boundary 2

Tag: racism

  • Robert Topinka — “Back to a Past that Was Futuristic”: The Alt-Right and the Uncanny Form of Racism

    Robert Topinka — “Back to a Past that Was Futuristic”: The Alt-Right and the Uncanny Form of Racism

    Robert Topinka

    This essay has been peer-reviewed by “The New Extremism” special issue editors (Adrienne Massanari and David Golumbia), and the b2o: An Online Journal editorial board.

    There are reduced expectations for the younger generation, and this is the first time this has happened in American history. Even if there are aspects of Trump that are retro and that seem to be going back to the past, I think a lot of people want to go back to a past that was futuristic—The Jetsons, Star Trek. They’re dated but futuristic.

    —Peter Thiel, quoted in Dowd (2017)

    In the scramble to explain Donald Trump’s victory in the 2016 presidential election, then-campaign chief executive Stephen K. Bannon’s claim to a Mother Jones reporter that Breitbart under his editorship was a “platform for the alt-right” (Posner 2016) generated widespread attention in mainstream media publications.[1] A rash of alt-right “explainers” appeared that attempted to familiarize the uninitiated with this so-called movement by outlining the obscure intellectual roots of the alt-right’s seemingly inscrutable meme-driven cultural politics. This paper begins from the premise that the alt-right is not a movement but a reactionary ideology, a “bursting forth of anti-PC cultural politics,” better understood as an ideological “milieu” rather than a movement (Nagle 2017, 19 & 18). Through an analysis of alt-right meme practice and neoreactionary theory, I will show in what follows that the intellectual innovation of the alt-right and its neoreactionary co-travelers is to attach white identity politics to a critique of modernity that turns postcolonialism on its head. Where the latter attacks racism for compromising the democratic promise, the former attacks democracy for compromising the white race’s promise, which is to accelerate capitalism to the lost Hobbesian future of the CEO-King, a vision implied in Peter Thiel’s words quoted in the epigraph to this article. Neoreactionaries have resurrected nineteenth-century notions of racial degenerationism and race as civilizational index, sutured them to techno-futurism, and deployed this monstrous racist hybrid in the form of what look on the surface like left and postcolonial critiques of modernity. The components of this thinking are familiar, but this precise combination is novel. The intellectual and aesthetic practice of the alt-right can thus be described as uncanny: strange but entirely familiar, a return in the present of a repressed past. In short, the alt-right’s newness is a symptom of its oldness.

    This argument draws on Corey Robin’s (2013) analysis of two key features of reactionary ideology, which, Robin argues, seeks to restore a lost past to a fallen present, and does so precisely by attacking the present on its own terms. This reactionary war against contemporary culture therefore tends to assume the aesthetic form of this culture—an immanent critique from the right that attacks the present culture to restore a past it has lost. Adopting Robin’s framework, I examine the attack on the present in the form of alt-right meme culture and the neoreactionary proposal for restoring a lost past.

    Neoreactionaries have a name for the structure of the fallen present: the “Cathedral,” the term Curtis Yarvin (writing as the blogger Mencius Moldbug) coined to describe the academics and mainstream journalists who preach the official “faith” of political correctness (2008a). The notion bears resemblance to the “propaganda model” (Herman and Chomsky 1988) of mass media, but instead of mainstream media and academia colluding with capital, they are preventing its flourishing. In its broad contours if not in its politics, this “Cathedral” critique resonates with left critiques of identity politics and diversity discourse, both of which are central to what Jodi Dean calls “communicative capitalism,” or the form of capitalism that captures resistance by materializing practices of agency, participation, and diversity in communication technologies (Dean 2002, 2009). Left academics therefore find themselves united with corporate capital around “enthusiasm for diversity, multiplicity, and the agency of consumers” (Dean 2009, 9), a state of affairs that has led many on the left to call for a rejection of identity politics. Hence Nagle, in her important if controversial work on the emerging reactionary ideologies, argues that the alt-right opposes “the new identity politics” of liberal online spaces like the social blogging network Tumblr that normalize “anti-male, anti-white, anti-straight, anti-cis rhetoric” on the “cultural left” (Nagle 2017, 68).

    I want to suggest here, though, that whatever the merits of identity politics as a scholarly approach or political strategy might be, the alt-right critique of identity politics is only the first reactionary gesture—the immanent critique of the present. The second move—the restoration of the lost past—does far more than violate the terms of diversity discourse; it seeks to install race as an interface that gathers humans in a global frame and sorts them hierarchically. Mobilizing memes as the aesthetic form of reaction, the alt-right popularizes this racial interface. Richard Spencer’s slogan—“race is real, race matters, race is the foundation of identity” (Caldwell 2016)—seeks to formalize racism as a political strategy, appropriating diversity discourse to claim white nationalism as a protected identity formation. Racist exclusion is the fulcrum of the proposed political order.

    The uncanny is a useful figure for analyzing the reactionary attempt to restore a lost past. This formal racism is uncanny in the strict sense Freud (1919) defines the term: the appearance of “something long familiar” that was estranged “only through being repressed” (148).  The appearance of this estranged object motivates ideological attempts to “integrate the uncanny” and “assign it a place” in a fallen present (Dolar 1991, 19). By focusing on the alt-right’s immanent critique of identity politics, we allow the alt-right to direct us to the “place” in the fallen present that needs critiquing, all the while missing the lost past that the alt-right seeks to restore. As a figure of encounter with the present, the uncanny directs us to the formal practice of assigning a place.

    I begin with the first reactionary gesture—immanent critique—by examining the meme as a formal manifestation of what Dean calls communicative capitalism, and therefore as an entirely familiar form, even if the content of alt-right memes is bizarre. I then turn to the second reactionary gesture—the restoration of the lost past—by turning to the intellectual roots of the alt-right, focusing on Bannon’s summer of 2014 speech at a Vatican conference and its resonance with the neoreactionary thinkers Mencius Moldbug and Nick Land, whose form of uncanny racism I will describe. The connection extends beyond shared sympathy: Yarvin’s start-up counts the Trump-supporting Thiel as an investor (Pein 2014), and Yarvin reportedly communicated through an intermediary with Bannon while the latter was still Trump’s Chief of Staff (Johnson and Stokols 2017). I conclude by suggesting how attention to ideological form makes it possible to critique reactionary ideology without replicating the first reactionary gesture and arriving at the same place of critique that reactionary ideology selects, a danger that haunts any attempt to contextualize reaction.

    First, a brief note on terminology: the alt-right is a contested term, but is best understood as a shorthand for anti-politically correct reactionary ideology that developed its meme aesthetic in message boards, particularly 4chan (see Nagle 2017, 12 & 19). Neoreactionary thinking is a specific intellectual tradition that influences many alt-right adherents. This paper does not seek to define the alt-right, and indeed such definitional questions tend to impose a misreading of the alt-right as a coherent movement rather than a reactionary ideology. Nor does this paper deny the existence of extreme right organization (Berlet and Lyons 2000; Berlet 2004); rather, it seeks to analyze the “metapolitics” (Lyons 2017) of an ideological “fascist creep” (Ross 2017).

    Memes and the Allegorical Interface

    After Trump’s 2016 victory, alt-right partisans began claiming the election as a turning point in a meme war that most mainstream audiences nevertheless knew little about until mainstream journalists began publishing “explainers” on the subject.  A journalistic genre of recent vintage, the “explainer” responds to the perpetual news and commentary stream by expanding the nut graph into a contextual framework for understanding complex or obscure issues, stories or trends, allowing those who find themselves “out of the loop” to “grasp the whole” of the story (Rosen 2008). The alt-right, with its cornucopia of obscure memes and references—from the mystical “meme magic” of the pseudo-religious Cult of Kek (more on this below) to the infamous Pepe the Frog to racist approximation of African American Vernacular English of “dindu nuffin”—would seem to demand the explainer treatment, particularly for those who discovered the alt-right only after Trump’s hiring of Bannon brought the alt-right to mainstream attention. As I show below, mainstream explainers tend to attempt to uncover the ostensibly obscure symbolism of alt-right memes.

    Before turning to the explainers, though, it is necessary to attend to the meme and its function in reactionary ideology. The critical impulse is to reveal that which ideology conceals, but the alt-right does not conceal its racism; there is no cover (Topinka 2018). Instead, there is an attempt to repurpose the form of communicative capitalism to critique the present. As a form, the meme is ideally suited to such a task. The meme form encourages inclusion, participation, and bricolage—all the tools once associated with emancipatory politics and now absorbed into communicative capitalism. In this sense, the meme offers a perfect reactionary tool: reappropriative in its form, it reacts against the present by repurposing it.

    Indeed, the meme is a privileged form of communicative capitalism; it is an allegory of exchange, where culture exits only to be repurposed, and where the symbolic submits to circulation. Although their content may appear obscure, the form of alt-right memes is entirely familiar; in this sense, they are uncanny allegories of communicative capitalism.  Building on and contesting the media formalism of Lev Manovich and the hard media determinism of Friedrich Kittler, Alexander Galloway’s (2012) recent work on control allegories argues that media cannot be reduced to their technical predicates—storing, transmitting, and processing—or understood as “objects” bearing a set of formal characteristics that afford certain determinant effects. Galloway (2012) proposes the notion of the “interface” to examine media as forms that inaugurate sets of practices. Mediation is therefore a “process-object” (46), a space of flow, transformation, and transition where the “inside” of technical media encounters the “outside” of the social world. This encounter between technical media and social technique is, for Galloway, an allegory of how contemporary power works: technical apparatuses tend to encourage sets of practices that produce a flexible, modular, and endlessly transformable form of power.

    A technical apparatus might encourage a reactionary response as well. Consider Urbit, the “personal sever” created by Curtis Yarvin, also known as Moldbug, the neoreactionary blogger. The Urbit interface inserts an “opaque layer” between the user and the combination of cloud services users rely on (Wolfe-Pauly 2017). Rather than outsourcing computing to cloud services, Urbit offers general purpose personal server that “holds your data; runs your apps; wrangles your connected devices; and defines your secure identity” (Wolfe-Pauley 2017). Urbit seeks to reclaim the sovereignty that Benjamin Bratton (2016) argues has been vested in “the Stack” of computing and cloud services (particularly Facebook, Google, and Amazon) that now comprise planetary-scale computation. As creators Galen Wolfe-Pauly and Yarvin suggest, Urbit restores digital independence and reclaims sovereignty by returning to users exclusive control over their data. Instead of more participatory culture—“toiling on Mark Zuckerberg’s content farm” (Yarvin, quoted in Lecher 2017)—Urbit offers what neoreactionaries call “exit.” It is software as an allegory for the neoreactionary age.

    The meme form relies on participation from users competent in digital remixing. To meme is to participate through reappropriation. Scholars have tended to read this participatory reappropriation as democratizing and politically liberating (Coleman 2014)—even, at times, when meme practice becomes explicitly racist (Phillips 2015, 97).[2] Yet moving too quickly from technique to politics risks misunderstanding both. Amidst the recent attention in mainstream culture given to memes forged on the website 4chan’s message boards, it is also tempting to claim that “4chan invented the meme as we use it today” (Beran 2017). However, the meme form emerges from message board formats rather than any particular community. Börzsei (2013) thus traces the meme’s genealogy to Usenet, where meme use signals familiarity with message board discourse and offers a means of performing digital competence. Memes emerge from a constellation of interfaces—photo editors, image hosting sites, meme generators for image macro memes, and message boards—that encourage exchange, appropriation, and repurposing. As such, the meme is an allegory for communicative capitalism, which does not capture each instance of resistance through cultural reappropriation so much as engulf resistance in its very form.

    Memes function through deixis: they signal location in a culture, relying on in-group agreement for understanding.  The meme operates through the digital media aesthetics of the “stream” (Lovink 2016), where the signaling of links in circulatory networks replaces symbolic representation. This accounts for the uncanny familiarity of alt-right memes, since their obscurity requires laborious explanation to “understand;” that is, of course, unless one already knows the references. But the obscurity to outsiders is a basic function of the meme form itself. Consider the “Most Interesting Man in the World” meme, an example of the image macro, which in turn provides the basic grammar for the meme: an image, typically drawn from popular culture, is overlaid with text, which itself typically references popular culture or tropes from internet culture (the image might be also be drawn from a viral video, but, as Shiffman (2011) argues, something that “goes viral” does not become a meme unless it becomes the subject of imitation and transformation).

    most interesting man internet explorer meme

    This meme imitates the performed cultural sophistication of the “most interesting man” but transforms it to apply to internet culture, where no geek would be caught using Internet Explorer. Even such a banal meme as this requires some familiarity with a range of cultural discourses and figures: the “Silver Fox,” the Latin lover, and geek culture. This meme is as strange as any alt-right meme, and equally void of symbolism. It is a tethering of cultural domains, the formal manifestation of the reappropriation that dominates internet culture and communicative capitalism. By ignoring the meme form, the explainers approach the alt-right as inscrutable, when in fact the alt-right practices a vernacular aesthetic form. To be sure, alt-right memes rely on a relatively esoteric referential repertoire, but the form in which this repertoire appears—the meme, an allegorical form of communicative capitalism—is entirely familiar.

    The Alt-Right Explainer

    Capitalizing on Breitbart’s connection to Trump through Bannon, Allum Bokhari and Milo Yiannopolous (2016) published “An Establishment Conservative’s Guide to the Alt-Right” on Breitbart, an article that helped establish the generic conventions for the alt-right explainer: ride the momentum of the tenuous links between the alt-right and Donald Trump, identify the intellectual base (including neoreactionaries, especially Moldbug), point up the contrast with two of the main wings of mainstream American conservatism (anti-globalization, anti-theocracy), and demystify “meme magic” by explaining what memes—especially Pepe the Frog—mean. Similar explainers soon echoed in the nave of the “Cathedral.” The Daily Wire, the Weekly Standard, the National Review, Vox, and The New York Times published explainers following Breitbart’s pattern, as did the neo-Nazi Daily Stormer. Citing the left’s purported culture war victory, the Weekly Standard claims that the alt-right’s racism is merely a rhetorical response to the “left’s moralism” (Welton 2015), and the New York Times explainer (an op-ed by Christopher Caldwell, a senior editor at the Weekly Standard) emphasizes that alt-right racism is partly a result of the undue expansion of what it means to be “racist” (Caldwell 2016), an expansion Caldwell redresses by carefully distinguishing malignant white supremacists from the purportedly more benign white nationalists. In the face of such prevarication, the Daily Stormer’s “Normies’ guide to the alt-right” makes for bracing reading (Anglin 2016). Although it follows the generic conventions Breitbart established, it rejects the latter as a latecomer, claims racism as the fundamental fulcrum of alt-right ideology, and calls racist trolling a form of “culture-jamming” directed against so-called “normie” culture (Anglin 2016). The Daily Stormer, unfortunately, sees things more clearly than the “Cathedral” on this score. This racist trolling takes form in the meme, which becomes a mechanism of ideological assault and community-building.  

    Hillary Clinton’s campaign famously responded to one such meme—shared most prominently by Donald Trump, Jr. and Roger Stone—that featured a photoshopped film poster for The Expendables, retitled as “The Deplorables,” with the original actors’ heads replaced with a number of prominent Trump supporters during the 2016 presidential campaign: Roger Stone, Ben Carson, Chris Christie, Eric Trump, Mike Pence, Rudy Giuliani, Donald Trump, Jr., Alex Jones, and Milo Yiannopolous. Trump is the central figure in the image. Hovering over his left soldier, Pepe the Frog looks smugly on, his red-blond hair coiffed in Trump’s signature style (Chan 2016). The photoshopping is clumsy, and the film referenced is archetypical Hollywood mediocrity, but to explain this meme is to marvel at the range of discourses it summons: from the visual and textual pun on The Expendables—which is in turn a play on Clinton’s dismissal of Trump supporters as belonging in the “basket of deplorables”—to the visual enrollment in Trump’s campaign of Pepe the Frog himself, whose bizarre internet career has by now been thoroughly chronicled.[3] The meme sutures a complex intertextual tissue, with each reference signaled on the aesthetic surface of the meme.

    The explainer genre encourages a “hermeneutics of suspicion” (Ricoeur 1970) that seeks to wrest some underlying meaning from the meme. The Clinton campaign formalizes its explainer of this meme as a question-and-answer session between the innocent and the knowing: “Who is that frog standing directly behind Trump? / That’s Pepe. He’s a symbol associated with white supremacy.  / Wait. Really? White supremacy?” (Chan 2016). The dialogue falls into the trap of attempting to demystify Pepe. The Clinton campaign approaches the meme with a surface-depth aesthetic model, asking what the meme symbolizes, and this representational reading misrecognizes the meme form. As a result, the explainers fail to reckon with the uncanny familiarity of these ostensibly obscure aesthetic forms. As is often the case in critical theory, the explainer positions the audience as the innocent questioner in the Clinton campaign’s explainer—What? Really? A white supremacist frog? The alt-right is truly esoteric! Hence the headline of the New York Times explainer: “What the Alt-Right Really Means” (Caldwell 2016). Or the Vox headline for its explainer: “The Alt-Right Is Way More Than Warmed-Over White Supremacy. It’s That, but Way Way Weirder” (Matthews 2016). Or from the Huffington Post: “My Journey to the Center of the Alt-right” (O’Brien 2016). These headlines suggest that the alt-right’s racist ideology is obscure (even though it has always been a feature of American politics) and that its aesthetic practices are inscrutable (even though the meme is a primary aesthetic form of participatory media). Thus the Weekly Standard blames the alt-right on the “left’s moralism” and the New York Times diagnoses the undue expansion of the meaning of “racist” as the cause of the alt-right’s reactionary politics. By failing to reckon with aesthetics of the meme form, these “explainers” unwittingly redeem “meme magic” and its racist politics as something obscure and inscrutable rather than familiar and intractable.

    As an allegorical form of communicative capitalism and the aesthetics of the “stream” (Lovink 2016), the meme operates by signaling links—including to racist subcultural formations—rather than by encoding symbolic representation. Updating for the digital age Richard Dawkins’s 1972 notion of memes as the genetic expression, selection, and variation of cultural units, Limor Shifman (2012) offers a rigorous definition of memes as “building blocks” of complex cultures that propagate quickly, reproducing through imitation and transformation (189). A form of Henry Jenkins’s “spreadable media” (Jenkins et al 2013), memes exist in circulation, transforming through “remixes” (Wiggins and Bowers 2015) that blend cultural domains and generate the meme’s circulatory momentum. This remixing and repurposing wrenches objects from their cultural domain, creating a new, thickly referential memetic context. The meme is thus a form that transforms in circulation. To “get” the meme, one has to recognize both the cultural domain the meme references and how the meme is dislocating that cultural domain. Although memes are thickly referential, with dizzyingly complex circulatory histories, they are not typically rich hermeneutic texts. They signal and enact cultural convergence, but they do not symbolize it. Hence the awkwardness of the “hermeneutics of suspicion” the Clinton campaign brings to Pepe. Those who use Pepe in white supremacist memes do not smuggle him in as a covert symbol. His appearance signals a trajectory of transformation in circulation, not a symbolic repertoire. The Clinton campaign is thus right to associate Pepe with white supremacy but wrong about the meme, which signals circulation without symbolizing.

    By “unmasking” political correctness as the true cause of racism, mainstream explainers follow the first reactionary gesture, repeating the contours of the reactionary immanent critique. In a widely shared Medium post, Dale Beran claims that Pepe, the “grotesque, frowning, sleepy eyed, out of shape, swamp dweller, peeing with his pants pulled down because-it-feels-good-man frog” represents in an ideology that “steers into the skid of its own patheticness. Pepe symbolizes embracing your loserdom, owning it” (Beran 2017). This attempt at a hermeneutics of Pepe ignores that the alt-right does not make memes out of the “feels good man” Pepe; the alt-right Pepe wears a smug smile, openly declaring his troll status. Such a pathos-laden reading of “steering into the skid” shares with Laurie Penny’s (2017) reading of Yiannopolous’s followers as duped “Lost Boys” a tendency to position the “loser” status of the geek (the archetypal perpetual virgin housed in his parents’ basement) as an alibi for misogyny and white nationalism. Indeed, Beran claims the left’s “radical idea of sexual-difference-as-illusion,” which is “meant to solve the deplorables’ problem” by “dispelling it as a cloud of pure ideas” is in fact an “Orwellian” declaration to “these powerless men” that “‘There’s no such thing as your problem!’” (Beran 2017). Beran’s critique here echoes Nagle’s criticism of the “anti-male, anti-white, anti-straight, anti-cis rhetoric” on the “cultural left” (Nagle 2017, 68). It is certainly possible to criticize such rhetoric, and reflexivity is surely a crucial political practice. But it is also notable that these critiques replicate the reactionary gesture: the left has won the culture war, diversity is ascendant, and the straight cisgender white male has lost his position—political correctness is everywhere run amok. The left therefore becomes the cause of the alt-right, and alt-right’s reactionary thinking becomes justified, if misguided. Indeed, these “Lost Boys,” dispossessed by the regime of political correctness, have also lost agency, and their hateful meme magic is a mere symptom of this fall. The critical impulse is to unmask the discourse by assigning it a context, but this is precisely its weakness in its approach to reactionary ideology. The alt-right’s blatantly racist discourse offers little to unmask. Its esoteric memes turn out to be banal cultural references. Unmasking its discourse tend to replicate the first reactionary gesture by arriving at the same place—the same cultural context—to be targeted for immanent critique.

    Reactionary Critical Theory

    I turn now to the second reactionary gesture—the restoration of the lost past. Alt-right and neoreactionary racism is uncanny—old and out of place, yet entirely familiar. Attending to the uncanny as a figure of ideology—an attempt to assign a place to that which is out of place—allows an approach to reactionary ideology that does not replicate the gesture of its immanent critique.

    Neoreactionary ideology tends to adopt the form and style of critical theory. Of course, neoreactionary thinker Nick Land was once a celebrated academic critical theorist, particularly in the UK, where he became something of a cult figure for his “dark Deleuzian” capitalist accelerationism and experimental theory-fiction, which he developed as part of the Cybernetic Culture Research Unit at the University of Warwick in the 1990s.[4] The infamous reactionary blogger Mencius Moldbug also offers a critical genealogy of modernity on his Unqualified Reservations blog, particularly in the fourteen-part “Open Letter to Open-Minded Progressives” (2000a-d &c). Land’s “Dark Enlightenment” text attempts to formalize Moldbug’s prolific if rambling blogposts into a neoreactionary theory of capitalist acceleration grounded in a despotic sovereign political order. Moldbug and Land follow the form of a left and postcolonial critique of modernity, but turn the critique on its head: the modern promise of equality and democracy was not compromised (by slavery, colonialism, and capitalism); the promise is itself the compromise that prevents capitalism’s flourishing. Modern notions of equality legitimate any grievance as oppression, and democracy compels the state to recompense any grievance claim. Democracy and equality therefore combine to promote personal failure. Neoreaction seeks to replace democratic voice with exit, or the right to leave any polity at any time, and to restore sovereignty in the figure of a CEO-King who seeks only to maximize value and therefore to accelerate capitalism. Race serves a crucial function in this theory: ministered to by the “Cathedral,” race mediates between citizens and state, sanctioning grievance claims and incentivizing dysfunction. However, by properly reprogramming race through neo-eugenics rather than modern notions of equality, it could become the accelerationist motor capable of restoring the lost future of capitalist sovereignty before its corruption through enforced diversity.

    The obsession with restoring lost ethnic sovereignty links the more abstruse neoreactionary thinkers with populists such as Bannon, who also adopt the form of left critique to advance reactionary thinking. Although Bannon’s status as a political star did not long outlive his tenure in Trump’s White House, which ended on August 18, 2017, he remains a pivotal figure for his role in linking the openly fascist politics of figures like Aleksander Dugin and Julius Evola with mainstream political discourse. In his 2014 speech to a conference in the Vatican, Bannon channels left critical theory, citing Marx in a critique of the “Objectivist School of libertarian capitalism,” which seeks to “make people commodities, to objectify people” (Bannon, quoted in Feder 2016). Identifying a “crisis in the underpinnings of capitalism,” he diagnoses the post-crash bailout as symptomatic of a system that favors elites over the working classes (Bannon, quoted in Feder 2016). As a reactionary, though, Bannon proposes to rescue the future by restoring the past. Bannon praises Vladimir Putin, and his “advisor [Aleksander Dugin] who harkens back to Julius Evola” for “standing up for traditional institutions” and national sovereignty (Bannon, quoted in Feder 2016). Acknowledging Evola’s fascism, Bannon nevertheless argues that “people want to see sovereignty for their country, they want to see nationalism” and a return to the time of America’s founding when “freedoms were controlled at a local level” rather than by elites in global command centers such as New York, London, and Berlin (Bannon, quoted in Feder 2016). Bannon’s thinking here precisely follows the reactionary paradigm Robin outlines: Bannon develops a withering critique of the present order—one that overlaps in places with left critiques of finance capital—and offers as a solution the restoration of a fallen order.[5] Although they distance themselves from populist fascists like Bannon, Land and Moldbug share the same reactionary preoccupation. Land’s systematization of Moldbug sketches a program for fulfilling Bannon’s desire for sovereignty. This program relies on race as a formal explanatory category—a mode of immanent critique—and an interface that ran reconfigure the political order, assigning a place for the lost future of the CEO-King.

    The Cathedral and History

    As I have argued, following Robin (2013), reactionary politics combines two gestures: first, an immanent critique of the present, and second, a call to restore a lost past. This impulse surfaces in racist meme culture, but it receives a more rigorous treatment in Land and Moldbug, both of whom wage a critique of the present in service of a resurrection of the past. I turn now to the neoreactionary “Cathedral” critique—the first reactionary gesture—in order to show how it sanctions a call for a return in the present to neo-Victorian racism—the second reactionary gesture.

    Land and Moldbug are profoundly lapsarian thinkers. For them, progressivism—the conspiracy the “Cathedral” sustains—is the fall that obscures and indeed encourages the degeneration of the races. Land (2013) argues that the progressive Enlightenment follows the “logical perversity” of “Hegel’s dialectic,” enforcing the “egalitarian moral ideal” through progressivism’s sustaining formula: “tolerance is tolerable” and “intolerance is intolerable.” This formal structure guarantees a “positive right to be tolerated, defined ever more expansively as substantial entitlement” (Land 2013). If progressivism is the fall, tolerance is the juggernaut that tramples any attempt at ascent. For Land, the American Civil War is a moment of original sin that that “cross-coded the practical question of the Leviathan with (black/white) racial dialectics” (Land 2013). Of the Civil War, Land writes:

    The moral coherence of the Union cause required that the founders were reconceived as politically illegitimate white patriarchal slave-owners, and American history combusted in progressive education and the culture wars. If independence is the ideology of the slave-holders, emancipation requires the programmatic destruction of independence. Within a cross-coded history, the realization of freedom is indistinguishable from its abolition. (Land 2013)

    The Civil War thus installs a “cross-coded” history running on parallel historical tracks between progressive and dark enlightenments, emancipation and independence, voice and exit. This genealogy allows Land to identify a formal mechanism that propels the “only tolerance is tolerable” formula of the Progressive Enlightenment. The anachronistic insertion of “progressive education” and the “culture wars” into the stakes of the Civil War does not trouble Land because his analysis is formal rather than historical: the “cross-coded” history leads inexorably to progressivism, which in turn functions as a transhistorical epistemological and ontological force. Hence Moldbug claims, bizarrely, that Harvard’s “progressive” curriculum has not changed in 200 years, that British politics has been moving steadily left for 150 years, and that progressives—among whom he includes all mainstream Western politicians—have no enemies to the left (Moldbug 2008a).

    The “Cathedral” conspiracy therefore assigns a context for reaction. If neoreactionary thinking appears to be out of place, it is only because of the long reign of progressive dogma. The reactionary desire for a lost past follows close behind. Moldbug thus routinely cites the pre-1922 texts available on Google Books to pierce the “Cathedral” veil, approvingly linking, for example, to Nehemiah Adams’ 1854 account of his trip to the south, where he found himself surprised to find the slaves “were all in good humor, and some of them in a broad laugh” and charmed by the “unbought” friendliness of slaves (Adams 1854). Elaborating on the dubious claim that the “neat thing about primary sources is that often, it only takes one to prove your point,” Moldbug brags that high school students “won’t be assigned the primary sources I just linked to” (Moldbug 2008d). He cites the same source in a post defending and indeed advocating Thomas Carlyle’s view on slavery, suggesting that those who view slavery as “intrinsically evil” would “quickly change their tunes if forced,” like Adams, “to function in an actual slave society” (Moldbug 2009). The “Cathedral” conspiracy excuses Moldbug from evaluating Adams’ account, or from consulting the numerous contemporary accounts of slavery’s evils. If high school students wouldn’t be assigned it, that’s only because it violates “Cathedral” dogma. And since Adams’ account predates the Civil War (though not Enlightenment itself), it is therefore more likely to see the truth before the fall. Piercing the mists of this transhistorical progressivism, we see that “Not all humans are born the same, of course, and the innate character and intelligence of some is more suited to mastery than slavery. For others, it is more suited to slavery” (Moldbug 2009). To take the measure of these aptitudes, Moldbug turns to an uncanny form of racism that functions as an interface for gathering and sorting human populations.

    Race as Interface

    Land and Moldbug accept race as a means of categorizing human aptitude within a global hierarchy. This notion of race plays a crucial role in their thinking, which describes the following racial dynamic: Insofar as progressivism incentivizes inaptitude, it also encourages racial degeneration. This is race as a technology, as Wendy Chun (2009) has described: race has particular affordances for enframing human populations, and this enframing shapes the contours of social and political orders. Extending Galloway, this is race as interface, as a form that gathers humans into a global frame and sorts them hierarchically (see also Weheliye 2014).

    Land and Moldbug’s uncanny racism resurrects a notion of race as an interface for gathering and sorting global populations first deployed in late Victorian eugenics. Like the eugenicists, Land and Moldbug rely on race as a mean of categorizing humans based on their biologically determined aptitude.  In 1869, Francis Galton called this aptitude “hereditary genius,” and offered it as a scientific explanation for the advance of certain civilizations over others, with Europeans, of course, at the apex of racial hierarchy (Galton 1869). Land and Moldbug adopt a range of figures (although no trained geneticists) in articulating a new version of race science called “human biodiversity,” which includes the relatively banal argument that humans are not neurologically uniform coupled with the dubious and insidious claim that this “biodiversity” can be best measured by plotting genetically-determined racial categories to IQ distribution.[6] Yarvin makes this argument without his typical circumlocution in a Medium post (which he later deleted) that attempted to persuade delegates at the LambdaConf functional programming conference against boycotting his presence because of his slavery apologetics (Breitbart sympathetically chronicled Yarvin’s plight).[7] Yarvin insists he does not equate “anatomical traits” with “moral superiority” but makes the explicit argument for a genetically determined racial hierarchy as measured by IQ in the comments section of the Medium post (Yarvin 2016). Here Yarvin is trying to speak to what Moldbug would call the “Cathedral,” defending himself from committing the moral sin of racism as the bad ideology of individual viewpoints. He also criticizes mass incarceration—the first reactionary gesture. Yet Yarvin also summons race in its uncanny neo-eugenicist form to suggest that “Malik cannot be magically turned into a Jewish math nerd” (Yarvin 2016). This is the second gesture, a proposal that neo-eugenicist racism can explain and resolve the problem of mass incarceration and “the destruction of African American society” (Yarvin 2016).

    Another crucial connection between neoreaction and Victorian racism is the use of race not only to categorize humans by aptitude, but also to plot the potential for civilizational achievement. John Stuart Mill’s On Liberty offers a canonical description of Victorian Liberal conceptions of the hierarchy of races, which Mill leverages to justify violent repression in India: savages cannot “practise the forebearance” that “civilized society” demands, and they therefore require “despotic” governance to restore sovereignty and subdue passions (209). Land’s claim that Europeans are genetically predisposed to “low time preference” is formally indistinguishable from Mill’s preoccupation with forbearance. However, neoreaction reverses the racial trajectory. For liberal Victorian racial theorists, exposure to Enlightenment civilization could advance a given race beyond savagery. Land’s neoreaction reverses this trajectory: the exposure to Enlightenment formula that “only tolerance is tolerable” encourages further dysfunction in the lower races. This argument adopts another strain of Victorian racism: racial degenerationism, or the notion that races could devolve to be increasingly ill suited to civilization. Racial degenerationism found practical application in criminal atavism, the theory that criminals resembled “prehistoric man” and behaved “in a way that would be appropriate to savage societies” (Ellis 1890, 208). Adopting a similar assumption, Land suggests that “barbarism has been normalized,” in “lethally menacing” cities where “civilization has fundamentally collapsed” (Land 2013). Indulging in racist moral panic about urban decay—another anachronism in this age of urban “revitalization”—Moldbug argues that most American cities would benefit from martial law, and Land (2013) identifies white flight as the “spontaneous impulse of the dark enlightenment”: it is all exit and no voice. Land’s investment in white flight is also a libidinal investment in the fear of violently virile black bodies, which finds its parallel in the alt-right’s obsession with cuckoldry and “cucking” racialized as a white man watching his white wife dominated by a “black bull.” The purposefully excessive “cuck” discourse offers a means of indulging the fear of the black body while at the same time enjoying the act of violating tenets of “Cathedral” faith. The crucial point, though, is that “cuck” discourse not only operates to critique political correctness; it also signals an understanding of race as interface for governance, that which promotes degeneration but also—properly reprogrammed—promises acceleration to a lost future.

    Conclusion

    Before an antifa (anti-fascist) protestor sucker-punched Richard Spencer in the face in Washington, D.C. on Trump’s inauguration day—a moment that quickly achieved meme status—a bystander asked Spencer if he liked black people. Spencer smirked, shrugged, and said, “Sure” (Burris 2017). Identity politics poses a double trap for approaching the alt-right: Criticize the alt-right for bad identity politics, and they can easily dodge the accusation by parroting mainstream acceptance of diversity discourse, or point to the fact that political correctness is mainstream and therefore part of the power structure that so clearly needs dismantling. Criticize identity politics, and cede to the alt-right the choice of battleground. I have argued here that alt-right critics tend to make just such a concession. By focusing on the first gesture—the immanent critique—we risk missing the form of reactionary ideology, which includes a call for restoring a lost past. Spencer attempts to distill this call into a slogan: “race is real, race matters, race is the foundation of identity.” This slogan adapts Land and Moldbug’s racial formalism, but instead of an exit from grievance democracy, it argues for inclusion within grievance status. Hence Moldbug’s (2007) coy refusal of white nationalism: “I’m not exactly allergic to the stuff,” he writes, but white nationalists only recognize the symptom, missing the cure. The critique of “cucks” and the obsession with “red-pilling” offers a more nakedly libidinal, pop cultural take on the “Cathedral,” but, according to Moldbug, the alt-right fails to recognize that the entitlement state cannot expand to include white nationalist grievance, because to do so would violate “Cathedral” dogma. Bannon’s strong sovereignty more closely approaches the cure, but insofar as nationalism entails protectionism, he fails to follow techno-futurism back to the futuristic past that neoreactionaries desire.

    Land proposes as a formal fix “hyper-racism,” his vision for accelerating the “explicitly superior” and already “genetically self-filtering elite” through a system of “assortative mating” that would offer a “class-structured mechanism for population diremption, on a vector toward neo-speciation” (Land 2014). This is eugenics as a program for exit, not only from the progressive Enlightenment but also from the limits of humanity. Despite its contemporary jargon, this hyper-racism is indistinguishable in its form from late Victorian eugenics, which also recommended a program of “assortative mating.” Of course, now eugenics places us on a vector toward neo-speciation; so it’s back to the past, but now it’s futuristic.

    The “Cathedral” conspiracy justifies and motivates this recuperation of uncanny racism. Clearly, the “Cathedral” conspiracy shares much in common with rudimentary applications of Gramscian notions of hegemony or Hermann and Chomsky’s (1988) propaganda model. Ideology critique and reactionary critique tend to mirror one another. This is because both attempt to assign the uncanny object to a place, to contextualize it, whether as a justified response to the “Cathedral” or as a misguided response to left moralism. Reactionary thinking tends to fully indulge the critical impulse. Behind every veil, it finds the “Cathedral.”  This libidinal investment in unveiling resonates in the alt-right obsession with “red-pilling” and cuckoldry. Just as neoreactionaries fear that the “Cathedral” faith promotes black dysfunction, the alt-right fears “blue-pilling” as a form of penetration by the Other.

    To those of us reared in the “Cathedral’s” halls, this is all repugnant. It is also uncanny: Haven’t we moved beyond this racism?  Of course, the alt-right has a memetic response to this critique: “I mean, come on people, it’s [current year].” The alt-right has fully anticipated critical unmasking and absorbed it into the meme form, which refuses symbolic decoding and provides a formal interface for the participatory reappropriation and bricolage that characterize media practice in this age of communicative capitalism. Ideology critique and reactionary critique are similar in form: both attempt to recuperate the uncanny, to assign it a place. It is therefore crucial to attend to the uncanny form of reactionary ideology, which develops an immanent critique of the present in order to find a place in which to restore a lost past. Rather than following the alt-right to the purported excesses of identity politics, it is crucial to reckon with reactionary racism as the fulcrum of a proposed political order. This is not just a call to examine “structural racism,” because neoreactionary racism and alt-right racism have yet to harden into structure. It is instead a form, an interface between certain technical predicates (race as a gathering and sorting mechanism) and the social (the lost white future of the CEO-King). Reactionary ideology attempts to recuperate this uncanny racism; ideology critique must do more than cite the desire for this recuperation.

    _____

    Robert Topinka is Lecturer in Transnational Media and Cultural Studies at Birkbeck, University of London. He is currently working on the Arts and Humanities Research Council funded project entitled “Politics, Ideology, and Rhetoric in the 21st Century: The Case of the Alt-Right.”

    Back to the essay

    _____

    Notes

    [1] This work was supported by an Arts and Humanities Research Council grant for “Political Ideology, Rhetoric and Aesthetics in the Twenty-First Century: The Case of the ‘Alt-Right,’” (AH/R001197/1).

    [2] As Nagle (2017) documents, Gabriella Coleman (2014) continued to write approvingly of 4chan as late as 2014, when the forum was dominated by extreme racism and misogyny, and she also celebrated the hacker “weev” despite his open Nazism (102-105). In her book on trolling, Whitney Phillips (2015) argues for the redeeming qualities of “racist statements forwarded by people whose stated goal is to be as racist and upsetting as possible” because, unlike more subtle racists, “at least trolls advertise” (97). Although Phillips is right to argue that there is no value in simply condemning trolls, it is similarly difficult to see the value in well-advertised racism. The history of celebratory studies of participatory culture weighs heavily on such accounts.

    [3] The explainers cited in this paper all recount a version of Pepe’s history. For an academic treatment, see Marwick and Lewis (2017: 36).

    [4] On “Dark Deleuze,” see Culp (2016). For a succinct account and critique of Land’s accelerationism see Noys (2014: 54-58). For more on the controversy surrounding Nick Land’s planned 2016 appearance at the London art gallery LD50 and the seminar series he offered in 2017 at the New Centre for Research and Practice, see Shutdown LD50 (2017) and “Against Nick Land and the Reactive Left” (2017).

    [5] This contradictory impulse to restore the past in the future is a key feature of fascism. In an analysis of National Socialism, Jeffrey Herf (1981) calls this “reactionary modernism.”

    [6] On HBD, Land and Moldbug’s sources include prolific eugenicist bloggers such as “hbd chick” and Steve Sailer, controversial popular genetics writers including Charles Murray and Nicholas Wade, and the physicist Stephen Hsu, whose recent interest in the genetics of intelligence has generated controversy (see Flaherty 2013). Galton, Land, and Moldbug share a similar strategy of racial typing. Galton adopted Quetelet’s use of the Gauss-Laplace distribution to identify physical generations in human populations, which Galton sought to index with racial categories (Galton 1869: xi, and Wozniak 1999).

    [7] Breitbart lists four articles under the “Curtis Yarvin” tag as of May 3, 2019. For the first defense of Yarvin’s presence at LambdaConf, which, incidentally, was published the same day as Breitbart’s alt-right explainer, see Bokhari (2016).

    _____

    Works Cited

  • Kevin Musgrave and Jeff Tischauser — Radical Traditionalism, Metapolitics, and Identitarianism: The Rhetoric of Richard Spencer

    Kevin Musgrave and Jeff Tischauser — Radical Traditionalism, Metapolitics, and Identitarianism: The Rhetoric of Richard Spencer

    Kevin Musgrave and Jeff Tischauser

    Introduction

    On May 14, 2017 in Charlottesville, Virginia, a group of torch-bearing individuals gathered to protest the removal of a statue of former Confederate leader Robert E. Lee. Proclaiming “all white lives matter” and chanting Nazi slogans such as “blood and soil,” the group was led by alt-right figurehead Richard Spencer. Calling upon a politics of white identity to decry the symbolic erasure of Southern history and culture, Spencer extolled that “what brings us together is that we are white, we are a people, we will not be replaced” (quoted in Vozzella 2017). Resonating with the rhetoric of the resurgent nationalism and anti-political correctness of the Trump administration, Spencer has utilized sharpening racial divisions to create alliances with mainstream conservatives and to help build a powerful political base. Importantly, however, such a convergence between US conservatism and far-right, white nationalist politics is not a new phenomenon. Signaling a long and complicated history of the interrelated nature of far-right racism, proto-fascism, and conservative traditionalism in the US, the incidents in Charlottesville provide an entry point for interrogating the ideological underpinnings and contemporary resurgence of radical conservatism under the guise of Spencer’s alt-right.

    Undertaking a criticism of alt-right discourse we will define and critique the movement through its language, rhetorical forms, and lines of argument. In doing so we seek to make visible the ideological and theoretical underpinnings of the movement, to more properly situate the alt-right within the history of US conservatism, and to better understand the historical roots and contemporary iterations of white supremacist politics in the United States. While the alt-right exists in both online and offline spaces, has several prominent leaders, and contains differing political visions and social projects, we take the rhetoric of Richard Spencer as representative of the soft ideological core of the alt-right (see Hawley 2017).[1] As perhaps the most visible alt-right spokesman, leader of the National Policy Institute (NPI), and with Paul Gottfried, the coiner of the term alt-right, Spencer offers a clear image of the political aspirations of the far-right insurgent movement. Described by the Southern Poverty Law Center (SPLC) as an “academic racist” who utilizes his pseudo-intellectual works on Radix and elsewhere to “appeal to educated, middle-class whites,” Spencer’s academic style and approach also help to more clearly map the points of convergence between conservatism and neo-Nazism in the US (Southern Poverty Law Center nd).

    Tracing the history and intellectual influences of Spencer and the alt-right, ultimately we argue that the alt-right is an outgrowth and logical extension of traditionalist idioms of conservatism in the US, particularly post-Cold War visions of paleoconservatism in the works of Paul Gottfried and Samuel Francis. To say that the alt-right is a logical extension of US traditionalist conservatism is not to say that it draws its influence strictly from US political thought. Rather, we argue that not only must we understand how US conservatism was born of European circumstances but that we must also understand the continuing influence of European, particularly French, far-right thought and movements on US conservatism. Spencer’s particular vision, then, is an admixture of European New Right thought with US paleconservatism, creating a unique articulation of far-right politics suited to the contemporary global, post-modern political climate while maintaining a distinctive American flavor.

    Though the lineage is not entirely direct, one can nonetheless trace a jagged seam through various iterations of conservatism that gives rise to the racial nationalism and fascism of the alt-right from the early conservatism of Edmund Burke and Joseph de Maistre. Importantly, we are not arguing that we should collapse the distinctions between conservatism on the one hand and fascism on the other. Whereas conservatives have more traditionally been concerned with preservation as opposed to innovation or active revolution, fascism may be identified with a revolutionary-rightist or conservative position that seeks to reclaim, through violence and insurrection, a past thought lost or destroyed by the political left (see Burley 2017). Recognizing the significance of these distinctions, we nonetheless argue that fascism emerges from the history of conservatism, and thus bears family resemblances that cannot be ignored. These family resemblances remain present today, linking the alt-right with traditionalist conservatism. This position in some ways cuts against the grain of Hawley’s (2017) work on the alt-right, which claims that “It is totally distinct from conservatism as we know it” (4), and resonates more with the work of Corey Robin (2011) who argues that all conservatives and far-right thinkers and movements are united by a common “animus against the agency of the subordinate classes” (7). This is not to disregard the importance of Hawley’s work—for he also connects the alt-right to paleoconservatism and the European New Right—nor to overlook the nuanced differences  among various articulations of conservatism that may be missed by the umbrella definition provided by Robin. Rather, it is to argue that, in fact, though the alt-right may differ from the traditionalism of the paleoconservative movement, it is nonetheless not as wholly distinct from it as one might think. Indeed, we argue that it is a logical, even if more radical extension of paleoconservatism as envisioned by Paul Gottfried and Samuel Francis, blended with the thought of German and French far-right thinkers and movements.

    Our essay unfolds in five main sections. First, we provide a brief history of conservatism, from its birth as a reactionary response in France, Germany, and England to the liberalism of the Enlightenment philosophes and the violence of the French Revolution. Tracing a through line from early conservatives such as Joseph de Maistre to contemporary far-right conservatives in France, we demonstrate that French conservatism and far-right politics have been and remain crucial to understanding American conservatism and the alt-right of Spencer. In sections two and three, we undertake a similar history of US conservatism, paying particular attention to the Old Right and traditionalist idioms of conservatism and the paleoconservative movement, connecting this intellectual strain of the US right to those continental thinkers who came before them, as well as to the alt-right. Section four provides a criticism of alt-right discourse by attending to the rhetoric of Richard Spencer. Deconstructing his arguments regarding the biological nature of racial difference, the imperatives of identitarianism and metapolitics, and the call for a white ethno-state in the US, we demonstrate both the resonances of traditionalist conservative thinkers from France, Germany, and the United States, as well as the ways in which Spencer co-opts and inverts so-called cultural Marxist theory to buttress his white privilege politics. Finally, we conclude by discussing the larger theoretical and historical takeaways of our essay, suggest lessons for opposing alt-right rhetoric in the public sphere, and call for conservatives to be more critical and reflexive regarding how best to excise far-right ideologies from within their ranks

    Conservatism’s European Roots

    To understand the contemporary importance of the alt-right we need to first understand its history and complicated relationship with other articulations of conservatism. Indeed, the alt-right has not arisen in a political vacuum but rather is a product of conflicting visions of conservatism and various iterations of conservative traditionalism in the US and abroad.

    Emerging primarily as a reactionary movement against the perceived atheist humanism of the French philosophes and the subsequent Revolution in France, conservatism offered an alternative vision of modernity that retained a commitment to the religious monarchy and organic social order of the ancient regime. As a broader discourse, conservatism emphasizes difference and division as a means of critiquing the limits of Enlightenment reason. As Zeev Sternhell writes, conservatism emerged to offer a different vision of modernity than that of the Enlightenment. Revolting “against rationalism, the autonomy of the individual, and all that unites people” (2010, 7-9), the modernity articulated by the anti-Enlightenment conservatives was “based on all that differentiates people—history, culture, language” and sought to create “a political culture that denied reason either the capacity or the right to mold people’s lives, saw religion as an essential foundation of society, and did not hesitate to call on the state to regulate social relationships or to intervene in the economy” (8). In this way, Sternhell paints conservatism as a radically historicist discourse that emphasizes particularity, plurality, and difference as a means of preserving social hierarchy.

    These ideas took influence from the counter-Reformation that came before it, while adapting arguments against the Reformation to comport with a more modern set of exigencies bent on maintaining religious authority in the face of the equalitarianism of the philosophes. Indeed, the counter-revolutionary right understood philosophy as the logical outcome of fundamental changes to French values and culture, beginning with the Reformation and culminating in the bloodshed and violence that marked the Revolution. This anti-Revolutionary sentiment remains a central component of far-right conservatism today, illuminating Peter Davies’ claim that “Counter-Revolution is not just a period, but an idea” that has “remained a battleground throughout the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, and into the twenty-first” (Davies 2002, 28). Significantly, as we will demonstrate, the counter-Revolutionary spirit, much like the Enlightenment it opposed, was not confined to France but spread around the globe, adapting itself to local cultural circumstances and political structures (see Berlin 2001; McMahon 2000; Sternhell 2010).

    For instance, in Germany, historians and critics have traced a lineage of conservatism in the aesthetic nationalism of Johann Gottfried Herder, the philosophical idealism of G.W.F. Hegel, the cultural criticism of Friedrich Nietzsche, and the proto-fascism of the German Romantics of the Bayreuth circle, particularly Richard Wagner. Likewise, German conservatism was given a more radical, fascist orientation after the First World War with the conservative revolution that included the likes of Oswald Spengler, Martin Heidegger, and Carl Schmitt among others. Though there are undoubtedly great differences between Herder, Hegel, Nietzsche, and Wagner, not to mention Carl Schmitt, these thinkers offer common criticisms of the instrumental rationality of Enlightenment liberalism, the mechanistic and materialistic logics of the radically autonomous individual, and the historical rootedness of a people within a given cultural and linguistic system.[2] Inflections of this critique of liberal economism in German thought can be found in left-leaning political thought, as well, for instance in the criticism of mass society found in Ferdinand Tonnies, Max Weber, and Jurgen Habermas. What separates the left from the right, however, is largely a commitment to Enlightenment ideals rather than their denunciation in defense of an organic vision of a stratified and hierarchical social order.

    While German thought offers a particular iteration of conservatism tailored to its history and culture, so too does England, primarily in the counter-revolutionary thought of Thomas Hobbes,  the writings of Thomas Carlyle, Samuel Taylor Coleridge, and most notoriously Edmund Burke . Indeed, Burke is a central figure in the history of conservatism in the Anglo-Saxon world, becoming a great inspiration in many regards for the development of conservatism in the United States. Russell Kirk, a prominent conservative intellectual in the US, deifies Burke in the pantheon of conservativism, arguing that it was Burke in his Reflections on the Revolution in France who “defined in the public consciousness, for the first time, the opposing poles of conservation and innovation” (1953, 5). In this way, Burke was responsible for the birth of something like modern conservatism as a conscious and self-aware political position. Distinguishing between the “aristocratic liberalism,” rebuke of “equalitarianism,” and defense of legal order that undergirded Burke’s conservatism and the metaphysical abstractions of Hegelian and German idealism, for Kirk only Burke can wear the mantle of the true conservative (13).

    A pragmatic statesman, rigid parliamentarian, and reluctant theorist, Burke voiced his concerns about the spirit of the Revolution and its promise of social levelling from a uniquely British perspective. Writing against the Revolution in France, Burke condemned with ferocity claims regarding the “rights of man” and the mechanistic rationalism of the philosophes that he viewed as leading naturally to the violence, bloodshed, and destruction of institutions of French civil society. Appealing to natural and divine order, for Burke the equalitarianism and levelling of the Revolutionary spirit would destroy social order and stability, as well as nullify the eternal contract between those who are deceased, the presently living, and those yet to be born. Society, from this perspective, is a delicate organism that binds together all persons in a harmonious contractual relationship perfectly designed and authored by God. To meddle with its inner-workings, to render it susceptible to human fancy and whim, and to reduce to rubble its institutions is thus to go against the wishes of providence. The act of Revolution here is figured as voiding the contract between God and man, consecrated in the office of the king, and also as uprooting society and tearing apart its very fabric. As Burke (1966) claims, the “levelers therefore only change and pervert the natural order of things; they load the edifice of society, by setting up in the air what the solidity of the structure requires to be on the ground” (61). The Enlightenment of the French Revolution, then, renders impossible any sense of stability and order to the affairs of government, replacing tradition and the supposed wisdom of prejudice with continual progress and a cold, scientistic rationalism. Conservatism in Burke thus emerges as a means of preserving and conserving traditions and established political order from reckless innovation and calls for egalitarian social leveling.

    Not confined to a simple political nostalgia, however, the early Right was much more sweeping in its critique of the liberal Enlightenment’s vision of modernity. Writing on the emergence of the political Right, Darrin McMahon (2001) reaches a similar conclusion, arguing that “the early Right was in fact radical, striving far more to create a world that had never been than to recapture a world that was lost” (14). This latent radicalism of the conservative early Right was perhaps captured most vociferously by Joseph de Maistre. Born to an aristocratic family in Chambery, Maistre’s father was a Judge on the high court, and Maistre followed suit, attaining a degree in law. A committed Catholic monarchist, Maistre was abhorred by the Enlightenment liberalism of the philosophes, seeing it foremost as a “satanic revolt” against God’s divine order (see Lively 1971, 9). Influenced by the writings of Burke, Maistre often took Burkean insights to their extreme, castigating the very idea of democracy as farce, repudiating the abstract principle of rights without duties, and proclaiming the inherent virtues of violence and prejudicial irrationality.

    Viewing the violence of the Revolution as a form of providential retribution for the hubris of man, death functioned for Maistre as national regeneration through corporal punishment. Illustrating this providential view of the Revolution, Maistre (1971) argues that “when the human spirit has lost its resilience through indolence, incredulity, and the gangrenous vices that follow an excess of civilization, it can be retempered only in blood” (62). Utilizing the metaphor of the tree to emphasize both the organic nature and rootedness of society in a natural order, Maistre articulates this regenerative bloodshed as akin to pruning by the divine hand of God. For just as a rose bush needs to be properly pruned and cared for in order to ensure its vitality and blossoming in the coming season, society, too, must be ridded of its excesses in order to assure its continued health and well-being (62).

    Rooted as society is in religious and cultural custom, it also dependent upon an earthly sovereign for its continued security and stability. In this way, society is constituted by a sovereign, and a people owe their existence to this sovereign power much as a hive to its queen (de Maistre, 98). Arising from the natural relationship of sovereignty and society is the nation itself, which Maistre portrays as possessing “a general soul and a true moral unity,” which is “evidenced above all by language” (99). The personality of the state, embodied by its ruler, and its particular form of government, is a product of this moral unity. This leads Maistre to proclaim that “From these different national characteristics are born the different modifications of government,” and that to impose a universal mode of government upon all peoples and nations is to do violence to their inherent moral character and cultural customs (99). It is for these reasons—the primacy of sovereignty to society, the particular moral characters of nations, and the maintenance of ethno-cultural pluralism—that Maistre opposes the democratic Revolution of the French Enlightenment. Indeed, these principles led Maistre to denounce democracy as an idea, for as he maintains one cannot have a nation, a people, or any form of political stability without the anterior existence of the sovereign, while the heart of democracy, as Maistre describes it, is an association of men governing themselves in the absence of a unified sovereign (127).

    While there are many ways of reading Maistre’s works, it is significant that many find in his writings early strains of something resembling a latent fascism. For instance, while we may identify resonances between Maistre’s arguments and the relatively moderate positions of Burke, we may also identify a more radical set of ideas that influenced subsequent far-right thinkers in France and beyond. Writing on this tendency, Lively (1971) argues that Maistre’s fetishization of violence, his rebuke of the autonomous individual, and his glorification of sovereignty provides more than enough textual evidence to warrant an “interpretation of Maistre as one of the first in the modern fascist tradition” (7). Thus, while some may read Maistre as a more moderate conservative concerned with social order and cohesion, we may not simply wish away his more radical tendencies. It is doubtless that for these reasons that someone like Kirk seeks to so ardently distinguish Burkean conservatism from German and French articulations of Right-wing conservatism, as it provides a way of drawing firmer boundaries between conservatism on the one hand and fascism on the other. While there are certainly important distinctions between the two, a point we will return to in our conclusion, we maintain that we may nevertheless find in the early-Right and its counter-Revolutionary spirit a common line of argument that connects these thinkers to present day far-right ideologies and to Richard Spencer more specifically.

    Indeed, stemming from Maistre’s early defense of monarchical rule, religious order, and the ancient regime, the subsequent development of a newer French Right was found in the populist appeals of Georges Boulanger, Maurice Barres, and Charles Maurras. Writing on the rise of this amorphous far-right populist strain of French politics, Davies (2002)  argues that the “Franco-Prussian War and the birth of the Third Republic had brought a political realignment, and nationalism transferred from left to right a whole combination of ideas, sentiments, and values. In fundamental terms, the nation had replaced traditional religion as the focal-point of far-right discourse” (78). This growing concern with nationalism as opposed to the monarchy, as well as populist appeals to popular sovereignty rather than a defense of the aristocracy on the far-right, drew from and reinvigorated fascist ideologies in France in order to combat the bourgeois humanism of the Third Republic.

    Significantly, however, it was not just the far-right that challenged the liberal humanism of the Third Republic following the War. Indeed, as Stefanos Geroulanos (2010) meticulously demonstrates, a “battleground of humanisms” emerged in France after the War which saw Communists, Catholics, and political non-conformists, alike, offering alternative visions of a post-humanist anthropology capable of dealing with the failings of political liberalism (28). Significantly, this assault on bourgeois humanism from across the political spectrum in French political and intellectual culture was heavily influenced by leading thinkers of the German Conservative Revolution, particularly the work of Martin Heidegger (Geroulanos 2010). Thus, the far-right and the far-Left borrowed from one another and exchanged ideas in the creation of a Third Way political position that called for a reinvigorated nationalism and the birth of a “New Man” that emphasized the rootedness of the individual. These calls for national and intellectual rebirth often verged on a kind of “spiritual fascism” which grounded many reactionary and counter-Revolutionary movements in France (Geroulanos 2010, 123).

    This kind of spiritual fascism was perhaps given its clearest articulation by Charles Maurras, founder of Action Francaise (AF), a monarchist and anti-Semitic movement that emerged from the tribulations and political turmoil of the Dreyfus Affair. Evincing the admixture of far-right and far-Left thought that marked the inter-war period, Maurras’s project married together nationalism, non-Marxist iterations of socialist economic thought, and populism refracted through a Darwinian understanding of the nation as a vital organism—one that was under attack by a virus of a growing non-rooted Jewish population, communism, and republicanism. Thus, what emerges in Maurras is “an unusual synthesis of de Maistre’s conservatism, Barres’ nationalism, and fin-de-siecle revolutionary syndicalism” that undergirded a proto-fascist vision of a reinvigorated monarchy couched within a rhetoric of civic nationalism (Davies 2002, 86). Far-Right proto-fascism did not end with Maurras and the AF, however, finding its doctrines extended and altered in the collaborationist policies of Petain and Laval’s Vichy Regime during the Second World War, by the French Algerian movement in the 1950s and 1960s, and the formation of the Front National (FN) by Jean-Marie Le Pen in 1972. Though each of these movements is distinct in their goals and aims, they maintain significant political and ideological overlap in their commitment to moral order, a fear of national decadence and decline, and the call for national rebirth and regeneration. Indeed, Le Pen–a former supporter of Maurras’ AF and member of the Poujadist movement for a French Algeria—and his FN party has become a bastion of far-right politics in France. Writing on the nature of the FN, Davies (2002) states that it is “a coalition of interests,” that is composed of “Neo-fascists, hardened Algerie Francaise veterans, ex-Poujadists, new right activists, disillusioned conservatives, integrist Catholics,” and others who found in the party a new ideological home amid the shifting political grounds of the 1970s (125). Maintaining similar concerns and principles of other far-right movements before it, FN discourse prioritizes nation and identity as its primary points of emphasis.

    These emphases have remained central to the FN, yet other far-right actors once affiliated with the party have fractured from its rank and file membership, founding other, more extreme far-right groups that bring together identity and nationalism in a rhetoric of identitarianism. Central amongst these individuals are Alain de Benoist, founder of the extreme Right group the Research and Study Group for European Civilization (GRECE) and GRECE defector and radical conservative intellectual Guillaume Faye. Benoist, a former journalist and intellectual, established a theoretical project premised upon the concepts of ethno-pluralism and organic democracy, which taken together formed an alternative vision of modernity that drew from the wisdom of tradition and Western culture in order to articulate a vision of democracy not tethered to egalitarianism or libertarianism, but rather to the notion of fraternalism. Indeed, fraternity, the supposedly forgotten piece of the triptych of Revolutionary democratic aspirations, provides for Benoit a way of reimagining democracy in a post-modern, globalized, pluralistic moment.

    Opposed to direct democracy, to (neo)liberal democratic projects, and to the social democracy of welfare state politics, organic democracy returns to classical Greek understandings of democracy and re-appropriates, “adapting to the modern world—a notion of people and community that has been eclipsed by two thousand years of egalitarianism, rationalism, and exaltation of the rootless individual” (Benoist 2011, 29). Drawing from traditional conservative critiques of liberalism, Benoist recognizes the radical particularity, historically embedded, and linguistically bounded nature of a people in order to argue for the inherent differences between ethnic groups and nations. It is from this idea that Benoist elaborates his principle of ethno-pluralism, the Maistrean notion that each people or nation possesses a distinct national and moral character which must be protected against the universalism of liberal thought and economic imperialism. Yet, while pluralism of peoples and cultures is a good to be protected and valued, pluralism within the bounds of the nation is an enemy to be guarded against. As Benoist claims, “Pluralism is a positive notion, but it cannot be applied to everything. We should not confuse the pluralism of values, which is a sign of the break-up of society, with the pluralism of opinions, which is a natural consequence of human diversity” (70-1). Pluralism of values stems naturally from the distinct culture, history, and language of a people, such that multicultural societies themselves, and state policies that encourage diversity and inclusion, set the stage for their own dissolution by encouraging the proliferation and confrontation of radically opposed value systems in the heart of society. Thus, the only viable democratic vision for Benoist is an organic democracy capable of allowing “a folk community to carve a destiny for itself in line with its own founding values” (71). Fraternity, in this sense, stresses the familial and spiritual nature of community and ethnic identity, placing belonging to the nation within the realm of biological and folk understandings of shared heritage.

    A former member of GRECE and associate of Benoist, Guillame Faye’s work carries clear resonances of organic understandings of identitarian democracy. However, Faye, along with fellow far-right intellectual Piere Vial, left the think-tank as they perceived Benoist’s commitments to extremist far-right principles began to waiver. Likewise, Benoist has since critiqued the extremism and political aspirations of Faye’s so-called archeofuturist project. Drawing inspiration from the intellectuals of the German Conservative Revolution of the 1920s and spiritual fascism of Italian theorist Julius Evola, Faye’s archeofuturism maintains that we are living in a world of convergent catastrophes that will ultimately destroy the contemporary global political-economic order. Proclaiming that “Modernity has grown obsolete,” and humanity is presently “living in the interregnum” between political regimes (Faye 2010, 12, 28), the only solution for Faye is to turn to an archeofuturism that “envisage[s] a future society that combines techno-scientific progress with a return to the traditional answers that stretch back into the mists of time” (27). Such a project demands political revolution and restoration, with revolution understood ultimately as an act of restoration in and of itself. Such a temporality moves away from liberal understandings of linear progress and toward a spherical temporality premised upon Nietzsche’s eternal return of the same (44).

    Indeed, Nietzsche figures prominently in Faye’s work as he demands a post-human epistemology that embraces an “inegalitarian philosophy of will to power” in order to overcome the supposedly emasculating philosophy of universal tolerance and compassion of the discourse multiculturalism (65). This is imperative for Faye, as multiculturalism, much as in Benoist, paves the road to national dissolution and global disorder in an era of shifting geopolitical realities. An age in which tired arguments of East v. West no longer hold, Faye proclaims that the new geopolitical order pits North v. South, with Islamic cultures posing the greatest threat to European civilization and White identity. However, it is not enough to identify a common enemy of European culture—the shortcoming of Schmitt’s philosophy according to Faye—but to in fact create a recognition of political friendship. This positive “spiritual and anthropological” project places identity at the center of politics, and moves identitarianism into a metapolitical theoretical position. This is to say that before one becomes concerned with ideological or doctrinal differences one ought to recognize a shared worldview that is rooted in a spiritual and anthropological identity which constitutes them as an organic folk. It is only after this organic folk gains political self-awareness that the archeofuturist project of the creation of a new European federal empire can be created as a power-bloc of geo-political force and ethnic solidarity against the global south. As we will demonstrate later, this line of argument is taken up by Spencer, anchoring the alt-right in a soft, pseudo-intellectual ground regarding the primacy of racial identity in contemporary politics. Significantly, this point is ultimately reached, yet through a different trajectory, by Spencer’s other primary influence—the US paleoconservative movement.

    A Budding US Conservatism

    While we can trace a genealogy of far-right thought in France from the traditionalism of Maistre, likewise we maintain that we can trace a through line from a nascent conservative attitude in the early days of the US Republic through to the alt-right. Significantly, this history demonstrates that conservatism cannot simply be understood as a unified historical movement, but as Paul Gottfried and Thomas Fleming (1988) argue, as a series of movements that at times conflict with one another regarding the proper relationships among individuals, community, industry, and government. Rather than speak of a unified vision of conservatism in the US, then, we will speak of various conservatisms that at times conflict and at others converge with one another.

    Such a family history of conservatism in the US is offered by Russell Kirk in his momentous 1953 text The Conservative Mind. Describing the American Revolution as born of conservative principles, for Kirk conservatism first comes to the shores of the Atlantic from the works and speeches of Burke and his exchanges with Thomas Paine on the nature freedom, rights, and democratic self-rule. As Kirk (1953) writes, Burke “had set the course for British conservatism, he had become a model for Continental statesmen, and he had insinuated himself even into the rebellious soul of America” (12). This conservative spirit of rebellion he then follows from the rule-of-law conservatism of John Adams, the romantic conservatism of George Canning, the southern conservatism of John C. Calhoun and John Randolph, through to the so-called critical conservatism of Irving Babbit, Paul Elmer More, and George Santayana. A larger umbrella that encompasses a host of ideological and philosophical positions as wide as pro-slavery arguments regarding state’s rights to pragmatic metaphysics, conservatism for Burke is a flexible “working premise” that at bottom maintains a core belief in the idea that “society is a spiritual reality, possessing an eternal life but a delicate constitution,” and as such is something that “cannot be scrapped and recast as if it were a machine” (7). While conservatives could agree on this basic premise, there were many other issues that created conflict in early US conservative discourse, namely a conflict between the Federalism of the north and the Southern strand of conservatism that sought to maintain agrarian life and an independent political authority.

    This rift within the heart of the early conservative spirit in the US remained a polarizing force into the twentieth century, when conservatism bloomed into not simply a rebellious spirit in US politics but into a full-blown insurgent political force to combat the New Deal policies of Franklin Delano Roosevelt (Phillips-Fein 2010). While the New Deal did not do away with the fissures and cleavages that marked the conservative Right, it did however unite a vast array of intellectuals committed to defining, defending, and conserving more traditional systems of thought against the centralizing forces of technocracy, managerialism, and state power. A reactionary force bent on fighting the perceived creeping statism and egalitarianism of the social welfare state, the conservative movement brought together a traditional, Old Right consisting of Southern conservatives and monarchists one the one hand and a budding libertarian New Right on the other, in order to defend principles of law, order, and decentralized government (Rothbard 1994).

    Indeed, as Michael Lee (2014) has argued, from its very inception, conservatism in the US has consisted of competing argumentative frames that have produced fusion and fracture at different historical moments. Conceiving of conservatism as a political language with which to create and describe society, Lee maintains that this language consists of both libertarian and traditionalist dialects. Holding between them inherent contradictions, conservatism’s dialects embody a larger prescriptive dialectic between embracing modernity and returning to pre-modern modes of life. Stemming from deep-rooted, conflicting epistemological and ontological viewpoints on history, human nature, and rationality, the libertarian and traditionalist dialects consist of opposing value systems and rhetorical “God-terms” to organize their political projects. While libertarian conservatives stress the importance of concepts such as “freedom,” “liberty,” “reason,” “individual,” and “markets,” in the continued development of modernity and unfettered capitalism, traditionalists emphasize the centrality of “tradition,” “hierarchy,” “order,” and “transcendence” to social cohesion and stability in the face of change (Lee 2014, 43).

    Of particular interest to us in this essay are those traditionalist conservatives of the US Old Right. While those on the libertarian Right have largely become synonymous with conservatism in the US, the traditionalist dialect has re-emerged as a legitimate political force since the close of the Cold War. Drawing their inspiration from Burke and others, post-War traditionalists such as Kirk had been largely committed to isolationism, nativism, and Americanism throughout the Second World War, with some openly embracing biologically deterministic theories of white racial superiority, anti-Semitism, and pro-Nazi ideology (Bellant 1991; Diamond 1995, 22-25).

    Writing on the origins of conservatism and the defining principles of the Old Right, Sara Diamond (1995) portrays this diverse group of intellectuals as men who “viewed with trepidation the expansion of the welfare state and some seemingly related trends: racial minorities’ nascent demands for civil rights, the spread of secularism, and the growth of mass, popular culture” (21). Not simply detesting the increasing power of the state over individual freedom, US conservatism also feared progressive policy measures from Reconstruction onward that sought to radically level hierarchies of race, class, and gender that were thought to be part of the natural order of an organic conception of white, Western culture.[3]

    Representative of this Old Right traditionalism are writers such as Eric Voegelin, Russell Kirk, and Richard Weaver. Grounding conservatism in neo-Platonist conceptions of transcendent, metaphysical truths regarding the wisdom of tradition, history, and ancestral knowledge, Kirk (1989) writes in his essay entitled “The Question of Tradition,” “The traditions which govern private and social morality are set too close about the heart of a civilization to bear much tampering with” (63). To Kirk tradition represents a transhistorical contract that binds past, present, and future, standing as “transcendent truth expressed in the filtered opinions of our ancestors” (63). Searching for a higher order based on spiritual bonds to guard against the decadence and rootlessness of the modern world, tradition, for Kirk, represents a spiritual bedrock upon which cultures create natural social structures of political governance. Attempts to legislate against economic inequality, to level racial disparities, or to encourage women to enter into the workforce tamper with this spiritual bedrock, untethering us from traditional wisdom and social structures, leading a path toward decadence and decline. In this sense, as Corey Robin argues, conservatives see in liberal policies and democratic movements “a terrible disturbance in the private life of power” that disrupts the supposed natural order of the social world (13).

    Though a prominent line of conservative thought throughout the 1940s and 1950s, traditionalism faded into the background in the political landscape of the 1960s and the burgeoning politics of the Cold War. The post-War effort, primarily on the libertarian Right, to transform conservatism into a broad coalition that sought political victories and action, rather than intellectual cohesion saw the retreat of the intellectual treatises of Kirk and others. Additionally, the identification of Arizona Senator Barry Goldwater as the conservative candidate to challenge liberal Republican Nelson Rockefeller rebranded conservatism with libertarian principles of free trade in the minds of the broader American public. Thus, as Gottfried and Fleming (1988) note, though the 1964 campaign of Goldwater placed conservatism within mainstream political discourse, it also proved detrimental to the movement by reducing conservatism to a narrow social philosophy of free markets and a pragmatic politics that eschewed intellectual rigor. Led by individuals such as Phyllis Schlafly, Paul Weyrich, and most notably William F. Buckley, this New Right network created a vast array of think tanks, magazines, and other print media that nonetheless sustained American conservatism in the mid-20th century.[4]

    Coalescing ideologically on principles of combatting domestic democratic movements for social equality, fighting the spread of communism at home, and spreading the gospel of liberal democracy abroad, a rough consensus was formed that united conservatives, old and new, in a battle against the perceived threats of a growing state apparatus that threatened individual liberty and communal authority. Capable of articulating the economic, cultural, and spiritual concerns of conservatives across the spectrum, Ronald Reagan proved capable, at least tenuously, of fusing the libertarian and traditionalist dialects of conservatism. Uniting the conservative vanguard and the Republican Party against communism through his rhetorical prowess, Ronald Reagan rose to political prominence, and gained the presidency in 1981. Yet, as Diamond (1995) has argued, if Reagan represented a moment of conservative fusion and ushered in a neoconservative consensus throughout the 1980s, “The end of Soviet-style Communism coincided with the Right’s renewed focus on traditional moral order and ethnic-cultural homogeneity inside the borders of the United States” (2). Championing an intellectual backlash against neoconservative and libertarian philosophies, a group of committed paleoconservatives called for a renewed commitment to traditionalist concerns.

    Paleoconservatism and the Return to Conservative Roots

    The renewed focus on tradition was the product of a careful campaign by a group of self-identified paleoconservative intellectuals that were unhappy with conservatism’s abandonment of its foundational philosophical commitments. Writing to this effect, paleoconservatives Paul Weyrich and William Lind (2009) argue that “one of the casualties of the Bush administration was the conservative movement” (134). Having become recalcitrant in its political successes throughout the 1970s and 1980s, post-Cold War Republican conservatism left behind many of its founding principles in an embrace of consumerism and global free-markets. Returning to and radicalizing the traditionalist idiom of conservatism championed by Kirk, the paleoconservatives refit traditionalism to a new set of political realities, targeting the so-called globalism and cultural Marxism of the left as the primary enemies of a Western, Judeo-Christian culture in decline. An amorphous and seemingly all-encompassing ideological assault on the West, paleoconservatives find the origins of cultural Marxism in the critical theory of the Frankfurt school, whose intellectual project they argue has taken over academia, the entertainment industries, and the state itself (see Weyrich and Lind, ch. 2). Striving to move beyond politics, to undo the cultural revolution of the 1960s, and to restore traditional American values, paleoconservatives understand themselves as in a war for the very existence of Western culture.

    Led in many regards by long-time conservative figure and former member of both the Nixon and Reagan administrations Patrick Buchanan, the paleoconservative camp had its political headquarters in the Rockford Institute, a traditionalist think tank in Rockford, Illinois. Producing and distributing a monthly magazine entitled Chronicles of Culture, the Rockford Institute was founded by Thomas Fleming. Fleming, like many in the paleoconservative camp, was a professor of the humanities and an acolyte of Kirk (Diamond 1995; Gottfried and Fleming 1988). Denouncing the supposed end of ideology espoused by Francis Fukuyama and other neoconservatives, these paleocons saw in the heightened attention to the “political issues of morality, security, and nationalism” in a post-Cold War climate a rallying cry for a renewed nationalism (Dahl 1999, 7).

    Dressed in the guise of Right-wing populism, Buchanan’s (1998) America First politics and his economic nationalism rebuked the supposed triumph of liberal democracy and its narrow association with free-market capitalism. Critiquing large, multinational corporations and the structures of late capitalism, Buchanan advocated for economic protection of vital industries, fixed markets, and protective tariffs to maintain a competitive US economy in a globalizing world. Ushering in an era of global free trade, it was the Cold War mission of exporting liberal democracy abroad that led to the slow erosion of manufacturing jobs in the U.S; as Buchanan argues, “In the global economy, money no longer follows the flag. Money has no flag” (54). Taken further, the global economy of unfettered trade dissolves national bonds of loyalty and patriotism in the name of liberal cosmopolitanism. An extension of traditional conservative and cultural nationalist critiques of the Enlightenment, Buchanan adds that “Free trade ideology is thus a product of a shift in perspective, from a God-centered universe to a man-centered one” (201). Cast as a logical extension of French Enlightenment sentiments, global free trade is an assault on the nation and on traditional Western values. What a post-Cold War political culture illustrated, Buchanan maintained, was that politics was less about a divide between left and right, capitalism and communism, and more so about nationalists and the liberal globalists.

    If the dog-whistle of Buchanan’s calls for a new economic nationalism was carefully masked in a veneer of middle-class protectionism, other paleoconservatives have drawn from Old Right lines of argument that more explicitly invoked biological notions of racial superiority. For example, in his book Alien Nation, Peter Brimelow (1995) espouses openly nativist and racist arguments regarding the assault on the supposedly inherent white ethnic core of American national identity. Conceiving of the nation as “an ethnocultural community that . . . speaks one language,” Brimelow calls for a return to a white tribalism to defend western culture from state-sanctioned erasure (203). Though the sovereignty of the nation, the customs of western civilization, and the white ethnic core of the US are under attack from many angles, for Brimelow the primary driver of these problems is immigration policy. In his formulation, post-1965 immigration policy is inevitably leading to an “ethnic revolution” in which efforts at racial equality are rendered a power grab to subvert the historical legacy of white racial hegemony in the US (203). Eschewing the colorblind and post-racial narratives of the center-Right establishment of the Republican Party, Brimelow embraces whiteness as a marker of political identity. Within his recognition of whiteness, race is conceived of as biological, naturalizing the separation of cultures and knowledges. As he renders whiteness a visible political position in debates on immigration, there’s an explicit rejection of the structural inequalities that shape opportunities for newly arrived non-white immigrants. Instead, Brimelow acknowledges structural barriers that limit opportunities for white Americans and uses overtly racial arguments on culture and behavior to explain the criminal nature of immigrants of color.

    Within Buchanan and Brimelow’s critiques of the welfare state and immigration policy is an implicitly proposed solution of crafting a middle-American white identity politics capable of challenging the hegemonic center of US politics. Articulating these concerns and potential solutions in a more precise and academic tone, Paul Gottfried and Samuel Francis have called for a conservatism that would move beyond preservationism toward a revolutionary cultural and racial populism. This paleoconservative move to an explicitly racial rhetoric ties together opposing forces in white racial ideology, and highlights what Omi and Winant (2015) define as the ‘racial reaction’ among whites since the advent of the civil rights movement. In Omi and Winant’s view, white racial reaction draws from racial ideologies that, depending on the context, recognize and erase racial difference and works to undercut the political successes of the civil rights movement. Paleoconservatives blur rhetorical lines and bring together recognition and erasure simultaneously, using traditionalist appeals to veil the contradictions embedded with their arguments.

    As seen in the paleoconervative call to fortify the racial and cultural makeup of the US, their recognition and erasure of racial difference is undergirded by a glorified view of Western culture. In what can be taken as a two-part work on the loss of bourgeois culture, a sense of ethnic heritage, and localized self-government, Paul Gottfried’s After Liberalism (1999) and his Multiculturalism and the Politics of Guilt (2002) represent the evolving politics of the paleoconservative position. Offering a narrative of decline of national sovereignty, regional cultures, and western society at the behest of a global managerial “new class,” Gottfried argues that a commitment to Enlightenment ideals of rational planning, global cosmopolitanism, and open borders are destroying Western culture.

    In his trenchant, if misguided, works of academic critique, Gottfried maintains that liberalism’s original architects held “deep reservations about popular rule” (39). Taking liberalism to be a unique cultural product, not simply a set of abstract theoretical principles and commitments, Gottfried argues that liberalism “designates not just liberal ideas but also their social setting” and political context (35). This cultural context and heritage, as Gottfried alludes to, is found in a bourgeois political culture that maintained a sense of hierarchy in the face of demands for radical egalitarianism. This primordial sense of liberalism, however, has been eroded and ultimately lost in the name of liberal democracy, technocratic reason, and state planning.

    Giving rise to the modern, managerial welfare state, liberalism’s demise was driven not primarily by economic forces nor by laissez-faire values and policies, but by a cultural logic of multiculturalism. Assuming that cultures are incompatible and engaged in a zero-sum game for survival, these attacks against multiculturalism also presume that people of color “are actually, or even disproportionately benefiting from its [multiculturalism’s] experimental largess” (Lentin and Titley 2011, 110-111). For example, Gottfried (2002) uses the rhetoric of atonement and guilt to argue that multiculturalism is indicative of a logical progression of liberal Protestantism that fashions slavery as the original sin of white Americans. Culminating in a secular religiosity that debases theology and feminizes Christianity, Gottfried claims that multiculturalism is the product of a “fusion of a victim-centered feminism with the Protestant framework of sin and redemption” (56). Domestically, pluralism legitimates the managerial state’s efforts to impose a doctrine of political correctness, and is said to divide society into victims and victimizers. Globally, pluralism warrants, in the name of the welfare state, open borders for trade, lax immigration policies, transnational bureaucracy, and a global mission to make the world safe for democracy, ultimately eroding national sovereignty and the decline of Western society in pursuit of a cosmopolitan agenda (78-88).

    The answer for combatting the so-called therapeutic welfare state, for Gottfried, lies in a resurgent Right-leaning populist nationalism. This program entails an “identitarian politics and appeals to a cultural heritage,” premised upon a “traditional communal identity” (Gottfried 2002, 118). Additionally, Gottfried sees hope in the emergent European “postmodernist Right,” and its political ideology of ethno-pluralism which “speaks on behalf of the distinctiveness of peoples and regions and upholds their inalienable right not to be “culturally homogenized” (129). His political project entails a rejection of Enlightenment notions of a rational world government in defense of localized, communal traditions and shared ethnic identity rooted in bourgeois culture.

    Arguing in a similar vein, Samuel Francis, in his collected volume of essays entitled Revolution From the Middle (1997), paints a picture of what he calls Middle American Radicals (MARs) that have been left behind by the welfare state. The culmination of Nixon’s Southern Strategy, MARs are described by Francis as the former “backbone” of George Wallace’s political constituency, as well as a combination of Reagan Democrats, and supporters of the candidacies of a broad swath of “outsiders” including Ross Perot, David Duke, Ralph Nader, and Pat Buchanan. Portrayed as a “combination of culturally conservative moral and social beliefs with support for economically liberal policies such as Medicare, Social Security, unemployment benefits, and economic nationalism and protectionism,” MARs represent a disaffected group of white, middle-class workers who feel they are being squeezed from above by a corporate and governmental managerial elite, and from below by an unassimilated and unassimilable lower class of migrant laborers and peoples of color that are wresting jobs, political power, and tax dollars from middle Americans (12). Calling again upon the Immigration Act of 1965, the act is cast as a publicly subsidized erasure of white, middle-American culture through the lowering of national borders that links together managerial policy leaders and migrant laborers through the force of state policy.

    As an insurgent counter-force against the state, MARs seek to build a “Middle American counter-culture” that can “overcome the divisive, individuating, and purely defensive response offered by traditional conservatism and to forge a new and unified core from which an alternative subculture and an authentic radicalism of the right can emerge” (Francis 1997, 73). Largely driven by Rust-Belt states, MARs are bent on collapsing the center of US politics and creating a space in which a radical alternative may emerge. Creating a space for collective action in the form of a resistant, white ethnic community, MARs attempt to hold on to their political and economic power by defending what they view as traditional American values and culture.

    Seeking to rearticulate conservatism as a political program devoted to the “total redistribution of power in America,” Francis urges his compatriots to look beyond traditional conservative canons. Indeed, Francis writes that “if the cultural right in the United States is to take back its culture from those that have usurped it, it will find Gramsci’s ideas rewarding” (176). Recognizing the primacy of culture to the development of political power and institutions, Francis calls for fellow conservatives to take lessons from the counter-cultural tactics of the left in the 1960s and 1970s, as well as far-right European politics, to engage in the frontlines of the war for cultural hegemony in the United States.

    The shared philosophical and political commitments of Buchanan, Brimelow, Gottfried, and Francis derive from their shared commitments to Old Right conservative traditionalism, as well as a shared infrastructure of political and media outlets that link them not only with each other but with the rise of the alt-right. In 1999, Peter Brimelow founded the website VDare, a white-nationalist news site that publishes political and social criticism on contemporary public affairs. Affiliated with the site are Buchanan, Francis, and alt-righter Jared Taylor. Six years later, Francis co-founded, with William Regnery, the National Policy Institute (NPI). A white-nationalist think tank operating under the slogan “For Our People, Our Race, Our Future,” the NPI has taken up the call for a metapolitical, identitarian far-right conservatism in the US, becoming the ideological and political core of the alt-right under the leadership of Richard Spencer.

    Spencer, who holds a Master’s degree from the University of Chicago and dropped out of a PhD program in European intellectual history at Duke University to lead the cause of the NPI, along with Gottfried, coined the term “alternative right” and has gained public notoriety as a figurehead of the movement. In 2012, Spencer founded Radix Journal, a publication that describes itself as publishing “original work on culture, race, tradition, meta-politics, and critical theory (About Radix Journal).” Comprised of three “interrelated components,” including “an online magazine, RadixJournal.com, a biannual print journal, and a publishing imprint,” Radix is operated by, and distributes writings through, the auspices of the NPI. Though closely affiliated with paleoconservative thinkers and institutions, Spencer’s vision seeks to push the American Right further by offering a radical conservatism that marries together US traditionalism with the archeofuturism of Faye, and the insights of the German conservative revolution in order to openly embrace white supremacy, vehement nationalism, and biological theories of race. If conservative traditionalists in the past have taken great pains to distinguish their cultural nationalist positions from the more far-right white supremacist groups they helped create, the alt-right under Spencer strips away all the rhetorical veneers of more mainstream conservatism in the creation of a radical conservatism.

    The Alt-Right’s (Pseudo)Philosophical Core: Richard Spencer, Metapolitics, and Identity

    Connecting paleoconservative traditionalism with the far-right thought of Benoist and Faye as well as German conservatism, the intellectual foundation of Spencer’s political project is metapolitics. A self-proclaimed fan of the work of Richard Wagner and German Romanticism, Spencer’s metapolitics is a nod to both the proto-fascism of the Bayreuth circle in late-nineteenth century Germany and to Faye’s archeofuturist identitarianism (Harkinson 2016). A kind of spiritual politics of myth—with myth understood here as a kind of “necessary faith, or inspiration, or unifying mass yearning”—metapolitics stood as a driving force of hope for the national racism of Germany. Consisting of an amalgamation of romanticism, the so-called “science” of race, a loosely defined economic socialism, and a faith in the mystical forces of the volk, the metapolitics of Wagner was crafted as a response to the political atomization and legal structures that marked modernization and liberal society (Viereck, 1941, 19). Likewise, for Faye, metapolitics becomes a way of placing racial and ethnic identity at the core of French rebirth, and as the primary means of combatting the spread of Islamic faiths and peoples from the global south.

    A commitment to metapolitics for Spencer is thus a means of rhetorically positioning himself within the shared mythology of history, wisdom, and culture afforded by the “science” of race, while also standing as a call to continuing the evolutionary process and the dynamic becoming of white peoples across the globe. This emphasis in alt-right thought is placed front and center, as the NPI annual conference bares the Nietzschean title “Become Who We Are.” Yet if Wagner adapted his romanticism to the political atomization, economic displacement, and political crises of modernity, Spencer is recrafting romanticism and mixing it with French far-right thought in order to adapt its core tenets to the age of neoliberalism and global governance.in order to legitimize neo-fascism and white supremacist politics. This project, Spencer writes, requires a replacement of the political pragmatism that marks establishment politics with a “ruthless idealism” capable of radical, structural change (Spencer 2015a).

    As Spencer argues elsewhere, “Politics is the art of the possible. But today the impossible is necessary. And the art of the impossible is exactly the reason our movement should exist” (Spencer 2015f). The art of the impossible, for Spencer, entails moving beyond the structures and strictures of political liberalism to a higher metapolitics regarding identity and racial biology. Indeed, Spencer writes that while “liberalism is about how and what, that is, it is about ‘rights,’ ‘procedures,’ and ‘mechanisms,’ with elected representatives tasked with making judgment calls,” identitarianism is “fundamentally about who (and not how). How a society is to be governed—whether it be a parliamentary democracy, dictatorship, constitutional monarchy, or any other form—is of secondary importance” (Spencer, 2016a). Metapolitics, then, is about a cultural project of consciousness raising, of crafting a narrative, or better, a myth that stands capable of unifying the race and comprising a general will for becoming something greater. An alt-right metapolitical project, thus, displaces questions of governance with questions of biology and racial difference.

    This conception of racial biology leads Spencer to the concept of identitarianism. As the practical manifestation of metapolitics, identitarianism, as its name suggests, “posits identity as the center—and central question—of a spiritual, intellectual, and political movement” (Spencer 2015c). Moving not only beyond questions of left and right, it also seeks to move beyond the nation state, operating globally. Thus, importantly, Spencer argues that identitarianism “avoids the term ‘nationalism’ and its history and connotations. Indeed, one of identitarianism’s central motives is the overcoming of the nationalism of recent historical memory, which was predicated on hatred of the European ‘Other’ (2015c). Rooted in a pre-Boasian racial anthropology, Spencer’s identitarianism heralds the work of American eugenicist Madison Grant who championed a theory of Nordic racial biology as the primary agent of historical change. In this schema, the primordial sense of political identification and belonging is not bound by nation, but of shared history, blood, and ethnic identity. Repackaging his white supremacist politics in a kind of Pan-Europeanism, Spencer can avoid the label of white nationalism and its inherently racist connotations. Approaching a kind of white-internationalism, the shared mythological history of Nordic peoples is not confined by geography but is a kind of hereditary trait that transcends national borders in the creation of a latent, yet unifiable white racial family.

    In the so-called race realism of his identitarianism, Spencer inverts constructionist theories of race making culture as a product of biology. Yet, when determining the borders of whiteness and of Nordic inclusion the racist and flawed nature of Spencer’s pseudoscience of race becomes strikingly clear. While race stands as the primary agent in historical development, the primary agent in the development of racial biology is comprised of a strange admixture of geography, culture, history, blood, and myth (Harkinson 2016). For Spencer, the white race is always in a state of becoming which is at once conditioned and shaped by ethnic heritage, cultural mores, genetics, space and place, and a tribalist sense of collective belonging. Spencer’s race realism, then, is not as static or deterministic as he would claim. Indeed, Spencer’s theory of race is a complex of seemingly conflicting ideas, ultimately comprising an inconsistent and non-developed articulation of the primacy of biology in the unfolding of history (Spencer 2015d). Importantly, however, the power of metapolitics lies not in scientific fact or rationality but rather in the irrational and symbolic powers of myth. To this point, the work of Fields and Fields (2014) illuminates the layers of authority embedded into Spencer’s arguments. Fields and Fields’ work suggests that Spencer’s rhetoric connects to the founding myth of America, the structure that preconditions our conscious or unconscious attitudes and behaviors about groups and individuals. In this sense, Spencer’s arguments are authoritative and made legitimate not because he stands opposed to mainstream political culture as an embattled organic pseudo-intellectual, but because his arguments resonate with the “mental and social terrain” of the US (Fields and Fields 2014, 19). This terrain is mapped by a magical belief structure, what Fields and Fields label ‘racecraft,’ which influences human action and imagination. Racecraft is the massage that kneads race and racism into American cultural consciousness through informal codes, rituals of power, ancestral ties, and blood. In this view, Spencer’s racial arguments and racism are embraced by conservatives, then, not only through supposed academic thinking, evidence, or scientific truths, but through irrational passions; an obligation to traditional spirit; a ritual that purifies American culture for white folks.

    The rationalistic and reflexive nature of contemporary geopolitics thus stands as two factors in stymieing a revolutionary Right. Following Faye, Spencer calls for a pan-European movement, as struggles between the US and Russia are viewed by Spencer as a relic of an “Atlanticist” paradigm of politics that is outdated and ill-equipped to meet the demands of Post-Cold War politics. Viewing current US- Russia relations as a kind of familial infighting between two power blocs of European racial identity, Spencer writes that “the history of the 20th century has been a history of a long civil war, a Brother’s War” (2016d). Rather than calling for what he sees as a “petty nationalism,” Spencer sees the only way to save the certain demise of Western culture in a Pan-European project of preserving and protecting white masculinity (2016a).

    This familial understanding of global politics offered by the alt-right also underlies Spencer’s and the NPI’s repudiation of NATO in a post-Cold War landscape. In a NPI published paper titled “Beyond NATO,” Spencer and the board of the NPI argue that “the geopolitical enemies that justified the creation of NATO—National Socialist Germany and the Soviet Union—have long since disappeared from the world stage,” and have been replaced by new enemies that threaten Western culture (The National Policy Institute 2016). In the realities of this altered political arena, Spencer writes that “‘Freedom vs. Socialism’ is no longer a useful model for describing the ideological and political divisions” of international affairs (The National Policy Institute 2016). Rebuffing claims of the end of ideology, Spencer posits that a new geopolitical rift has emerged that marks a radical split between the West and Islamic Terrorism, Turkish radicals, a Chinese economic superpower, and Mexican immigrants. Importantly, this reconfiguration fashions foreign threats as exclusively racialized non-Western others (Goldberg 2009; Hall 1997; Lentin and Titley 2011). These perceived threats to the Pan-European family necessitate, for the NPI, replacing NATO with a defense program premised on three principles: cooperation with Russia, a program of Western European revival, and recognition of common interests and threats among Western nations. These foreign policy measures are meant to help create a metapolitical consciousness capable of unifying white peoples globally against geopolitical threats.

    Yet, the family figures centrally not only as a metaphor for understanding global politics, but also as the fundamental building block for a white tribal culture domestically. The family, here, is figured under the norms of a patriarchal heteronormativity that posits the stability of the institution of marriage as crucial to maintaining racial health. In an essay entitled “The End of the Culture War,” the Supreme Court ruling on gay marriage is portrayed as a further indication of the decline of Western culture. As Spencer writes, “Marriage must, indeed, be re-founded on a much more radical level than that imagined by the egalitarian ‘Religious Right’ and various ‘Constitutionalists;’ marriage must not merely be ‘between a man and woman;’ the family must become an integral part of the health of our race—of our charge to birth a strong, intelligent, beautiful, and productive people” (Spencer 2015e). In this formula, homosexuality is rendered unnatural and counterproductive to the continued evolution of the race. Indeed, homosexual behavior becomes biologically inefficient, a further usurpation of white masculine supremacy, and antagonistic to the metapolitical goals at the heart of identitarianism.

    Dovetailing with lines of fundamentalist evangelicalism, this position proffers a deterministic understanding of the role of biological reproduction to the strength and preservation of the nation state. As Melinda Cooper (2008) demonstrates, evangelicals have long understood sexual politics and reproduction “to be a project of national restoration,” figuring unborn life of the fetus as a metonym for the potentially aborted future of the waning sovereign nation” (169). While both evangelicals and the alt-right deny agency and bodily autonomy to women in the name of the (re)production and maintenance of the nation, ultimately making “a claim to the bodies of women,” the alt-right does not advocate a right-to-life political stance (Cooper 2008, 171). Rather, alt-right theology is of a political rather than millenarian variety. This political theology argues not for individual but “collective salvation . . . that is both down-to-earth and fixed on eternity” through the continual renewal, advancement, and rebirth of the white race (Spencer 2015f). Eschewing evangelical concerns with the holy sanctity of life as a sovereign gift, the alt-right understands the value of life and sexual politics along an ethno-nationalist logic, enacting a kind of autoimmunitary politics that seeks to rid the body politic of infectious and dangerous elements within its borders.[5] Crucial to this political project, then, is the protection of national borders and Western values from the erosive forces of cultural Marxism, multiculturalism, and open immigration policy.

    Similar to paleoconservatives before him, Spencer sees cultural Marxism, alongside contemporary geo-politics, as a central force behind the erosion of Western civilization, and what those in the alt-right call white genocide. Paradoxically, Spencer also sees an indispensable tool for articulating his metapolitics in the works of Marxist intellectual Antonio Gramsci. Using so-called cultural Marxism against itself, Gramsci’s theories of state power, hegemony, and culture as a driver of political change stand as a useful counterpoint to his and identitarianism. Claiming that the political left has stumbled upon the great truth of the importance of race in contemporary politics, Spencer vehemently argues against social constructionist theories of race and structural racism. However, Spencer’s identitarianism actively rearticulates critical theories of race and appropriates them in the name of the oppression and demise of white peoples.

    In this sense we come to perhaps the critical paradox of Spencer’s politics: Marxism, critical cultural theory, and systemic racism are fictions of leftist social justice warriors and academics of color, except when applied to whites. As we saw with the paleoconservatives, when these theories are applied to white folks, they explain how the liberal welfare state, managerial policy elites, and structures of global governance are systematically engaging in the genocide of the white race and western, European culture. Thus, there is a through line between paleoconservatism and the alt-right in their expression of racial reaction as suggested by the work of Omi and Winant (2015); Both paleoconservatives and the alt-right move between recognition and erasure of racial difference depending on their rhetorical situation. Moreover, both rely on traditionalist rhetoric to smooth over the contradictions in their arguments. Race and racism is something that ‘they do;’ white folks do it so as not to fall behind in the multicultural welfare state that is structured to work against white people.

    Indeed, in his November 2016 keynote address at the “Become Who We Are” conference, hosted by the NPI, Spencer follows the works of Gottfried and Francis, and argues that a leftist hegemony in US politics is driven ideologically by a politics of anti-white hatred and guilt. These logics are buttressed by the press, entertainment and popular culture, non-governmental organizations, think tanks, and a public policy system that, according to Spencer, amount to a “colonization effort” in which “Western governments go out of their way to seek out the most dysfunctional immigrants possible and relocate them at taxpayer expense” (Spencer 2016e). Any who wish to challenge this hegemonic discourse are punished through censorship and stigmatization, deeming dissidents as racist, politically incorrect, and violent. In Spencer’s metapolitics, the primary enemy, then, stands not as the state apparatus per se, but white folks who have, in his eyes, either failed to recognize or have openly rebuked their biological and cultural supremacy through the internalization of the discourse of white guilt.

    As Spencer states in a published version of an April 23, 2015 speech delivered at the 2015 American Renaissance Conference entitled “Why Do They Hate Us?,” “Before we have a Left problem or a Social Justice Warrior problem, or a Black or Jewish problem, we have a white problem. While Guilt is, indeed, so pervasive that it’s difficult to pinpoint, or say where it ends and begins. For millions, who don’t want to think about White Guilt, White Guilt is thinking for them” (Spencer 2015b; emphasis in original). These individuals, commonly referred to as “cucks” in online alt-right forums, stand as the primary obstacle to consciousness raising for an identitarian movement. Rather than embodying the agential, history-making position of white masculinity inherent to the identitarian project, these “cucks” deny their agency and allow the discourse of White Guilt to speak for them, submitting to the forces of the so-called white genocide rather than actively resisting it.

    For Spencer, Trump’s rebuke of “the System” represents a first step in overturning the discourse of white guilt and establishing an identitarian movement of Middle Americans. Indeed, Spencer identifies the most powerful component of this system as its “Narrative and Paradigm” that promulgates hatred and oppression of white men through the cultural logic of white guilt (Spencer 2016d). Trump’s rhetoric is figured as capable of toppling the system’s narrative from the inside, using its discourses against itself. Never having “went through the gauntlet, which impresses the ‘right opinions’ upon potential leaders,” Trump is able to buck the system from within (2016d). Transforming oligarchy into populism, spouting vulgar and incendiary hyperbole, and utilizing his celebrity to run a political campaign, represents, for Spencer, the contradictions that have cracked the totalizing structure of the welfare state apparatus and its discursive force. As Spencer argues “Public relations—and postmodern ‘image production’—is, as Baudrillard observed, all about signs without references . . . words without meaning . . . sound and fury signifying nothing . . . bullshit within bullshit. But Trump’s genius is to embed truth within his vulgar and stupid bullshit: deep truths, sometimes hard or harsh truths . . . dangerous truths” (2016d). Calling to Spencer’s famous metaphorical deployment of the film the Matrix—notorious for its play on Baudrillard’s theory of simulacra— and its depiction of Neo as a Platonic Gadfly who climbs out of the cave, seeing the world as it really is after swallowing the red pill, Trump has seen reality and stands as the leader capable of liberating the masses.

    The rhetorical force of Trump’s slogan “Make America Great Again” is representative of this phenomenon for alt-righters. A vacuous soundbyte of postmodern campaign PR, the enthymematic structure of the slogan holds a powerful and harsh truth for followers of the alt-right, one that harkens to the erasure of white European culture and the decline of Western civilization, calling for metapolitical action. The insistence on building a wall on the US-Mexico border, his conciliatory position with Putin and Russia, and his rampant political incorrectness represent the higher idealism of metapolitics—the art of the impossible capable of breaking “the System” and reconfiguring the geopolitical landscape.

    Despite his idiocy, self-absorption, vulgarity, and propensity for “bullshit,” then, Trump represents for Spencer an evolutionary step forward, an unleashing of the dynamic power of becoming, “a first stand of European identity politics” (2016d). Styled as an unwitting vehicle for the alt-right, perhaps an evolutionary accident of sorts, Trump is the missing link that pushes conservatism beyond itself. He embodies a Nietzschean will to power and a desire to move beyond political liberalism to a new phase of Western civilization premised on white identity.

    The telos of Spencer’s metapolitics, then, is not simply resistance to liberalism but its overthrow in the creation of a white, pan-European ethnostate in North America. This project is not just a return to some glorified past, as it also figures as a necessary step in the continued development and evolution of European peoples. In this sense, the ethnostate imagined by Spencer would be an “Altneuland–an old, new country” (Spencer 2016b). To bring about this state would be to build a territory to protect against the perceived threats of globalism and its attendant cultural logics wherein whites could both “rival the ancients,” and engage in the process of “fostering a new people, who are healthier, stronger, more intelligent, more beautiful, more athletic” (2016b). Advocating for what he calls a peaceful ethnic cleansing, or ethnic redistribution, wherein the powers of the state are utilized to redraw maps according to an ethno-political logic, Spencer strips the politics of diaspora and state power of its violence on peoples of color.

    Indeed, ethnic cleansing is unfathomable outside of genocide or radical exclusionary policy measures that utilizes the state to make certain populations live while letting others die. Here we see the inherently biopolitical nature of Spencer’s alt-right vision. Regardless of its rhetorical packaging within the language of separatism, peaceful ethnic redistribution, and identitarianism, Spencer’s project maintains a commitment to upholding national sovereignty in the legitimation of a racial politics of letting die. As Roberto Esposito (2008) writes on the relationships among sovereignty, race, and biopolitics, “Once racism has been inscribed in the practices of biopolitics, it performs a double function: that of producing a separation within the biological continuum between those that need to remain alive and those, conversely, who are to be killed; and that more essential function of establishing a direct relation between the two conditions, in the sense that it is precisely the death of the latter that enable and authorize the survival of the former” (110, italics in original). Figuring the racialized other as infectious pathogen, this negative biopolitics operates within an autoimmunitary logic in which the body politic wars against itself. In this sense, the state seeks to save its vital nature and potentialities from erosion and degeneration by attacking and removing infected areas to preserve the integrity and sovereignty of the body politic. Under this calculus of power, as Achille Mbembe (2003) writes, politics operates “as the work of death” wherein “sovereignty means the capacity to define who matters and who does not, who is disposable and who is not” (16, 27). The forced displacement of peoples of color from the US through a so-called peaceful ethnic cleansing becomes another means through which sovereign power dictates, values, and normalizes the parameters of valuable life within a racial hierarchy, legitimizing the physical and social death of peoples of color in the name of the biological preservation of whiteness. Indeed, for Mbembe, the central feature of a politics of death is that of territorial fragmentation in which segments of the population are separated and rendered immobile via racial terror.

    Spencer’s call for the foundation of white ethno-state illustrates the imbrication of radical, paleoconservative tribal politics with European far-right thought regarding identitarianism and German arguments on metapolitical action, evincing the complex histories and migrations of conservatism discussed above. Reformulating and coupling the rhetoric of radical traditionalist conservatism and critical theory to fit the exigencies of neoliberal capitalism and global governance in the US, Spencer naturalizes social inequality, and pushes conservatism beyond itself in the formulation of a fascist politics that legitimizes state violence against people of color.

    Conclusion

    Through a sustained analysis of the rhetorical strategies and structures of argumentation of Richard Spencer, we are offered a clearer vision of the purposes, aims, and functions of the alt-right. Additionally, by tracing the political roots of the alt-right to traditionalist idioms of conservatism and their reemergence in more contemporary paleoconservative thought, we can see how the alt-right is a uniquely American political project. However, this is not to deny its connection to a global network of proto-fascist politics, but rather to say that traditionalist conservative thought in the US provides not only clear sites of rhetorical overlap and a veneer of academic legitimacy, but also ideological warrants for white supremacy, anti-egalitarianism, and anti-Enlightenment sentiment in unique and important ways.

    By tracing the history of the alt-right and its dominant rhetorical forms we hope to better situate it within its rhetorical context. As we have argued, the ascendancy of the alt-right is a response by a swath of disaffected and resentful white people in the United States, and across the globe, who have grown weary of the establishment politics of the welfare state and the promises of multiculturalism. In a post-Cold War political landscape, the political cleavages of Right v. Left, capitalism v. communism no longer hold. Additionally, the collapse of the neoconservative, fusionist Republican Party politics of Reagan, its attempted revival post-9/11 in the compassionate conservatism of Bush, and the subsequent disarray of the Republican Right have created a space for a new, populist Right to emerge. No longer content to be mere reactionaries, the alt-right stands, to paraphrase Spencer, as a kind of conservatism with nothing left to conserve.

    Premised upon metapolitics and identitarianism, Spencer’s articulation of the alt-right seeks to legitimize white supremacist ideology as a part of mainstream political discourse. Fusing German proto-fascism, European New Right discourse, and US paleoconservatism, Spencer appropriates and rearticulates central tenets of Gramsci’s thought to use leftist critique against itself. Denying the culturally constructed nature of race and the systemic workings of racism for peoples of color, he simultaneously offers an underdeveloped theory of race that sees whiteness, in many regards, as a constructed product of culture and argues that the state and its ideological apparatuses maintain a hegemonic discourse of white guilt and hate. Yet, these argumentative cracks in his rhetorical world are sealed over by the power of myth—a central component of metapolitics—as a generative force in a unified, organic will of European peoples around the world. The desire and longing for a new politics and a white ethnostate largely calls to the passions, not reason.

    Eschewing liberal rationality, then, attempts to utilize rational argumentation and historical evidence against Spencer is doubtless a futile project. As a project premised on highlighting the limits and contradictions of reason in political culture, the alt-right diminishes the possibilities for resistance within the bounded norms of civil discourse. To meet their hate with reason is thus to miss the point of how their rhetoric functions. Yet, demanding more radical forms of political resistance, alt-right rhetoric simultaneously polices the possibilities of political violence.

    We can see the rhetorical double-bind placed upon protest and dissent, particularly from the left, by turning to the case of Richard Spencer’s visit to Texas A&M. Students, faculty, and community members gathered to create a counter-event intended to demonstrate an atmosphere of inclusion on campus and to drown out the hate speech of Spencer with their own protest. Rather than engaging in dialogue or debate with Spencer and his acolytes, such a rhetorical move engages in an affective strategy geared toward creating spaces of solidarity, radical equality, and inclusion. Eschewing hate, as well as symbolic and material violence, this approach avoids attacking Spencer and rather seeks to protect those most vulnerable to his vitriol. An important and necessary tactic, it can also be easily appropriated into an alt-right narrative that demeans SJWs and liberal snowflakes that need safe spaces to protect themselves from the supposed free speech rights of white men who feel left out and oppressed by the multicultural state. However, it’s not difficult to imagine that a more aggressive and militant response to Spencer’s speech would have fueled the narrative of liberal hypocrisy and intolerance of free speech; a narrative which played out when violent protests shut down a speech by Milo Yiannopoulos at University of California-Berkeley.

    The alt-right’s de-legitimization of reasoned debate, and more radical forms of resistance against Spencer’s call for ethnic cleansing, exemplifies a shift in how white privilege operates following white racial reactions to the civil rights movement. In this context, white privilege is most productively viewed as more than a knapsack of entitlements (McIntosh 1988, Frankenberg 1993), or a social norm (Du Bois 1920); but as a political project. As we show in this essay, Spencer’s white privilege politics is a key rhetorical tool that mediates the contradictions involved with white racial reactions to the limited successes of movements for social justice. Along with other entitlements of whiteness, Spencer exemplifies how white privilege can rise to the level of a political project by giving owners of white skin the right to create, perceive, understand, and circulate structural critiques on the welfare state that call attention to ongoing white genocide, but to dismiss actual existing structural inequalities as politically motivated. Further, this privilege gives white folks the right to accuse people of color who call attention to actual existing structural inequalities of ‘playing the race card.’ In other words, white privilege politics is a project that gives white folks the right to see and not see race simultaneously when pursuing white supremacist policies. White privilege politics helps to legitimate the contradictions of the varied white racial reactions to policies designed to increase equity in society, and strengthen American democracy.

    How alt-right rhetoric transforms white privilege and constrains resistance strategies would be confined to the fringe of US politics. However, beyond Spencer, the alt-right made itself present—at least temporarily– in the Trump Administration (Stephen Bannon), and is responsible for two of the most popular websites in conservative media networks, Brietbart.com and Inforwars.com. These outlets traffic in conspiracy and contempt, and pushed the news cycles of establishment media during the 2016 election cycle (Benkler et al. 2017). More research is needed to understand the role of alt-right media platforms in shaping alt-right rhetoric, as well as how opponents of the alt-right can effectively disrupt their rhetoric. The rise in the alt-right to positions of power in politics and media is exponentially more troubling when we confront the question of what to do next. If resistance to their agenda from the left is watered down, or made complicit, then what’s left is for conservatives to meaningfully and honestly combat attempts to undermine the institutions of American democracy. By tracing the links of alt-right rhetoric to earlier movements in conservatism, we show that the alt-right is not an aberration or deviation from conservatism but an ever-present component of its historical trajectory. Conservatives must confront this fact in in order to engage in more honest conversations about their complicity in alt-right politics, to draw parameters around racism, and to call out contradictions in alt-right rhetoric.

    _____

    Kevin Musgrave is an Assistant Professor in the Southeast Missouri State University Department of Communication Studies and Modern Languages

    Jeff Tischauser is a PhD Candidate in the University of Wisconsin-Madison School of Journalism and Mass Communication

    Back to the essay

    _____

    Notes

    [1] For instance, while Milo Yiannopolous is often touted as a leading figure of the alt-right Spencer labels Milo and other figures associated with Breitbart’s brand of extremism and cultural nationalism the alt-light. This term denotes a sense of fracture in defining the central goals, purposes, and aims of the alt-right project. Perhaps unsurprisingly, Spencer heralds his own vision and that of those affiliated with the NPI as the true alt-right position.

    [2] Indeed, one may read in Hegel a similar call for the total subservience of the individual to the state in a kind of organic unity, while we may read in Nietzsche a rebuke of the state in the individual will to power, as well as a renunciation of Wagner’s nationalism, while in Schmitt we receive a defense of absolute sovereignty in the preservation of divine order and inherent biological difference.

    [3] See, for instance, Thomas DiLorenzo’s The Real Lincoln (2002).

    [4] For more detailed accounts see Viguerie and Franke (2004) and Viguerie (2006). For a critical account of the role of right-wing think tanks in the reconfiguration of US politics see Stahl (2014).

    [5] Cooper (2008, 71), holds that such a position is a fairly common trait of neonationalist reactions against neoliberalism across the globe.

    _____

    Works Cited

    • Bellant, Russ. 1991. Old Nazis, the New Right, and the Republican Party: Domestic Fascist Networks and their Effect on US Cold War Politics. Boston: South End Press.
    • Benkler, Yochai et al. 2017. “Study: Breitbart-Led Right-Wing Media Ecosystem Altered Broader Media Agenda.” Columbia Journalism Review.
    • de Benoist, Alain. 2011. The Problem of Democracy. Arktos.
    • Berlin, Isaiah. 2000. Three Critics of the Enlightenment: Vico, Hamann, Herder. London: Pimlico.
    • Brimelow, Peter. 1995. Alien Nation: Common Sense About America’s Immigration Disaster. New York: Random House.
    • Buchanan, Patrick. 1998. The Great Betrayal: How American Sovereignty and Social Justice are Sacrificed to the Gods of the Global Economy. Boston: Little, Brown.
    • Burke, Edmund. 1966. Reflections on the Revolution in France. New Rochelle, NY: Arlington House.
    • Burley, Shane. 2017. Fascism Today: What it is and How to End It. Chico, CA: AK Press
    • Cooper, Melinda. 2008. Life as Surplus: Biotechnology and Capitalism in the Neoliberal Era. Seattle: University of Washington Press.
    • Dahl, Göran. 1999. Radical Conservatism and the Future of Politics. London: SAGE Publications.
    • Davies, Peter. 2002. The Extreme Right in France, 1789 to the Present: From de Maistre to Le Pen. New York: Routledge.
    • Diamond, Sara. 1995. Roads to Dominion: Right-Wing Movements and Political Power in the United States. New York: The Guilford Press.
    • DiLorenzo, Thomas J. 2002. The Real Lincoln: A New Look at Abraham Lincoln, His Agenda, and an Unnecessary War. Roseville, CA: Forum.
    • Du Bois, W. E. B. 1920 [1999]. “Souls of White Folks.” In Darkwater: Voices from within the Veil. Mineola, NY: Dover Publications.
    • Esposito, Roberto. 2008. Bios: Biopolitics and Philosophy. Translated by Timothy Campbell. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press.
    • Faye, Guillaume. 2010. Archeofuturism: European Visions of the Post-Catastrophic Age. Arktos.
    • Fields, Karen E. and Barbara J. Fields. 2014. Racecraft: The Soul of Inequality in American Life. London: Verso.
    • Francis, Samuel. 1997. Revolution From the Middle. Raleigh, NC: Middle American Press.
    • Frankenberg, Ruth. 1993. White Women, Race Matters: The Social Construction of Whiteness. Minneapolis, MN: University Minnesota Press.
    • Geroulanos, Stefanos. 2010. An Atheism That Is Not Humanist Emerges in French Thought. Stanford: Stanford University Press.
    • Goldberg, David Theo. 2009. The Threat of Race: Reflections on Racial Neoliberalism. Malden, MA: Wiley-Blackwell.
    • Gottfried, Paul Edward. 1999. After Liberalism: Mass Democracy in the Managerial State. Princeton: Princeton University Press.
    • Gottfried, Paul Edward. 2002. Multiculturalism and the Politics of Guilt: Toward a Secular Theocracy. Columbia, MO: University of Missouri Press.
    • Gottfried, Paul and Thomas Fleming. 1988. The Conservative Movement. Boston: Twayne Publishers.
    • Hall, Stuart. 1997. Representation: Cultural Representations and Signifying Practices. Thousand Oaks, CA: SAGE.
    • Harkinson, Josh. 2016. “Meet the White Nationalist Trying to Ride the Trump Train to Lasting Power.” Mother Jones (Oct 27).
    • Hawley, George. 2017. Making Sense of the Alt-Right. New York: Columbia University Press.
    • Kirk, Russell. 1953. The Conservative Mind: From Burke to Santayana. Chicago: Henry Regnery Company.
    • Kirk, Russell. 1989. “The Question of Tradition.” In Joseph Scotchie, ed., The Paleoconservatives. New Brunswick, NJ: Transaction Publishers, 1999. 59-78.
    • Lee, Michael J. 2014. Creating Conservatism: Postwar Words that Made an American Movement. East Lansing, MI: Michigan State University Press.
    • Lentin, Alana and Gavan Titley. 2011. The Crises of Multiculturalism: Racism in a Neoliberal Age. New York: Zed Books. ‘
    • Lively, Jack. 1971. “Introduction,” in The Works of Joseph de Maistre, intro and translation by Jack Lively, foreword by Robert Nisbet. New York: Schocken Books.
    • de Maistre, Joseph.1971. The Works of Joseph de Maistre, intro and translation by Jack Lively, foreword by Robert Nisbet. New York: Schocken Books.
    • Mbembe, Achille. 2003. “Necropolitics.” Public Culture 15:1. 11-40.
    • McIntosh, Peggy. 1988. White Privilege and Male Privilege: A Personal Account of Coming to See Correspondences through Work in Women’s Studies. Wellesley, MA: Wellesley College Center for Research on Women.
    • McMahon, Darrin M. 2001. Enemies of the Enlightenment: The French Counter-Enlightenment and the Making of Modernity. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
    • Omi, Michael and Howard Winant. 2015. Racial Formation in the United States. 3rd  Ed. New York: Routledge.
    • The National Policy Institute. 2016.  “Beyond NATO.” Radix Journal (Oct 28).
    • Phillips-Fein, Kim. 2009. Invisible Hands: The Making of the Conservative Movement from the New Deal to Reagan. New York: W. W. Norton.
    • Robin, Corey. 2011. The Reactionary Mind: Conservatism from Edmund Burke to Sarah Palin. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
    • Rothbard, Murray. 1994. “Life in the Old Right.” In Joseph Scotchie, ed., The Paleoconservatives. New Brunswick, NJ: Transaction Publishers, 1999. 19-30.
    • Southern Poverty Law Center. nd. “Richard Bertrand Spencer.”
    • Spencer, Richard. 2015a. “Beyond Conservatism.” Radix Journal (Apr 10).
    • Spencer, Richard. 2015b. “Why Do They Hate Us?Radix Journal (Apr 23).
    • Spencer, Richard. 2015c. “Identitarianism—A Conversation Starter.Radix Journal (Jun 15).
    • Spencer, Richard. 2015d. “The Metapolitics of America.” Radix Journal (Jul 4).
    • Spencer, Richard. 2015e. “The End of the Culture War.Radix Journal (Jun 26).
    • Spencer, Richard. 2015f. “Political Theology.” Radix Journal (Dec 31).
    • Spencer, Richard. 2016a. “Exiled.” Radix Journal (Jul 14).
    • Spencer, Richard. 2016b. “Facing the Future as a Minority.” Radix Journal (Sep 28).
    • Spencer, Richard. 2016c. “Madison Grant and the American Nation.” Radix Journal (Oct 7).
    • Spencer, Richard. 2016d. “The Napoleon of the Current Year.” Radix Journal (Nov 3).
    • Spencer, Richard. 2016e. “Long Live the Emperor.” Radix Journal (Nov 21).
    • Stahl, Jason. 2014. The Conservative Think Tank in American Political Culture Since Nineteen Forty-five. Chapel Hill: The University of North Carolina Press.
    • Sternhell, Zeev. 2010. The Anti-Enlightenment Tradition. New Haven: Yale University Press.
    • Viereck, Peter. 1941. Metapolitics, from the Romantics to Hitler. New York: A.A. Knopf.
    • Viguerie, Richard A. 2006. Conservatives Betrayed: How George W. Bush and Other Big Government Republicans Hijacked the Conservative Cause. Los Angeles: Bonus Books.
    • Viguerie, Richard A. and David Franke. 2004. America’s Right Turn: How Conservatives Used New and Alternative Media to Take Power. Chicago: Bonus Books.
    • Vozzella, Laura. 2017. “White Nationalist Richard Spencer Leads Torch-Bearing Protestors Defending Lee Statue.” Washington Post (May 14).
    • Weyrich, Paul M. and William S. Lind. 2009. The Next Conservatism. South Bend, IN: St. Augustine’s Press.
  • Daniel Greene – Digital Dark Matters

    Daniel Greene – Digital Dark Matters

    a review of Simone Browne, Dark Matters: On the Surveillance of Blackness (Duke University Press, 2015)

    by Daniel Greene

    ~

    The Book of Negroes was the first census of black residents of North America. In it, the British military took down the names of some three thousand ex-slaves between April and November of 1783, alongside details of appearance and personality, destination and, if applicable, previous owner. The self-emancipated—some free, some indentured to English or German soldiers—were seeking passage to Canada or Europe, and lobbied the defeated British Loyalists fleeing New York City for their place in the Book. The Book of Negroes thus functioned as “the first government-issued document for state-regulated migration between the United States and Canada that explicitly linked corporeal markers to the right to travel” (67). An index of slave society in turmoil, its data fields were populated with careful gradations of labor power, denoting the value of black life within slave capitalism: “nearly worn out,” “healthy negress,” “stout labourer.”  Much of the data in The Book of Negroes was absorbed from so-called Birch Certificates, issued by a British Brigadier General of that name, which acted as passports certifying the freedom of ex-slaves and their right to travel abroad. The Certificates became evidence submitted by ex-slaves arguing for their inclusion in the Book of Negroes, and became sites of contention for those slave-owners looking to reclaim people they saw as property.

    If, as Simone Browne argues in Dark Matters: On the Surveillance of Blackness, “the Book of Negroes [was] a searchable database for the future tracking of those listed in it” (83), the details of preparing, editing, monitoring, sorting and circulating these data become direct matters of (black) life and death. Ex-slaves would fight for their legibility within the system through their use of Birch Certificates and the like; but they had often arrived in New York in the first place through a series of fights to remain illegible to the “many start-ups in slave-catching” that arose to do the work of distant slavers. Aliases, costumes, forged documents and the like were on the one hand used to remain invisible to the surveillance mechanisms geared towards capture, and on the other hand used to become visible to the surveillance mechanisms—like the Book—that could potentially offer freedom. Those ex-slaves who failed to appear as the right sort of data were effectively “put on a no-sail list” (68), and either held in New York City or re-rendered into property and delivered back to the slave-owner.

    Start-ups, passports, no-sail lists, databases: These may appear anachronistic at first, modern technological thinking out of sync with colonial America. But Browne deploys these labels with care and precision, like much else in this remarkable book. Dark Matters reframes our contemporary thinking about surveillance, and digital media more broadly, through a simple question with challenging answers: What if our mental map of the global surveillance apparatus began not with 9/11 but with the slave ship? Surveillance is considered here not as a specific technological development but a practice of tracking people and putting them into place. Browne demonstrates how certain people have long been imagined as out of place and that technologies of control and order were developed in order to diagnose, map, and correct these conditions: “Surveillance is nothing new to black folks. It is a fact of antiblackness” (10). That this ”fact” is often invisible even in our studies of surveillance and digital media more broadly speaks, perversely, to the power of white supremacy to structure our vision of the world. Browne’s apparent anachronisms make stranger the techniques of surveillance with which we are familiar, revealing the dark matter that has structured their use and development this whole time. Difficult to visualize, Browne shows us how to trace this dark matter through its effects: the ordering of people into place, and the escape from that order through “freedom acts” of obfuscation, sabotage, and trickery.

    This then is a book about new (and very old) methods of research in surveillance studies in particular, and digital studies in general, centered in black studies—particularly the work of critical theorists of race such as Saidiya Hartman and Sylvia Wynter who find in chattel slavery a prototypical modernity. More broadly, it is a book about new ways of engaging with our technocultural present, centered in the black diasporic experience of slavery and its afterlife. Frantz Fanon is a key figure throughout. Browne introduces us to her own approach through an early reflection on the revolutionary philosopher’s dying days in Washington, DC, overcome with paranoia over the very real surveillance to which he suspected he was subjected. Browne’s FOIA requests to the CIA regarding their tracking of Fanon during his time at the National Institutes of Health Clinical Center returned only a newspaper clipping, a book review, and a heavily redacted FBI memo reporting on Fanon’s travels. So she digs further into the archive, finding in Fanon’s lectures at the University of Tunis, delivered in the late 1950s after being expelled from Algeria by French colonial authorities, a critical exploration of policing and surveillance. Fanon’s psychiatric imagination, granting such visceral connection between white supremacist institutions and lived black experience in The Wretched of the Earth, here addresses the new techniques of ‘control by quantification’—punch clocks, time sheets, phone taps, and CCTV—in factories and department stores, and the alienation engendered in the surveilled.

    Browne’s recovery of this work grounds a creative extension of Fanon’s thinking into surveillance practices and surveillance studies. From his concept of “epidermalization”—“the imposition of race on the body” (7)—Browne builds a theory of racializing surveillance. Like many other key terms in Dark Matters, this names an empirical phenomenon—the crafting of racial boundaries through tracking and monitoring—and critiques the “absented presence” (13) of race in surveillance studies. Its opposition is found in dark sousveillance, a revision of Steve Mann’s term for watching the watchers that, again, describes both the freedom acts of black folks against a visual field saturated with racism, as well as an epistemology capable of perceiving, studying, and deconstructing apparatuses of racial surveillance.

    Each chapter of Dark Matters presents a different archive of racializing surveillance paired with reflections on black cultural production Browne reads as dark sousveillance. At each turn, Browne encourages us to see in slavery and its afterlife new modes of control, old ways of studying them, and potential paths of resistance. Her most direct critique of surveillance studies comes in Chapter 1’s precise exegesis of the key ideas that emerge from reading Jeremy Bentham’s plans for the Panopticon and Foucault’s study of it—the signal archive and theory of the field—against the plans for the slave ship Brookes. It turns out Bentham travelled on a ship transporting slaves during the trip where he sketched out the Panopticon, a model penitentiary wherein, through the clever use of lights, mirrors, and partitions, prisoners are totally isolated from one another and never sure whether they are being monitored or not. The archetype for modern power as self-discipline is thus nurtured, counter to its own telling, alongside sovereign violence. Browne’s reading of archives from the slave ship, the auction block, and the plantation reveal the careful biopolitics that created “blackness as a saleable commodity in the Western Hemisphere” (42). She asks how “the view from ‘under the hatches’” of Bentham’s Turkish ship, transporting, in his words, “18 young negresses (slaves),” might change our narrative about the emergence of disciplinary power and the modern management of life as a resource. It becomes clear that the power to instill self-governance through surveillance did not subordinate but rather partnered with the brutal spectacle of sovereign power that was intended to educate enslaved people on the limits of their humanity. This correction to the Foucauldian narrative is sorely necessary in a field, and a general political conversation about surveillance, that too often focuses on the technical novelty of drones, to give one example, without a connection to a generation learning to fear the skies.

    Stowage of the British slave ship Brookes under the regulated slave trade act of 1788
    “Stowage of the British slave ship Brookes under the regulated slave trade act of 1788.” Illustration. 1788. Library of Congress Rare Book and Special Collections Division Washington, D.C.

    These sorts of theoretical course corrections are among the most valuable lessons in Dark Matters. There is fastidious empirical work here, particularly in Chapter 2’s exploration of the Book of Negroes and colonial New York’s lantern laws requiring all black and indigenous people to bear lights after dark. But this empirical work is not the book’s focus, nor its main promise. That promise comes in prompting new empirical and political questions about how we see surveillance and what it means, and for whom, through an archaeology of black life under surveillance (indeed, Chapter 4, on airport surveillance, is the one I find weakest largely because it abandons this archaeological technique and focuses wholly on the present). Chapter 1’s reading of Charles William Tait’s prescriptions for slave management, for example, is part of a broader turn in the study of the history of capitalism where the roots of modern business practices like data-driven human resource management are traced to the supposedly pre-modern slave economy. Chapter 3’s assertion that slave branding “was a biometric technology…a measure of slavery’s making, marking, and marketing of the black subject as commodity” (91) does similar work, making strange the contemporary security technologies that purport the reveal racial truths which unwilling subjects do not give up. Facial recognition technologies and other biometrics are calibrated based on what Browne calls a “prototypical whiteness…privileged in enrollment, measurement, and recognition processes…reliant upon dark matter for its own meaning” (162). Particularly in the context of border control, these default settings reveal the calculations built into our security technologies regarding who “counts” enough to be recognized. Calculations grounded in an unceasing desire for new means with which to draw clear-cut racial boundaries.

    The point here is not that a direct line of technological development can be drawn from brands to facial recognition or from lanterns to ankle bracelets. Rather, if racism, as Ruth Wilson Gilmore argues, is “the state-sanctioned or extralegal production and exploitation of group-differentiated vulnerability to premature death,” then what Browne points to are methods of group differentiation, the means by which the value of black lives are calculated and how those calculations are stored, transmitted, and concretized in institutional life. If Browne’s cultural studies approach neglects a sustained empirical engagement with a particular mode of racializing surveillance—say, the uneven geography produced by the Fugitive Slave Act, mentioned in passing in relation to “start-ups in slave catching”—it is because she has taken on the unenviable task of shifting the focus of whole fields to dark matter previously ignored, opening a series of doors through which readers can glimpse the technologies that make race.

    Here then is a space cleared for surveillance studies, and digital studies more broadly, in an historical moment when so many are loudly proclaiming that Black Lives Matter, when the dark sousveillance of smartphone recordings has made the violence of institutional racism impossible to ignore. Work in digital studies has readily and repeatedly unearthed the capitalist imperatives built into our phones, feeds, and friends lists. Shoshanna Zuboff’s recent work on “surveillance capitalism” is perhaps a bellwether here: a rich theorization of the data accumulation imperative that transforms intra-capitalist competition, the nature of the contract, and the paths of everyday life. But her account of the growth of an extractive data economy that leads to a Big Other of behavior modification does not so far have a place for race.

    This is not a call on my part to sprinkle a missing ingredient atop a shoddy analysis in order to check a box. Zuboff is critiqued here precisely because she is among our most thoughtful, careful critics of contemporary capitalism. Rather, Browne’s account of surveillance capitalism—though she does not call it that—shows that race does not need to be introduced to the critical frame from outside. That dark matter has always been present, shaping what is visible even if it goes unseen itself. This manifests in at least two ways in Zuboff’s critique of the Big Other. First, her critique of Google’s accumulation of  “data exhaust” is framed primarily as a ‘pull’ of ever more sites and sensors into Google’s maw, passively given up users. But there is a great deal of “push” here as well. The accumulation of consumable data also occurs through the very human work of solving CAPTCHAs and scanning books. The latter is the subject of an iconic photo that shows the brown hand of a Google Books scanner—a low-wage subcontractor, index finger wrapped in plastic to avoid cuts from a day of page-turning—caught on a scanned page. Second, for Zuboff part of the frightening novelty of Google’s data extraction regime is its “formal indifference” to individual users, as well as to existing legal regimes that might impede the extraction of population-scale data. This, she argues, stands in marked contrast to the midcentury capitalist regimes which embraced a degree of democracy in order to prop up both political legitimacy and effective demand. But this was a democratic compromise limited in time and space. Extractive capitalist regimes of the past and present, including those producing the conflict minerals so necessary for hardware running Google services, have been marked by, at best, formal indifference in the North to conditions in the South. An analysis of surveillance capitalism’s struggle for hegemony would be greatly enriched by a consideration of how industrial capitalism legitimated itself in the metropole at the expense of the colony. Nor is this racial-economic dynamic and its political legitimation purely a cross-continental concern. US prisons have long extracted value from the incarcerated, racialized as second-class citizens. Today this practice continues, but surveillance technologies like ankle bracelets extend this extraction beyond prison walls, often at parolees’ expense.

    A Google Books scanner’s hand
    A Google Books scanner’s hand, caught working on WEB Du Bois’ The Souls of Black Folk. Via The Art of Google Books.

    Capitalism has always, as Browne’s notes on plantation surveillance make clear, been racial capitalism. Capital enters the world arrayed in the blood of primitive accumulation, and reproduces itself in part through the violent differentiation of labor powers. While the accumulation imperative has long been accepted as a value shaping media’s design and use, it is unfortunate that race has largely entered the frame of digital studies, and particularly, as Jessie Daniels argues, internet studies, through a study of either racial variables (e.g., “race” inheres to the body of the nonwhite person and causes other social phenomena) or racial identities (e.g., race is represented through minority cultural production, racism is produced through individual prejudice). There are perhaps good institutional reasons for this framing, owing to disciplinary training and the like, beyond the colorblind political ethic of much contemporary liberalism. But it has left us without digital stories of race (although there are certainly exceptions, particularly in the work of writers like Lisa Nakamura and her collaborators), perceived to be a niche concern, on par with our digital stories of capitalism—much less digital stories of racial capitalism.

    Browne provides a path forward for a study of race and technology more attuned to institutions and structures, to the long shadows old violence casts on our daily, digital lives. This slim, rich book is ultimately a reflection on method, on learning new ways to see. “Technology is made of people!” is where so many of our critiques end, discovering, once again, the values we build into machines. This is where Dark Matters begins. And it proceeds through slave ships, databases, branding irons, iris scanners, airports, and fingerprints to map the built project of racism and the work it takes to pass unnoticed in those halls or steal the map and draw something else entirely.

    _____

    Daniel Greene holds a PhD in American Studies from the University of Maryland. He is currently a Postdoctoral Researcher with the Social Media Collective at Microsoft Research, studying the future of work and the future of unemployment. He lives online at dmgreene.net.

    Back to the essay

  • Audrey Watters – Public Education Is Not Responsible for Tech’s Diversity Problem

    Audrey Watters – Public Education Is Not Responsible for Tech’s Diversity Problem

    By Audrey Watters

    ~

    On July 14, Facebook released its latest “diversity report,” claiming that it has “shown progress” in hiring a more diverse staff. Roughly 90% of its US employees are white or Asian; 83% of those in technical positions at the company are men. (That’s about a 1% improvement from last year’s stats.) Black people still make up just 2% of the workforce at Facebook, and 1% of the technical staff. Those are the same percentages as 2015, when Facebook boasted that it had hired 7 Black people. “Progress.”

    In this year’s report, Facebook blamed the public education system its inability to hire more people of color. I mean, whose fault could it be?! Surely not Facebook’s! To address its diversity problems, Facebook said it would give $15 million to Code.org in order to expand CS education, news that was dutifully reported by the ed-tech press without any skepticism about Facebook’s claims about its hiring practices or about the availability of diverse tech talent.

    The “pipeline” problem, writes Dare Obasanjo, is a “big lie.” “The reality is that tech companies shape the ethnic make up of their employees based on what schools & cities they choose to hire from and where they locate engineering offices.” There is diverse technical talent, ready to be hired; the tech sector, blinded by white, male privilege, does not recognize it, does not see it. See the hashtag #FBNoExcuses which features more smart POC in tech than work at Facebook and Twitter combined, I bet.

    Facebook’s decision to “blame schools” is pretty familiar schtick by now, I suppose, but it’s still fairly noteworthy coming from a company whose founder and CEO is increasingly active in ed-tech investing. More broadly, Silicon Valley continues to try to shape the future of education – mostly by defining that future as an “engineering” or “platform” problem and then selling schools and parents and students a product in return. As the tech industry utterly fails to address diversity within its own ranks, what can we expect from its vision for ed-tech?!

    My fear: ed-tech will ignore inequalities. Ed-tech will expand inequalities. Ed-tech will, as Edsurge demonstrated this week, simply co-opt the words of people of color in order to continue to sell its products to schools. (José Vilson has more to say about this particular appropriation in this week’s #educolor newsletter.)

    And/or: ed-tech will, as I argued this week in the keynote I delivered at the Digital Pedagogy Institute in PEI, confuse consumption with “innovation.” “Gotta catch ’em all” may be the perfect slogan for consumer capitalism; but it’s hardly a mantra I’m comfortable chanting to push for education transformation. You cannot buy your way to progress.

    All of the “Pokémon GO will revolutionize education” claims have made me incredibly angry, even though it’s a claim that’s made about every single new product that ed-tech’s early adopters find exciting (and clickbait-worthy). I realize there are many folks who seem to find a great deal of enjoyment in the mobile game. Hoorah. But there are some significant issues with the game’s security, privacy, its Terms of Service, its business model, and its crowd-sourced data model – a data model that reflects the demographics of those who played an early version of the game and one that means that there are far fewer “pokestops” in Black neighborhoods. All this matters for Pokémon GO; all this matters for ed-tech.

    Pokémon GO.
    Pokémon GO

    Pokémon GO is just the latest example of digital redlining, re-inscribing racist material policies and practices into new, digital spaces. So when ed-tech leaders suggest that we shouldn’t criticize Pokémon GO, I despair. I really do. Who is served by being silent!? Who is served by enforced enthusiasm? How does ed-tech, which has its own problems with diversity, serve to re-inscribe racist policies and practices because its loudest proponents have little interest in examining their own privileges, unless, as José points out, it gets them clicks?

    Sigh.
    _____

    Audrey Watters is a writer who focuses on education technology – the relationship between politics, pedagogy, business, culture, and ed-tech. She has worked in the education field for over 15 years: teaching, researching, organizing, and project-managing. Although she was two chapters into her dissertation (on a topic completely unrelated to ed-tech), she decided to abandon academia, and she now happily fulfills the one job recommended to her by a junior high aptitude test: freelance writer. Her stories have appeared on NPR/KQED’s education technology blog MindShift, in the data section of O’Reilly Radar, on Inside Higher Ed, in The School Library Journal, in The Atlantic, on ReadWriteWeb, and Edutopia. She is the author of the recent book The Monsters of Education Technology (Smashwords, 2014) and working on a book called Teaching Machines. She maintains the widely-read Hack Education blog, and writes frequently for The b2 Review Digital Studies magazine on digital technology and education.

    Back to the essay

  • How Ex Machina Abuses Women of Color and Nobody Cares Cause It's Smart

    How Ex Machina Abuses Women of Color and Nobody Cares Cause It's Smart

    Alex Garland, dir. & writer, Ex Machina (A24/Universal Films, 2015)a review of Alex Garland, dir. & writer, Ex Machina (A24/Universal Films, 2015)
    by Sharon Chang
    ~

    In April of this year British science fiction thriller Ex Machina opened in the US to almost unanimous rave reviews. The film was written and directed by Alex Garland, author of bestselling 1996 novel The Beach (also made into a movie) and screenwriter of 28 Days Later (2002) and Never Let Me Go (2010). Ex Machina is Garland’s directorial debut. It’s about a young white coder named Caleb who gets the opportunity to visit the secluded mountain home of his employer Nathan, pioneering programmer of the world’s most powerful search engine (Nathan’s appearance is ambiguous but he reads non-white and the actor who plays him is Guatemalan). Caleb believes the trip innocuous but quickly learns that Nathan’s home is actually a secret research facility in which the brilliant but egocentric and obnoxious genius has been developing sophisticated artificial intelligence. Caleb is immediately introduced to Nathan’s most upgraded construct–a gorgeous white fembot named Ava. And the mind games ensue.

    As the week unfolds the only things we know for sure are (a) imprisoned Ava wants to be free, and, (b) Caleb becomes completely enamored and wants to “rescue” her. Other than that, nothing is clear. What are Ava’s true intentions? Does she like Caleb back or is she just using him to get out? Is Nathan really as much an asshole as he seems or is he putting on a show to manipulate everyone? Who should we feel sorry for? Who should we empathize with? Who should we hate? Who’s the hero? Reviewers and viewers alike are melting in intellectual ecstasy over this brain-twisty movie. The Guardian calls it “accomplished, cerebral film-making”; Wired calls it “one of the year’s most intelligent and thought-provoking films”; Indiewire calls it “gripping, brilliant and sensational”. Alex Garland apparently is the smartest, coolest new director on the block. “Garland understands what he’s talking about,” says RogerEbert.com, and goes “to the trouble to explain more abstract concepts in plain language.”

    Right.

    I like sci-fi and am a fan of Garland’s previous work so I was excited to see his new flick. But let me tell you, my experience was FAR from “brilliant” and “heady” like the multitudes of moonstruck reviewers claimed it would be. Actually, I was livid. And weeks later–I’m STILL pissed. Here’s why…

    *** Spoiler Alert ***

    You wouldn’t know it from the plethora of glowing reviews out there cause she’s hardly mentioned (telling in and of itself) but there’s another prominent fembot in the film. Maybe fifteen minutes into the story we’re introduced to Kyoko, an Asian servant sex slave played by mixed-race Japanese/British actress Sonoya Mizuno. Though bound by abusive servitude, Kyoko isn’t physically imprisoned in a room like Ava because she’s compliant, obedient, willing.

    I recognized the trope of servile Asian woman right away and, how quickly Asian/whites are treated as non-white when they look ethnic in any way.

    Kyoko first appears on screen demure and silent, bringing a surprised Caleb breakfast in his room. Of course I recognized the trope of servile Asian woman right away and, as I wrote in February, how quickly Asian/whites are treated as non-white when they look ethnic in any way. I was instantly uncomfortable. Maybe there’s a point, I thought to myself. But soon after we see Kyoko serving sushi to the men. She accidentally spills food on Caleb. Nathan loses his temper, yells at her, and then explains to Caleb she can’t understand which makes her incompetence even more infuriating. This is how we learn Kyoko is mute and can’t speak. Yep. Nathan didn’t give her a voice. He further programmed her, purportedly, not to understand English.

    kyoko
    Sex slave “Kyoko” played by Japanese/British actress Sonoya Mizuno (image source: i09.com)

    I started to get upset. If there was a point, Garland had better get to it fast.

    Unfortunately the treatment of Kyoko’s character just keeps spiraling. We continue to learn more and more about her horrible existence in a way that feels gross only for shock value rather than for any sort of deconstruction, empowerment, or liberation of Asian women. She is always at Nathan’s side, ready and available, for anything he wants. Eventually Nathan shows Caleb something else special about her. He’s coded Kyoko to love dancing (“I told you you’re wasting your time talking to her. However you would not be wasting your time–if you were dancing with her”). When Nathan flips a wall switch that washes the room in red lights and music then joins a scantily-clad gyrating Kyoko on the dance floor, I was overcome by disgust:

    [youtube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hGY44DIQb-A?feature=player_embedded]

    I recently also wrote about Western exploitation of women’s bodies in Asia (incidentally also in February), in particular noting it was US imperialistic conquest that jump-started Thailand’s sex industry. By the 1990s several million tourists from Europe and the U.S. were visiting Thailand annually, many specifically for sex and entertainment. Writer Deena Guzder points out in “The Economics of Commercial Sexual Exploitation” for the Pulitzer Center on Crisis Reporting that Thailand’s sex tourism industry is driven by acute poverty. Women and girls from poor rural families make up the majority of sex workers. “Once lost in Thailand’s seedy underbelly, these women are further robbed of their individual agency, economic independence, and bargaining power.” Guzder gloomily predicts, “If history repeats itself, the situation for poor Southeast Asian women will only further deteriorate with the global economic downturn.”

    caption
    Red Light District, Phuket (image source: phuket.com)

    You know who wouldn’t be a stranger to any of this? Alex Garland. His first novel, The Beach, is set in Thailand and his second novel, The Tesseract, is set in the Philippines, both developing nations where Asian women continue to be used and abused for Western gain. In a 1999 interview with journalist Ron Gluckman, Garland said he made his first trip to Asia as a teenager in high school and had been back at least once or twice almost every year since. He also lived in the Philippines for 9 months. In a perhaps telling choice of words, Gluckman wrote that Garland had “been bitten by the Asian bug, early and deep.” At the time many Asian critics were criticizing The Beach as a shallow look at the region by an uniformed outsider but Garland protested in his interview:

    A lot of the criticism of The Beach is that it presents Thais as two dimensional, as part of the scenery. That’s because these people I’m writing about–backpackers–really only see them as part of the scenery. They don’t see them or the Thai culture. To them, it’s all part of a huge theme park, the scenery for their trip. That’s the point.

    I disagree severely with Garland. In insisting on his right to portray people of color one way while dismissing how those people see themselves, he not only centers his privileged perspective (i.e. white, male) but shows determined disinterest in representing oppressed people transformatively. Leads me to wonder how much he really knows or cares about inequity and uplifting marginalized voices. Indeed in Ex Machina the only point that Garland ever seems to make is that racist/sexist tropes exists, not that we’re going to do anything about them. And that kind of non-critical non-resistant attitude does more to reify and reinforce than anything else. Take for instance in a recent interview with Cinematic Essential (one of few where the interviewer asked about race), Garland had this to say about stereotypes in his new film:

    Sometimes you do things unconsciously, unwittingly, or stupidly, I guess, and the only embedded point that I knew I was making in regards to race centered around the tropes of Kyoko [Sonoya Mizuno], a mute, very complicit Asian robot, or Asian-appearing robot, because of course, she, as a robot, isn’t Asian. But, when Nathan treats the robot in the discriminatory way that he treats it, I think it should be ambivalent as to whether he actually behaves this way, or if it’s a very good opportunity to make him seem unpleasant to Caleb for his own advantage.

    First, approaching race “unconsciously” or “unwittingly” is never a good idea and moreover a classic symptom of white willful ignorance. Second, Kyoko isn’t Asian because she’s a robot? Race isn’t biological or written into human DNA. It’s socio-politically constructed and assigned usually by those in power. Kyoko is Asian because she ha been made that way not only by her oppressor, Nathan, but by Garland himself, the omniscient creator of all. Third, Kyoko represents the only embedded race point in the movie? False. There are two other women of color who play enslaved fembots in Ex Machina and their characters are abused just as badly. “Jasmine” is one of Nathan’s early fembots. She’s Black. We see her body twice. Once being instructed how to write and once being dragged lifeless across the floor. You will never recognize real-life Black model and actress Symara A. Templeman in the role however. Why? Because her always naked body is inexplicably headless when it appears. That’s right. One of the sole Black bodies/persons in the entire film does not have (per Garland’s writing and direction) a face, head, or brain.

    caption
    Symara A. Templeman, who played “Jasmine” in Ex Machina (image source: Templeman on Google+)

    “Jade” played by Asian model and actress Gana Bayarsaikhan, is presumably also a less successful fembot predating Kyoko but perhaps succeeding Jasmine. She too is always shown naked but, unlike Jasmine, she has a head, and, unlike Kyoko, she speaks. We see her being questioned repeatedly by Nathan while trapped behind glass. Jade is resistant and angry. She doesn’t understand why Nathan won’t let her out and escalates to the point we are lead to believe she is decommissioned for her defiance.

    It’s significant that Kyoko, a mixed-race Asian/white woman, later becomes the “upgraded” Asian model. It’s also significant that at the movie’s end white Ava finds Jade’s decommissioned body in a closet in Nathan’s room and skins it to cover her own body. (Remember when Katy Perry joked in 2012 she was obsessed with Japanese people and wanted to skin one?). Ava has the option of white bodies but after examining them meticulously she deliberately chooses Jade. Despite having met Jasmine previously, her Black body is conspicuously missing from the closets full of bodies Nathan has stored for his pleasure and use. And though Kyoko does help Ava kill Nathan in the end, she herself is “killed” in the process (i.e. never free) and Ava doesn’t care at all. What does all this show? A very blatant standard of beauty/desire that is not only male-designed but clearly a light, white, and violently assimilative one.

    caption
    Gana Bayarsaikhan, who played “Jade” in Ex Machina (image source: profile-models.com)

    I can’t even being to tell you how offended and disturbed I was by the treatment of women of color in this movie. I slept restlessly the night after I saw Ex Machina, woke up muddled at 2:45 AM and–still clinging to the hope that there must have been a reason for treating women of color this way (Garland’s brilliant right?)–furiously went to work reading interviews and critiques. Aside from a few brief mentions of race/gender, I found barely anything addressing the film’s obvious deployment of racialized gender stereotypes for its own benefit. For me this movie will be joining the long list of many so-called film classics I will never be able to admire. Movies where supposed artistry and brilliance are acceptable excuses for “unconscious” “unwitting” racism and sexism. Ex Machina may be smart in some ways, but it damn sure isn’t in others.

    Correction (8/1/2015): An earlier version of this post incorrectly stated that actress Symara A. Templeman was the only Black person in the film. The post has been updated to indicate that the movie also featured at least one other Black actress, Deborah Rosan, in an uncredited role as Office Manager.

    _____

    Sharon H. Chang is an author, scholar, sociologist and activist. She writes primarily on racism, social justice and the Asian American diaspora with a feminist lens. Her pieces have appeared in Hyphen Magazine, ParentMap Magazine, The Seattle Globalist, on AAPI Voices and Racism Review. Her debut book, Raising Mixed Race: Multiracial Asian Children in a Post-Racial World, is forthcoming through Paradigm Publishers as part of Joe R. Feagin’s series “New Critical Viewpoints on Society.” She also sits on the board for Families of Color Seattle and is on the planning committee for the biennial Critical Mixed Race Studies Conference. She blogs regularly at Multiracial Asian Families, where an earlier version of this post first appeared.

    The editors thank Dorothy Kim for referring us to this essay.

    Back to the essay

  • What Melts in the "Melting Pot" of Hong Kong?

    Umbella Man

    an essay by
    Hong Kong Baptist University professor and boundary 2 advisory editor
    Ruth Y.Y. Hung
    ~

    “This paper analyses the vicissitudes of Hong Kong people‘s waves of hostility toward visitors from mainland China, treating the hostility as exemplary of a more general but extensive problem of racialism in China.”

    Click here to read the entire essay published by Asiatic.