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Anonymous Comrade writes

Artists Engaging Globalization

May 24-July 14, 2002, opens 5-23-02 6-8pm

Exhibition by Whitney Indie Study Prog fellows: K. Butler, J. Farrell, Y. Mckee and M. Vicente
Francois Bucher, Peter Fend, Emily Jacir, Laura Kurgan, Mark Lombardi, Sergio Munoz-Sarmiento, Josh On and Futurefarmers, Alex Rivera, Martha Rosler, Allan Sekula, Wolfgang Staehle, David Thorne and Oliver Ressler, Patricia Thornley, Fatimah Tuggar and Marisa Yiu.

Tuesday May 28 at 7pm

Panel discussion with Fend, Rivera, Rosler and Yiu.

Tuesday June 4 at 7pm

Gregg Bordowitz film "Habit" (2001) re. HIV activism

Gallery open Wed-Sun 12-6pm Location: CUNY Grad Center, 5th Ave. between 34th & 33rd St.

Louis Lingg writes "In June 1999 the National Intelligence Council commissioned the Federal Research Division to draft a report on the then-current literature on terrorism written by experts inside and outside government. The report was delivered in September 1999.

In December 2001 the Library of Congress posted this report, 'The Sociology and Psychology Of Terrorism: Who Becomes a Terrorist and Why?' on their website.

Additional material by the Federal Research Division on terrorism, including a report on media interaction with the public in emergencies is available at"

Anonymous Comrade writes:
'America's Heartland'

By John Chuckman Columnist (Canada)

"Such, such were the joys." George Orwell

( – A young man from Minnesota was arrested recently in connection with a number of pipe bombs placed in rural mailboxes across America's Heartland. According to reports, his ambitious and imaginative plan included leaving bombs in the pattern of a gigantic, multi-state smiley face, presumably as observed from outer space. He left messages along with his bombs, messages containing the delusional ramblings one associates with anti-government residents of remote compounds stocked with automatic weapons, ammo, and freeze-dried rations.

Having grown up in the region, this richly-nuanced bit of Heartland Americana just naturally set me reminiscing.

There were the hot summer nights spent in a cinder-block chapel at Camp Sycamore (not its real name). Here, every night, an evangelist with greasy, swept-back hairdo and heavy black-rimmed glasses, a la Buddy Holly, shouted and sputtered, spewing beads of sweat and saliva visibly into the stage-lighting, trying his hardest to scare a bunch of thirteen-year olds half to death in an effort to win souls for Jesus.

It didn't matter that most of the kids were already church members, because in the Heartland there never was too much of a good thing. And clearly, judging by how intensely the topics were seized upon, the end of the world and crazed tales of hell were good things. They were closely associated in my mind with the air-raid drills we experienced each week in elementary school. Both served to keep the fear of hell vivid. The sirens wailed over the city every Tuesday morning, and the kids were marched out into the hall to crouch near the walls. That was how we were going to survive a five-megaton blast.

Apart from Camp Sycamore's long, sweaty service each evening, there were crack-of-dawn devotions, a prayerful flag-raising, two long classes every morning on subjects along the lines of what awful diseases you can get from loose girls and the benefits of cold showers, bedtime devotions back in the cabin, plus an ostentatious grace over every serving of spaghetti or "sloppy joes" with Kool-Aid.

The experience at least taught an observant young man a good deal about the methods and purposes of tyranny. It was a few years later, after reading Allan Bullock on Hitler, that I realized that the Buddy-Holly preacher at Camp Sycamore had more in common with Adolf than Jesus. And all that panic-laden, nuclear-attack stuff at school owed more to Goebbels than concern for public safety. Still later, I understood that there is a connection between the fundamentalist obsession over the destruction of the world and Hitler's Götterdämmerung-destruction of Germany when his bid to rule Europe had failed. Nihilism is a common thread.

The local churches paid for this delightful spiritual experience, supposedly a treat for city kids, the camp being located in some woods near a small lake away from the hubbub of the city.

My local church, despite a large, neon-outlined "Jesus Saves" sign over the entrance, was occasionally stirred by events other than preserving souls from eternal damnation. I remember when a single black girl quietly started attending church. There was a good deal of whispering and one deacon felt that someone should speak to her about being more comfortable going somewhere else. When John Kennedy ran for president, quarter-dollar coins with a dab of red fingernail polish suggesting a Catholic cardinal's cap on Washington's head circulated.

When Timothy McVeigh put Oklahoma City on the map by trying to erase it, there were many editorials and columns opining how such a terrible thing could happen in the Heartland. The Heartland: that mythical place of cherry pie, gingham dresses, honesty, and big-hearted neighbors. Dorothy's Kansas. Little House on the Prairie. I detected a certain feebleness of insight in these pieces. There was nothing to be surprised about.

Despite the definition of "America's Heartland" being a little vague (of course, that is the secret of all good advertising slogans, to suggest attractively without the concrete of facts), I did think, at first, it was stretching things a bit to locate events in Oklahoma on that mythical real estate. The Midwest was the Heartland, but perhaps that identification was just residual chauvinism.

The fact is that the Midwest has always been more accurately pictured by the brutality of bloody Kansas just before the Civil War than by the schmaltz of Dorothy's Kansas, for even though the "Wizard of Oz" is a parable about American politics, its popularity has nothing to do with that fact. Crazed gangs, violent racist attitudes, and a dedication to choking your views down the throats of others are just some of the cultural landmarks that never make it into sugary television shows or Hollywood movies about the place.

However, when it turned out that the bomber was Timothy McVeigh, a young man whose high ambition had been to join that gang of professional killers, the Green Berets, a veteran of the Gulf War who reportedly demonstrated considerable enthusiasm in using his anti-tank gun on submissive or retreating troops (Oh, how I remember the American pilots, strafing and incinerating lines of Iraqi troops retreating from Kuwait City, caught chortling on the radio about how this was "Jus' like shootin' fish in a barrel!"), and someone who grew up in the area around Buffalo, New York, I accepted the usage as appropriate.

Buffalo, while not properly part of the Midwest, is definitely a close spiritual relative. Not just in its treasury of Frank Lloyd Wright and Louis Sullivan buildings, Frederick Law Olmsted parks, and location on a Great Lake, but right down to its flat-vowel, nasally accent and many colorful cultural attitudes.

Ted Kaczynski, the Unabomber, grew up and got his start maiming and killing around Chicago. He moved on to pursue the greater part of his career from a remote cabin out West, a fact which may reflect the early formative influence of a place like Camp Sycamore.

When I was growing up, Chicago had a colorful local personality named George Lincoln Rockwell, Fuhrer of the American Nazi Party. It might seem a little odd to outsiders that a band of grown men would dress up in brown outfits with jackboots, cross-belts, and armbands and tromp around with riding crops during the 1960s, but that only proves how unfamiliar outsiders are with the ways of the American Heartland.

A friend of mine through some years in school, a young man of above-average intelligence and with many well-informed views, someone whose father was a Russian Jew and had experienced the horrors of the Eastern Front, fell upon the hobby of collecting Nazi memorabilia. It started innocently enough with an Iron Cross or two but eventually grew to something that might furnish a small museum with armbands, SS insignia, helmets, special medals engraved with Hitler's signature, officers' daggers, bayonets, and Mauser rifles. I do believe that the American Midwest is one of the few places on earth where you could find such a jumbled cultural oddity.

Recently, the remarkable English journalist Robert Fisk wrote a piece on why Hollywood actor John Malkovitch wants to kill him, something the actor, upset over Fisk's reporting from the Mideast, apparently ranted about in a speech on a visit to England. But I think Fisk is likely unaware that Malkovitch comes from the Midwest, actually the Chicago area, or he would not think there is anything unusual in his behavior. People do threaten to kill people there because they don't like their views or their color. It's just that kind of place.

One of my most intense Heartland-memories is of a young man I had known in elementary school. In high school, we rarely saw each other as our interests were different. Walking home one day, I caught up with him, and he invited me to his apartment, somewhere I had never been.

It was a very handsome apartment, and I thought how nice it was that he had his own room. He suddenly asked me whether I could keep my mouth shut if he showed me something. Of course, I replied, having no idea what he was talking about but also being rather intimidated by his sudden manner.

He opened a drawer and showed me a "zip gun," basically a gadget with pipe and a handle and a rubber-band-powered mechanism for firing a bullet chambered in the pipe. I couldn't understand why he was showing it to me.

But he went on to describe how he took it with him when he and some other guys would pile into a car on a Friday night and drive to the black ghetto for some fun. With weirdly gleeful eyes, he explained how much fun it was trying to run down "niggers" crossing the street at night, watching them run for their lives in the headlights.

I went home feeling frightened and sick, unable to understand why anyone did such things or bragged about them. This was one of the events that later riveted my thoughts when Lyndon Johnson decided it was a good and patriotic thing to go over and kill countless Vietnamese so that those left standing could enjoy the blessings of Coca-Cola and cheeseburgers. It was so painfully easy to put a face to the guys that were going to have a good time carrying out the orders.

Later, not long after leaving high school, there was a young cop who used to do some extra work acting as a guard in the department store where I worked. He was a beefy figure, perhaps ten years older, with pock-marked face and almost washed-out blue eyes. He would sometimes pause a few moments and talk to me. As a tall, skinny teenager who read books and drew pictures, I was somewhat fascinated with him and experiences I could barely imagine.

Once I asked him whether he had ever used his gun. Sure, he quietly said, proceeding to describe answering a call for a robbery once and cornering "this jig kid" with something in his hand. The kid wouldn't respond to an order to drop it, so my friend the policeman shot him in the face, killing him. He told the story with no emotion.

But hatred and violent stupidity weren't just on one side. When I started elementary school, we lived in a very poor neighborhood. The local school was almost all black, and I walked to school reading the ominous graffiti left by the Blackstone Rangers everywhere. But it wasn't just graffiti. Every day I was intimidated, shoved, laughed at, and knocked down on my way to school or in the school yard. Years later, that's why I would understood exactly how a little black girl in Selma felt trying simply to go to school.

Yes, the Heartland is full of unusual stories. It is a mysterious, fascinating place, one that leaves an intoxicating spell on you many years afterward. Of course, I remind myself, it could have been worse. I could have grown up in the South.

John Chuckman encourages your comments: encourages its material to be reproduced, reprinted, or broadcast provided that any such reproduction must identify the original source, Internet web links to are appreciated."

Anonymous Comrade writes "If you are curious about the worldwide revolutionary movement of the 1960's, you may want to see _A Grin without a Cat_, playing through Tuesday at Film Forum. Amazing footage assembled by a poet of the cinema, Chris Marker."

Louis Lingg writes

"The folks who assembled 'Against War and Terrorism' back in October have produced a second issue. Included is the reproduction of an essay originally published in 1981 by Lafif Lakhdar, 'Why the Reversion to Islamic Archaism?'. Lakhdar was a revolutionary, a socialist, and a colleague of and collaborator with the situationist Mustapha Khayati. He was living in Lebanon when he wrote this piece, in an effort to understand and explain events in Iran.


Through the generous support of a number of top Canadian and
American musicians such as Ani DiFranco, The Barenaked Ladies, Bruce Cockburn,Sarah Harmer, Bill Frisell, Michael Fronti and others, the GASCD project have put together a double CD album, now available online and across North America. Visit our website (gascd) to find out where.

The CD and the web site were launched to raise awareness about the growing anti-globalization movement and to raise money to help those who are at the front line of the movement. Some of the initial money raised will be going to aid the legal defence of those arrested during the Quebec Summit of the Americas; while the GASCD Board will continue to look to assist other groups around the world as the project grows.

This project was inspired by the events at the the Summit of the Americas held this past April from April 17th- 21st. Between 40,000 and 80,000 people from all over the Americas gathered in Quebec City to protest the FTAA (the Free Trade Area of the Americas), to oppose the dominance of transnational corporations over local communities, and to demand that our
governments be accountable to the people they're supposed to represent.

We hope to create a space where people can learn, share stories and information, and make the links between the impact of corporate power around the globe and what's going on in our own backyards.

To learn more, visit us at gascd

Anonymous Comrade writes " Free.The.Media!

Afternoon Seminar

Tuesday, April 9 at 1 PM


Name.Space Lab

11 East 4th Street 2nd Floor (2F)

New York, NY 10003

between broadway/lafayette sts.

R train to 8th and Broadway, 6 train to Astor Place
or Bleecker Street

Presented by:

Jim Costanzo of Repo History

instructor at Parsons School of Design

Deconstructing Media:

Art, Perception and Society

Works by Paul Garrin:

Video Revolution to Internet Liberation


Artist, Activist and Media Pioneer Paul Garrin will screen his video works
and art installation documentation, and
discuss his explorations of the politics
and practices of media technology, art,
surveillance, public and private space,
ownership and access to media and
the liberation of the infosphere through
art, activism and practice.

Admission is free to Parsons students with ID

all others admission is $3


seating limited! so reserve!

More info on Free.The.Media!:

more info on Paul Garrin:

more info on Repo History:"

"Under Fire"

Critical Arts:
A Journal of South-North
Cultural and Media Studies

The post-millennium world has seen a rapid escalation of violent conflicts in the Middle East, West, Central and some areas of Southern Africa, and ongoing civil wars and human rights abuses in a variety of other regions across the world.

In keeping with its interpretation of cultural studies as a form
of praxis, of experience, and of strategic intervention, in which
individuals find themselves caught up in broader process over
which they may have little or no control, Critical Arts has
instituted a new Section, "Under Fire". The aim of this section
is to invite short theorised autobiographies and dramatic
narratives of what it is like living under fire, of the relevance
of cultural studies in such circumstances, and how it could be
deployed to challenge such conditions. (Length: anything up to
2000 words.) How does one explain the contradictions, the
opposing ir/rationalities, the fracturing of logics which so
brutally feed political solidarities at any cost?

Shuffle Boil Poetry and Music Magazine Debuts

Edited by David Meltzer & Steve Dickison

Issue No. 1 is now available, 48pp. + 8pp chapbook insert, saddlestapled, b&w cover-art on glossy cover stock. Published tri-annually (winter, spring, fall).

Featuring: poets & other artists writing on music, musicians' poetry & song.

Bono Bloody Bono

Dave Bleakney

Every generation has an Elvis. Being an Elvis is not only about shaking
your hips or making teenagers scream. When things are going bad in the
public relations department, a famous entertainer can add pop, sizzle
and glamour to the message. Performers sell soap, cars and coca cola.
And lately, rich corporations have been in need of a little sizzle to
sell corporate globalization.

Nixon needed Elvis. He saw a good 'ol southern boy that loved his Mama
cruise into the White house to join hands with the Administration in one
of the many wars on drugs. Elvis, heavily medicated, was more than ready
to expose his peers to extra scrutiny.

Mussolini had Ezra Pound. The Macarthyites had Ronald Reagan, who, at
the time a Democrat, spent his career at the Screen Actors Guild ratting
out so-called subversives in his Union.

Bono, the 80's inspired politico warbler is the latest in a long line of
performers who are trotted out on behalf of the power holders. Poor
Bono, he doesn't get it. At first I thought he looked silly. But now I
see him as dangerous. Okay, well, silly and dangerous. At least that's
how he looked at the World Economic Forum held recently in New York.
"Bono steals spotlight at forum," said the Globe and Mail byline of
February 5. While distribution of the Earth Times may have been banned
at the exclusive Waldorf-Astoria for the WEF, the corporate and political
elite made a home for Bono.

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