Andrew Sullivan had a post about some flamboyant gay guy being beaten up by a kkk-type guy who has a whole community of friends united in their hatred for the gays. There’s a video interview with one of the attacker’s friends, who has this tattoo:
First, seriously? Secondly, that’s only one chapter away from “Ye shall not print any marks on you: I am the LORD.” There are no words.
Okay, so it’s only 500 posts, but I still think it’s worth noting. I’ve collected my Top 10 HPN moments to celebrate. Enjoy, and may there be 500 more.
10. Surprisingly near the beginning, Austin introduced the word “underwhelming” to our blog. (It was banned not long after.)
9. The first time that Austin crapped up the blog (or at least, the first time that Chris publicly complained.)
8. Arguably our biggest hit on Google.
7. For whatever reason, search engines also like Austin’s “the killers suck” post.
6. My favorite David Dark video.
5. And I’ll never forget Chris’s dedication. Thanks, bro.
4. Austin’s moment of internet celebrity.
3. Have we forgotten Paris Hilton’s pre-election moment of brilliance?
2. Austin reviewed Crunchy Cons over six months ago, and he still hasn’t read the book.
1. David Dalbey declared that this video justified the existence of the internet. How could it not be #1?
And as an aside, post statistics for our six faithful authors:
A – 139 posts
B – 22 posts
C – 88 posts
D – 118 posts
F – 126 posts
G – 6 posts
Frank threw down a friendly gauntlet earlier which I’m reluctant to pick up for several reasons: 1) protectionism is a label applied by its enemies to a scatter shot group of economic theories; 2) the question on the table requires lots of back-story and a bibliography way too long to appear on such a fey little webzine like HPN; and most importantly, 3) I’m not even a protectionist, by the common definition.
Nevertheless, here are my 8 theses, naked and unsubstantiated as they may be. A real discussion of all this would require picking up volumes of Friedman, Adam Smith, William Cavanaugh, and G.K. Chesterton, among others.
I.
Protectionism can = selfish nationalism. I’m sure there are plenty of economic jingoists who proudly hold to protectionism. But that’s not anything I wish to defend. I much prefer the “localist” label. So…
II.
Localism stands against globalism, which isn’t to say that it is not concerned over the plight of other peoples. Rather, localism makes the case that globalism is actually one of the great oppressive forces in the modern world. Globalism wishes to provide products and services for the cheapest cost that “The Market” can offer. If a Chinese factory can produce G.I. Joes for one-quarter the cost of a domestic toy manufacturuing plant, guess who wins out? In 1965, manufacturing made up 53% of the American economy. As of 2004, that number is just 9%. So first, from the American point of view, globalism has made us utterly dependent on countless foreign industries to continue to exist. We are no longer self-sufficient. If a foreign power felt emboldened enough to completely shut down its exports to the US (e.g. if the UAE enacted an oil embargo), we would be in a desperate condition. Globalism has fueled almost limitless growth in the first-world, but at a tremendous cost to both the first-world and the third-world.
III.
Localism, even in its most “protectionist” forms, is not against trade between nations. It is not against the idea of imports. And it is certainly not mercantilism—not by a long shot.
IV.
Positively defined, localism prioritizes community rather than growth.
V.
Localism manifests itself in a number of different movements, including agrarianism and New Urbanism. It stands against modernity and its ugly bastard children: suburbanism/urban rot, strip malls, industrial agriculture, corporatism, Washington D.C., and iPods. It stands for urban renewal (read: parish life), regional architecture, small businesses, local and seasonal agriculture, city councils, and the local symphony. Localism doesn’t believe that economic hegemony (i.e. having a McDonalds on every street corner from St Louis to Turin to Bangkok) is healthy for a society. Localism disapproves of putting the liveihoods of a third-world village entirely at the disposal of a first-world corporation.
VI.
Localism emphasizes that in a global economy, the winners are the US corporations who can cut costs and the corrupt foreign leaders who offer up their laborers at unimaginably cheap rates. The losers are the third- and second-world poor. Even worse, when third-world villages are conscripted into the global economy, they become dependent on the “mercy” of their foreign employer. If the first-world corporation closes down production in the village, the workers are even worse off than before.
VII.
Localism believes that just rulers should protect the weak against the powerful. Some might argue that tariffs are a good way to do this. Others might advocate an alternative. See Phillip Blond.
VIII.
Localism is skeptical of the Babelesque goals of globalism. Christian localists often point out the religious dimensions of economic globalist rhetoric. Cavanaugh has an excellent article on this, as well.
Have fun with all this. My neck is on the chopping block.
 
Last month, Austin unleashed an impressive stream of vehement vitriol against The Killers, here and also here. It included a number of Exhibits, and if you haven’t read it yet, I would encourage you to take a look. I may disagree with him, but his comments are entertaining enough to merit your time.
That said, I remain an unabashed and unashamed fan of The Killers, and their latest release (Day & Age) has only strengthened my love. It’s chock full of anthemic pop, it makes me want to dance and sing way higher than I ought to in public, and its lyrics are forgettable without being reprehensible. What more should we be asking from rock music?
The truth is, I stopped looking for depth in rock music a long time ago. Some bands have clever turns of phrase, some have pretty melodies, and some even have both. But if I want to be challenged intellectually, or if I want to meditate on something, why would I turn to Radiohead, or U2, or The Killers, or Death Cab for Cutie, or The Decemberists? The lyrical substance simply isn’t there.
And perhaps that’s why I like The Killers. They’re no more potent than any other piece of pop culture I encounter, and they’re so obviously nonsensical that I don’t have to cut through the PR spin that Bono and others desperately throw into their music. I happen to think that The Killers are fun to listen to. They’ve got the pop hooks, they’ve got decent production, and they’re good at making me forget how cold it is outside.
Rock’n'roll is entertainment. Forget what Paste Magazine tries to tell you. Sure, music and movies and books can say something worth saying, and if they’re any good, they’ll have more depth than entertainment. But at heart, it’s really about whether or not you enjoy it. If you don’t, fine: that’s your privilege. Nobody said you had to enjoy everything.
I’ve been revisiting the Criterion selection at the local movie rental store of late. I have a difficult relationship with foreign art house films, one in which I am continually reminded of my own American sensibilities when it comes to narrative and character arc. However, I have to say that the French can do existential drama better than anyone (the closest American cinema has come to genuine philosophy is old school film noir, in my opinion).
Last week, I saw Bresson’s Au hasard Balthazar, and then last night, Jean-Pierre Melville’s long-lost Army of Shadows, which was finally released in the US in 2006. While the former has some exquisite moments of pathos, it sometimes relies too heavily on Important Philosophical Ideas. Meviille’s film, on the other hand, manages truly to break your heart. Army of Shadows is about several members of the Resistance during the dark middle years of the Second World War. The opening shot is of a long column of German soldiers, devoid of personality or human feeling, marching through the Arc de Triomphe. In fact, all the German nemeses in the film are similarly unhuman — lacking in feeling, compassion, faith, and personality. This is not the result of poor scriptwriting; this is at the heart of the film. The title refers to the French Underground, who all adopt fake names and maintain a high level of secrecy, even with each other. Two brothers who both work in the Underground, often in close proximity, never realize that they are each fighting for the same cause, and therefore lose any true kinship they may have shared in the inconsequential past. There is a great deal of distance in this movie. And there is a corresponding emphasis on human trust (or lack thereof).
Perhaps the most heartbreaking scene in the whole movie comes when the protagonist, a Resistance commander by the name of Philippe Gerbier, and one of his associates kidnap a young agent who has betrayed the movement. They take him to an abandoned apartment where a newly-inducted member of the Underground has prepared a room for interrogation. But when they arrive, they inform the novice that they have no intention to interrogate. In order to protect the Resistance network, they must execute the traitor. What follows is the most affecting execution scene I have ever seen in a movie (and don’t even think to mention Braveheart in the same breath). In the empty apartment, the would-be executioners can hear children playing next door, and decide against shooting the traitor. So they search the house for a knife as the young prisoner cowers in the corner, helpless. There is no knife to be found, so Gerbier decides they must strangle him with a kitchen towel. Finally reaching a breaking point, the youngest of the executioners breaks down, saying that he has never done “this” before. The elder Gerbier replies, “It’s our first time, too. Isn’t that obvious?”
The fight in which the Resistance finds itself is no abstract battle of Freedom vs. Tyranny, nor even one for the honor of France. From what I recall, the only time you see the tri-colors of the French flag, it is associated with the corrupt Vichy government. (In this way, Army of Shadows is the counterpoint to the La Marseillaise scene in Casablanca, another great movie, but for entirely different reasons.)
In contrast to all the usual WWII clichés, which usually draw the conflict in terms of absolute good vs. absolute evil, Melville shows how humans cope with the absence of faith and comradeship. In order to survive in a world where you can trust no one, you have to forswear both friendship and kinship. If you have to hide your name from even those with whom you are most intimate, can you still claim your own personhood? In one scene, a Resistance fighter is threatened by his captors with an ultimate penalty: if he does not reveal his own true name, they will kill him and he will die anonymous, never able to reclaim his identity, never remembered, never loved or mourned.
In all this, Melville keeps asking, What makes us real, more than just vapor?
The moment of crisis strikes Gerbier when, like Camus’ Stranger, he faces his own execution. In the long, spacious dungeon of his prison, a Gestapo officer lines up a group of condemned prisoners (some of whom, unlike Gerbier, are innocent of any real crime), and points first to a machine gun at one end of the room, and then to the far wall at the other. He offers the prisoners a deal: if they can reach the far wall, they’ll be allowed to live until the next scheduled execution. When the other prisoners begin to sprint to the wall, Gerbier defiantly refuses to run. But when the bullets begin to land all around him, his legs propel him forward involuntarily (how he escapes, I won’t say). Later on, he is filled with self-loathing; how did the Gestapo officer know that, in the end, he would run for his life, just like the rest?
Why did he run? I think the answer runs counter to Gerbier’s initial self-accusation: it wasn’t just cowardice that made him flee — it was his essential humanity. Gerbier and the rest of the Resistance are placed constantly in situations which require them to act contradictory to anything they would have done before the war. They must set aside their humanity. They are transformed into murderers. They turn their backs on their own family. They are become mere specters of what they once were. But in that moment when Gerbier’s feet overrule his desire to prove the Gestapo wrong, he finds that he is still a person with real human desire and fear and — perhaps — even salvation.
* * *
For further reading, see the reviews of Roger Ebert and Anthony Lane.
We had an HPN meeting last night. Pictured above (L-R) are Chris, Frank, Austin, Davey, and Brian, admiring our body of work.
As we discussed, one contributer recalled a line from the Bhagavad Gita: “I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds.”
“Now we are all sons of b—–s.” said another.