Hah, I got my font back! And apologies to anyone who saw my blog yesterday/this morning, when it apparently gotten eaten by Vixen the reindeer. I had to try and delete Vixen three times before I got anywhere with it.
So, last night I went with Nathaniel and Rachel and Patrick and Mary, the latter two of whom I have not seen since summer, to see Syriana. We ended up with a choice between that, Memoirs of a Geisha, and Brokeback Mountain. While I did want to see Syriana, I was a little disappointed to be with a group of people for whom "gay cowboys" was not an immediate trump card in movie selection. I think Charlotte would classify it as one of those "not at Bryn Mawr anymore" moments. However, as I seemed to be the only one whose ears (and libido) were perking up at the concept, Syriana it was.
I'm not sure how to classify my response to this movie. It was... exhausting on many, many levels. I don't know if I've spent a more tense two hours in my life. My whole body was totally wired the entire time, and every scene, almost, I was waiting for someone to blow up or shoot someone else, or whatever. Which is kind of interesting, because that actually did not happen many, many times... it's just that the atmosphere was one of incredible tension almost all the time. More than in a fantastic movie, even, because here there was this incredibly palpable edge of reality to the horror. So it was physically and emotionally frightening, and also required rather intense intellectual attention to figure out what the hell was going on in the plot and with all the different characters. To be honest, I never figured out exactly when this was supposed to be going on. For some reason I had assumed it was in the recentish past (like, somewhere between 1980-2000, probably), and was therefore surprised when they made a brief reference to 9/11. Anyway...
It definitely impacted me, but I can't decide if it's somehow more or less of an impact because I was in such tension and terror throughout. Because of those very factors, I think I remained a little bit separate through most of it, holding myself tightly (so tightly-- my shoulders ached by the end), and therefore holding myself, not going into or merging with the story the way I did with something like Capote. It was so intense. There was just this sense of terror, tension, impending explosions pervading the whole thing. And it made me realize again the incredible importance of understanding history, and how little even the excellent instruction I received in school has given me even a semi-complete perspective on the forces and ideas that do shape the world, every day. I just don't know these things, and everything I learn about them makes me realize how much more I don't know, and on the other side how important it is to know. One thing that totally frightened me... one of the plotlines was about two big oil companies trying to affect a merger, and when they did manage to do that, they became the 25th largest economy in the world, or something like that, bigger than many countries. I know people have said things like this many, many times... but this made it make sense to me, the power of corporations, the way corporations are a potent force in the world. I found it chilling, though I'm not intellectually certain why it should be frightening to me for a corporation to have such power, while the (also intially arbitrary) concept of national sovereignty seems basically good. Or, maybe it does. I assume it does. I assume too much. This movie certainly showed me that. But I am not sure what to do. There was a website at the very end of the credits about changing oil dependency or something... maybe I can find that. I feel rather overwhelmed. Like I am part of a whole system of destructive power that I never understood, because it is not openly taught about. How are we supposed to actually be informed citizens if we are not taught basic things about the way the world is run? I see this insane dependency on oil, and I feel like whoa, we just have to stop using it right away... because it's bullshit, it's such bullshit that any substance, any thing should create such an economy of instability and need and death. But I can't do that, at least not if I wish to continue to participate in society in the ways I am accustomed to doing. What does it mean to be a part of an unjust structure? To me, as a person? How much do I have to question and fight before I can... I don't know, just rest, like I want to, and enjoy my life, enjoy that it is luxurious? Which makes it sound like I'm engaged in some kind of titantic struggle against the powers that be... I'm not! Just thinking about it exhausts me. But the situation is not right. What did they say in the film, we have, I don't know 5% of the population and spend 50% of the world's military budget, along with making 50% of its garbage?
It reminds me of this thought I keep having, with all the things I've been buying lately... like, the other day, I went to get a sandwich at this little deli, and I had to go get cash, because they didn't take a card. So I'm walking down the street with my ATM card, and I started thinking, geez, I have this card that symbolizes all the money I have. So I have this card that symbolizes paper money, that symbolizes gold which may or may not exist, that in turn symbolizes... what? My worth, I think, my worth in society. It's so odd. It's the oddest system. But it's true. I have worth in society because I am not poor. I can go and do the things I want, eat, buy clothes, whatever, because I have money as my passport. It's not true of everything, but in a large sense it is true. And that's... arbitrary and fucked up. It's totally ridiculous and impersonal. I receive personal courtesy, in places I go to, because of an assumption of my impersonal monetary worth, because I look... not rich, but like I have enough to buy what I need. And I do. So they'll be nice to me in big hotels and fancy stores, even if I don't buy anything, because I have that potential. But if I was a street person, I'd probably be back out on my ass. When, in that case, I would really need somewhere to be, if only for a little while. But the thing is... and I want to make this very clear... I love having money, I love that I make enough to buy myself things that I want, get hardcover books without flinching, buy lots of Christmas presents, or drop $50 on dinner and not panic. I want to have more... I want a truly rich and luxurious life. But... at the same time... there is so much injustice, and I am struggling hard to reconcile it all in my own mind, my own life. I do not want to feel that every time I have something lovely, somebody had to work in some degrading and ridiculous manner to make it for me, or that because I am eating a luxurious meal, someone else is starving. Which I think maybe is my fundamental problem with the mental conception of this whole thing: it isn't because of, or not directly because of. But it is while. Not because I am eating the meal, but while I am eating the meal. I think I'm struggling with this especially because of all the Christmas presents I've bought... and loved buying, I've had a wonderful time. This whole thing has produced such a feeling of competence and pride in me... like, look at what I have done for myself, look at what I am able to afford for you, I am doing a good job in the world. But I meant to give money to the Pakistani earthquake victims, I keep trying to budget it in and squeezing it out again, thinking, well, I'll wait until this and that and the other thing are paid for, and then I will write my check. And every time I go to do it, there's some other expense coming up, something I am nervous about not having enough for. So I have this sense, that people are freezing to death because I didn't put myself out to help them. I don't know if this is legitimate, or if it's a disordered way of looking at the situation. I do know that guilt doesn't help me get anything done, but I don't know how to avoid it. At the same time, guilt is a convenient veil between me and the truth, whatever that may be. Because I can stay behind my guilt and, shrouded in the unpleasant fogged feeling, not perceive with any clarity what I wish to do. Perhaps for Christmas I want some clear-seeing. Clear-seeing, and a nice dress.... it's funny, I read an article where George Clooney talks about this dilemma too, talks about the luxurious lifestyle that he loves, and talks about the desire he has to be socially just... maybe that's why his movie made this issue so present to me.
There are other things from the movie I want to talk about... like the horrible, horrible torture I definitely did not watch most of. It was so frightening... so, so frightening. The stuff leading up to it was terrifying. They grabbed George Clooney's character, Bob, and put a black sack over his head, and just that image, of him with the hood over his head was so terrifying, and then there was this shot where we saw everything through the fuzzy black. It was excruciatingly horrifying. I could just imagine it, this sudden feeling of being totally unable to tell what is happening around you, with people who are going to hurt you. And then when the Mussawi (probably not how it's spelled) guy started describing the options of torture I thought I would... I don't know what. It was just viscerally, horribly scary. I mean, having your fingernails pulled off. God. And then I wasn't really looking, just hearing these horrible noises and every now and then glancing up and seeing blood or something... but I heard Mussawi saying he was going to cut off his head, and even though I knew he wouldn't it was like everything just went blank inside me. I don't know how to describe that feeling. I had my hands over my face and it was like something shut off, I was still terrified but in addition there was this blankness. And I was imagining what it would be like, to have my head cut off, but imagining this in a very serious way... like, how would I deal with that, how could I deal with that? It's rather ridiculous, but I had this whole idea... which actually I have had before... that maybe my whole fear of decapitation actually means that somehow I will eventually die that way. I never take it too seriously, this idea, but when I am forced to deal with decapitation in some direct fashion it often comes back to me. So I was thinking, I would have to keep my dignity, but I don't know if I could, in that terrible, terrible moment when you are waiting for the blade to come down. I would want so much to be brave, because my own composure would be the only thing I had left in myself to have sovreignty over, but I don't know if I could be, if I could help begging for my life. I became a bit obsessed with the idea of one of those cyanide tablets that I read about in Gone to Soldiers, because taking my life would also be an act of sovreignty and I could avoid that most horrible moment. And, when this idea happens, I worry about the people I love, that they will find out how I died and it will be terrible, because they will know how much I hated the idea of having my head chopped off. I think that it's even more important that I make sure to stay calm and dignified so that they can have some peace. Wow, I'm realizing how bizarre this whole negative fantasy sounds. I don't know why I get this way about this particular form of execution. And torture in general... I don't know if I could stand it. I have no conception of how I would be in such a situation, none. That disturbs me. It's possible that I would be brave... it's possible that I would try to give up even people I love to make it stop... it's possible that I would die of fear or pass out or leave my body until it was over. Aside from my personal fixation on the head thing... it's all disturbing because I can do everything I want to make myself a strong, good person, and I will still never know how I would be in this circumstance, what it would take to make me betray myself and others. Not that I want to know, or to be put in a position where I have to know... but it bothers me nonetheless.
The last few days of Advent... I've done so little Advent-related this year. I didn't even get out my book. But I have had a certain favorite Advent song in my head, and I feel like it will help me close this entry:
O come, O come Emmanuel,
And ransom captive Israel,
That mourns in lonely exile here,
until the Son of God appear.
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to thee, O Israel.
O come thou dayspring from on high,
Who orders all things mightily,
To us the path of Knowledge show,
And teach us in Her ways to go.
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to thee, O Israel.
What does it mean if Emmanuel comes to us? I think it's interesting that for some reason Jesus is never actually called or named Emmanuel, even though it is stated clearly that he will be called so. Emmanuel... God with us. There was a line in Syriana, something like, "If we're really made in God's image and likeness, God must be fucked up." God with us... God in us? Truly, I don't know. I don't know, and I don't know if I want God to be with/in me. I mean, Jesus, that could change everything. Or it could not, but it could change me, I guess is the point. I don't know if or how this relates to the state of the world, the terrifying and destructive state of the world... I had this whole stark moment where I really felt, during the movie, that we were going to self-destruct, that the Earth would end through human folly and evil. I don't know if somehow, having Emmanuel will change that, or what I want or expect or need. Can real truth be found in a strange system of beliefs? Not just religious beliefs... all beliefs. I don't know... I just don't know. Again, in the movie, there was a subplot about a young man who becomes a suicide bomber. He is a Pakistani living in Iran, and the idea of sacrificing his life for what is great in the next life appeals to him very much. He sort of gets involved in the whole Islamic school/movement that encourages these acts because of his poverty, because they get good food at the school, and he and his father have lost their jobs thanks to the aforementioned merger, and are in danger of losing their immigration permits. His father always talked about the snow-covered mountains in Pakistan, and I found the images of snow really powerful. I really loved the young man's parts of the story... his face was gentle and interesting... and I was so appalled by the scenes leading up to his actual death. Saying goodbye to his father, when his father had no idea of what he was about to do, and especially the image of him on the boat with his partner, getting ready to blow up this big oil tanker... seeing how he went from no, I don't want to do it, to yes, I am going to do it, to this expression of peace and transcendance at the moment of impact. I think... many, many people want something, be it religion, another person, an idea or something to work on, that they can give themselves completely to, essentially making a sacrifice of themselves to this thing. It's a strong urge. It can accomplish good or bad things... but is it ever good for the person? And why do we want to do this?
Clearly that song did not help me end this. I don't know if anything really can end this, so much as pause it so that I can get on with living. But here's another try, in the name of mystery:.
People, look East, the time is near
Of the crowning of the year.
Make your house fair as you are able,
Trim the hearth and set the table,
People, look East, and sing today,
Love, the Guest, is on the way.
Furrows, be glad, though Earth is bare,
One more seed is planted there.
Give up your strength, the seed to nourish,
That in time the flower may flourish,
People, look East, and sing today,
Love, the Rose, is on the way.
Birds, though you long have ceased to build,
Guard the nest that must be filled.
Even the hour when wings are frozen,
God for fledging time has chosen,
People, look East, and sing today,
Love, the Bird, is one the way.
--Eleanor Farjeon
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