Labels

Cortazar (1) Kanab. (1) de Cuba (1) poema (1) poema 2 (1) poema3 (1)

Thursday, July 9, 2015

‘my kingdom is not of this world ’


Noam Chomsky Has ‘Never Seen Anything Like This’
Posted on Apr 19, 2010
Noam Chomsky is America’s greatest intellectual. His massive body of work, which includes nearly 100 books, has for decades deflated and exposed the lies of the power elite and the myths they perpetrate. Chomsky has done this despite being blacklisted by the commercial media, turned into a pariah by the academy and, by his own admission, being a pedantic and at times slightly boring speaker. He combines moral autonomy with rigorous scholarship, a remarkable grasp of detail and a searing intellect. He curtly dismisses our two-party system as a mirage orchestrated by the corporate state, excoriates the liberal intelligentsia for being fops and courtiers and describes the drivel of the commercial media as a form of “brainwashing.” And as our nation’s most prescient critic of unregulated capitalism, globalization and the poison of empire, he enters his 81st year warning us that we have little time left to save our anemic democracy.
“It is very similar to late Weimar Germany,” Chomsky told me when I called him at his office in Cambridge, Mass. “The parallels are striking. There was also tremendous disillusionment with the parliamentary system. The most striking fact about Weimar was not that the Nazis managed to destroy the Social Democrats and the Communists but that the traditional parties, the Conservative and Liberal parties, were hated and disappeared. It left a vacuum which the Nazis very cleverly and intelligently managed to take over.”
“The United States is extremely lucky that no honest, charismatic figure has arisen,” Chomsky went on. “Every charismatic figure is such an obvious crook that he destroys himself, like McCarthy or Nixon or the evangelist preachers. If somebody comes along who is charismatic and honest this country is in real trouble because of the frustration, disillusionment, the justified anger and the absence of any coherent response. What are people supposed to think if someone says ‘I have got an answer, we have an enemy’? There it was the Jews. Here it will be the illegal immigrants and the blacks. We will be told that white males are a persecuted minority. We will be told we have to defend ourselves and the honor of the nation. Military force will be exalted. People will be beaten up. This could become an overwhelming force. And if it happens it will be more dangerous than Germany. The United States is the world power. Germany was powerful but had more powerful antagonists. I don’t think all this is very far away. If the polls are accurate it is not the Republicans but the right-wing Republicans, the crazed Republicans, who will sweep the next election.”
“I have never seen anything like this in my lifetime,” Chomsky added. “I am old enough to remember the 1930s. My whole family was unemployed. There were far more desperate conditions than today. But it was hopeful. People had hope. The CIO was organizing. No one wants to say it anymore but the Communist Party was the spearhead for labor and civil rights organizing. Even things like giving my unemployed seamstress aunt a week in the country. It was a life. There is nothing like that now. The mood of the country is frightening. The level of anger, frustration and hatred of institutions is not organized in a constructive way. It is going off into self-destructive fantasies.”
“I listen to talk radio,” Chomsky said. “I don’t want to hear Rush Limbaugh. I want to hear the people calling in. They are like [suicide pilot] Joe Stack. What is happening to me? I have done all the right things. I am a God-fearing Christian. I work hard for my family. I have a gun. I believe in the values of the country and my life is collapsing.”

Chomsky has, more than any other American intellectual, charted the downward spiral of the American political and economic system, in works such as “On Power and Ideology: The Managua Lectures,” “Rethinking Camelot: JFK, the Vietnam War, and US Political Culture,” “A New Generation Draws the Line: Kosovo, East Timor and the Standards of the West,” “Understanding Power: The Indispensable Chomsky,” “Manufacturing Consent” and “Letters From Lexington: Reflections on Propaganda.” He reminds us that genuine intellectual inquiry is always subversive. It challenges cultural and political assumptions. It critiques structures. It is relentlessly self-critical. It implodes the self-indulgent myths and stereotypes we use to elevate ourselves and ignore our complicity in acts of violence and oppression. And it makes the powerful, as well as their liberal apologists, deeply uncomfortable.
Chomsky reserves his fiercest venom for the liberal elite in the press, the universities and the political system who serve as a smoke screen for the cruelty of unchecked capitalism and imperial war. He exposes their moral and intellectual posturing as a fraud. And this is why Chomsky is hated, and perhaps feared, more among liberal elites than among the right wing he also excoriates. When Christopher Hitchens decided to become a windup doll for the Bush administration after the attacks of 9/11, one of the first things he did was write a vicious article attacking Chomsky. Hitchens, unlike most of those he served, knew which intellectual in America mattered. [Editor’s note: To see some of the articles in the 2001 exchanges between Hitchens and Chomsky, click here, here, here and here.]

“I don’t bother writing about Fox News,” Chomsky said. “It is too easy. What I talk about are the liberal intellectuals, the ones who portray themselves and perceive themselves as challenging power, as courageous, as standing up for truth and justice. They are basically the guardians of the faith. They set the limits. They tell us how far we can go. They say, ‘Look how courageous I am.’ But do not go one millimeter beyond that. At least for the educated sectors, they are the most dangerous in supporting power.”

Chomsky, because he steps outside of every group and eschews all ideologies, has been crucial to American discourse for decades, from his work on the Vietnam War to his criticisms of the Obama administration. He stubbornly maintains his position as an iconoclast, one who distrusts power in any form.
“Most intellectuals have a self-understanding of themselves as the conscience of humanity,” said the Middle East scholar Norman Finkelstein. “They revel in and admire someone like Vaclav Havel. Chomsky is contemptuous of Havel. Chomsky embraces the Julien Benda view of the world. There are two sets of principles. They are the principles of power and privilege and the principles of truth and justice. If you pursue truth and justice it will always mean a diminution of power and privilege. If you pursue power and privilege it will always be at the expense of truth and justice. Benda says that the credo of any true intellectual has to be, as Christ said, ‘my kingdom is not of this world.’ Chomsky exposes the pretenses of those who claim to be the bearers of truth and justice. He shows that in fact these intellectuals are the bearers of power and privilege and all the evil that attends it.”
“Some of Chomsky’s books will consist of things like analyzing the misrepresentations of the Arias plan in Central America, and he will devote 200 pages to it,” Finkelstein said. “And two years later, who will have heard of Oscar Arias? It causes you to wonder would Chomsky have been wiser to write things on a grander scale, things with a more enduring quality so that you read them forty or sixty years later. This is what Russell did in books like ‘Marriage and Morals.’ Can you even read any longer what Chomsky wrote on Vietnam and Central America? The answer has to often be no. This tells you something about him. He is not writing for ego. If he were writing for ego he would have written in a grand style that would have buttressed his legacy. He is writing because he wants to effect political change. He cares about the lives of people and there the details count. He is trying to refute the daily lies spewed out by the establishment media. He could have devoted his time to writing philosophical treatises that would have endured like Kant or Russell. But he invested in the tiny details which make a difference to win a political battle.”
“I try to encourage people to think for themselves, to question standard assumptions,” Chomsky said when asked about his goals. “Don’t take assumptions for granted. Begin by taking a skeptical attitude toward anything that is conventional wisdom. Make it justify itself. It usually can’t. Be willing to ask questions about what is taken for granted. Try to think things through for yourself. There is plenty of information. You have got to learn how to judge, evaluate and compare it with other things. You have to take some things on trust or you can’t survive. But if there is something significant and important don’t take it on trust. As soon as you read anything that is anonymous you should immediately distrust it. If you read in the newspapers that Iran is defying the international community, ask who is the international community? India is opposed to sanctions. China is opposed to sanctions. Brazil is opposed to sanctions. The Non-Aligned Movement is vigorously opposed to sanctions and has been for years. Who is the international community? It is Washington and anyone who happens to agree with it. You can figure that out, but you have to do work. It is the same on issue after issue.”

Chomsky’s courage to speak on behalf of those, such as the Palestinians, whose suffering is often minimized or ignored in mass culture, holds up the possibility of the moral life. And, perhaps even more than his scholarship, his example of intellectual and moral independence sustains all who defy the cant of the crowd to speak the truth.
“I cannot tell you how many people, myself included, and this is not hyperbole, whose lives were changed by him,” said Finkelstein, who has been driven out of several university posts for his intellectual courage and independence. “Were it not for Chomsky I would have long ago succumbed. I was beaten and battered in my professional life. It was only the knowledge that one of the greatest minds in human history has faith in me that compensates for this constant, relentless and vicious battering. There are many people who are considered nonentities, the so-called little people of this world, who suddenly get an e-mail from Noam Chomsky. It breathes new life into you. Chomsky has stirred many, many people to realize a level of their potential that would forever be lost.”

Thursday, June 25, 2015

Camille Claudel: arte, pasión, locura.

por Olga L. Miranda

Camille Claudel (1884-1943) fue una de las más grandes artistas francesas del siglo XX, es considerada un genio de la escultura y fue la musa inspiradora del creador de la escultura moderna, Auguste Rodin (1840-1917). Su relación tormentosa con este último, quién fue primeramente su maestro y luego su amante, afectó su estabilidad emocional a tal punto que en 1915 es recluida en un sanatorio para enfermos mentales del cual no logró salir jamás y donde murió a la edad de 79 años. Ni su hermano estuvo presente en los funerales. Su madre nunca fue a verla y su hermano no la ayudó a incorporarse a la vida normal a pesar de las recomendaciones del director del hospital sobre la necesidad de que ella saliera. Esta etapa de la vida de Camille Claudel es relatada en el film "Camille Claudel 1915" (2013) del director francés Bruno Dumont.  Juliette Binoche interpreta magistralmente a la artista francesa y logra representar la compleja personalidad de esta mujer excepcional en todo su dramatismo sicológico y humano dado por el hecho de que sufría de sicosis paranoica y esquizofrenia; y fue víctima además de abandono familiar. Resulta interesante el hecho de que en la cinta se plantea la tesis de que los genios del arte tienen una tendencia a los desórdenes mentales debido a la extrema sensibilidad e imaginación que poseen. Es decir, que como tema secundario la película muestra las concepciones sicológicas dominantes en la época y como estas se aplicaban al tratamiento de los enfermos. "Claudel" es un filme difícil de ver, es un tema deprimente, todas las escenas se desarrollan en un manicomio, pero es una gran obra de arte, exhibe una fotografía y unas actuaciones espectaculares y tiene el atractivo adicional de estar basada en hechos biográficos reales.

nota: La película está disponible en Netflix.



RODIN AND CAMILLE CLAUDEL

tomado de www.musee-rodin.
A photograph dating from 1899 shows Camille Claudel, then aged 45, in her studio, wrapped in a long dark coat, standing opposite Perseus and the Gorgon, which she had sculpted that year. The work reveals Claudel’s sources and influences – Donatello, Cellini, Greco-Roman mythology – and the passion she was driven by: the Gorgon’s severed head is a self-portrait. This photo is very different from the clichéd images usually associated with Camille Claudel’s work and life, marked by her tumultuous affair with Rodin and her gradual descent into madness. It shows not only a sculptress capable of planning and producing a work of ambitious size, but also a woman scarred by the hardships that she has suffered. It was no easy task for a woman to become an artist in the mid-19th century; she had to cope with moral prejudice, gender-related restrictions in her artistic training and the prevailing male dominance in the Ministry of Fine-Arts and the Salon juries.
^

HOW RODIN AND CAMILLE CLAUDEL MET

William Elborne, Camille Claudel et Jessie Lipscomb dans leur atelier du N° 117 de la rue Notre-Dame-des- Champs
William Elborne, Camille Claudel et Jessie Lipscomb dans leur atelier du N° 117 de la rue Notre-Dame-des-Champs, 1887, [Ph.01773]
Photo : © ADAGP, Paris, 2012
On the advice of his friend Alfred Boucher, an established sculptor, Louis-Prosper Claudel sent his family to Paris so that his daughter Camille might study art.
She attended classes at the Académie Colarossi, on the Rue de la Grande Chaumière (the École des Beaux-Arts did not admit women at this time) and, in 1882, rented a studio on Rue Notre-Dame des Champs, which she soon shared with other sculptresses. Among them were the young Englishwomen Amy Singer, Emily Fawcett and Jessie Lipscomb. Boucher supervised their work on an occasional basis, but having won the Paris Salon prize, he was obliged to go to Italy in 1882 and thus looked for someone to replace him. The support that he had given Rodin some years earlier during The Age of Bronze affair had forged a solid friendship between the two artists, and so Boucher naturally entrusted his young pupils to Rodin, who was impressed by the first works that Camille Claudel showed him. The pathetic realism apparent in the bust of Old Helen and the more conventional handling of Paul at Thirteen moved him deeply.
^

ASSISTANT, ARTIST…

When Rodin received his first major commissions in the early 1880s, he gathered together a team of assistants to work alongside him in his studio, which Camille Claudel joined circa 1884. The exact nature of the tasks with which she was entrusted remains uncertain, but she apparently spent most of her time on difficult pieces, such as the hands and feet of figures for monumental sculptures (notably The Gates of Hell). For Claudel, this was an intensive period of training under Rodin’s supervision: she learned about his profiles method and the importance of expression. In tandem, she pursued her own investigations, accepted her first commissions and sought recognition as an independent artist at the Salon. Between 1882 and 1889, Claudel regularly exhibited busts and portraits of people close to her at the Salon des Artistes Français. Largely thanks to Léon Gauchez, Rodin’s friend the Belgian art dealer and critic, several of her works were purchased by French museums in the 1890s.
Claudel’s works during this period attest to Rodin’s influence: the Torso of a Standing Woman (c.1888) and the Torso of a Crouching Woman (1884-85) show how she had grasped the expressive potential of a fragment of the human body. Crouching Man (c.1886), via Rodin’s The Thinker, bears witness to the influence of the Ignudi figures that Michelangelo painted on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel.
Jeune fille à la gerbe
Camille Claudel, Young Girl with a Sheaf, before 1887, [S.6738]
Photo : © ADAGP, Paris, 2012
Galatée
Auguste Rodin, Galatea, 1889, [S.1110]
“I’ve been making sculptures for seven years and I am Monsieur Rodin’s pupil,” she claimed in a letter, dated 27 October 1889, to the Minister of Public Instruction and Fine Arts. She also exerted a certain influence over Rodin, who recognized her as an artist in her own right. Take, for example, the fact that her Young Girl with a Sheaf (1886-87) preceded Rodin’s Galatea, whose sensibility is so similar. Owing to their stylistic proximity during this period, it is sometimes easy to mistake Claudel’s skill for that of Rodin’s in works on which she collaborated as his assistant: whereas the head of the figure of Avarice in Avarice and Lust has been erroneously attributed to her, the heads of The Slave and Laughing Man (c.1885), which were signed by Rodin when they were cast in bronze, were actually modelled by Claudel.
Tête d’esclave
Camille Claudel, Tête d’esclave, 1887, [S.3902]
Photo : © ADAGP, Paris, 2012
Tête de rieur
Camille Claudel, Tête de rieur, 1891-1892?, [S.759]
Photo : © ADAGP, Paris, 2012
^

…MUSE AND MISTRESS. “MADEMOISELLE SAY”

Letter from Auguste Rodin to Camille Claudel, C.1886, [L.1451]
While Rodin recognized the young woman’s talent from the outset, he also fell in love with her almost immediately. The two sculptors’ complicated love story has inspired many overly romanticized interpretations. What the letters they exchanged attest to, however, is the passion Rodin felt early on in their relationship and the reserve shown by the woman he soon called “Mademoiselle Say” (for “Mademoiselle C.”), as well as her financial difficulties, flirtatiousness and painful obsession with her work as a sculptress.
Masque de Camille
Auguste Rodin, Mask of Camille, [S.1742]
This intense love affair, encompassing their personal and professional lives, inspired both artists, whose works functioned as declarations, criticisms or echoes of one another. Rodin modelled several portraits during this period, including Camille Claudel with Short Hair (Rodin’s first portrait of Claudel, S.1776) and Mask of Camille Claudel (S.1742), which were exhibited in 1900.
Two groups initially intended for The Gates of Hell – I Am Beautiful (1882, S.1292) and Eternal Springtime (1884, S.989) – convey how passionately Rodin felt about Camille Claudel at this time, while she herself felt the need to put some distance between them. She took refuge in England at Jessie Lipscomb’s home. On her return in September, Rodin was so happy to see her again that he signed an extraordinary “contract” in which he promised that she would be his only pupil and swore to be faithful to her.
Buste de Rodin
Camille Claudel, Bust of Rodin, 1888-1889, [S.1695]
Photo : © ADAGP, Paris, 2012
Claudel also showed greater restraint than Rodin in her work. Few direct allusions to their relationship can be seen in her sculptures. Her most important tribute to her teacher and lover was the Bust of Rodin (S.1695), produced in 1888-89, which, despite being acclaimed by the Salon critics, was not cast in bronze until 1892 (S.1021).
This period of happiness and shared passion then came to an end. In 1889, Rodin travelled all over the region of Touraine, visiting châteaux and cathedrals, and, the following year, settled in the Château de l’Islette, near Azay-le-Rideau. Camille Claudel accompanied him until October 1891, when Rodin returned to Paris. In order to be nearer her, he rented a delapidated 18th-century mansion, the Folie Neufbourg.
But Rodin’s refusal to leave Rose Beuret enraged Camille Claudel, who expressed her anger with rare ferocity in her caricatures of the couple. Alarmed by Claudel’s violent character, Rodin began to avoid her, although he still loved her, and settled in Meudon in late 1893.
^

A BODY OF WORKS BORN OUT OF A PROCESS OF SUBLIMATION

Claudel’s works have often been interpreted simplistically on an autobiographical level and as an expression of the state of her relationship with Rodin. One should, however, talk more in terms of a process of sublimation of events in her private life; events which, through the powerful expressivity of her sculptures, acquired a more universal dimension. The subjects of her sculptures may be read in several ways: literary, mythological and autobiographical interpretations intersect and nurture one another.
Her works frequently reflect anxious questions about human destiny: Sakuntala (1886-89) and its subsequent variations in materials and titles – the marble Vertumnus and Pomona and the bronze Abandon – gradually evolved from Hindu legend to Greco-Roman mythology, then onto psychology and innermost emotion.
The Waltz, completed in 1889-90, but not shown at the Salon until 1893, was a pretext for experimenting with different materials. The stoneware version with flambé glaze is an example of her investigations into colour and texture that border on art nouveau. In a letter to the Minister of Fine Arts, dated 8 February 1890, Claudel emphasized that the group had been “considered very good by several artists, in particular Monsieur Rodin”. Nonetheless, the critics did not spare her: “Nothing beats originality, Mademoiselle,” Léon Gauchez wrote in L’Art, reproaching her for having imitated Rodin in the bust she had produced, “and when one possesses it – you have that good fortune – it is a gross error to tag along behind somebody else. Just be yourself; the praise you earn will only be more sincere.” Rodin’s influence was indeed still apparent, less in the subject or the form than in the syntax that allowed figures to be reused differently in new works. Isolated and modified, the female figure from The Waltzthus became Fortune in the bronze cast in 1904. For his part, Rodin, as if “responding” to Sakuntala and The Waltz, began The Eternal Idol (S.1044) in 1890. A marble version of this sculpture was purchased by the painter Eugène Carrière in 1893.
In the early 1890s, Claudel produced a series of portraits of children, which again reflect her investigations into human life and destiny – children’s immature features convey the multiple possibilities awaiting them in their future life. The partially loosened plait in La petite Châtelaine (1892-95) also echoes the long tentacles of hair in Clotho (1893), and forms a striking comparison between childhood and old age. For Clotho, Claudel employed the same old woman who had posed for Rodin’s She Who Was the Helmet Maker’s Once-Beautiful Wife (1887, S.1148) and Dried-Up Springs (before 1889, S.166). One of the three Fates, Clotho spun the thread of human life before it was cut. This distressing representation of old age and passing time is both a symbol of the torments Claudel was suffering at this time and an allusion to Rose Beuret, whom Rodin refused to leave. The four caricatural drawings that Claudel sent to Rodin were even more caustic and explicit.
The Age of Maturity (1893-1900) is probably the work that most lends itself to an interpretation based on autobiographical narrative: the end of the relationship between Claudel and Rodin.
Buste de Jeanne enfant
Camille Claudel, Bust of Jeanne, [S.1007]
Photo : © ADAGP, Paris, 2012
Clotho
Camille Claudel, Clotho, 1893, [S.1379]
Photo : © ADAGP, Paris, 2012
In actual fact, the association of the three figures with Camille Claudel, Auguste Rodin and Rose Beuret arose some time after the sculpture was first exhibited. The critics initially saw it as the “symbolic representation of Destiny, in which the ageing man is torn away from love, youth and life”. The work was a turning-point in Claudel’s career, a key moment, when she attained the full mastery of her powers, when she began to be recognized by the establishment, but when she realized she would never reach the heights that she could justifiably hope for. In the first version, the man stands in the centre, torn between two women, one old, the other young. The second version, full of powerful movement, intensifies the drama: this time the man turns his back on the imploring figure of the young woman, having letting go of her hand, and is led away by an old woman who also depicts Time.
L’Âge mûr
Camille Claudel, The Age of Maturity, 1893-1900, [S.1380]
Photo : © ADAGP, Paris, 2012
In November 1898, the French state envisaged commissioning a bronze cast of The Age of Maturity from Camille Claudel. In June 1899, the plaster version was shown at the Société Nationale des Beaux-Arts (founded in 1890, independent of the ministry; Rodin was president of the admission jury and the sculpture section at this time), but the bronze cast was not commissioned. The work was again refused at the 1900 Universal Exposition – the one that would see Rodin’s success in the Pavillon de l’Alma. Rodin has sometimes been accused of playing a role in the rejection of a work open to an interpretation that involved him personally. However, he never sought to prevent The Age of Maturity from being exhibited. But Claudel, convinced that Rodin was the cause of her problems, left the SNBA in 1900.
Claudel’s artistic investigations also changed direction, c.1893, as she explored “new little things”, scenes from everyday life treated in a narrative vein. The play of colour and use of precious materials (especially onyx marble), as in The Gossips (1893-1905) and The Wave (1897), are evocative of art nouveau. Often modelled on a small scale, these works are both interior and introspective sculptures, with titles such as Deep Thought (1898-1905, private coll.) and Fireside Dream (1899-1905, private coll.). “Henceforth proscribed from public square and open air, sculpture, like the other arts, withdraws into that solitary room where the poet gives shelter to his forbidden dreams. Camille Claudel is the first practitioner of this interior sculpture,” wrote Paul Claudel (in Camille Claudel, statuaire, 1913).
^

RECLUSION AND RECOGNITION

Paul Claudel à 37 ans
Camille Claudel, Paul Claudel Aged Thirty-Seven, [S.1218]
Photo : © ADAGP, Paris, 2012
The fact that she was not awarded a commission from the French state increased Claudel’s paranoia with regard to Rodin, whom she nicknamed “The Ferret” and whose influence she imagined each time she met with failure. She was mistaken: in 1895, Rodin, backed by the art critic Gustave Geoffroy, attempted to obtain a government commission for a marble of Sakuntala, which had won the Salon prize in 1888, but was unsuccessful. Claudel could nevertheless count on the support of private patrons (Mathias Morhardt, Léon Gauchez, occasionally with the discreet assistance of Rodin, who paid the rent of her studio in 1904), the Rothschilds, Captain Tissier, who commissioned a bronze cast of The Age of Maturity, and especially the Countess de Maigret, for whom she executed several portraits and who purchased her last major sculpture, Perseus and the Gorgon. Her other works seem to indicate her waning inspiration, as she often reused previous compositions (Paul Claudel Aged Thirty-Seven, S.1218).
In July 1913, Camille Claudel, who was leading the life of a recluse in her studio on the Quai de Bourbon, was committed to the Ville-Evrard mental asylum, at her family’s request. She was transferred the following year to a psychiatric hospital in Montdevergues (Vaucluse), where she remained until her death in 1943. Her committal brought her career as a sculptress to a brutal end.
By 1913, Rodin was an old man whose own health was failing. War broke out the following year and he was no longer in a position of influence. He never forgot Camille Claudel, however. He used to send her money through Mathias Morhardt, at whose suggestion Rodin decided to include an exhibition space reserved exclusively for Camille Claudel’s works in the future museum that would house the collections he bequeathed to the French state.
The request could not be honoured until 1952, when Paul Claudel donated four major works by his sister to the museum: Vertumnus and Pomona, the two versions of The Age of Maturity and Clotho. The museum, which has recently acquired Young Girl with a Sheaf, today houses the largest collection of Camille Claudel’s works in existence.
- See more at: http://www.musee-rodin.fr/en/rodin/educational-files/rodin-and-camille-claudel#sthash.MILKqNHr.dpuf

Tuesday, June 23, 2015

Anti-intellectualism Is Killing America

Este artículo invita a buscar las causas mas profundas de la tragedia ocurrida en Charleston la semana pasada, cuando nueve personas afroamericanas fueron asesinadas a mansalva mientras realizaban una reunión religiosa en el interior de una iglesia. El responsable del hecho, Dylann Roof de 21 años, estuvo motivado por una ideología racista y fundamentalista.



Anti-intellectualism Is Killing America
Social dysfunction can be traced to the abandonment of reason
Post published by David Niose on Jun 23, 2015 in Our Humanity, Naturally


The tragedy in Charleston last week will no doubt lead to more discussion of several important and recurring issues in American culture—particularly racism and gun violence—but these dialogues are unlikely to bear much fruit until the nation undertakes a serious self-examination. Decrying racism and gun violence is fine, but for too long America’s social dysfunction has continued to intensify as the nation has ignored a key underlying pathology: anti-intellectualism.
America is killing itself through its embrace and exaltation of ignorance, and the evidence is all around us. Dylann Roof, the Charleston shooter who used race as a basis for hate and mass murder, is just the latest horrific example. Many will correctly blame Roof's actions on America's culture of racism and gun violence, but it's time to realize that such phenomena are directly tied to the nation's culture of ignorance. 
In a country where a sitting congressman told a crowd that evolution and the Big Bang are “lies straight from the pit of hell,”
where the chairman of a Senate environmental panel brought a snowball
into the chamber as evidence that climate change is a hoax, where almost one in three citizens can’t name the vice president
, it is beyond dispute that critical thinking has been abandoned as a cultural value. Our failure as a society to connect the dots, to see that such anti-intellectualism comes with a huge price, could eventually be our downfall. 

In considering the senseless loss of nine lives in Charleston, of course racism jumps out as the main issue. But isn’t ignorance at the root of racism? And it’s true that the bloodshed is a reflection of America's violent, gun-crazed culture, but it is only our aversion to reason as a society that has allowed violence to define the culture. Rational public policy, including policies that allow reasonable restraints on gun access, simply isn't possible without an informed, engaged, and rationally thinking public.
Some will point out, correctly, that even educated people can still be racists, but this shouldn’t remove the spotlight from anti-intellectualism. Yes, even intelligent and educated individuals, often due to cultural and institutional influences, can sometimes carry racist biases. But critically thinking individuals recognize racism as wrong and undesirable, even if they aren’t yet able to eliminate every morsel of bias from their own psyches or from social institutions. An anti-intellectual society, however, will have large swaths of people who are motivated by fear, susceptible to tribalism and simplistic explanations, incapable of emotional maturity, and prone to violent solutions. Sound familiar?
And even though it may seem counter-intuitive, anti-intellectualism has little to do with intelligence. We know little about the raw intellectual abilities of Dylann Roof, but we do know that he is an ignorant racist who willfully allowed irrational hatred of an entire demographic to dictate his actions. Whatever his IQ, to some extent he is a product of a culture driven by fear and emotion, not rational thinking, and his actions reflect the paranoid mentality of one who fails to grasp basic notions of what it means to be human.
What Americans rarely acknowledge is that many of their social problems are rooted in the rejection of critical thinking or, conversely, the glorification of the emotional and irrational. What else could explain the hyper-patriotism
that has many accepting an outlandish notion that America is far superior to the rest of the world? Love of one’s country is fine, but many Americans seem to honestly believe that their country both invented and perfected the idea of freedom, that the quality of life here far surpasses everywhere else in the world.
But it doesn’t. International quality of life rankings
place America barely in the top ten. America’s rates of murder
and other violent crime dwarf most of the rest of the developed world, as does its incarceration rate
, while its rates of education and scientific literacy are embarrassingly low
. American schools, claiming to uphold “traditional values,” avoid fact-based sex education, and thus we have the highest rates of teen pregnancy
 in the industrialized world. And those rates are notably highest where so-called “biblical values” are prominent. Go outside the Bible belt, and the rates generally trend downward
.
As this suggests, the impact of fundamentalist religion in driving American anti-intellectualism has been, and continues to be, immense. Old-fashioned notions of sex education may seem like a relatively minor issue to many, but taking old-time religion too seriously can be extremely dangerous in the modern era. High-ranking individuals, even in the military
, see a confrontation between good and evil as biblically predicted and therefore inevitable. They relish the thought of being a righteous part of the final days.
Fundamentalist religion is also a major force in denying human-caused climate change
, a phenomenon that the scientific community has accepted for years. Interestingly, anti-intellectual fundamentalists are joined in their climate change denial with unusual bedfellows: corporate interests
that stand to gain from the rejection of sound science on climate.
Corporate influence on climate and environmental policy, meanwhile, is simply more evidence of anti-intellectualism in action, for corporate domination of American society is another result of a public that is not thinking critically. Americans have allowed their democracy to slip away, their culture overtaken by enormous corporations that effectively control both the governmental apparatus and the media, thus shaping life around materialism and consumption.
Indeed, these corporate interests encourage anti-intellectualism, conditioning Americans into conformity and passive acceptance of institutional dominance. They are the ones who stand to gain from the excessive fear and nationalism that result in militaristic foreign policy and absurdly high levels of military spending
. They are the ones who stand to gain from consumers who spend money they don’t have on goods and services they don’t need. They are the ones who want a public that is largely uninformed and distracted, thus allowing government policy to be crafted by corporate lawyers and lobbyists. They are the ones who stand to gain from unregulated securities markets. And they are the ones who stand to gain from a prison-industrial complex that generates the highest rates of incarceration in the developed world.
Americans can and should denounce the racist and gun-crazed culture that shamefully resulted in nine corpses in Charleston this week, but they also need to dig deeper. At the core of all of this dysfunction is an abandonment of reason.
More on this subject in David Niose's latest book, Fighting Back the Right: Reclaiming America from the Attack on Reason

Follow on Twitter: @ahadave

Saturday, June 13, 2015

Julio Cortazar opina sobre Mario Vargas Llosa




Histórica misiva de Julio Cortazar a Mario Vargas Llosa, una clase de escritura, un buen ejemplo de como leer literatura, como valorarla y como distinguir la buena de la mala. Me sorprendió un poco el "deschave" de Cortazar sobre "El siglo de las luces" de Carpentier. Es una novela que me leí de joven y me envolvió. Claro, ahora, después de conocer otro tipo de literatura me doy cuenta que aquella se mantenía todavía , por su estilo y estructura narrativa, dentro de esquemas tradicionales. Vargas Llosa crea una narrativa mucho mas audaz e innovadora, de ruptura con cánones establecidos por la novelística clásica. Cortazar ofrece algunos elementos cuando menciona aspectos novedosos en la obra de Vargas Llosa en relación con la ruptura del plano temporal y el uso de flasbacks. Como quiera, esta carta muestra como se relacionan dos grandes de la literatura, con respeto y honestidad. Buen ejemplo de amistad y ética también.

Olga L. Miranda

El texto completo de la carta a continuación.


Querido Mario:
A esta máquina le faltan todos los acentos; los iré poniendo a mano cuando relea esta carta, pero perdonarás que se me salten algunos. Por paquete certificado te devuelvo la novela, y espero que recibas las dos cosas sin demora. He dejado pasar una semana después de la lectura de tu libro, porque no quería escribirte bajo el arrebato de entusiasmo que me provocó La Casa Verde. Y sin embargo, ahora que voy a decirte algunas cosas sin pensarlas demasiado, dejando que la máquina vuele casi a su gusto, siento que el entusiasmo no solamente no ha disminuido sino que se ha afirmado, se ha vuelto ya eso que todo novelista quiere para su obra: recuerdo, memoria segura y firme. Quisiera decirte, ante todo, que una de las horas más gratas que me reserva el futuro será la relectura de tu libro cuando esté impreso, cuando no haya que luchar con esa “a” partida en dos que tiene tu condenada máquina (tírala a la calle desde el piso 14, hará un ruido extraordinario, y Patricia se divertirá mucho, y a la mañana siguiente encontrarás todos los pedacitos en la calle y será estupendo, sin contar la estupefacción de los vecinos, puesto que en Francia las-máquinas-de-escribir-no-se-tiran-por-la-ventana).
Sí, leer tu libro impreso va a ser una gran maravilla, porque volveré a vivir el largo viaje de Fushía y Aquilino, que me parece la viga maestra del edificio, o mejor, el hilo conductor de todo el tapiz, como en los diagramas geográficos la línea del nivel del mar parece regir todas las curvas ascendentes y descendentes, las montañas y las fosas submarinas. Y volveré a encontrarme con Bonifacia y con Lituma, con Nieves y con Lalita, para mí los personajes más vivos y logrados de la novela después de Fushía, o junto con él. Fíjate que así, soltándote unas primeras impresiones casi pasionales, te estoy dando ya una opinión sobre el libro; pero me parece necesario decirte, antes de seguir, alguna cosa sobre la totalidad del libro. Bueno, Mario Vargas Llosa. Ahora te voy a decir toda la verdad: empecé a leer tu novela muerto de miedo. Porque tanto había admirado La ciudad y los perros (que secretamente sigue siendo para mí Los impostores), que tenía un casi inconfesado temor de que tu segunda novela me pareciera inferior, y que llegara la hora de tener que decírtelo (pues te lo hubiera dicho, creo que nos conocemos). A las diez páginas encendí un cigarrillo, me recosté a gusto en el sillón, y todo el miedo se me fue de golpe, y lo reemplazó de nuevo esa misma sensación de maravilla que me había causado mi primer encuentro con Alberto, con el Jaguar, con Gamboa. A la altura de los primeros diálogos de Bonifacia con las monjitas ya estaba yo totalmente dominado por tu enorme capacidad narrativa, por eso que tenés y que te hace diferente y mejor que todos los otros novelistas latinoamericanos vivientes; por esa fuerza y ese lujo novelesco y ese dominio de la materia que inmediatamente pone a cualquier lector sensible en un estado muy próximo a la hipnosis (y eso no significa pérdida de lucidez, sino paso a otra forma de lucidez, que es el milagro de toda gran novela, de un Lowry o un Joyce Cary o un Dostoievski, y no te pongas colorado, peruanito, que yo no elogio así nomás a nadie, aunque sea un amigo muy querido).
A todo esto Aurora se había apoderado del primer cuadernillo, y me seguía de cerca, de modo que terminamos casi al mismo tiempo el libro y pudimos hablar mucho y criticar todo lo que encontrábamos criticable, y controlarnos mutuamente para evitar las ingenuidades o los entusiasmos excesivos o momentáneos. Para mí fue una gran alegría que mi mujer sintiera exactamente lo mismo que yo, porque es una crítica severa y tiene sobre mí la ventaja de que es más desapasionada y toma sus distancias y juzga objetivamente. Cuando sentí que ella reaccionaba igual que yo, las pocas dudas que pudieran haberme quedado sobre mi primera impresión se disiparon totalmente. Hoy, a muchos días ya de la lectura, seguimos hablando con el mismo tono del primer día. Has escrito una gran novela, un libro extraordinariamente difícil y arriesgado, y has salido adelante por todo lo alto, como diría alguno de nuestros compañeros españoles. Me río perversamente al pensar en nuestras discusiones sobre Alejo Carpentier, a quien defiendes con tanto encarnizamiento. Pero hombre, cuando salga tu libro, El Siglo de las Luces quedará automáticamente situado en eso que yo te dije para tu escándalo, en el rincón de los trastos anacrónicos, de los brillantes ejercicios de estilo. Vos sos América, la tuya es la verdadera luz americana, su verdadero drama, y también su esperanza en la medida en que es capaz de haberte hecho lo que sos.
Quizá te moleste este tono un poco exaltado. De acuerdo, bajaré el registro y te hablaré profesionalmente, sin olvidar las críticas que se me ocurren y sobre las que volveremos a hablar cuando nos veamos. Pero como también me ocurre que la novela me interesa profesionalmente, hay algo que tengo que decirte de entrada y sin el menor regateo: en el plano técnico, La casa verde es maravillosa. Yo no sé si alguien ha empleado ya el recurso que utilizas de los flashbacks incorporados a la acción en presente; no recuerdo ningún ejemplo, y pienso que lo has inventado. Cuando lo advertí por primera vez (Fushía y Aquilino hablan en la barca, Aquilino quiere saber cómo se evadió Fushía de la cárcel, y ahí nomás sigue un diálogo entre Fushía y sus compañeros de evasión, para volver después a renglón seguido al diálogo en presente, y otra vez atrás) sentí una impresión casi vertiginosa. Comprendí que conseguías un teléscopage del tiempo y el espacio, que le ahorrabas al lector un montón de ideas y situaciones intermedias, que tocabas lo esencial de lo narrativo, esa elección de lo realmente significativo y necesario, que a su manera todo gran novelista logra. A ese primer acierto técnico, que me sigue pareciendo cada vez más extraordinario, se suman muchos otros análogos; la irritante, a veces exasperante ambigüedad de los planos del tiempo, que exige del lector una atención vigilante, los episodios que coexisten en un solo momento del relato por el hecho de que hay una relación analógica entre ellos y es natural que los acerques (es natural, pero había que hacerlo, y es difícil, como en el relato paralelo de la muerte de Toñita y del aborto de Bonifacia). Es curioso, pero cuando iba llegando al final del libro, antes del epílogo, tuve una sensación que pocas veces he tenido al leer novelas; la de que había como una complejísima estructura musical, en el sentido en que un poema sinfónico supone temas entretejidos de una manera que el oído, que los percibe consecutivamente, puede sin embargo lograr gracias a la distribución, a los timbres, a los desarrollos y los leit-motivs, algo como una estructura simultánea, un enorme pedazo de música petrificada en la que todo lo que fluía se organiza en un inmenso tapiz suspendido delante de los ojos –del oído, si quieres– como una vivencia total y simultánea. No sé explicarme mejor, pero pienso que mientras hilvanabas los temas, los subtemas, las infinitas recurrencias y resonancias de la novela, entraste sabiéndolo o no en una dimensión musical. No lo entiendas a la manera de una influencia, por supuesto (creo que no eres demasiado melómano), sino de una analogía “estructural”. Yo, que soy melómano incurable, no encuentro otra manera de decirte hasta qué punto la trama de tu libro me parece una especie de potenciación, de proyección hacia ese plano de la arquitectura sonora, sin la cual ninguna obra humana (plástica, literaria o poética) puede superar sus limitaciones. En todo caso, desde el punto de vista de la armazón narrativa, tu libro es uno de los más complejos y más incitantes que he leído en muchos años.
Te prometí las críticas, y paso a ellas para no seguir elogiando de una manera que pueda parecerte indiscriminada. La primera observación viene de Aurora, y yo la comparto. No nos gusta el título del libro. Es pintoresco, y muy por debajo de todo lo que ocurre. Ya sé que un título es cosa difícil, pero trata de imaginar otro. Me gustaría sugerirte alguno, pero no se me ocurre nada. Y ahora, pasando a los personajes, quizá te sorprenda que, para mí, Anselmo no está logrado. Digo que quizá te sorprenda porque en algún sentido debe ser para vos el eje mismo del libro, sin contar que el epílogo está centrado en torno a él. Pues bien, no he logrado “vivir” a Anselmo. Así como Lituma chorrea vida, y Bonifacia, y Fushía, y los inconquistables en pleno, y Lalita, me ocurre que a Anselmo lo veo... literariamente. No entiendo demasiado su llegada, la fundación del prostíbulo, su decadencia, me fastidia un poco cuando está viejo y trabaja para su hija, no llega a emocionarme su amor por la ciega ni su muerte. Me pregunto por qué, y quizá cuando vuelva a leer el libro lo descubra.
En líneas generales siento como si la segunda parte de la novela estuviera algo por debajo de la primera, pero es que hay una tal variedad y una tal fuerza en todo lo que ocurre al principio y hasta la mitad, que uno queda un poco como un perro apaleado y puede ser que entonces influya alguna fatiga hasta física. No te preocupes por esta observación, que puede ser demasiado subjetiva. Pienso también (hice una nota para indicarte el lugar exacto, pero la he perdido) que algunas referencias “explicativas” están completamente de más, a menos que sean irónicas y se me haya escapado la intención. Me refiero a una parte donde das algunos datos geográficos sobre el Marañón (u otro río, pero creo que es el Marañón), y lo haces en uno o dos párrafos que parecen intercalados didácticamente, y que me molestan por eso. Precisamente lo estupendo del libro (ayer se lo decía a Deustua) es que la descripción de la naturaleza, que es fundamental en la novela, está de tal manera fusionada con la acción, que jamás se da uno cuenta de que tú le estás mostrando al lector cómo es un claro del bosque, una curva del río, una calle de la ciudad. Hay una sola atmósfera en que todo ocurre simultáneamente, escenarios y acciones, y eso es de lo más difícil y te lo digo por amarga experiencia personal. El clima general del libro (sequedad y arena y viento, o calor húmedo y alimañas y pantanos) surge con una fuerza tremenda, y alguna vez que me he detenido a analizar un par de páginas para ver cuál era la acumulación de detalles que provocaba esa fuerza, he visto lo que te digo más arriba, es decir, que te basta contar a tu manera para que todo se dé en una misma instancia narrativa, sin esa separación escolar entre “descripción” y “acción” que es propia del novelista común.
Hablando de descripción, se me ocurre que así como en la edición de La Ciudad y los Perros Seix Barral incluyó la foto del Leoncito Prado, estaría muy bien que en La Casa Verde hubiera un mapa. Los no peruanos tendríamos un gran placer en ubicar mejor el escenario general del libro, y creo –es una idea de Aurora, que como ves colabora bastante en esta carta– que si la cubierta del libro fuera un gran mapa de toda la Amazonía (abarcando el lomo y la contratapa), en esa forma se eliminaría lo que tiene de pedante o “científico” un mapa en el interior del libro, y a la vez el lector se daría el gusto de situar a Iquitos o de imaginar la barca de Aquilino en algún tramo del río. A esto te agrego que un pequeño glosario no sería inútil; las diversas tribus indígenas, y unas cincuenta palabras-clave del libro, merecerían una explicación. Uno las va comprendiendo por el contexto, pero comprenderás que los no peruanos estamos a veces un poco perdidos. Silabario puta, soldado carajo, che. Chuncha de la madre, calato, gamitana o zúngaro, silabario jodido, che Mario.
Última cosa: Creo que nunca le das su verdadero nombre al Pesado, pero al final, cuando se ha casado con Lalita, le das su apellido y el lector se queda desconcertado hasta que lo reconoce. O le suprimís el apellido (creo que sería lo mejor, porque uno ya es amigo del Pesado, y no tiene otro nombre que ése) o se lo das un par de veces al comienzo para que no sorprenda al final.
Bueno, yo creo que por esta vez ya está bien. Espero no haberte aburrido demasiado, pero cuando nos encontremos (alguien susurra que venís a Ginebra en estos días, y sería estupendo, porque nosotros estaremos hasta el 27 y podríamos quizá encontrarnos todavía) volveremos a hablar mucho de tu libro. Te agradezco que me lo hayas confiado así, en manuscrito; me permití prestárselo a Raúl, que lo había leído sólo en parte y quería terminarlo. Otros me lo pidieron (Girbau, por ejemplo), pero me negué, porque no me sentía autorizado a hacerlo.
Perdóname la improvisación de esta carta, dale un beso a Patricia de parte de Aurora y de mí, y un gran abrazo de este hermano tuyo que se siente tan feliz de haberte escrito esta carta,
Julio Cortázar
Ginebra, 18 de agosto de 1965
P. S.: Oleriny me manda una postal, y dice que no le has mandado el libro. Me pide que “pierda dos palabras en su favor”. En checo, supongo que quiere decir que te recuerde que le gustaría recibir la novela. No tengo aquí la dirección de Chermak en Praga. ¿Podrías hacerle llegar las líneas que te envío adjuntas? Muchísimas gracias. 

Publicado en la revista Letras Libres, octubre de 2007.
Foto: Editorial Planeta.

Tomado de: Portal Perú. Bicentenario
http://portalperu.pe/nota/137-no-te-pongas-colorado-peruanito-yo-no-elogio-asi-nomas-carta-cortazar-vargas-llosa
11/06/2015 18:06

Memorias del subdesarrollo: ¿dónde está Teresa?

 Memorias del subdesarrollo: ¿dónde está Teresa? By Olga L Miranda Los debates  en Facebook unas veces son intensos y emocionales, otras son...