passions for the Real, Passions of Semblance”, from Welcome to the Desert of the Real, the growth during the twentieth century of the complete fascination and fixation on the Real. The focus on the actual rather than the imaginary in the post-industrial West (although this is shown to be similarly mirrored in Socialist Cuba) is described as “frantic mobilization [which] conceals a more fundamental immobility”. All actions created by this fascination remain in a state of stasis as there is “an absence of an Event”. In our attempts to capture/document/create the Real we are merely treading water. When we pursue hyper-reality it in effect renders it unreal, it pushes it beyond the realms of actuality and becomes “substanceless”. What we consider ‘real-life’ is actually merely a semblance, a construct. Zizek’s theory begins to gain complexity with the idea that the culmination of this quest for the Real is paradoxically its opposite – “a theatrical spectacle”. Hyper-reality must result “in the pure semblance of the spectacular effect of the Real”. Using the example of self-harming ‘cutters’, we see that the desire to return to the Real results in a (mostly violent) Event – here the act of cutting assures the person the actuality of their existence, with the physical proof of blood. Similarly, the destruction of the World Trade Centre resonated so powerfully because it acted as the “unimaginable Impossible” spectacle. The events of September 11 represented the unthinkable, yet because of the saturation of the ‘Disaster Movie’ and its hyper-real representations in society, it was actually “the object of fantasy, so that, in a way, America got what it fantasized about, and that was the biggest surprise”. Here, Zizek makes the important distinction that “it is not that reality entered our image: the image entered and shattered our reality”. By way of Lacan and his writings on Anxiety, Zizek writes that when dealing with the trauma resulting from the shattering of our perceived Real, we cannot merely choose to remember or forget this trauma. Traumas that we cannot or will not remember can be the most damaging, for “the opposite of existence is not non-existence, but insistence: that which does not exist, continues to insist, striving towards existence”. It is only through the act of remembering and acknowledging these traumas that we can begin to accept them. Zizek posits that the problem with the twentiethcentury ‘passion for the Real’ was that it was a “fake passion” whose ultimate goal was to avoid the Real. To truly embrace the Real, one must embrace the “dirty obscene underside of Power”. That is, there must be an acknowledgement of the darker fantasies that run beneath society which are as vital as those more commonly imaged semblances of the Real.
“the opposite of existence
is not non-existence, but insistence:
that which does not exist, continues to insist, striving towards existence�