Rockabilly, Sexuality, Imperialism

Wanda Jackson was one of my favourite musical discoveries in 2009. She’s spent most of her career as a country singer, but the album I found, Wanda Jackson: Queen of Rockabilly, (only Y200 at BookOff Kichijoji) is full of early rock’n’roll of a kind so powerful it makes Elvis seem tame.

When you remember that Jackson was only 20 or even younger when she recorded most of these songs their fierceness and independence seems all the more extraordinary.

Jackson’s most striking song - too raunchy to get national play time in the US - is “Fujiyama Mama”, as wild an artistic celebration of female assertiveness and sexuality as you’re likely to hear. (It was Annisteen Allen who in 1955 first recorded the song, but Jackson’s version is much more explicitly sexual and direct and, presumably, given its white singer and intended white audience in segregation-era America, would have been all the more unsettling).



Amidst all the ultra-conservative reaction of the United States of the 1950s, this song’s outrageousness is like something from a past we never had:

Cause I'm a Fujiyama Mama and I'm just about to blow my top!
And when I start erupting there ain’t nobody gonna make me stop!

That initial celebratory shock has to give way, though, to a sense of horror as Jackson’s metaphor becomes clear:

I've been to Nagasaki, Hiroshima too!
The things I did to them baby, I can do to you!



But temptations to put this down to contradictory consciousness or the attitudes of a different era should be avoided. Best to listen to the music and take this lurid mixture of sexual frankness and revelling in violence and destruction quite literally.

For an imperialist power at the height of its reach and confidence there’s an obvious libidinal investment in its power and potential for destructiveness. What we forget - in the era of the crisis of US imperialism - is how explicit this all could once have been. Jackson’s forthright assertiveness meant she could never fit the images and sounds of appropriate feminity for the home market, but isn’t her performance here just amplifying all that sexualisation of violence and power which is so much a part of US imperial fantasy: those paintings of women on WWII warplanes, the naming of missiles and bombs, the kitsch salacious wholesomeness of shows to entertain the troops? In this context, comparing wiping out hundreds of thousands of lives to having an orgasm makes perfect sense.



The tension here is that Wanda Jackson was singing from a marginal, oppressed location within that social relation: it would have been, from her position as a woman in a reactionary and misogynist society, almost impossible to live the kind of sexual and personal autonomy her music espouses. Jackson’s rockabilly scandalises and unsettles the very imperialist ideology it advocates.

Japanese listeners were alive to those tensions, and “Fujiyama Mama” was a big hit there in 1958 (Tamaki Sawa even released a Japanese-language version). Jackson and others claim, with a fair bit of between-the-lines racist wink-nudgery about those naïve Asians, that the song was a hit because its fans couldn’t have understood it. Again, surely it’s best to take things literally: the Japanese understood this song all too well, and understood the world order being arranged around them. As John Dower shows in his important history Embracing Defeat, there was a complex process of both sexualisation and de-humanisation at work in US representations of the Japanese through the first part of the US occupation.

Japanese listeners may well have been - to use a strangely appropriate metaphor for the era of 45s - turning the tables on their occupier. In embracing so fervently a song which expressed the attitudes of their conquerors too honestly to make it a hit at ‘home’, their appreciation for the Queen of Rockabilly may have, for the briefest of moments, exposed the ruling ideology all too clearly.

Either way, it’s a deeply unnerving song from a powerfully talented performer.

International Women's Day

Is everything new better than everything old?

“Do we have an image for what it means to work?”

These last weeks I’ve been pondering Giovanni’s excellent post on our failures of memory and representation, which are also failures of a particular type of political courage. Alongside class analysis and understanding, vital too, we need certain visual vocabularies to see one another and to take the measure of our movement’s state and outlook.


[There I am in the middle, looking as happy as the day is long.]

No longer knowing that vocabulary once it changed visual languages was one of the many usefully bewildering experiences I found living in Tokyo. You can – and should – read trade union history, but there’s a whole structure of feeling evoked by the movement’s iconography and rituals, one which needs to be lived to begin to be understood. I took these photographs last year at a May Day rally in Hibiya Park (a place with a rich but well-hidden working-class historical legacy); they tell an interesting story.



What struck me that day, amidst other hopeful signs, was how carefully considered the imagery of work was at this demonstration. There’s a long tradition of this at May Days the world over, of course – workers marching in their uniforms, union banners depicting a model of their particular trade – but what’s different here is the uncovering or re-presenting of work and workers more usually invisible, or not considered as a part of traditional accounts of strength and resistance.



The Hibiya Park May Day was and is defiantly militant, stressing political opposition to militarism and war as much as wages and safety, but look at who’s here as the bearers or symbols of that militancy: the ‘working poor’, the young, women and women’s unions, aged care workers. The marginalised and invisible, in other words, of both neoliberalism and, all too often, the mainstream of the organized labour movement.


[No more working poor! Nerima Ward Workers at the Child Welfare Residential Facility]

The imagery and self-representation these groups are experimenting with – and their organizational forms, too, about which Kaye Broadbent’s research is enlightening – help show how these questions of memory and representation are questions of strategy, too.


[Stop workers getting the ax. Workers are not disposable /We need a political solution to promptly solve the Japan Railways struggle!]

There’s a much wider question hovering behind all this: how are we to make use of tradition in these bad new days? Making work visible is one step in approaching that question: making our own movement’s current composition clear to itself is another.

코리아 獨立 萬歲!

March the first - and our remembering of the movement of that name - is bound to have a particular resonance during this centennial anniversary of Japan's colonial conquest of the Korean peninsula. There are all sorts of vexed political questions attached to how - and what - we remember, questions I'm not in a position to explore here. For many of us, though, one way to pay tribute to that time is to remember that struggle continues.

I want to offer as a small tribute to today's history this image of Yu Gwan-sun, one of the many martyrs of the fight for Korean independence. There's so much about her story which is moving - her suffering in prison, the courage of her Christian faith, her tragically young death - but what I see and keep seeing in this image is the certainty of her defiance.

I first saw this photograph hanging from the wall of a peace museum in Nagasaki, a museum whose volunteers have set themselves the task of telling the stories of Japanese imperialism in Asia, stories of cruelty and oppression those in power would rather see forgotten or denied. Their task is a thankless and sometimes threatening one and, in that context, Yu Gwan-sun's portrait - and her steady gaze and cool defiance facing what must often be skeptical and hostile visitors - is an encouragement and inspiration.

That Everything Keeps Going On As Before...

This thoughtful piece by Benjamin Noys – on apocalypse and stagnation in revolutionary imagination and theory - is worth reading.

Noys’ critical reading sets you up for all sorts of interesting philosophical and theoretical speculations, but it’s the practical-political implications of his comments on stagnation that I’ve been pondering. It’s one thing to investigate what it means for the system to keep going, but there’s also the question of how we can keep on keeping on ourselves. As Walter Benjamin observed so many years ago, part of the catastrophe is that everything “keeps going on as before.” From the US’ ‘jobless recovery’ of the 1990s through to the recession of today, so much of the debt burden workers in the so-called ‘first world’ have been struggling under has built up as we try to sustain standards of living amidst falling wages and increasing costs. Myths of ‘our’ profligacy producing the crisis hide the real suffering behind the credit card figures.

Particularly useful for me is Noys’ case for a ‘return’ to the concept of the tendency, something that lets us avoid the traps of everything-or-nothing scenarios some strains of apocalyptic thinking can encourage, and which reminds us to stay attentive to processes at work around us.



Since coming back to New Zealand one of the activities I’ve been involved in has been collecting signatures for the Unite union’s campaign for a minimum wage of $15 per hour. As always with a campaign of this kind, being active is at once frustrating and exciting. It’s frustrating, and upsetting, to realize how hard it is for so many people, people doing socially vital work for poverty wages. Work like cleaning buildings, caring for the elderly, assisting disabled students in schools, to name just three of the examples from people I spoke to today. But it’s exciting, too, to see how the campaign raises questions that need answered, and questions that connect with the kind of dilemmas of stagnation and stasis Noys analyses: what got us here? What tendencies are at work? What is the economy for? What might a living wage mean? What does it mean to get by, and for how much longer can it mean that?



[I've taken these photos from Unite's photo stream on Flickr.]

The Function of the Obituary

After finishing the excellent Frames of War: When is Life Grievable, I worked my way back to Judith Butler’s Precarious Life, a book I’d somehow missed when it first appeared. It’s a strange experience to be reading it now, eight years after its ‘moment.’ Her essays are dated by period details from those darkest, most anti-democratic days of the first term of the Bush administration but, chillingly, there’s nothing ‘dated’ about her arguments or what she argues about. The concerns of 2002 - with attacks on civil rights, the prospect of unending war, the responsibilities of intellectuals - are still our concerns. I’m not going to try and review this book, but want instead to share with you some of the passages from it that strike me as particularly important.

It’s easy to forget now the kind of bravery and intellectual clarity that radicals like Butler showed when they, right at the very beginning, opposed the assault on freedoms and human rights carried out under the ‘War on Terror.’ Many readers of Gender Trouble and Bodies that Matter complain about their dense and demanding style. It’s a sign of Butler’s moral and political courage that, at the moment when it would have been, professionally and politically, more comfortable to settle into obscurity, she chose to produce writing which is politically provocative but also stylistically limpid. If it makes any sense to talk about traumatic events as tests, then Butler ‘passes’ the test of 9-11. She doesn’t turn from theory and philosophy to journalism and politics (not always a dishonourable course) but instead takes her theoretical work into political discussions, making clearer connections that were there all along. Precarious Life manages to feel measured and urgent at the same time.



So this is a very brave, articulate and important collection. Some of the essays come out of set occasions or respond to particular political junctures while also managing to offer longer-term insights. One on “The Charge of Anti-Semitism: Jews, Israel and the Risks of Public Critique” makes one of those obvious points that forever need repeating: one reason “to oppose the use of the charge of anti-Semitism as a threat and as a means to quell political critique is that the charge must be kept alive as a crucial and effective instrument to combat existing and future anti-Semitism.”

The passages that have stuck with me, though, are Butler’s reflections on violence, mourning, and politics, and on the role of public memory in the political life. This seems to me very insightful:

The obituary functions as the instrument by which grievability is publicly distributed. It is the means by which a life becomes, or fails to become, a publicly grievable life, an icon for national-self recognition, the means by which a life becomes note-worthy. As a result, we have to consider the obituary as an act of nation-building. The matter is not a simple one, for, if a life is not grievable, it is not quite a life; it does not qualify as a life and is not worth a note. It is already unburied, if not the unburiable.

It is not simply, then, that there is a ‘discourse’ of dehumanization that produces these effects, but rather there is a limit to discourse that establishes the limits of human intelligibility. It is not just that a death is poorly marked, but that it is unmarkable. Such a death vanishes, not into explicit discourse, but in the ellipses by which public discourse proceeds.

Butler goes on to discuss how the queer lives lost in the attacks on the World Trade Centre were rendered invisible by the marital and heterosexual ‘norms’ of the national narrative created in the New York Times’ obituary pages; how the lives of foreign soldiers, civilians and other ‘collateral damage’ killed in US actions abroad can’t be allowed to be grievable.



For me, these lines are helpful in how they extend the ways left-wing writing and activism needs to approach grief and loss. Contrary to the right’s caricature, anti-imperialism has never been - or should never be - about contrasting one person’s loss to another’s, as if it were a question of ‘choosing’ between grief for Chile’s September 11 or the United States’. That kind of moral arithmetic is obscene. Leftists (‘excuseniks’ etc: Butler reminds me just how virulent the right’s anti-intellectualism was in those months) should see rather how grief can be extended, how it might be understood and, in turn, lead to understanding. A political process is at work that decides what losses we learn about - what lives become public, for public grieving - and we need to understand and unpick that process. But we also need to seek to extend grieving, to find ways to make visible losses denied or unrecognised (Palestine stands in for so much here). Butler - as I read her - isn’t advancing some banal position that experiencing grief oneself will lead to ‘understanding’ another’s in a way which removes conflict. Her focus is, rather, the way conflict is framed, the way certain terms (‘terrorist’ of course, ‘insurgent’ and sometimes even ‘Muslim’ too) are used to shape not only argument, but also what is to be excluded from argument, what’s to be placed beyond the realm of political discussion and contestation:

The derealisation of loss - the insensitivity to human suffering and death - becomes the mechanism through which dehumanization is accomplished. This derealisation takes place neither inside nor outside the image, but through the very framing by which the image is contained.

One conclusion: our task is not only to counter images with images - to document and publicise the atrocities of occupation, vital as this task is - but also to understand and oppose this way these images are contained, the mechanisms of derealisation.

A footnote

There’s plenty in Precarious Life to argue with, and socialists can learn through engaging with her work (Rachel Aldred and Geoff Boucher’s critical but comradely analyses are ones I’ve found helpful). The determinations structuring the US as a state - and its roles as a state - go unexamined, sometimes even being elided with those of an individual (“the United States was missing an opportunity to redefine itself as part of a global community…”), and there’s a certain amount of bet-hedging in tactical formulations, too:

Various routes lead us into politics, various stories bring us onto the streets, various kinds of reasoning and belief. We do not need to ground ourselves in a single model of communication, a single model of reason, a single notion of the subject before we are able to act.

True, of course, and welcome, but what happens after we’re on the streets? Can debates around our notions of the subject be deferred and, if so, for how long? When might differences - in assumption, in method, in aim - between our models, our strategy and those of our allies and partners prevent action?

The fact that Butler’s work leads to questions of this kind shows how ethically engaged she is: her vocation is as activist-intellectual, calling for “a certain collective courage” to take hold, and helping prepare the ground for where it might emerge.

Permanent Arms Economy Aesthetics

“The advanced technology of the war industry made it easier to design the high-speed railroad Tokaido Shinkansen, as well as high-tech light vehicles such as the Subaru. Many U.S. made tanks used in the Korean war (1950 - 1953) were transported into Japan in 1954, scrapped, and transformed into high-quality steel, which was reappropriated as building material for the Tokyo Tower in 1958. The destruction of war and the construction of the city go hand in hand, establishing an ironic logic of recycling and the perverse aesthetics of bad taste, that is to say, metataste metamorphosing the most junky and the most disgusting into the most kitsch and the most camp. As soon as the existing standard of aesthetics collapses, the hypercapitalist imperative incorporates the weirdest into the most marketable, the most avant-garde, and the most beautiful. This is the radical paradigm shift in accordance with which we should redefine the industrial effects of war industry as the metaesthetic cause of the postwar processing industry, with iron as its very useful currency."

Takayuki Tatsumi, Full Metal Apache: Transactions Between Cyberpunk Japan and Avant-Pop America. Durham: Duke University Press, 2006, p. 156.