Showing posts with label character types. Show all posts
Showing posts with label character types. Show all posts

Monday, 22 September 2008

The banality of evil: of seasteading, Battlefield Earth, and other foolishness


Ahuthnance, we were riffing last night about how the mixture of unintentional side splitting hilarity mixed with the banality of evil, can make for a lethal cocktail. Few things can match seasteading in this regard, and it has to be said that one of its most offensive features is the dishonesty about its underlying motivations. Why don't they at least have the integrity to just come out and admit what they really are?: a sad example of "white flight" syndrome, who are opposed to any form of progressive taxation. Their existence merely confirms William Gibson's assessment that writing science fiction has become increasingly difficult because we are reaching a point where it has "colonised reality". No doubt the seasteaders would merely see this as an early confirmation of the "singularity" they are looking forward to. But I see it instead as testimony to the speed of the appropriation of critical impulses by a logic of commodification even more powerful than imagined in Marx's day. This suggests that Patri Friedman et al are less the brave pioneers they imagine themselves to be, than they are the contemporary equivalent of those who choose to move "offworld" in Blade Runner, having abandoned a crumbling terrestial public infrastructure (hey, until they can get to outer space, I guess they figured they'll have to make do with the oceans).
In Evolution and Ethics T.H. Huxley advocated "not the survival of the fittest, but the fitting of as many as possible to survive" (for some bringing to mind an ideal closer to Christian eschatology, say Noah's Ark). If we compare this to Friedman's dubious endeavors it is evident how low the morality of expectations has sunk in his case. What kind of society could ever have emerged and then being sustained if the governing prospective ideal was merely packing up and going somewhere else when the going got too tough? There is obviously nothing heroic or innovative about such a perverted, thin conception of citizenship, no matter how dressed up in futuristic garb it is. Seasteading abandons the imperative to learn to coexist with others who are different to you, some of whom you may even despise. It substitutes a serial logic familiar from dystopias such as The Possibility of an Island, or indeed, George Ritzer's thesis of the McDonaldisation of society. Seasteading is a "fast food" type dystopia, offering junk "solutions" for social ills.


Fortunately though, there is another wrinkle in this story, so seasteading need not be construed as further evidence of an intractable crisis faced by governments to finance public works through progressive taxation. As argued by Christopher May in The Information Society: A Sceptic's View, and contra Ian Angell's The New Barbarian Manifesto: How to Survive the Information Age, intellectual property laws can still perform a regulatory function, so some moderation of capital flight remains feasible. I'm not arguing that we should settle long term for nothing more ambitious than managed affluence when it comes to defining any given society's ideal of "public good", but it seems to me that May's argument cannot be easily dismissed: at stake is adjudication of the exchanges between sovereign states.

Before changing tack in this post, I can only hope that Patri Friedman does not return to this blog with more of his "disorganised swearing": hyperaphoristic concentrations mixed with generation of antinomian energy (i.e. profanity). I could almost picture him willing himself forward in his "blitz" style attack, prior to committing intellectual suicide by failing to respond to any of the specific critiques in my original post (mind you, his blog reveals this to be his usual practice).
More important background reading can be found in the thorough expose of the fraudulent legacy of the Nobel Prize winning Chicago School of Economics, on the FAQ on Liberalism website (which can be found on Acheron's sidebar).
I am also aided here by Borsook's investigation of the milieu which has shaped Friedman's [entirely] conventional thinking on these matters:


Cyberselfish By Paulina Borsook
Paulina Borsook has been stirring up a ruckus in Silicon Valley since her days as a regular contributor to Wired magazine. She will ruffle feathers again with this spirited, funny, gimlet-eyed look at the worldview of the digerati -- one she terms "violently lacking in compassion, ravingly anti-government, and tremendously opposed to regulation".
In Cyberselfish Borsook journeys through and rants about high tech culture, profiling the worlds of ravers, gilders, cypherpunks, anarchocapitalists, and other Silicon Valley life forms; and exploring the theory and practice of what she dubs "technolibertarianism" in all its manifestations. Whether she is attending Bionomics conferences or hanging out with Wired staffers, reading personal ads or evaluating high-tech's sorry philanthropic record, Borsook is full of original observations, mordant wit, and furious passion that readers wake up to the social and political consequences of having computer geeks run the world. Cyberselfish is sure to raise the hackles of high techies and to clarify what makes the rest of us so nervous about the brave new cyberworld.
More details
Cyberselfish: A Critical Romp Through the Terribly Libertarian Culture of High Tech
By Paulina Borsook
Published by PublicAffairs, 2000
ISBN 1586480383, 9781586480387
276 pages
Ok, now is the time to change tack a bit. I see this stuff as still related to the psychopathologies of Friedman and his fellow seasteaders. It's the old sociological chestnut about the consequences of reflexive anomie, which I've mentioned previously on this blog in terms of "opportunity costs" etc. Derridata passed along a clip of actor Will Smith lost somewhere in the stratosphere of dianetics. It is the most shocking display I've seen since the Tom Cruise incidents we are all familiar with. This compelled me to dig back into the archive to find the Hollywood star vanity project, also Scientology inspired, Battlefield Earth. Although certain social critics (i.e. Robert Putnam and fellow communitarians) may at times be prone to cynical exaggeration, the thesis of the decline of social capital consequent upon the intensification of individual experience is understandable in light of the cabinets of horror I am posting about here.
I've concluded that when a self is thrown back on its own resources, it can easily fall prey to opportunistic substitutes for a responsible social philosophy. Indeed, these substitutes characteristically masquerade as the new "emancipated" form of individual "authenticity". Adorno's warnings appear all too prescient in this context. He remained highly critical of the “jargon of authenticity” as an ideology which desocietalized human subjectivity through its emphasis on self-control. By such means “a bad empirical reality” is transformed into “transcendence” as the impotence and isolation from a societal perspective are used to secure the self as the only “unloseable possession” (Adorno 1973: 116).


By extension, one can easily imagine not only the beleagured Scientologist, but also the augmented transhumanist seasteader, as resembling Travolta's stupendously bad attempt at characterisation in the following clip, cackling evilly as he dispenses some rough justice to "the norms" barred admittance to paradise (except maybe as a service/slave class):


And then there is further evidence of an attempt to transform a bad empirical reality. Another way of saying the same thing is that it resembles the conversion of sour grapes into sweet lemons (as per Jon Elster's book). For what else is a Hollywood "star" if not the metaphorical embodiment of the kind of transcendence Adorno describes?:


Besides talking pure nonsense to a bewildered Smiley for several minutes, Smith used a very strange phrase about halfway through the clip. He talked about "feeling like you're at effect," which means...well, frankly, this Hubbard jargon means anything you want it to mean, so what the hell.

"I've been giving him the benefit of the doubt," Bunker says about Smith. "But how do you absorb 'being at effect' without taking courses? I suppose it's possible he picked it up from his equally certain, equally high-strung pal Tom Cruise. But it's not an ordinary buzzword out here in the wog [non-Scientology] world." To Bunker, the clip is evidence that Smith has been taking Scientology courses for some time, and has absorbed the Hubbard way of thinking.

What we found even creepier comes later in the clip, when Smith starts talking about creating matter with his mind. Smiley's expression is priceless as Smith talks about the power of his brain: "I can create whatever I want to create if I can put my head on it right, study it, learn the patterns..."

Hey, that's just what Hubbard's other minions believe, that after a few more classes (each costing about the same as a luxury car), they'll get so powerful they can create things just by thinking about them!

Hey Will, we hope you keep studying all the way to OT VIII so you can start bending the universe to your will (so to speak). Then maybe you could think real hard about a film with you in it that doesn't suck, so that one magically appears!
more: Featured, Scientology

http://blogs.villagevoice.com/runninscared/archives/2008/09/will_smith_show.php
Clive Hamilton lecture: Reclaiming Morality from Conservative Dogma and Postmodern Indifference:
Significant as an example of a discourse attempting to galvanise wider debates beyond the walls of the academy. To be sure, it sacrifices the complexities and nuances of those authors identified as "postmodern" in some respects, but remains valuable chiefly for its indictment of the sociocultural legacy of neoliberal "freedom" [sic]
http://www.clivehamilton.net.au/cms/media/documents/articles/sydney_ideas_speech.pdf

Sunday, 27 January 2008

The Quiet Men

2 days ago an anecdote was related to me about a personal encounter with a founding member of one of Australia's best known electronica acts, which Simon Reynolds has correctly identified in "Rip it Up and Start Again" as one of many inspired by Throbbing Gristle. As I am familiar with this individual, whose identity I protect through anonymity, I will simply comment that he has previously featured on this blog in the context of discussions of Weber's archetype of "sensualists without heart".
Unsurprisingly, evidence suggests that the song has remained the same since I last spoke to him. Left anarchism is professed as a more radical than thou doctrine, by an individual who has lived off state benefits for more than 20 years. I do not begrudge the ethos of being my "brother's" keeper, except where it is used to maintain a double standard; no action can ever be radical enough to meet utopian objectives, so nothing is ever done, no participation ever takes place. Any sense of reform or a "long march through the institutions", as Raymond Williams referred to "the long revolution", is simply regarded as a complicitous, hopeless bourgeois ideology (much in the manner committed socialists will oftentimes refer to sociology). The end result may be liberalism in another form, but the blinders put on make this something that can be lived with in a manner that does not overtly disturb the conscience.
That much should already be clear from the Weberian context. It explains a lot about the lifestyle; visiting a Thai prostitute once a fortnight, gambling on the horses at the TAB, with the rest of the time spent making tape loops and hunting down obscure electronic music in city record stores. The revolt by bohemians and social movements against bourgeois possessiveness, such as maintaining an exclusive intimate relationship, transmutes into an individualised survivalist creed, where autonomy is valorised above all else. Even the sex worker can be ridiculed by this client, because she doesn't meet the same gold standard of autonomy, namely of being in a position to choose who she has intercourse with. The client pays most of all for the privilege of an episodic encounter that makes no demands for reciprocity.
At such outermost limits, especially when the labor of the self is regarded not as the task of a cultural worker, but as somehow expressive of a unique "personality", or indeed the abandonment of such an implicitly disciplined structure, what is most revealed is how the quest for autonomy demands terrible sacrifices. This figure appears increasingly dissolute, seemingly unaware of its poor standards of personal hygiene, or the tendency to flap the arms around in a manner seemingly unconnected to patterns of thought or speech at the moment of utterance. This particular discussion ranged across footage of post-porn modernist Annie Sprinkle performing oral sex on 2 men simultaneously, in the context of the diverse range of dvds available in JB Hi-Fi stores, to the inverted snobbery of a questioning of the availability of such material in predominantly working class suburbs. Finally, there was a delirious sense of Hegelian recognition from past references in The Wire to this figure and his associate as "sound experimentalists", "I was in an allnight jam session last night, part of this side project I am developing". Meanwhile the witness is reduced merely to a host body to be colonised for the autonomous one to reproduce itself. What is hated most of all is the sense that any theoretical mediation of the activities can be presupposed, as this smacks of the dreaded formalism the anarchist tries to avoid. In other words, little critical awareness extends to the possibility of how there must be some agreement about the "rules" of the game, before play can begin. It might be suggested, once this notion is accepted, that the task of the critic involves the possible redemption of the work of art, and that this itself constitutes a form of creativity. This conception effectively undercuts the sense of the old adage, "those who can do, those who can't teach (or become critics)". A deconstructionist might comment that the adage is logocentric insofar as it presupposes a metaphysics of presence.
Invaluable as these counter-perspectives may be, what has attracted my attention most in light of the report of this encounter is a further dimension to the hyper-reflexive involution and abjection I have commented on before on this blog. I am thinking of the significance of the ressentiment and spite that frames the world view I have been describing. It seems to me that only Howard Devoto has addressed this in an acute fashion, in the classic Magazine song, "A Song From Under the Floor Boards". Anyone who reads Dostoyevsky's "Notes from Underground" or "The Devils" will quickly recognise the archetype, even while this means understanding an intensification and more general dissemination of this experience of tragic selfhood in the 21st century. What Devoto describes is but one step away from Enzensberger's archetype of "the radical loser". But there is more on a sociological level that needs to be accounted for. I was greatly impressed by an essay linking Houellecbeq's carnival of spite to Lyotard's "postmodern condition". The essay charts the transition to a knowledge economy, where contingency planning is used to control risk. The popularisation of this trend places individuals under enormous pressure to ensure that they have indemnified themselves against future losses, which leads to a productivist rationalisation of their time. Little time remains for reproduction, which helps to explain the appeal of sex tourism as a leisure activity. Those priced out of the marketplace of status, a social Darwinian universe of physical attractiveness, engaging personality traits and disposable income, have to risk manage by adjusting to diminishing expectations. Hence the turn of desire to those who are attractive, but have no other bargaining power, nothing to sell, other than their bodies. Such is the reactionary postmodernist condition as portrayed in Houellebecq's "Platform", (sex tourism in Thailand), which become subject to minor variations in his subsequent works.
I am aware that Slavoj Zizek has engaged with Houellebecq, but I avoid him like the plague as it is not clear to me that his thinking is amenable to comparative, deductive reasoning. His usual tactic is simply to argue that any criticism presupposes a blindspot that only Lacan can highlight. More generally, nothwithstanding Lyotard's applicability to Houellebecq, "the postmodern condition" may have become an exhausted term, and this might explain the more recent references to "liquid modernity". If I was discussing popular representations of this trope, even where it predates Bauman use of the term, such as for example in the work of John Foxx for example, there is no way that I would frame the discussion without reference to Anthony Elliott's careful methodological qualification of the former. The question I would want answered is this: is there anything in principle in Elliott's method that could not be used to examine Foxx's metaphors, and by extension, comparable characterisations such as "ballardian" (everyone knows by now thanks to Simon Sellars that Foxx has openly acknowledge J.G. Ballard as an influence)? If the answer is no, as I suspect it probably is, then theorists could benefit by applying the lesson to future variations of this theme.
But given the subject which this posting started out to address, I will return to that point by evoking Ultravox's! classic track "The Quiet Men" as a fitting epitaph for the character type who tries to move independently in a troubled time, where neoliberal ideology uncomfortably tries to cover over a growing globalisation, with all of the attendant interdependence and increased vulnerability this implies:
Waiting, we were waiting
As the traffic moved through all our hearts and our heads
But things were different then
For the quiet men
Shifting, things were shifting
Through the walls and hall, there were no walls at all
For the quiet friends
Of the quiet men
Oh, the quiet men Oh, the quiet men
Springtime, there was sunshine
Through the window panes, down all the English lanes
Where they walked again
The quiet men
Talking, they were talking
Of the times to come, and all the time that's gone
And they smiled again
The quiet men
Oh, the quiet men Oh, the quiet men
Listening, they were listening
As the season changed and all the reasons changed
And people came and went
By the quiet men
Walking, they were walking
Through the rainy days, looking at all the faces
But no-one ever noticed them
The quiet men
Oh Oh, the quiet men Oh, the quiet men Oh, the quiet men Oh, the quiet men
[PDF] Michel Houellebecq and the International Sexual Economy - all 2 versions »D Morrey - Portal, 2004 - epress.lib.uts.edu.au... Houellebecq, M. 2003, Platform, trans. by F. Wynne, Vintage, London. Klossowski,P. 1997 (1970), La Monnaie vivante, Rivages poche, Paris. Lyotard, JF 1974 ... View as HTML - Web Search
Hans Magnus Enzensberger: The radical loser - signandsight
The social sciences have failed in their analyses of amok killers, frenzied murderers and the terrorist mind. And yet one look is enough to identify the ...www.signandsight.com/features/493.html - 55k -
The Contemporary Bauman
Editor’s Introduction Anthony Elliott. Critique: Privatised and Disarmed Zygmunt Bauman Part 1: Liquid Modernit. On Being Light and Liquid Zygmunt Bauman. ...www.routledgesociology.com/books/The-Contemporary-Bauman-isbn9780415409681 - 22k -

Sunday, 30 December 2007

Protest Masculinity


Well it may be that time of the year when not much of anything is going on, and certainly not much in the way of blogging in this neck of the woods. I had to work yesterday, though I am so thankful it was online work as I try to adjust my lifestyle so that I am free of office politics.
I was reflecting on this as I visited my parents' neighbours, native Liverpudlians by birth, for a quiet Christmas drink and something to eat, when "Ray" dropped a bombshell, that amazingingly helped put things into proper perspective. He told the story of how he decided to walk up the street a while back, only to be accosted by two successive carloads of males. The first group asked him if he knew where Woolworths was, when, after directing them, they asked him if he would put on a pink tutu and pose for photographs. He refused. Ten minutes later, another car pulls up: "where is the hospital, mate? By the way, can you put this policeman's helmet on so we can take your photo?" Reluctantly, Ray agreed to this request, conditional on him turning his head away from the camera, so that his face couldn't be seen in the photo. That car then drove off. About 2 minutes later, the first car reappears, "mate, we need you to put that pink tutu on for us". Peering closely into the back seat, Ray could clearly see that the guy waving the tutu at him was none other than the disgraced "Rugby League Legend" Andrew Johns. Because the guys were getting more rowdy, having already buzzed him a few times up and down the street, Ray again compromised by holding the tutu up near his crotch, refusing to actually put it on. After much raucous laughter from Johns and co., and photo snapping, they drove off.
Ray is a guy in his fifties, who was wary of provoking a group of younger guys, not least because he feared it might escalate to the level of, "let's get the Pom", or something similar. He was also obviously pissed off about the bully boy tactics of targeting an older guy for homophobic humour, with the additional prospect that the image could then be used on the tv show, "The Footy Show", without seeking permission/disclosing the intended motive; "Smile, you're on Candid Camera" (it can hardly be coincidental that Andrew's brother Matthew is a "comedy" star of "The Footy Show").
In this instance we perhaps see evidence of the kind of aestheticisation of everyday life, which has featured here in previous blog posts. The stranger becomes even more anonymous, as no forethought is given to extending hospitality by attempting to engage in reciprocal communicative action. But because this incident most likely took place strictly for "kicks", rather than as an upcoming incident on a tv show, where it would have constituted a from of "work" (albeit masquerading as a polar opposite of "fun", leisure), I think it useful to contextualise it as part of the broader critical approach theorists have brought to categorising the different forms of hegemonic masculinity. The excellent piece I've pasted below speaks to the issues I've raised here, insofar as it distinguishes between two variants of working class "protest masculinity", namely an integrative and anomic form. The latter attracts more attention, in the context of tabloids in the United Kingdom for example, in reportage of incidents of "happy slapping" and the like. Inevitably, given the attendant sensationalism, this leads to neglect of the integrative potential of hazing rituals and so forth as perverse forms of workplace solidarity. No doubt the feedback mechanisms between the two can be powerful, in the sense that the projection of shame in the workplace can seek substitutes elsewhere (not least in the domestic sphere, where much violence has to do with compensation for a perceived lack of control).
It seems to me that Klaus Theweleit offers some resources in his account of "Male Fantasies" for understanding the ideal fantasy state where integrative and anomic masculinities fuse. It would be appropriate here to speak of "quest masculinity", as the accomplishment of rational objectives takes place through a confrontation with liminal affective states, more often fear or primordial loyalties rather than intimate relations per se, as the ultimate proving ground. Small wonder then that such fantasies are so easily commodified and pre-packaged. I've had enough experience in the service industry to observe the bedrooms of teenage boys decorated with "Lord of the Rings" and "Eragorn" posters, alongside the obligatory posters featuring Andrew Johns in action on the football field, to recognise the archetype when I see it. To walk into a bedroom decorated in this fashion, and see a bookshelf overflowing with Tom Clancy titles, is to experience a confirmatory authority firsthand. Leisure time in such instances is nothing less than an insidious part of the afterhours production line, a colonisation by rational techniques far more munane than Theweleit's extreme examples, or the activities of elites, say the notorious Skull N' Bones Club, would indicate ("here, tell us your sexual history while we circle jerk into the coffin you are lying in...."). I later learned that the young man in the Clancy case, who ironically used to live in Ray's house, was also a card carrying member of the Australian Young Liberals Party. And yes, I'm thoroughly sick of the obligatory appearance of "Top Gun" and "The Matrix" in the dvd collections too (for quest masculinity, going to work becomes imbued with a pompous Neo-style religious ambience, as [white boy] phantasised compensation for the disenchantment inflicted by increasing rationalisation).
I couldn't help then choosing a contrasting image with Johns, that of Raewyn Connell, formerly Robert Connell, international doyen of Masculinity Studies. She has come some way since early student days, when Robert was affectionately known around campus as "Prince Valiant", on account of his theatrical flair for purple knee high boots and the like.
In any case, this post is really just a long-winded excuse for saying, "Andrew Johns, you Sir, are a dickhead"....

Walker, G. W. (2004, Aug)
Disciplining Protest Masculinity Paper presented at the annual meeting of the American Sociological Association, Hilton San Francisco & Renaissance Parc 55 Hotel, San Francisco, CA, Online <.PDF> Retrieved 2006-10-05 from http://www.allacademic.com/meta/p108485_index.html
Publication Type: Conference Paper/Unpublished Manuscript


Review Method: Peer Reviewed

Abstract:

Protest masculinity is a gendered identity oriented toward a protest of the relations of production and the ideal type of hegemonic masculinity. To this point protest masculinity has been conceived as a destructive, chaotic and alienating sort of masculinity. This interpretation is incomplete, for it does not include efforts on the part of men to use protest masculinity for its integrative potential. This study is the product of ethnographic inquiry and documents skilled working class men using methods of social control to discipline protest masculinity and orient it into a less destructive and more harmonious state. At the end of the analysis, I propose a grounded nomenclature to manage the theoretical concepts. "Anomic protest masculinity" is the unguided and destructive sort. "Disciplined protest masculinity" is the product of intensive social control and functions to increase solidarity among working class men.




Saturday, 27 October 2007

The Dark Stuff: Serial Psychopathology

I haven't laid eyes on Nick Kent's book since around 1995, but after spending some time compulsively turning the pages in the Ariel Bookstore that hot summer day, I'm unable to ignore [what seems like] the anecdotal evidence for later theoretical concerns. One of the things I find particularly remarkable is how forthright Iggy Pop was in agreeing to pen a foreword for this book. I applaud his honesty, for Kent marshals considerable evidence for the indictment of Iggy as one of the most dissolute, intemperate figures in the annals of rock history. Indeed, Kent confirms and builds on some of Iggy's assertions from I Need More concerning a sexual fixation on underage girls, replete with apocalyptic imagery of him passed out among industrial ruins, with a semi-naked pre-pubescent girl lying next to him. Other examples abound, but the general picture is clear.
It might become clearer though if read alongside Danny Sugerman's memoirs, Wonderland Avenue: Tales of Glamour and Excess. One of the most lucid and insightful passages in this book is when Sugerman offers a general evaluation of the transgressive behaviour of figures he was personally associated with, such as Iggy and Jim Morrison. He concludes that there was something calculated about their actions, inasfar as the obvious non-reciprocity was designed to destroy the sense of personal justice of those subject to it, thus controlling them. Upon returning home to discover an unconscious Iggy on the floor, with a trail of vomit, faeces and blood strewn down the hallway, Sugerman chose to adopt the managerial technique of instilling a sense of symmetry. Seizing Iggy by the ankles, he then proceeded to clean up the mess, using Iggy's long hair as a mop.
Reading The Dark Stuff and Wonderland Avenue in combination conveys a vivid sense of how such excesses define themselves against the sequenced interpolation of everyday encounters, which Giddens has fittingly described in terms of "seriality". The resort to primordialism draws its appeal from the possibility of transcending the negotiation of tact required by social interaction. Garfinkel was able to make comparable points with his experiments designed to breach trust. What this proves is the unfeasibility of the avant-garde's experimental approach to the world eventually destroying the Law; transgression is only meaningful insofar as a limit exists. On this basis I would modify some gender criticism of transgression, as it is not so much that protest masculinity is driven to return to a state of undifferentiation, to nothingness, at the most extreme end of the continuum. I think Nietzsche was closer to the heart of the matter when he noted that the problem was not the heights attained, but the fall. The discovery is not that there is nothing on the other side to "break on through to", but rather that its effects are inscribed within larger mechanisms of power. The self evolves in its complexity, and may revel in this reward, but this is a Faustian bargain, subject to continual renegotiation. Sooner or later then, seriality reappears to remind us that the retraction of symbolic boundaries constitutes a form of order.
If this holds, then it can hardly be coincidental that towards the end of his life, Morrison had adopted a more sombre, sociologically realist mode of songwriting. Indeed, "L.A. Woman" is one of the best things he ever wrote, with its ethnographic snapshots of everyday scenes (as opposed to an earlier "weird scenes inside the goldmine), "cops in cars/topless bars/never seen a woman so alone". True, glimpses of the old persona remain, with "The Changeling" and "L'America", but overall the album is his most diverse lyrically.
We know that Morrison claimed he would have studied more sociology if he had lived a different life, but whether this would have meant reading Deleuze's thesis of the "control society", Foucault and Lacan, that have influenced this posting, along with the aforementioned select sociological stablemates, no one can say for sure. In any case, Kent and Sugerman provide much grist for the theoretical mill, spurring the realisation that creativity can be a form of normativity. As I've commented on this blog before, it is only a failure to understand this that can fuel convictions of an inevitable Ballardian society leading us all on a merry dance towards the apocalypse. At first glance you could be forgiven for thinking that such theorists make for strange bedfellows with neoconservative cultural critics, but this impression may soon fade. My advice would be to articulate ideas of aesthetic revolt to permanent revolution, and consider how complementary they are. Then watch the documentary Arguing the World and draw conclusions as to how and why so many of the interviewees "broke on through" to the other side of the political spectrum.

Theorising Thailand: Zones of Indistinction



I thought a rejoinder was required to my earlier posting on Thailand ("The Transformation of Thailand into a Post-Oedipal Playground of Transsexaul Kitsch"), which foregrounded the protaganist of Michel Houellebecq's novel Platform with respect to Orientalism, rather than to the more often cited H.P. Lovecraft, where humanity is perpetually victimised by primordial forces they can neither control nor understand (I figure Louis Ferdinand Celine must be awaiting comparison in this context). What I failed to do was cite any work by Thai academics that could contextualise how representative of their country were the informal economies of sex tourism etc, that are fetishsized in Platform, and indeed, in Internet culture more generally. According to the study I've cited, they are apparently very important, with decisive ramifications for the viability of Thai democracy, given the extensive corruption involved in the industry.
I also thought it incumbent on me to reproduce Lingis' reply to Peter Jackson's critical review of his work. Lingis offers one of the most unscholarly, ineffectual responses to a critic that I've ever read. Clearly he, like any academic, is obligated to answer the specific charges, but he merely evades this responsibility, choosing instead to engage in wordplay, and vaguely alluding to a literary character. Everyone knows that Lingis is a showman to some extent, lecturing from within a coffin, or turning off the lights in the lecture theatre, adorning himself in glowing bodypaints and what not, holding to the maxim, "the unlived life is not worth examining". But his response reads as a surprisingly timid, and perhaps even dishonest, missed opportunity to foreground his own investment in the topic at hand.
This is a pity, because I would have liked to have seen more from him about liminal experience in relation to other theoretical work, such as Foucault's heterotopias, or perhaps more fittingly Agamben's "states of exception" or "zones of indistinction", where the borderline between economics and politics, reproduction and production is dissolving. What else are the biopolitics of sex tourism if not this? And what about the question of how fitting it may be that such zones are inhabited by liminal figures such as kathoey? On these grounds, some qualification of Bakhtin's carnival is also required, as it is not the social order of the host society that temporarily reverses its power relations, it is rather, in the case of the western sex tourist, a reversal they can experience by travelling to such refuges from feminism and identity politics more generally, "king for a day, fool for a lifetime". Guilt is assuaged by travelling as far away as possible from familiar ties, and Houellebecq adds the interesting, and disturbing twist, complementary to the "desiring machine" reference of my earlier posting: this desire assumes a serial form, inasmuch as it views Asia as a gigantic factory producing an overabundance of life, an interchangeability of bodies and faces, where "they all [sic] look the same". It is indistinction on this level, which is [spuriously] contrasted with notions of western individualism, that Houellebecq draws upon to rationalise the actions of his protagonist: after innumerable encounters he is unable to distinguish anything other than the fact that he was there, thus freeing him from any haunting by the faces of the sexual partners left behind.
In these terms, the point of arrival is also a paradoxical point of departure; re-enchantment is tied to a terminal identity. As Platform makes clear, few settle in such zones to begin a new life, but simply to concede the end of their lives. So perhaps biopolitics does eventually reconnect with the pessimistic, organic entropy tropes found in Lovecraft's work afterall....
I have chosen a couple of youtube clips that may (in)directly speak to some of the concerns raised in this posting.

Alphonso Lingis' Response to Peter Jackson's 'Spurning Alphonso Lingis' Thai "Lust": The Perils of a Philosopher at Large'
Alphonso Lingis

I really reveled in the wicked pleasure of reading, as much, I think, as Peter Jackson of writing, the portrait of Alphonso Lingis - this individual neither of us has met. Any academic like us gets off on letting out all the stops sometimes. This Alphonso Lingis is 'ignoran[t] of the power relations in East-West erotic contact.' He 'rule[s] out the possibility of loving erotic relationships between Caucasians and Thais.' He is unable 'to tell the difference between a kathoey and a Thai woman.' He takes Thailand to be a 'matriarchal Garden of Eden.' He takes 'transvestites [as] representative of Thai males,' and 'assume[s] that all Thai men are potentially kathoey.' He is afflicted with 'blindness to non-Western cultural patterns.' He 'imperiously' 'fail[s] to see or acknowledge the local different rules of the erotic.' He embodies 'an uncritiqued Orientialism,' and 'an uncritiqued imperialist view of Asian masculinities as inferior forms beside Western expressions of manhood.' Makes one think of Fritz Shrobenius, in Yambo Ouologuem's Bound to Violence. But in the end Alphonso Lingis is 'just another angst-ridden coloniser feeling guilty about his power rather than a liberator.' Peter Jackson lets us down there. Ouologuem's portrait of Shrobenius is both more malicious and more liberatingly side-splitting.
I do sincerely apologize to Peter Jackson for having somehow dropped the appropriate footnote for the two sentences he indeed is the origin of.
Al Lingis
Professor Alphonso Lingis,
Department of Philosophy
The Pennsylvania State University
Guns, Girls, Gambling, Ganja: Thailand's Illegal Economy and Public Policy (Paperback)
Editorial Reviews
Card catalog description
Gambling, prostitution, drugs, arms trading, oil smuggling, and trafficking in people - these six illegal businesses are large and getting larger. They distort the economy and victimize people. They are increasingly linked together through networks of protection and organized crime. They help to fund Thailand's corrosive 'money politics' and to sustain corruption in the police. In this sequel to Corruption and Democracy in Thailand, the authors argue that control of the illegal economy, especially through reform of the police, is vital for the development of a modern economy and functioning democracy.

Friday, 26 October 2007

Serial Behaviour: "Nevermind The Beatles, here's Exile 61 and Nico"

Have recently done some Luhmannesque investigation of popular music, both on this blog, and elsewhere. What happens when we start to look at the "interpenetration" of social and psychic systems, in the form of the critic, the listmaker, "the greatest albums of all time"? What purposes do the drawing of such distinctions serve? I'm gathering material on these topics, and hope to put some of it up here soon (unfortunately my time has become more restricted, with the year drawing to a close, mounting commitments etc).
In the meantime, I've just come across another approach, which I suspect is closer to a Bourdieu type taxonomy of "taste", while still making some concession to the "disinterestedness" of aesthetics. I'm trying to repress visions of High Fidelity though.....
Nevermind The Beatles, here's Exile 61 and Nico: ‘The top 100 records of all time’ – a canon of pop and rock albums from a sociological and an aesthetic perspective
RALF VON APPEN and ANDRÉ DOEHRING
"Popular Music" (2006), 25: 21-39 Cambridge University Press Copyright © 2006 Cambridge University Press-->
Copyright © 2006 Cambridge University Press
doi:10.1017/S0261143005000693
Published online by Cambridge University Press 17Feb2006

Abstract
For this article the authors analysed thirty-eight lists of ‘The 100 greatest albums of all time’ type. As the findings demonstrate, a canon of popular music has evolved which shows strong tendencies towards stability in featuring albums from the late 1960s (especially those by The Beatles), while only a few albums from the 1990s have gained ‘classic’ status. The canon's contents and exclusions are explained by the social dispositions of the participants, predominantly white males aged twenty to forty. Influenced by efforts of the cultural industries, these actors also evaluate certain albums for the purposes of distinguishing themselves from the ‘mainstream’. Furthermore, aesthetic and artistic criteria underlying the esteem of the ‘masterworks’ are identified by analysing reviews. The authors suggest that future research on canonisation should interlock sociological and aesthetic perspectives. Findings from such an approach might initiate reflection among music fans about their own exclusions, and result in an opening up of the meaning and significance of the canon.

Saturday, 13 October 2007

"Almost Completely Ruined Today...."
















As the year is starting to draw to a close, various deadlines have bedeviled this blog's contributors, and, alas, postings have become more infrequent. Be this as it may, my attention was captured the other day by something I had been after for years. In fact, ever since I first heard about Jerry Lewis's legendary lost film, The Day the Clown Cried, I have yearned to see it.
Well, my dream didn't exactly come true, but I have come across a brilliant website, which not only features youtube clips but also the script, along with some amazing photos. Jerry is more often than not dismissed as an extremist, an embarrassment, on account of his masochistic reliance on infantile abjection as the basis of his comedy. Luckily though, there are scholars working against these facile dismissals. I am thinking here of people such as Steven Shaviro, who managed in The Cinematic Body to build upon the pioneering work of Scott Bukatman, who's "Paralysis in Motion: Jerry Lewis's Life as a Man" inaugurated this area of investigation. I should probably qualify the latter claim though, as one would also need to refer to Kaja Silverman's Male Subjectivity at the Margins and Leo Bersani's provocative piece, "Is the Rectum a Grave?", for comparable research, albeit without specifying Lewis per se.
What we have here are a series of works concerned with the ecstasy of abjection, the perverse pleasure following from the relinquishment of a proud male [erect] subjectivity, to a libidinal economy predicated upon loss, abandonment. One of the reasons I raise it here is that I think this critical tradition has bearing on my previous postings on "erasure". Here the problem, the perversion, may follow from a model of self that is too finely attuned to others. Overflowing with the milk of human kindness, maladaptive misfits to the core, Shaviro suggests an unconscious anarchism at work in such instances. When contrasted with the fatuous overbearing authority figures portrayed in Lewis's films, the dark secret of bourgeois family socialisation is revealed: it is the "competent" figures who are the true narcissists, because only they have the cognitive ability to successfully navigate Sennett and Rorty's contingent, "disordered" world, thereby securing their desires.
I do not assert this position as a viable constructive alternative to the aforementioned dramaturgical metaphors of selfhood. What I do argue though is that such reductions of the self to the level of abjection, to shit, a state prior to anything like an identity, have elsewhere served as a departure point for evaluating the ethical valency of shame. Unlike guilt, shame is irreducible to failure in one task, that could in turn be rectified by successfully repeating a ritual task. It relates more to an entire sense of individual worth, and as a result is not amenable to resolution. "Mother I've tried hard believe me/I'm doing the best that I can/I'm ashamed of the things I've being put through/I'm ashamed of the person I am", so sang Ian Curtis, and Henry Rollins eventually engaged the same trope, "I wonder if you can see/I wonder if you can tell/I wonder if you see right through the mask I wear so well/I'll never let you know what's going on inside me/my shame keeps me down".
One of the things I'm currently working on, which is distracting me from updating this blog, is the theoretical attempts to tease out some of the ethical implications. Shame might serve as a democratic sensitising device, alerting one to the needs of others. By the same token, it might have a purely corrosive effect which inhibits any capacity for normative reconstruction. In such cases it seems appropriate to speak, along with Bukatman, of "paralysis in motion". To my mind, Bukatman's archetype is an underexplored resource in rock music writing. Afterall, these performers are fascinating in part because we, the audience, get to play voyeur, by trying to figure out the interplay between the public/private personas. If I applied the abjection/shame trope to performers such as Jonathan Richman and Iggy Pop, it might become justifiable to trace a common lineage even further back, to Dostoevsky's The Idiot and Notes from Underground. Iggy chose the former as an album title, and Howard Devoto clearly referenced the latter in A Song from Under the Floorboards. How much of the status anxiety and attendant overcompensation in some of these cases may resonate with Bachelard's observation, "a creature that withdraws into its shell is preparing a way out", is an interesting question that also seems worth following up. In this spirit I venture the hypothesis that Richman might be the Professor Klump, "the Nutty Professor" of rock n' roll ("Hey little insect!!"), while Iggy is possibly its Buddy Love, "I've being dirt/and I don't care/cuz I'm learnin'".
Regretfully though, there are few in contemporary cinema able to approach the edginess of Lewis's best films. While it may be hard to match the intense vicarious thrills of becoming hopelessly perverted and evil, which follow on from watching Robin Williams, particularly Patch Adams, his body of work generally does not hold up in comparison with Lewis. This convinces me that it may be more fruitful to explore musical avenues when it comes to demonstrating the potentially expansive nature of this trope.
But I wouldn't dream of pointing anyone in a musical direction until they've fully explored this site:

Monday, 8 October 2007

An Oblique Strategy: How Ironic is Brian Eno?

Here is a rejoinder to my previous post. I made some brief critical comments about Lou Reed and Gary Numan, but neglected to mention Brian Eno. Afterall, who can forget his endorsement of Richard Rorty's "contingency", suggesting that Eno's "ironic" persona is predicated on the promise of release from the ego as a paranoid authoritarian structure. Or rather, as Simon Reynolds has more aptly put it, Eno subscribes to a program for creatively shaping the self that is directed by zen and cybernetics. Scary how Eno here is seemingly close to some of the territory broached in my comments on information theory, but with the qualifier that he appears ill-equipped to tackle the danger of the "erasure" strategem with respect to the violence foregrounded by Brian Dillon? Afterall, the problem for Rorty, and by extension, Eno, is that they can't consistently explain why or how would it matter to such a contingent, ironic "self" if it experienced any form of violence (remember, protection from "cruelty" is Rorty's baseline minimal condition of mutual respect) when it could presumably just "siphon" them off?
Why is Eno so taken by Richard Sennett's The Uses of Disorder rather than his coauthored book with Jonathan Cobb, The Hidden Injuries of Class? Is the former more compatible with a liberal tolerance for contingency? Is it coincidental that Sennett later became by default Tony Blair's "house philosopher"? (as revealed in Sennett's interview in The Guardian). Again, with Cobb, Sennett focused more on gradations of value, leading the reader to understand how living in a society based upon injustice cannot leave one content to merely adjust to a series of negative prohibitions. Sennett subsequently appeared to neglect this aspect for the next twenty years or so, (until he revisited his interviewees from Injuries in a study of the "new capitalism"), turning his attention to dramaturgical metaphors of selfhood, and one might surmise that herein lies some of the appeal to performers such as Brian Eno. According to Sennett, living with contingency, or "disorder", comes to require a similar process experienced by musicians who learn to play and listen with their "third ear"; by withholding some personal resources during performance, the musician can learn to judge themselves more objectively, ensuring the availability of energy reserves which allow them to subsequently refine their work. Sennett thus gradually developed the more expansive thesis that a degree of [ironic] detachment ensured a public life outside of the self remained intelligible, in the sense that such a self becomes strong enough to move around in a world dominated by injustice.
There is not a great deal of difference between Sennett and Rorty in this regard. While Rorty doesn't seem to think, with Sennett, that anything like a "third ear" is integral to the conduct of "private life" [sic], he in effect agrees with Sennett that such a form of detachment is an essential ingredient of the public sphere.
To borrow the title of Cary Wolfe's telling critique of Rorty, the problem in both instances though has to do with how they might make "contingency safe for liberalism". As demonstrated by Injuries, sometimes it is important to distinguish between a self's prospective ideals that should not be deterred from realisation, forced into ironic resignation, by systemic asymmetrical distributions of power. For this reason it is inadequate to soley rely on dramaturgical metaphors of selfhood, because they can't offer much clarification on the relationship between personal and social autonomy. The important difference has to do with how rigorous the ethic adopted by a self is; can it distinguish between and thus prioritise a value system capable of identifying forms of "disorder" that are damaging to its integrity? In other words, while it may be useful to some degree to acknowledge how disappointment can socialise a person in ways preventing them from becoming a megalomaniac, not every effort to collectively redress social injustice is deserving of such liberal accommodation. The problem then is how modernity may provoke some suspect features of autonomy, witness Eno's "aesthetic" flirtation with the ethical dilemmas following from "revelations of erasure". Perhaps this means that it is not so much the self that is erased in toto, but rather its potentially most radical impulses. Were this true, it would seem to indicate that the connection between the technological functionalism of autopoiesis and liberalism did not materialise for the first time when Brian Eno started dabbling in electronic music, cybernetics, and liberalism. No, this conjunction has been ascendant since the the 16th and 17th Centuries, as pointed out in Otto Mayr's Authority, Liberty, and Automatic Machinery in Early Modern Europe. This book convincingly demonstrates that ideas of self-regulation (autopoiesis) were instrumental to the shift in European political philosophy away from authoritarian centralism to Enlightenment philosophies of democratic liberalism. The self-regulating Invisible Hand of Adam Smith's market philosophy is one of the latter's most resurgent characteristics, up until today's neoliberal climate where liberal humanism is increasingly imperilled by association with possessive individualism and self-regulating machinery. This might also explain the ambiguous status of the intellectual property rights accruing around artists who deploy autopoietic techniques: they are in effect cyborgs who are also rational subjects already constituted by capitalist forces. How comfortably does this sit with what N.Katherine Hayles calls the "constitutive premise for liberal humanism", that one "owns" oneself? This might go some way towards explaining why "loops" (not coincidentally, also a fundamental term in the autopoietic sciences) and "samples" are sometimes controversial in musical circles, with respect to sacrosanct notions of "originality" and copyright.
And so, at least for the moment, I find myself returning to Alessandro Ferrara (much by way of critical response to Sennett) and Hans Joas (eloquent replies to Rorty) for a more constructive alternative.....
Richard Rorty and Brian Enoby Gregory Taylor
In addition to his activities as a composer, producer, and performer, Brian Eno reads. Anyone who is at all familiar with either his interviews and/or writing will occasionally catch a name dropped here and there: Stafford Beer, Morse Peckham, and - a bit more recently - the American philosopher Richard Rorty. I think that much of Brian's recent thinking and writing on the relationship between kinds of decision-making and the language with which we make judgements of value in a world where all kinds of views are represented owes a lot to the Rorty that Brian's read. In fact, I don't think Eno's antiessentialism would be as articulate without Richard Rorty's writings. The following is a very brief description of Rorty's philosophical writings. Although Eno most often refers to the book "Contingency, Irony and Solidarity," I'll try here to provide a little background to the whole of Rorty's writings; I think that to do otherwise would be a little like describing Eno's output *only* in terms of "Music for Airports/Thursday Afternoon/Neroli."
Richard Rorty's career bears some superficial resemblances to Eno's, in that he begins his career in a position in which he's essentially located somewhere in the "mainstream" (as Eno's first exposure occurs in the context of British "pop" music with Roxy Music), at some point heads off in what seems to be a radically different sort of territory (which leaves some of his philosophical colleagues longing out loud for his "early stuff"), and in the process finds himself drawn into quite another set of alignments. And - this is more of a stretch - *both* Rorty and Eno are in some respects interested in looking at the work of "non-practitioners" - the notion that one occasionally finds novel solutions to a given dilemma by consulting people who are "nonmusicians" or "nonphilosophers."
When asked about his work, many philosophers (those in the Anglo-American tradition, anyway) will generally say something supportive about his earlier work as one of the major American analytic philosophers. They're referring to his work in the philosophy of mind, language, and truth, and will usually mention his 1979 book "Philosophy and the Mirror of Nature."
But of late, his interest for folks like Eno and people interested in cultural studies and literary theory begins when he pretty much completely repudiated his earlier analytic work for a kind of pragmatism which is a lot more in sync with the philosophical positions of continental European philosophers and theorists such as Heidegger, Derrida, Lyotard, Habermas, and Foucault.
By now, your little PostModern Theory detectors should be clicking away (should that surprise *any* serious Eno fan?); but I think it's helpful to pause for a moment and provide a brief outline of Rorty's earlier work: it's easier to see where he wound up if you know where he started.
"Philosophy and the Mirror of Nature" was an important work for analytic philosophers in its radical critique of the traditional ideal of knowledge as a faithful representation of reality. In this traditional view, the mind is a kind of mirror which reflects the real, and Philosophy has the job of testing and repairing this mirror so that our propositions will do a better job of "reflecting" reality. Rorty is critical in his book of this idea that Philosophy can somehow "fix" the conditions of knowledge in a way which is unaffected by social practices, or the games and vagaries of language itself. In short, he argues that this notion that Philosophy's ability to fix these things in a way that's ahistorical or independent of any and all "frames of reason" (to quote from the Eno/Cale song) is a hollow pretension.
Proceeding from this, he comes up with three basic ideas which are pretty far outside of the traditions of the analytical tradition from which he comes, but a lot more like the kind of Phenomenology that one finds in European philosophers.
1. Irrationalism - You begin by recognizing that there is a kind of contingent character of the context of any kind of inquiry. A consequence of this contingency is that you're not so much "discovering" truth in inquiry, but "making" it, using the tools given you by your frame of reference.
2. This kind of antiessentialism is applied to the language that we use for things that philosophers try to describe in *noncontingent* terms - that is, notions like "truth" and "language" and "morality".
3. Instead of philosophical theorizing (which cannot escape the trap of contingency), we ought to substitute a more modest kind of "practical reason." In this sense, he can be thought of a kind of Pragmatist along the lines of the American philosopher John Dewey.
So, I think we can now begin to see where Brian Eno might start quoting him a bit: Since we create both language and truth about the world, we ought to be interested in the reconstruction of language to make it more useful and rewarding and to make the world more "satisfying" to our desires.
Since Rorty views creation and construction as more important goals or more comparatively useful ends than discovery and objective description, you can imagine how his thinking takes a kind of radically relativistic and aesthetic turn. It should also come as no surprise that Rorty would claim that Philosophy (as practiced) may not be as useful for answering the questions of ordinary people as writers or poets or artists, who make it their business to wrestle with questions of contingency and the construction of meaning from objects at hand.
This brings us to the book that Eno says all those nice things about, "Contingency, Irony, and Solidarity". Whenever you hear the Eno talking about things like "final vocabularies" and what he calls "ISMism", he's pretty much repeating Rorty. "Contingency, Irony, and Solidarity" works on coming up with a kind of "private" ethic of personal self-enrichment and self-creation combined with the "public" political morality of traditional Philosophical Liberalism. The advantage of Liberalism is that it brings with it a kind of procedural sense of justic which is of practical use; one desires to avoid giving pain to others so that each person may be free to pursue a private vision of perfection.
In "Contingency, Irony, and Solidarity," language is still a primary material, but it's no longer the incarnation or instantiation of reason; it's a primarily aesthetic tool for self-fashioning instead. By retelling our stories using different sorts of contexts and vocabulaties (without the resort of a "final" or objective one) we reconstitute ourselves and our society.
(Since I worked so hard to get this far, I'll take the writer's prerogative to editorialize just a little bit. It seems to me that there's a little problem with Rorty's view here (or something I don't fully understand) in the way he seems to depend on a pretty serious split between the public and the private that separates the language of concensus from the language of creation. It would seem to me that such a split would affect our use of a stable and shared language which is "public" for our common practical purposes and our political concerns for notions like "justice." That may not bother the rest of you, of course.In the end, if may turn out that I'm more interested in Pluralism than Relativism as a position. I hope that this doesn't mean that I have to turn in my Oblique Strategies.).
I'm still gtaylor@fullfeed.com
Back to silence, back to nothing

Brian Eno, 2002
WITH PETER HALLEY
Legendary musician, producer, and artist Brian Eno would much rather talk about urbanism, new computer applications, or emergence theory than something as pedestrian as EQ levels or his own brilliant musical history. And while he might mention the classic albums he’s made, like My Life in the Bush of Ghosts, or the seminal records he’s produced, like U2’s Achtung Baby, it would only be to underline a point that he’d like to make. Eno has a passion for dialogue and knowledge, and the wide-ranging intellect to support it.
index publisher Peter Halley met up with Brian on a recent trip to London. Leeta Harding photographed his orderly studio, filled with CDs, computer equipment, musical instruments, books, and current visual art projects.
PETER: I’m such a workaholic that the only way I can even make friends with people is by interviewing them. [laughs]
BRIAN: I make most of my friends through working situations as well.
PETER: I had a hunch.
BRIAN: It’s how you get to know somebody on the level that you might really be interested in knowing them. Even my visits to foreign countries usually happen just because I have to do something there, an exhibition or a show.
PETER: I’m the same.
BRIAN: It’s a nice way to meet people. You’re there with your work so they know what you’re up to. They have some reason to talk to you other than just to make idle conversation, and there’s a task to be done. You can understand a lot about the texture of a country by working in it and seeing how people arrive at decisions. You see which things are available to them and which things aren’t.
PETER: This might be a very male point of view, but I have the idea that, even though friendship is often defined as a leisure activity, it’s really about alliance — people who believe in the same things and therefore want to talk to each other.
BRIAN: I think that’s a very good definition. But it actually seems like quite a female idea of friendship.
PETER: How so?
BRIAN: When I watch my two little girls play, the thing that interests me about their games is the very laborious sets of relationships they’ll construct between the characters. You know, “You’re the auntie, but the mother doesn’t like you because you did this.” It’s terribly complicated, and there’s never any game at the end of it. The building of the network of relationships is just about all that ever happens.
PETER: That’s said to be a skill that’s prominent in women.
BRIAN: Yes. It led me to my theory that cities are places built for women.
PETER: Wow.
BRIAN: In cities, you have the opportunity to do all the things that women are really specialized at: intense social relationships and interactions, attention to lots of simultaneous details. And of course in cities you can do very few of the things that men are good at.
PETER: Like what?
BRIAN: You can’t break anything in a city. Everything is valuable, so you’re limited in how much you can test the physical nature of things — which I think is a big part of a man’s make up.
PETER: Many urbanists say that public life in the eighteenth century — which is when the modern city began to take shape — was available only to men. Do you think a female city was always there under the surface?
BRIAN: I do. One of the peaks of civilization in the west was the salon. They were nearly always the invention and ongoing project of women.
PETER: I’m a real devotee of the German sociologist, Norbert Elias. He would say that the first female-oriented societies were the aristocratic courts, and that the salon would be an outgrowth of that.
BRIAN: Don’t you think the court is in a way the original city? It’s a congregation of people who aren’t related, so it’s not a clan, and they’re in very close proximity, which always gives rise to manners.
PETER: Elias also gives the court credit for the invention of psychology.
BRIAN: Oh that’s interesting.
PETER: What have you been reading lately?
BRIAN: I recently read Richard Sennett’s book The Uses of Disorder. It’s a very intelligent anti-planning book, and I thought, “This is fantastic, but nobody’s ever going to read it.” So I decided to condense it. I wanted to present the argument of the book in three thousand words. I went through it with a yellow highlighter, marking the bits that really got the germ of the idea. Then I photocopied all the parts I’d marked and collaged them together. After that, I had this idea that every serious book should be publishedin two forms. There should be the full version, but preceding it by a month or so should be the filtered version.
PETER: It would be even better to ask ten different people to do that and put all the versions into one volume.
BRIAN: It took me about a week to do the Sennett book. I had it all pasted up on a huge sheet of cardboard, which I gave to several people who would never have read the book otherwise. And they all got the idea. One of them went on to read a lot of other Sennett books.
PETER: Have you read his “The Fall of Public Man”? He was only about thirty when he wrote it.
BRIAN: That’s a very good book. >PETER: I think that a lot of radical American writers who were operating in the ‘60s were edited out of American cultural history. If Sennett were on the other side of the Atlantic, I think he’d be hailed as a genius.
BRIAN: Sennett’s gathered steam over here during the last ten years. There’s been a slowly building feeling that he is one of the important American writers. Somebody else who might be better known here than in America is the philosopher Richard Rorty.
PETER: He’s actually quite widely followed in the art world here. I haven’t read his work.
BRIAN: Rorty tries to imagine how we can deal with a world in which we’ve abandoned the concept of absolute values — the idea that there’s some greater wisdom to which we can appeal. He’s asking, “Suppose that it’s the case that we designed our own mental universe, suppose that all the things we call good and evil are our own projections, that they aren’t givens …”
PETER: That sounds so much like Heidegger or Sartre. I don’t understand what makes Rorty different.
BRIAN: He’s an optimist. It’s not, “We made it all up? Oh shit, so there’s nothing at the bottom of it all?” To me, Rorty’s work is a celebration of what humans do best of all, which is to imagine.
PETER: Is there one thing you would recommend I read by Rorty?
BRIAN: I would say the introduction to his book Contingency, Irony, and Solidarity. It’s only a few pages long and it’s so good. The book is about Nabakov and Orwell, and about writing and the idea that works of imagination are the way that we arrive at new social concepts, rather than works of so-called rational deduction. In the end, what Rorty turns out to be saying is that philosophy is just another kind of writing. It doesn’t have any special grasp on the truth.
PETER: I think that philosophy is a codification of what’s already going on more widely in the culture. If you think of Barthes’ Mythologies, for example, it’s such a summary of what people were thinking about in the late ‘50s.
BRIAN: My problem with twentieth century philosophy is that so much of it was entirely reactive to other philosophy. It became hard for me to follow what anyone was saying — or why they would bother saying it. I responded to Rorty because I could see how his ideas made some difference to the way I think about my life.
PETER: That’s such a great feeling. The same happened for me with Barthes and Foucalt. BRIAN: To tell you the truth, I never found Foucalt very easy to read. Barthes was a very entertaining writer. With his work I thought, “Yeah. That’s right. I knew that.” [laughs] It rang very true to me.
PETER: I’d like to bring up Norbert Elias again. In one of his books, he kind of refutes the idea of individual consciousness. He says consciousness only resides in the group. That seemed enormously important to me.
BRIAN: I recently read a book about the CIA’s experiments in the ‘60s and ‘70s using psychedelic drugs as interrogation tools. In the end, they found that what worked best was old-fashioned solitary confinement. It drove the subjects completely mad.
PETER: It seems that almost the biggest pain humans can feel is total aloneness.
BRIAN: Occasionally I go off for a few days just to sit somewhere on my own. I refer to it as “going into the abyss.” I don’t even take books because they’re another way of engaging in the group consciousness. The idea is that I’ll spend some time in a quite boring place where I don’t know anybody and I don’t speak the language.
PETER: What’s that like?
BRIAN: It’s actually very traumatic. The first two days are especially disturbing. I lose sense of the value of anything I’ve been doing — it all starts to look completely meaningless. If I were actually depressed, I would never do this because I could very quickly end up topping myself. [laughs]
PETER: Does it eventually become a positive experience?
BRIAN: Yes. It’s a fantastic moment. Suddenly I’m no longer desperate. All these things that I had thought were wonderful suddenly look like shit, but there’s still something great about being alive. It kind of reaffirms everything.
PETER: Do you still feel connected to the world of mainstream music?
BRIAN: One often used to hear high art people saying that pop music was so boring and formulaic. I never thought that was true. All that formula and repetition is like a great big vehicle for carrying the moment of difference — the tiny point where something happens that didn’t happen before. As a listener, the first question I ask myself is, “Why am I moved by that? Why does that difference matter to me?”
PETER: The best thing about music today is that it’s available to a large audience at a low price.
BRIAN: What I value more than anything else about the music business is its distribution system. Records, record shops, and concerts are ways of distributing things to a lot of people. I like the idea of saying, “Here’s this incredibly well organized, powerful and pervasive machine — I want to be part of it.” If something I do gets criticized, I would never say, “They didn’t understand me,” or “What I did was too good for them.” I would assume there was something wrong with what I was doing.
PETER: Well not necessarily wrong. There’s nothing wrong with appealing to a very small audience.
BRIAN: I do a lot of things that I know won’t interest thousands of people, but I release them for the hundreds that will be interested. Sometimes I’m wrong, and it turns out that quite a lot of people actually do like them. Or, on the other hand, nobody does. [laughs]
PETER: I really don’t think the artist can tell.
BRIAN: I’ve often thought that there are two varieties of artists. There’s the fussy type, which I tend to be, who always censor themselves, and then there are people like Miles Davis and Prince who just say, “Look, if it came from me, it’s probably good.” There’s a certain generosity in that. Which category of artist do you fall into?
PETER: I’d say I’m half-and-half. [laughs]
BRIAN: I’m trying to get myself more into the latter camp, but it’s not natural. I tend to be nervous about everything.
PETER: But you have such a huge body of work.
BRIAN: I’d probably have about four times more if I hadn’t censored so much.
PETER: Jasper Johns is famous for holding on to his work.
BRIAN: A few years ago I was interested in what was happening to the act of curating. I’d seen a few shows in Europe, particularly in France and Germany, where the name of the curator was bigger on the poster than the names of the artists. It’s like saying, “Here’s somebody who can draw an interesting line through our culture. He can connect a few things which you’ll probably find worth taking seriously.”
PETER: As an artist, I'm not sure how much I like that trend. In Europe, most of the exhibitions tend to be poetic in their conception. I get a big kick out of all the titles, like "The Cooked and The Raw." It seems like, especially in Belgium, the exhibitions all have very poetic titles. And the way exhibitions are curated is not systemic at all.
BRIAN: It’s very much a creative act rather than an academic act. We’ve dropped the pretense that what these people are doing is assembling the most important things on some previously agreed-upon scale. We accept the idea that they’re telling a story using the available materials of culture. I think this is the way that ordinary people make their own culture. You own these records, you like those films, you’ve got these reproductions on your wall. You believe in a bit of this religion and a bit of that one, but at the same time you have candelabra that belong to yet another.
PETER: I also think that to a lot of people, culture has become like tourism. Instead of visiting London, you put on an Oasis record, or you go see Sensation at the Brooklyn Museum.
BRIAN: Cuban music is a good example of that. How many people, Americans especially, have been to Cuba? Very few. But somehow that culture has come to represent sexy, sophisticated life. And it’s all based on four records!
PETER: This gets us into the idea of importing the exotic while ignoring the reality.
BRIAN: When David Byrne and I released My Life in the Bush of Ghosts, I felt that there were so many things wrong with it. I had just started to get what rhythm was about. I had just become aware that there were people who did it a whole lot better than I did. The Village Voice reviewed it, and the only other review on the page was of a record by a black punk group from Harlem. They had appropriated all of the clichés of punk music and were praised roundly, while we were condemned as being neocolonialists.
PETER: My Life in the Bush of Ghosts struck me as being the opposite of neocolonial. There were things like Islamic Maqam singing on it, but it was right after the Iran Hostage crisis and it was like, “There are all these people out there, and their worldview is not the same as ours in the west. And we should listen.” At the same time, the album referenced this new American landscape that not only included technology, but also right wing preachers.
BRIAN: As an English person living in America in the early-’80s, I was much more receptive than a native would have been. I didn’t have many friends there, so I would just listen to the radio. There were complete lunatics on the airwaves — people whose views seemed so objectionable. I started recording them just because I wanted to show my friends in England what people in America were listening to.
PETER: I also used to tape things off the radio at that time. Maybe that’s why I responded to that record so immediately. We probably weren’t the only ones recording off the radio, but you were able to make a work of art out of it.
BRIAN: I already saw it as art, so I only needed to put a little context around it and it was dynamite. It was like discovering a totally exotic culture where I never expected one. I’d just been to Thailand before moving to America, and it was far less foreign to me than New York turned out to be.
PETER: Your trajectory from the early ‘70s to the mid-’80s seemed to encompass all the things that would become postmodernism in the ’80s. You went from an exploration of sexual personae, to skepticism about the emotional authenticity of pop music, to experiments that later became known as ambient music, and then an involvement with world music. You covered it all.
BRIAN: Things always look much more calculated in retrospect. I agree that you can draw a line through the things that I did, but at the time they all seemed chaotic to me. I just kept thinking, “When am I going to find out what I actually do?” I still think that actually.
PETER: Isn’t that a rather old-fashioned thing to worry about? [laughs]
BRIAN: I know. But it’s interesting that within one head there can be this childlike fascination with doing everything and the adult saying, “Why don’t you ever tidy up in here?”

Monday, 10 September 2007

Thanatourism/Dark Tourism


The following is an excerpt from Markku Kuukasjärvi's paper Dark Tourism-the Dark Side of Man. Part of the reason this research interests me has to do with its possible complication of the seeking out of experiences of hauntological psychogeography. Does thanatourism exist on the same continuum? Afterall, I myself list "bunker archaeology" as an interest on my profile, and those who I've shared travel/exploration experiences with know all about the sites we visited, the historical legacies of which were mapped out/researched carefully before we got there. But as I have future plans for a post on "bunker archaeology", I won't speculate too much about the possible connections here.


I do think though that the increasing Australian limit experience of walking the Kokoda Track may be of a slightly different order to much of what the following article characterises as "dark tourism", letalone the increasing attendance of the Gallipolli commemorations. Reflecting on one particular barrister I met, and then a revealing article passed onto me by my brother in The Financial Review, I was mortified by the existence of the pursuit of limit experience in all aspects of the lives of a substantial number of these people, which they had originally inherited from their jobs. Many of them were riding 100s of kms per week at odd hours, that is, when they weren't competing with each other to be the first in the office, and the last to leave. The article ruefully noted how many organisers of "fun" cycling charity events had become exasperated by these kinds of participants pestering them for details of their "times". Not coincidentally, many of them had taken on Kokoda as a kind of personal endurance test. One wonders if any connection to the original historical context is more to do with the kind of "battlefield nationalism" the odious Prime Minister John Howard has propagated: simply going to work requires similar endurance qualities to the ANZACS, a "band of brothers", as more expansive conceptions of social capital are abandoned in favour of amoral familialism in a neoliberal social Darwinian culture ("survival of the fittest").


Notwithstanding these qualifications in an Australian context, the following research is, in my view, promising in many respects, and no doubt widely applicable:
Death and the society
In eighteenth-century Europe and England, death was everyone's intimate acquaintance, constantly on view. Child mortality rates were extremely high. Crowded living in unsanitary conditions, malnutrition, famine, disease, and accidents ensured life's unpredictability from day to day. Executions were also public. Well into the nineteenth century, an execution day was a holiday, and schools were let out; it was commonly believed that the sight of punishment would deter future criminals. The bodies were often displayed for a long while, the flesh decaying before people's eyes.
Late in the eighteenth century, death actually began to recede in many Western countries, if imperceptibly at first, and attitudes to it changed. Over time, social, religious, and medical changes made dying and death gradually withdraw from view; by the mid-twentieth century they became virtually invisible in most large metropolitan centers, especially in America and England.
Once the cemeteries were shifted away from city centers, the rural cemetery was turned into a delightful garden and the old casual acquaintance with dead bodies was transformed into a spectacle or viewing opportunity. In Paris, people idly dropped in on the morgue, where the door was always open, if they were passing by, and the catacombs, where the bones that had welled up from earlier cemeteries were arranged in ranks and galleries, were popular sites for tourists. (Goldstein 1998: 27-28)
In historical terms, in the sense of visiting sites of death and disaster, dark tourism has long roots that date millennia backward in time. Public entertainment and presentation of death for retribution and public intimidation have long been practiced throughout contemporary societies. During the past three centuries, the withdrawal of death from the public scene has increased death-related mysticism and its deep-rooted fascination amongst the common people.
Now, what and when exactly is dark tourism? Some scholars limit the phenomenon only to the modern times, based on its relation to the post-modern society. What is the nature of dark tourism? These questions we try to answer through different definitions of the phenomenon.

Varying definitions
Being a relatively new theme in academic writing, there are few attempts to define dark tourism. They are not unified in scope and extent, so in order to get a complete picture of what dark tourism is all about, we will investigate the definitions one by one.



Definition by Lennon and Foley
The first researchers to bring dark tourism to the eyes of the academic society were John Lennon and Malcolm Foley with their book Dark Tourism: The Attraction of Death and Disaster. In only seven years, they had stimulated significant academic attention, and had even merited an encyclopedia entry for thanatourism / dark tourism (Singh 2005:63). The term dark tourism was coined, as a means of describing "…the phenomenon, which encompasses the presentation and consumption (by visitors) of real and commodified death and disaster sites" (Lennon & Foley 1996: 198).
According to Lennon & Foley, dark tourism is principally an intimidation of post-modernity. This means the events and places in history, that now have turned to dark tourism destinations, introduce doubt and anxiety about modernity in the viewer’s mind. How did the unsinkable Titanic, the technological pinnacle of the time, sink after all taking 1500 passengers down with her? Why was Martin Luther King Jr., defender of peace, equality and modern thinking itself, assassinated? Moreover, how could the civilized and cultured society of Germany systematically murder 1,6 million Jews in the Second World War?
A more recent similar example could be the massacre in Rwanda, where roughly a million ethnic group members were iniolated in just a hundred days in 1994. The most striking fact outside the massacre was the ineffectiveness of the United Nations and its Western members in particular. Countries like United States, Belgium and France all declined to intervene or speak out against the planned massacres prior to the event actually taking place.
In other words: things that shouldn’t happen in the modern world do happen. Sometimes it is possible to prevent them from happening, and yet it is not done. This introduces the apprehensive question: are we safe in this world after all, and moreover, can we feel safe in ourselves?

Each of the forementioned events and their numerous respective memorials, museums etc. receives significant tourist attention. Each of these are dark tourism destinations with apparently dark connotations.
Lennon & Foley set two more preconditions for dark tourism (in addition to the threat on post-modernity): firstly, that global communication technologies play a major part in creating the initial interest and secondly, that the educative elements of sites are accompanied by elements of commodification and a commercial ethic, which approves taking the opportunity to develop a tourism product. The first means instantaneous media coverage of events, local or global in scale, and hence introduces the collapse of time and space. The latter suggests that apart from being an arrant source of education, a dark tourism site carries the capacity of financial benefit that is being exploited. These conditions are sufficient to satisfy Lennon & Foley’s definition of dark tourism.
These limitations exclude, for example, roughly the sites of battle and other events prior to the start of the twentieth century due to the chronological distance, from being labeled ‘dark tourism’, the reason being that they do not induce anxiety about the present-day society and the direction it is heading. These events are just too far back in time for us to really grasp it.

Seaton’s definition

Tony Seaton coined a similar label in his definitive article, From Thanatopsis to Thanatourism: Guided by the Dark. In it, he describes thanatourism as being, "…travel to a location wholly, or partially, motivated by the desire for actual or symbolic encounters with death, particularly, but not exclusively, violent death, which may, to a varying degree be activated by the person-specific features of those whose deaths are its focal objects" (1996: 234-244).
The definition of thanatourism focuses on the travel motivation, which determines whether -and to what degree - the travel is thanatourism. The actual or symbolic encounters with death constitute the core of the thanatourism phenomenon. If there are special features to the death of a person or the person himself whose death site is visited, it may by its own right boost the desire to visit the site. For example Graceland, the home of Elvis Presley in Memphis, US, celebrates the memory of a superstar, whose loyal fans and other tourists still visit the rock and roll legend’s home decades after his death. Graceland mansion now harnessed for another purpose; it has been turned to a museum and a centre for commemoration. For many, the reason to ‘meet death’ is not the main purpose of travel to this destination.
Seaton furthers his definition by adding two factors. First, thanatourism is behavioral; the concept is defined by the traveler’s motives rather than attempting to specify the features of the destination. Unlike Lennon and Foley’s concept, Seaton recognizes that individual motivations do play a role in death and disaster tourism. Secondly, thanatourism is not an absolute; rather it works on a continuum of intensity based on two elements. First, whether it is the single motivation or one of many and secondly, the extent to which the interest in death is person–centered or scale–of–death centered. Figure 6 illustrates Seaton’s thanatourism continuum.
Figure 6. Seaton’s Thanatourism Continuum. Seaton (1996)


Seaton suggests, as presented in Fig. 6 on the left, that dark tourists whose travel motivation has a weak thanatourism element, have a very person-centered interest in death. The main motives for such travelers are commemoration and respect for the dead. Dark tourists with a strong thanatourism element (on the right in Fig. 6) are defined as having a generalized interest in death and that for them, meeting death is the sole purpose of travel. Scenes of disaster would be a favored destination for such travelers.

Rojek and Black Spots
Chris Rojek coined the third term affiliated with the concept of dark tourism. His expression, black spots, refers to the "…commercial developments of grave sites and sites in which celebrities or large numbers of people have met with sudden and violent deaths" (1993:136). Rojek’s approach to black spots comes nearer to Foley’s & Lennon’s definition of dark tourism with commercialized utilization of the site. It seems that commercialization is indeed regarded as an important component of a dark tourism destination.

Dark Tourism by Philip Stone
Philip Stone, the editor of the Dark Tourism Forum, wrote a definition of dark tourism, which is probably the simplest of the ones presented. He states: 'Dark tourism is the act of travel and visitation to sites, attractions and exhibitions which has real or recreated death, suffering or the seemingly macabre as a main theme.' (www.dark-tourism.org.uk) This definition, as well as Lennon & Foley’s and Rojek’s definitions, focuses equally on the dark characteristics of the destination itself, not the travel motivation of the tourists visiting the site. Apparently, we have several terms to describe the same phenomenon, but there are also two clearly distinct approaches.
This leads us to a question: is dark tourism demand-driven (by the taste of dark tourists) or supply-driven (the allure of the destinations), or is it possibly a combination of the two? In addition, we must ask if it is the tourist’s purpose of travel that creates a makes the travel dark tourism or is the destination itself the determining factor to define the phenomenon.

Commercialization and different shades of the dark
It is the mystery of death that may come to mind when thinking of what attracts tourists to visit a dark tourism destination. But also marketing schemes are being implemented, the sites being partially commercial of nature, which also reinforces the pull factor.
"If you’re looking for fun things to do in Memphis and enjoy visiting celebrity homes, don't miss touring Elvis's 14-acre estate in Memphis, Tennessee" (www.elvis.com). At Graceland, several Elvis-related packages are being offered from the regular visit to the mansion up to weddings. There are Elvis gift shops to buy souvenirs, the Elvis Christmas Celebration is a package for the whole family and Elvis Wedding Events make it possible for couples to get married in a chappel very close to the King’s mansion.
Clearly the multitude of supply and marketing efforts has an effect on the tourist’s travel decision, especially in highly commercialized dark tourism attractions, like that of Elvis. In contrast, at the museum and concentration camp Auschwitz-Birkenau, where the most important thing is realistic interpretation of the history, the commercial character is not so apparent. For legislative reasons amongst others, admission to the estate is free of charge. Naturally some profit-producing services are included, such as guide-service and selling of books and articles related to the Holocaust, but, due to the historical significance of the site, it would be out of context and beyond good practise to commercialize it further.
It appears that the ‘darkest’ of dark tourism destinations are relatively little commercialized, whereas such death sites of popular culture icons like Elvis with less ‘dark’ associations have a broad range of support services and products. Of course, not all celebrity death sites or sites of ‘lighter’ nature are heavily commercialized, however, an apparent link can be found between the historical and political sensitivity of the site and the level of commercialization.
It has been argued that several stages of darkness exist within the field of dark tourism supply (Miles 2002: 1175-1178). Miles proposes there is a crucial difference between sites associated with death and suffering, and sites that are of death and suffering. Thus, according to Miles, the product (and experience) at the death camp site at Auschwitz-Birkenau is conceivably darker than the one at the US Holocaust Memorial Museum in Washington DC. (Stone 2006:151)

Figure 7. A dark tourism spectrum: Perceived product features of dark tourism within a ‘darkest-lighest’ framework of supply. Stone 2006.
The part above the scale-line in Fig. 7 shows the ‘nature’ of the dark tourism destination, that is it measures its sensitivity or the political and historical influence, and the descriptions under the continuum describe different characteristics of the site. With one additional measure, the level of commercialization (placed at the bottom in Italics), we can more accurately decide to which end of the continuum an individual dark tourism destination should be placed.
Looking at the scale, the link to the travel motivation becomes more evident: the more sensitive the site, the more motivation veers toward education and commemoration and the more authentic is the encounter with death. The dark effect is at its strongest at the left end of the continuum and respectively weakest at the right.

Dark sun resorts
There is a kind of dark tourism destination that has all the characteristics of a holiday destination and also features of a dark tourism destination. Outstanding examples are the holiday paradises wiped out by the tsunami in 2004. Before the destructive waves struck the shores of Thailand, Indonesia, Sri Lanka and many other countries, the Christmas season was at its peak.
Then, in one short instant, these glamorous oriental tourist attractions turned to vast cemeteries. Nearly 300 000 people lost their lives, amongst them thousands of tourists. Much of the tourism infrastructure was destroyed at the same time.
The holiday resorts were quickly rebuilt, however. In Phuket of Thailand, for about eight months after the tsunami, most hotels had less than 10 % occupancy. One year after the tsunami, most of the island’s hotels were back to business, though many were not doing very well. But then there are places like Phi Phi Don island, a 90-minute ferry ride from Phuket, where the waves' full fury was felt. Rebuilding on Phi Phi Don had barely begun in January 2006; the tragedy's legacy was all too apparent. Official records show 721 died in Krabi province and many of them are still missing. Tourists are gradually returning, but some are still hesitant; they wonder if dead corpses can still be found floating in the sea. (Beyette 2006 in Los Angeles Times)
Tourism is coming back to the rebuilt resorts in Thailand. Sun is still shining, people sunbathe and swim in the sea. Children build castles of sand. The ‘Tsunami escape route’ –signs are the only visible remnant of the total destruction. Everything seems to be back to normal, but something has changed. Most tourists still come for the sun, but there is also curiosity amongst them to see the site of destruction for themselves. Many have seen the shocking videos and pictures of the destruction and at least heard of the rottening corpses floating in the sea.
These beautifully restored beach resorts are actually places where hundreds, or even thousands of people died very recently. Amongst the sun-seekers there are their friends and relatives, coming to pay respect to the victims of the tsunami. The places themselves have not changed, but for some visitors, they have changed forever.
Can we categorize these destinations as dark tourism destinations? Obviously they are very much commercialized, but the commercialization has nothing to do with the tsunami. Reflecting against Lennon & Foley’s criteria for dark tourism destinations, they neither raise questions about the modern society, the cause being a natural phenomenon. It did bring about tremendous suffering and it required enormous casualties, but even so, it does not shake the image we hold about the man-made world (societies, cultures, et cetera). But these destinations do match the general description: "visiting sites of death and disaster".
These destinations have sun seeking and relaxation as the main theme, not death and suffering, so they can neither measure up to Stone’s definition. It appears that – in the scientific reign at least – tourist destinations that have been destroyed by a natural disaster do not qualify as dark tourism destinations. In tourism research, for example, it would be difficult to measure the amounts of leisure tourists visiting these sites, when the number is obscured by estimations about dark tourists at the same site. However defined, one thing is for certain: there is a dark element to each of these sites. Though these destinations cannot be called dark tourism attractions, with some degree of certainty we can assume that there are dark tourists who visit these sites inspired by just this element.
Dark tourism could be summed up as: "The act of visiting places with death, suffering and disaster as the main theme, driven by both the supply of the destination and the visitor’s interest in its extraordinary features". Furthermore, it is important to emphasize the multitude and diversity of dark tourism attractions, all of which by no means serve similar functions and share the same characteristics. As proved by our last example, the tourist may indeed be a dark tourist (visiting a place that, to him, is of death and dying), even though the destination does not qualify as a dark tourism destination.
Either one of the definitions described in this chapter can neither be called wrong nor the absolute truth; they are simply slightly different ways to look at the same phenomenon.

Types of Dark Tourism
There are many forms of dark tourism supply. Some are physical destinations where atrocities and dying have actually taken place; some are purposefully built in another location to commemorate such events. There are dark tourism products where the tragic event is being re-enacted with the tourist participating in the process. Some destinations offer more educative value, some exist mainly for entertainment. In this chapter we focus on the types of tourism on the supply side of dark tourism. In effect, we focus on plain distinguishable characteristics shared by a number of dark tourism destinations. As shown before, destinations can be divided into different ‘shades’ of darkness for example, depending on many factors that affect the dark tourist’s experience. In this chapter only the surface of the dark tourism destination is being evaluated, the different effects that the dark tourist may experience there are left to be introduced in the chapters to come.

Destination categories
The following categorization was developed by the author based on dark tourism literature and few already established dark tourism categorizations (Dann 2001; Stone 2006).
A rough cut of the main different types of dark tourism could be as follows:
Seeing places of mass murder and genocide
Going to museums related to death
Visiting graveyards and cemeteries
Going to dungeons
Battlefield tourism
Slavery tourism
Taking part in re-enactments of tragic events.
The first category of dark tourism, the sites of mass murder and genocide includes sites such as Auschwitz and the Killing Fields of Cambodia and other places where a large number of people have died. The place of the twin towers struck down by terrorist attacks in September 11 2001 that is now known as Ground Zero, also falls into this category of dark tourism. These places also belong to the darkest shade of the dark tourism continuum with closest contact to dying.
The second category, museums and exhibitions, includes any genocide museums, and museums associated with wars. The United States Holocaust Memorial Museum in Washington and the Yad Washem Holocaust Museum in Jerusalem are probably the most renowned examples of this kind of museums. Also the Imperial War Museum in London, dedicated to viewing the war history of the United Kingdom from the First World War till present, belongs to this category.
The third category is visiting graveyards and cemeteries exclusively or as a part of the travel itinerary. It is claimed that the presence of death and the abundance of related symbols like gravestones and other elements give the dark tourist pleasure that is rooted in Gothic or Romantic art and literature. Père-Lachaise is the most famous of the 20 cemeteries in Paris. Beyond its primary function, this famous Romantic-inspired necropolis has become an open-air museum and pantheon garden.
The dark tourism sites in the fourth category, Dungeons, are usually rich in visual display and are built much for entertainment purposes. The London Dungeon simulates horror from history, recalling events of atrocities from the past. You can journey back to the darker side of European history. The Dungeons often include portrayals of how the punishments for crimes from executions to beheadings and torture were practised in the past. Celebrity death sites can be mentioned as a sub-category of its own. This means the death sites of famous individuals that are still objects of frequent tourism visitation. Dead celebrities like Elvis Presley, John Lennon, James ‘Jimmy’ Dean and Marilyn Monroe still live in the memories of the many thousands of visitors that visit their death sites each year.
The fifth category of dark tourism, battlefields tourism, means visiting locations where battles, both great and small, have been fought. Tour operators arrange trips specifically for this purpose or as a part to a more extensive travel plan. The experience of standing on the ground where soldiers fell and blood was shed can bring the reality of war close to the dark tourist. Many tourists who visit battlefields are war veterans coming to pay respect to their comrades and maybe to bring a tragic period in his life to an end. Some tour operators even arrange trips to active battlefields, like those in Israel or Afghanistan. (www.dark-tourism.org.uk)
Slavery tourism, also known as ‘roots tourism’, involves visitation of sites that were formerly used in the trans-Atlantic slave trade or that can bring up strong memories about slavery. This is the sixth category of dark tourism. In Africa, guided tours typically focus on the perspective of slaves and the tragedies they were made to endure. Some of the most famous of these destinations are Cape Coast Castle and Elmina Castle in Ghana, and Gorée Island in Senegal. (Ann Reed: www.dark-tourism.org.uk)
Re-enactments are a specific kind of dark tourism, and the seventh category in the listing. Here the tourist is a part of the dark tourism product itself. For example the re-enactment of the Battle of Hastings is a yearly event at Battle Abbey in Battle, East Sussex, UK, recreating the Battle of Hastings. It takes place every year on the weekend nearest the 14th October on the site of the historical battle. Another example of a dark tourism re-enactment is the replay of the death of President John F Kennedy in Dallas, Texas. There is a tourism product built around the assassination in which a presidential limousine will take you through the same route as it did on November 22 in 1963. The sounds, the crowd’s cheers and the gunshot are all played in ‘real time’ just as it happened. Even the speeding to the hospital is included in the experience. (Foley & Lennon 2000: 98) The motivation of a tourist taking this kind of trip can just be guessed, but it is as close as it gets to reliving the event.
Dark Tourism in numbers
Even though dark tourism is a growing phenomenon, it is only a small fraction of the worldwide tourism sphere. For example, compared to the most popular tourist attraction in Paris (being the most visited city in the world), Disneyland Paris, even the most visited dark tourism destinations fall far behind. About 12 million people visit Disneyland Paris each year. (www.unwto.org) However, if we view the phenomenon from the supply-perspective, the situation looks quite different. Smith stated in her research about war and tourism: "…despite the horrors of death and destruction, the memorabilia of warfare and allied products…probably constitutes the largest single category of tourist attractions in the world" (1996:247-264). In the following, we shortly glance at some of the most popular dark tourism destinations today.

The US Holocaust Memorial Museum has received 24.1 million visitors as of April 1993 till September 2006. This amounts on average to 1,7 million visitors per annum. The visitors have amongst them 34 % school-aged children, 12 % are international visitors, and non-Jewish visitation to the museum is as high as 90 %. Also over many heads of state and over 2,700 foreign officials from 131 countries have visited the museum. (www.ushmm.org)
In 2004, nearly a million people visited the Anne Frank memorial museum in Amsterdam, Holland. The same year, Auschwitz-Birkenau received over half a million registered visitors, of which roughly one third were Polish citizens. The share of international arrivals at Auschwitz has increased steadily from 47 per cent in 1997 to 66 percent in 2004. The statistics for Auschwitz are gathered at the gate of Auschwitz-Birkenau, and it is optional for individual visitors to register. Hence the actual figure is thought to rise up to a million visitors per annum. All groups are required to register before entering the museum / camp. (www.annefrank.org; www.auschwitz.org.pl)
Graceland welcomes over 600 000 visitors each year, with an economic impact of 150 million dollars on Memphis per year (The Guardian, July 26, 2002). The London Dungeon, also belonging to the more easy-going end of the destinations, welcomes yearly over 750 000 visitors. Other dungeons affiliated to the London Dungeon have been built elsewhere in Europe too, like in Hamburg and most recently in Amsterdam in 2005.
For some destinations, dark tourism can be financially very beneficial. All dark tourism destinations can be said benefit financially from tourism to some degree; some benefit more, some less, depending on the commercial nature of the destination. But the very significant aspect of dark tourism is the education it delivers to the millions of visitors going to a number of destinations across the world. The educational aspect is often central for dark tourism attractions.
Until now, we have become familiar with definitions of dark tourism, its history and its different types, and introduced death’s place in society. Death is one of the keywords in this paper. Along with the next chapter we move to the focal point of this work, the dark tourist’s travel motivation, which has much to do with concepts like curiosity and fascination of death.

Motivation to Dark Tourism – The Intrigue of the Dark Side
It could be argued that we have always held a fascination with death, whether our own or others, through a combination of respect and reverence or morbid curiosity and superstition. However, it is (western) society’s apparent contemporary fascination with death, real or fictional, media inspired or otherwise, that is seemingly driving the dark tourism phenomenon. (Stone 2006: 147)
A number of theories probing into the tourist’s mind have been developed and we hereby investigate those that are most relevant in their ability to explain the appeal of death and dying in the consumer. First, let’s have a look at the effect media has in creating the interest.

The contribution of media
As already mentioned in chapter 3.2, death had started to recede from public view in the late 18th century. The trend continued increasingly so that by the mid-twentieth century death had become virtually invisible, particularly in the Western metropolises.
The written media responded in the nineteenth century by bringing to the fore not only more depictions of death but depictions of more secular, violent, and essentially uninstructive death. This meant that the entertainment value of death had surpassed the value of its educative / informative counterpart.
What's more, the illustrated newspaper exponentially increased the number and proportion of depictions of accidents and natural disasters: railroad crashes, shipwrecks, explosions and floods. These had neither religious significance nor redemptive force, but since they might happen to anyone, they may well have contributed to general and unspecific increases in anxiety. Disasters are undeniably news, but in other respects the papers were only responding to a fascination with accounts of violent death that ran alongside the movement, which attempted - if not to entirely wipe out - at least to beautify the end of life.
The news, which was heavily invested in descriptions and images of violent death from the beginning, has never ceased to be so; the general opinion today is that it has gone ever farther in the same direction. (Goldstein 1998: 39-40)
Media feeds the hunger for death, and the hunger grows the more it is fed. Viewers get used to seeing death, imagery becomes increasingly violent when closer and more powerful encounters with death are sought after. We are in a treadmill with no signs for exit. Now let’s get back to the core of the situation: what is it that makes death and violence so appealing in the first place?

The dark tourist experience
The following story is completely fictional.
"Guards are assaulting the prisoners: beating them, spitting on them, slicing their skin with their Hitler Jugend -knives. The prisoners are begging: please, stop, no more! They are wondering what in God’s name they had done to deserve it. They are beaten with tycoons all over the body until there is no single solid bone in their bodies. They wither in great pain and finally drift away to silence. The guards have them thrown away outside to a ditch like dead animals. Only a pond of blood reminds the victims once were there."
Whether this incident was a video clip, part of a short story, or any portrayal at all, it seems impossible to find anything pleasurable in viewing it. Could the viewer actually get excited of seeing something like this? It is difficult to imagine; the mind is naturally prone not to think about it because it is naturally programmed to seek away from personal suffering and pain. Is there another way to look at it?
As Goldstein reports: "Reactions to displays of violence specifically may be considered enjoyable and wholesome if they are deemed mediated by identification with a successful aggressor." The aggressor, in this case the guard, is a very powerful person just there and then. He has the divine power to decide whether the prisoner should live or die. There is no way the prisoner could stand up to the armed guard. The guard can do anything at all and walk away clean without needing to expect any consequences. Placed in a safe setting like a movie or a sanitized portrayal of death with sufficient distance to reality, the observer may actually be able to enjoy the show. Goldstein emphasizes the fact that the attainment of pleasure from violent spectacles requires identification with aggressors and victims, whether they fight for justice or not:
"-- people identify with fictional heroes, but also with the crudest of fictional villains, in order to attain "vicariously" the gratifications that these agonists experience. Through such identification, it is said; people transcend their limited personal experience" (Goldstein 1998: 163).
Goldstein also claims that the dramatic exposition that dwells on violence is thought capable of freeing the consumer from conjectured fears and phobias, distrusts, and ill emotions. Also here, identification and vicarious experience are the keywords. (Goldstein 1998:184) This miraculous cleansing is deemed to happen through a cathartic experience when the consumer has finished watching a tragedy.
As Goldstein seems to stay strictly in the world of fiction when posing these claims, could it be possible that also non-fictional portrayals of violence and death could induce similar experiences? The undeniable popularity of the videos about traffic accidents from light car crashes to fatal collisions and clips of people getting hurt and even dying on-screen, all of which can be found in abundance on the Internet, shows not only that is it possible to enjoy portrayals of real death, but that it already is popular entertainment. Can we comfort ourselves with the notion that the people who watch this kind of entertainment do it solely for empathy for our fellow humans? Obviously we cannot.
However difficult it is to measure the pleasurable emotions in observing violence and death, not to mention finding its core causes, we should at least give it a try. If there is, as hypothesized, excitement of some sort in the experience of a dark tourist, there also has to be an explanation.

Enjoyment of observing death
There have been some scientific, and also rather unscientific attempts to find the causes for the enjoyment of observing portrayals of death and violence. As previously shown, the pleasure doesn’t necessarily arise from observation of death itself, but from identification with the villains and victims involved. The theory suggesting that the gratification comes from the person being able to transcend, in other words to rise above his personal experience through an aggressor or victim, is not enough to form the complete picture and it is surely not the only explanation.
Some quite mystical accounts adding to the transcendence theory have been made. Huxley (1971) refers to the radical inadequacy and isolation of human existence to argue the rewards attainable through interfusion of self and other. "Ideally," Huxley states, "one would recognize and feel this interfusion with the company of Good and the Just, with saints, angels, and the Deity. Alternatively, one might hope to feel at least oneness with all of humanity. However, one can also transcend normal existence through feeling the interfusion of one's existence with the Evil and Unjust, with vampires, demons, and Satan". It is transcendence of this kind that exposure to brutality and terror is supposed to foster. In common language, the feeling of being together with the Evil could bring one to feel like he is something greater, and so bring satisfaction. (Huxley 1971:67) How the interfusion with Evil can make one feel more powerful is not perfectly clear. However, increased amounts of self-mastery, control and competence through a ‘powerful’ ally could certainly satisfy some needs (see Self-esteem needs on the Travel career needs ladder). The interfusion with a greater power could thus help to fill a void that emerges from the need to have purpose in life and a feeling of being part of something greater.
Another interesting viewpoint is that of Dickstein’s proposed in 1984. Dickstein suggests that, as we are brought up, from childhood to adolescence to adulthood, we are taught to repress our fears and superstitions and to believe that the society will protect us. If we do this, we are taught, others would too. Dickstein goes on: "But in some level we never really believe this". He argues that literary and cinematic terror makes us vicariously seek for ways of coping with the insecurity, which is caused by the disbelief in being safe: we don’t actually trust in being secured by the society.
It is claimed that displays of violence help people deal with real fears of things that come from within and from outside and even to enable them to rehearse their own deaths. Moreover, these displays are said to "help audiences to confront personal guilt indirectly, so that they might break free from real or imagined sins through the controlled trauma of the experience". (Rockett, 1988: 3) Controlled is the word that needs to be stressed here. It means that no matter what happens in the setting, the viewer/partaker can walk away freely at any time, should the anxiety pour over his limits. There is a great resemblance with dark tourism: a few hours visit to a site of death can already be mentally exhausting, but as the visitor knows that it will last only for a short time, or until he no longer wants to stay, the stress can be sustained. After the visit, it is relieving to jump on the bus and leave the gory place behind.
If there is distrust in the society’s ability to keep us safe and we are therefore subconsciously feeling unprotected, watching death and getting close to it in order to create a feeling of safety might seem quite far-fetched. On the other hand, as common-sense psychology lets us assume: we are afraid of the unknown. In the present-day society, this is what death and dying really have become. Through becoming familiar with death and through understanding death and suffering, we could be released from the fear, and be able to restore death’s place in the circle of life. This would free us from escaping from death and so result in decreased amounts of anxiety within ourselves. Perhaps in this way, it is possible that we are able to experience relief at displays of death and suffering.
Let us move our attention to a real event in history, to the assassination of John F. Kennedy in 1963. Would it be frightening, thrilling and somewhat eerie to be sitting in his car when it all happened, even if you knew it was a just a repetition of the actual events and you knew already what was ought to come? Anyway one looks at it, for some the experience could indeed be exciting to varying degrees, depending on the individual of course. Similarly exciting as in the combination of fear and excitement when you are about to do the bungee jump, or when speeding with the car so you can feel the adrenaline rushing all through the body. They all offer thrilling experiences, no matter what the context.
Hence also the imaginary dark tourist’s experience, whose sole intention is to meet death and the macabre, could be simplified down to sheer thrill seeking. In this case, it is the encounter with death that is at the very core of generating the mental stimuli, thus relevant to account fully for the travel motivation. This is quite a generalized explanation on why the macabre has become a product for consumption, but it is laid on a solid need-based foundation. People require sufficient amounts of physical and mental stimuli in order to feel contented, discontentment leads to seeking of additional stimuli. It can be said that in regard to stimulation, there is also a balance state that the mind aims to reach. But it is also dependent on the individual’s previous experience: the level of stimulation that was enough in the past will not be sufficient to satisfy the need in the future.
Theories tracing the origins of the sensation in the face of death and suffering are various. Based on the accounts stated before and mixed by the variables of individual interpretation and the type of a dark tourism destination, it is clear that a unifying theory is undoable. Therefore, we must be satisfied with a number of explanations that, from their own perspectives, contribute to explain an individual experience.

Personal interpretation
We all interpret what we observe, in this case portrayals of violence and death, according to our own experience and according to the context it is displayed in. If the fictional story written before were a video clip of an old action film placed in a prison environment, it would be somewhat meaningless to us. If we knew it was a true story from the Killing Fields with real people in it, we would be likely to feel pity and perhaps anger. If, taken still a step further, the prisoner had been our grandfather and it was a true story of his last day, the reaction to the display would be completely different. Should our grandfather have been the guard, yet another interpretation of the same event would emerge.
Similarly, those who have a connection to the Holocaust on a personal level through a family member for example, are prone to react differently to an exhibition about the Holocaust to those who have no connection to it at all.
People are also different in sensitivity. For some, violence on television is too much to watch, while others view it as entertainment. Head chopped of a villain may be ‘cool’ to a teenager, whereas his mother watching the same program is forced to turn her eyes away. If we have seen much violence and dying on television, it is possible we don’t react unless the film is extremely cruel and wretched, enough to make the head spin. On the other hand, having witnessed much real suffering and dying may also make the person hypersensitive towards portrayals of death and violence, real or fictional.
Different dark tourists can hence have a myriad of different experiences when visiting a dark tourism destination, depending on their past, connection to the event, and their personalities. Also the company the dark tourist is travelling with can affect the experience remarkably. Group tourists and individual travellers can have big differences in their experience.
Nonetheless, it is not only psychological factors that form the dark tourist’s experience. Time too can change attitudes and our understanding of past events.

Effect of timely distance
As learned in defining the phenomenon of dark tourism, time is an important factor in the interpretation of past events. According Lennon & Foley, dark tourism is an intimidation of the very foundations of modernity (2000: 11).
Human rights, modern technology and science have all been abused in the past in order to gain control, wealth or territory. Many such events have ended up with tremendous human suffering and tragedy and many of those places are now dark tourism destinations. If we think about medieval wars and the barbaric executions of the era or gladiatorial fights far in the past, they do not shake the picture of our current world. This is because they are so far apart in time from the contemporary world that they cannot be fitted in the current context. Thus there is no anxiety or worry about the modern society and the visiting such a site will not result in inner turmoil.
Martin Luther King was a symbol of equality and thus a symbol of modernity. He was the embodiment of all that the Ku Klux Klan despised. In 1968, he was assassinated and the people’s picture of the civilized, equal world was turned upside down. This event is in the past, and yet it is so close that it could happen again. Moreover, still after the Second World War, mass murder and genocide have happened in many parts of the world. This is an obvious source of anxiety in our current world and as such it fully satisfies Lennon & Foley’s requirements for a dark tourism destination.
As a generalized guideline, we can say that the closer the dark event is chronologically, the stronger the impact and the darker the dark tourist’s experience.

Dark tourism and curiosity
Having stories from friends, documentaries on television and numerous references to destruction, suffering and dying presented allover in media, it is not surprising there is so much interest in the hard side of life. As people have been introduced to a topic, they are often prone to find out more information about it: people are curious by nature.
Curiosity is more or less a natural instinct; curiosity confers a survival advantage to certain species. Curiosity is common to human beings at all ages; from infancy to old age, and is easy to observe in many other animal species. Many aspects of exploration are shared among all beings and present in everyday life: babies readily taste anything they get in their reach and the first thing dogs will do when entering a new premises is sniffing all the corners. Strong curiosity is said to be the main motivation of famous scientists. In fact, it is mainly curiosity that makes a human being an expert in a certain field of knowledge.
Many things are also interesting to us only because they are rare or unusual. Discussing people’s interest for violent entertainment, Carroll suggests that horror films do not so much discharge negative emotions as appeal to our curiosity: "horror attracts because anomalies command attention and elicit curiosity" (1990: 195). Horror movies present society's norms only to violate them. This violation of norms holds a fascination for people to the extent that they rarely see these violations in everyday experience. The prevailing norms in today’s society are supporting freedom of speech, equality and individual rights, for example. Many events that dark tourism memorials and sites stand for were to violate these and many other norms and often ended up with loss of many lives or even mass murder. Hence dark tourism destinations could be thought of sites that simply satisfy our curiosity above all.
Morbid curiosity is a term often used when discussing dark tourism motivation. It is a compulsion, a drive fixed with excitement and fear to know about macabre topics, such as death and horrible violence. In a milder form, however, this can be understood as a cathartic form of behaviour or as something instinctive within humans. This aspect of our nature is also often referred to as the 'Car Crash Syndrome’, arising from the fact that is seems impossible for passersby to ignore such accidents. (www.wikipedia.org)
Before applying the presented theories to explain the dark tourist’s behaviour, let’s take a visitor’s view on real dark tourism sites. This is meant to help in understanding the dark tourist’s experience in similar places: places of torture, dying and saddening human fates.

Places of dark tourism
The descriptions in this chapter are grounded primarily on the author’s personal visits to the sites during spring and autumn 2006. Having observed these sites of human tragedy contributes to more detailed descriptions and hopefully also to a better understanding of the atmosphere typical at this type of dark destinations. Source materials acquired from the sites and personal discussions with the employees/site managers were used to build up the sites’ histories and factual framework.

Killing Fields of Cambodia
It was year 1975 in small peasant country of Cambodia. The Khmer Rouge had seized power in guidance of their leader Pol Pot. During the first few days after Cambodia had become Democratic Kampuchea, all cities were evacuated, hospitals cleared, factories emptied, money abolished and monasteries shut. The goal of the new rule was to turn back the clock in Cambodia and make it ‘the number one communist state’, following the example of Mao’s China. They planned to expel or destroy existing social groups, for example, people of foreign origin, education or employment.
On its quest for total power in the country, Pol Pot’s Communist Party of Kampuchea (CPK) felt no pity. One famous motto, regarding the New People, was: "To keep you is no benefit. To destroy you is no loss." New people meant civilian Cambodians. Anyone who had been living in the urban areas before 1975, were forced to move to rural areas and were made a New Person. Under the communist regime, approximately 1,7 million people perished. They died of executions, starvation and forced labour. (Kiernan 1996: 8, 27)
The notorious interrogation centre S-21 of the Khmer Rouge in central Nom Penh (capital of Cambodia) was used to imprison people, usually for some months. During this time they were ferociously tortured. The purpose was to force confessions out of them, so they could then be exterminated in the Killing Fields just outside the city. Out of 17 000 prisoners in Tuol Sleng, seven are known to have survived.
Nowadays the Tuol Sleng prison and the Killing Fields are popular tourist destinations in Cambodia. The prison has been converted to a museum, though it is very plain and simple in presentation. Before the Khmer Rouge coup d’etat it was as a high school. The former cells / interrogation rooms have metal bunks in the middle of the room and a photo on the wall showing how the prisoner was tortured or simply its result: a dead corps. Some of the rooms have torture instruments such as metal rods placed on the bed.
The Khmer Rouge took a photo of every prisoner in S-21. These photos are arranged onto big boards in the second building of the museum. The eye-to-eye contact with the victims causes the biggest impact on the visitor. The faces are grave; some of still show a glimpse of hope, some eyes have already dimmed. There are faces of young children and men and women at all ages. On the second floor of the second museum building there are biographies of both former prisoners and officers at the Tuol Sleng prison. The third building on the right side when looking from the entrance gate offers more pictures and a repeating short film telling more about the mass murder of the Cambodians. On the way out it is possible to buy literature about the event in a kiosk placed inside the – frankly said – quite a beautiful courtyard.
Once you have visited the Tuol Seng prison, you will logically continue to the Killing Fields about twenty minutes to half an hour drive away on a moped taxi (a popular and affordable means of transport in the area). The dusty and bumpy rural roads lead you to Choeung Ek, where at the end of the road it is difficult even to say you are at the site of mass murder. The site itself – where 17 000 people were executed – may seem surprisingly small. Quite much in the centre of the site there is a small tower-like building stacked with shelves. When you get closer to it, you notice something extraordinary: over 8000 human skulls are put on the shelves, arranged by age and gender. On the floor under the shelves there are the clothes of the victims, cleaned and put there after the excavation of the mass graves in 1988. One may start to wonder: is this kind of presentation necessary? One thing is for sure: it is powerful.
An open-air building some tens of metres away from the white tower offers a detailed map of the site and has further information on several large glass-covered boards hung on the wall. Not far from either one of the buildings there are several hollows in the ground. The information plates tell they are the pits where the victims were thrown after execution. Half the corpses now lack heads, which are presented in the white tower. Under some of the trees, there are human bones still lying around like wooden sticks. Until now, most visitors have seen enough of the Killing Fields. A bookshop selling books about the mass murder and genocide is just outside the compound.
The prison in Nom Penh and the Killing Fields are positioned at the darkest edge of the dark tourism continuum. On average 200 visitors visit the Killing Fields per day. The surprising fact is that only three per cent of these visitors are Cambodian. For comparison, in Auschwitz-Birkenau the host natives constitute one third of all visitors.
The Killing Fields and Tuol Seng are very plain and are not at all commercialized apart from the book sales on-site and the possibility to engage a guide. These can hardly be called commercialization either, since their main purpose is education, not moneymaking. The authentic nature of these dark sites increases their appeal among dark tourists. The Killing Fields have come to stay.


The River Kwai Bridge
The River Kwai Bridge was a part of the railway built by Allied prisoners of war and Asian workers under the Japanese occupation during 1942-43. The route was planned between Kanchanabury in Thailand to Moulmein in western Burma to support the Japanese occupational forces in Burma and the planned invasion of India.
The quarter of a million people forcedly or otherwise employed people were living and working in varying conditions at the construction camps. Often there were shortages of food, medical supplies and sanitary facilities. In many cases the camps were a living hell. The working days were inhuman and in the tropical climate many deceases were lurking for the malnourished and exhausted labourers: malaria, cholera and the tropical ulcer were common.
During the sixteen months of construction of the 416 km track, a hundred thousand workers died. Some other estimations about the death toll are much higher. There are three museums dedicated the horrors of the Thai-Burma Railway, two of which are at the other terminal point in Kanchanabury: the Thailand-Burma Railway Museum, opened in March 2003, and the JEATH War Museum.
The JEATH War Museum (Japan, England, America, Australia, Thailand, Holland) is an open air bamboo hut museum on the bank of the Mae Klong River and has been built as a copy of an original prison camp and established to collect various items connected with the construction of the Death Railway by prisoners of war during the Second World War, 1942-1943.
The museum is divided into two sections: Section I and Section II. Section I displays a lot of pictures of the prisoners of war during their real life in the camp and Section II displays the instruments that the prisoners of war used while they were in the camp.
The first thing that strikes you when you visit the museum is the bamboo hut with a collection of photographs displayed. The hut is a replica of the conditions the POW's (prisoners of war) were forced to live in. The museum displays graphic images of the terrible conditions inflicted on the many men that died and the many that survived. To bring these atrocities to the public domain, the museum exhibits many photographs taken of real situations either by Thai's or POW's. Alike other war and death-related museums, there are also many real accounts written by former POW's, their relatives and friends.
Not a long drive away from the museum, there are the remains of about 7000 war prisoners put neatly in a cemetery. From the bank of river Kwai it is possible to take a scenic train ride on the Death Railway to get a good look at the railway and the sceneries around it. Many tourists can also be found walking along the bridge on a sunny day, posing and taking pictures with the infamous river Kwai in the background. (Image Makers 2005: 10, 15, 18, 25, 41)

Focus on Auschwitz
This chapter is an introduction to the history of the largest of Nazi death camps and at the same time, a descriptive analysis of the most infamous dark tourism destination. The author visited Auschwitz in October 2006 mainly for research purposes, but there was plenty of time for observing people visiting both the museum and the camp sites. School children, adults and elderly; Jews, Christians and Muslims; Poles, Germans and Americans; teachers, doctors, historians; married couples and singles; men and women: people from literally all walks of life could be seen visit the Museum each day. Auschwitz has become (or more correctly: has been made) an emblem of tolerance, individual freedom, equality and unity of mankind. It stands for all that once was punishable by death.

Camp history in short
The site of Auschwitz-Birkenau, the Nazi death camp in Oswiecim, Poland, is the best-known place of martyrdom and destruction in the world. This camp has become a symbol of the Holocaust, of genocide and terror, of the violation of basic human rights and of what racism, xenophobia, chauvinism and intolerance can lead to. The name of the camp has become a synonym for the breakdown of modern civilization and culture. (Swiebocki 2003: 6)
The Nazi vision of the thousand-year Reich envisaged a whole new Europe. Germans and the Nordic blood were considered superior to anything else, and hatred of democracy and Marxism were prevailing ideologies of the Nazi regime. Another fundamental principle was the Germans right to Lebensraum (living space), which meant to extend far beyond the German borders. The Jews were the main targets of extermination to achieve a ‘racially pure’ state, but the purification extended also to other groups, such as the mentally challenged, homosexuals and the Gypsy people.
The SS (Schutzstaffel, German for Protective Squadron) founded Auschwitz in the spring of 1940 as a concentration camp, similar to those that already existed in Nazi Germany. Following the occupation of Poland in 1939, the mass arrests of Poles had filled all the existing prisons to overflow. A camp was suggested to be set up in order to keep up with the flow of political prisoners. The 20 prewar barracks in the town of Oswiecim in southwest of Poland were found suitable for the purpose as no construction work was required and the town had convenient road and railroad connections. These reasons encouraged the Nazis to expand the camp on an enormous scale. After the first political prisoners arrived at Auschwitz on June 14 1940, by mid-1941 also Soviet POWs, Czechs, French and Yugoslavians were being sent there. These deportees consisted mainly of the intelligentsia and other ‘dangerous’ elements of the occupied countries, amongst them a number of Jews.
Auschwitz started to serve a second function in 1942. It became the largest extermination camp in the Third Reich. In its operation from 1940 to its liberation in January 1945 approximately 1.5 million people were murdered in the camp. Most of the records were destroyed prior to liberation and thus it is impossible to know the exact death toll. Gas chambers became the notorious instrument for mass murder. At least 1 100 000 Jews were deported to Auschwitz and on the physical examination of the SS doctors upon arrival, 70-75 % of the newcomers were sent to death in the gas chambers. In most part, they were elderly, women and children and those otherwise considered unfit for hard physical labour. If prisoners were not executed or gassed, they usually died of plagues, malnutrition, physical abuse and occasionally of the inhumane medical experiments conducted by Dr Joseph Mengele. (Swiebocki 2003: 8)



Establishment of the museum
Months after the end of the Second World War and the liberation of the camp, a group of Polish survivors from Auschwitz began to spread the idea of establishing a museum in memory of the victims of the death camp. In July 1947 the site was called into being as Oswiecim-Brzezinka State Museum, secured by a law to protect the grounds.
The museum’s task was to secure the grounds and buildings of the camp and to collect and gather together evidence and material related to the Nazi crimes so that they could be studied and made accessible to the public. There are 154 original camp buildings in the Museum and Memorial (56 at Auschwitz I and 98 at Birkenau).
Thousands of objects belonging to the people who had been doomed to die were found at the site of the camp or nearby after liberation, including suitcases, Jewish prayer garments, artificial limbs, cooking pots, glasses, shoes and tonnes of human hair. All of these amongst many other exhibits are on display in the Museum.
Auschwitz museum is very active in its quest for educating the public. The Museum carries out scholarly research, organizes exhibitions shown in Poland and other countries, issues its own publications, organizes lecturers, conferences, seminars, and symposia for teachers and students from Poland and other countries and offers a year-long postgraduate course for Polish teachers on Totalitarianism, Nazism and the Holocaust. Most of the education happens nevertheless amongst the visitors to the Museum. Up to date an estimated 28 000 000 people have visited the museum.
The mission of the museum is not only to present the history as it happened, but also to make people remember the victims of the camp through not only the statistics but as real and individual people, who suffered extraordinary atrocities and for the most part, passed away here. Anniversary meetings are held to gather former prisoners and their families, government officials and media together to learn over again about this important lesson in our history.

Inside the museum
Both the former concentration camps Auschwitz I and Auschwitz-Birkenau are accessible to the public. Places in the camps where specific events have taken place are marked with black granite tablets with descriptions and pictures from the time the camp was still in operation. They help the visitor better to understand what happened there, since much was destroyed by the Germans when they fled from the approaching Red Army. The remains of gas chambers in Birkenau (blown up with dynamite) are described with this kind of tablets and between the ruins there is the International Monument erected in 1967. The grand monument was built on top of the railway track that led to the Crematoria IV and V further away.
Several buildings at Auschwitz I are used for the so-called national exhibitions and the general exhibition. The national exhibitions illustrate the life and fate of the prisoners from different countries who were deported to the camp. The general exhibition consists of the collected objects that once belonged to the prisoners.
It is mostly school groups and other groups that pervade the silent alleys between the cellblocks in Auschwitz and amidst the wooden barracks in Birkenau. From about ten in the morning onwards the museum in Auschwitz I is full of people: school children, tour guides, and interested by-passers walk around in the museum waiting to go on their scheduled tour. The clerks working at the information desk are very busy coordinating tour guides to different groups. The atmosphere feels as if it were any ordinary museum. All visitors know however that this is a place where people were murdered by the thousand, and hence some caution can be sensed in the air. After the visit some seem relieved, others clearly anxious. The usual way to visit the museum is to start with Auschwitz I and then move on to Birkenau afterwards. A free shuttle bus connection is established between the two camps. In the vastness of the Birkenau camp, where up to 100 000 prisoners could be held at one time, groups and scattered individual visitors move along the railway track and wander around the empty barracks that used to house the prisoners. About 90 % of the barracks in Birkenau had been destroyed, but the ones that remain unveil the horrendous living conditions the prisoners had to face.
Information tablets are placed along the recommended route of visitation to allow the visitor to get a grasp of what happened and where amongst the numerous similar barracks.
Auschwitz is still a place of horror, even though the factories of death, the gas chambers and crematoria have not been active for over sixty years. Nevertheless, that time is reawakened to anyone who visits the museum and gets close to the unimaginable terror that once ruled there. Visitors’ motives and feelings to this site are measured and discussed in the next chapters.