Some notes on the political unconscious

It began with some inchoate sense that what we now call 'politics' strongly resembles a prison in which the front gates are not only unlocked, but they are currently never closed.  Similarly, the doors to the individual cells of this prison are unlocked, but most of the prisoners pull their cell doors closed themselves. There are no keys and the cells are unlockable. The guards of the prison have long since forgotten where the keys had been kept.  And it is not entirely clear whether the guards are not also inmates who are taking turns at role-playing games.

I am of course speaking of the enclosure of practical politics, which is to say of actual politics, in those nation states with something of an intact ethos -- a living tradition held very dear -- of freedom of speech and assembly, however disused and encroached upon that freedom may be, and however enclosed that freedom may have seemed to become from within a culturally unconscious ceding of these powers of freedom to 'the powerful' -- i.e., the ones the prisoners have forfeited their powers to, which is to say the 'gatekeepers'. 

The prison itself is--mostly--nothing other than a mirage, an illusion. But it is the same kind of illusion as the one which traps a trained elephant who has been pegged to a sturdy, deeply driven post by a long, thin strand of flimsy kite string--, which the elephant could readily break were she so disposed while also understanding that she could do so. The elephant trainer began perhaps two years ago with a heavy chain. The heavy chain was eventually replaced with a much lighter chain. Then, months later, the light chain was replaced by a strong rope, then, weeks later, a light rope--, and finally--a week having passed--, the kite string. One imagines that the elephant would by then feel -- and believe herself to be -- so utterly trapped into her tight circle that the kite string could be removed and the elephant wouldn't even imagine herself free from her enclosure.  Not imagining herself free, she lacks freedom.  She is pinned to a post by air and imaginings. 

Yes, as you may be suspecting by now, I'm using rhetorical flourish to make my point through exaggeration. I think it a useful strategy. It's not that I have forgotten those not-so-long-ago days when the state, using its local police, cracked down violently hard on various Occupy (movement) protestors with pepper spray, shock bang grenades and an essentially militarized offensive complete with snipers on the roof and armored vehicles purchased from the military as overstock --, the manual rubbing of the viscous orange liquid into the eyes of innocent, young non-violent dissenters.  I know the state will succumb to such when it feels threatened. And I know "the media" will often 'legitimize' such approaches to discipline.  I know that when we walk out the open front gate there are some fellow prison-mates manning the guard towers. They will begin with what they like to call non-lethal weapons, such as Tasers.  I haven't forgotten the four dead in Ohio. I've read my Howard Zinn. I know our history is largely one of brutal oppression.  

I know the word 'dialectic' is tainted and questionable. And, still, I know it is mostly a discourse, a set of words and ideas, which keep us circling the post like trained elephants. 

I know that actual 'democracy' would not be a centralized and largely bureaucratic hegemony of a pretend majority 'led' by multinational corporations and billionaires.  I know that John Jay, patriotic member of the Constitutional Congress (but not a signer of the US Constitution), said "those who own the country ought to govern it." I know that the 'founding fathers' feared and despised the notion of democracy.  I know the republic was founded as an explicit oligarchy of, by and for white, property owning men. I know that oligarchy has never been anywhere near to being superseded by actual democracy. I know. I get it.  And, no, my mentions of American political history are not a symptom of a belief that only America and Americans matter.  It's just that I know a good deal less about the details of how other nations, too, are less than fully democratic, by any definition of that word. And I know that the history of modern so-called 'democratic' politics elsewhere is not all that different from its history on Turtle Island. 

I cannot help but wonder..., how did we come to associate 'democracy' so strongly with a state system in which decisions are made indirectly by distant 'representatives' who don't actually represent the people?  How did that same system appear in microcosm in most local governments? And why do we equate governance with government, which generally results in our now thinking that 'democracy' boils down to a hegemony of the majority--and a field of competition rather than of cooperation and collaboration with our neighbors? And how did all of this governance by government become so decidedly economistic in its discourse and practice? And how did that leave us feeling so disenfranchised as 'citizens' with a vote? And what about 'community' outside of the state? Doesn't that actually exist? What became of the 'public sphere' as the 'private sphere' (as property relations) swallowed it? And why does 'the media' side against the people so often?  

As I circle my stake in the ground, these are the things I wonder about.  I know my kite string is tied to your kite string. I know we are brothers and sisters.  I know a poem is more powerful than a treatise. I know philosophy is the love of wisdom.  I know I'm naked under my clothes.  

I know what Alan Ginsberg meant when he said,

[Song]

The weight of the world
is love.
Under the burden
of solitude,
under the burden
of dissatisfaction

the weight,
the weight we carry
is love.

Who can deny?
In dreams
it touches
the body,
in thought
constructs
a miracle,
in imagination
anguishes
till born
in human—
looks out of the heart
burning with purity—
for the burden of life
is love,

but we carry the weight
wearily,
and so must rest
in the arms of love
at last,
must rest in the arms
of love.

No rest
without love,
no sleep
without dreams
of love—
be mad or chill
obsessed with angels
or machines,
the final wish
is love
—cannot be bitter,
cannot deny,
cannot withhold
if denied:

the weight is too heavy

—must give
for no return
as thought
is given
in solitude
in all the excellence
of its excess.

The warm bodies
shine together
in the darkness,
the hand moves
to the center
of the flesh,
the skin trembles
in happiness
and the soul comes
joyful to the eye—

yes, yes,
that's what
I wanted,
I always wanted,
I always wanted,
to return
to the body
where I was born.