Thursday, May 2, 2019

The Toxic Nexus Of Hate Speech And Online Comments Threads

Image credit: thechronicleherald.ca

Many of us communicate increasingly online. The rise of computer technology has caused this, and it is inevitable. In many ways, the ability to express ourselves rapidly and with impact is a huge personal benefit and a gratifying extension of our sense of power in the world. And our world has expanded, due to digital instruments such as email and podcasts and Instagram and Twitter and Facebook. We can connect like never before, and meet people virtually, whom, we may never have encountered in real life.

But we can also see that these instruments and platforms are open to abuse, on a scale not previously possible. As in every human sphere of activity, intention is significant, and it is also evident in the way people conduct themselves, especially when they think they are immune from consequence.

Years ago, I saw an experiment in human psychology being conducted in which a subject was seated in a chair attached to wires which were in the hands of a person in another room who could see the effect of what they were doing, when they pressed a button which transmitted electric shocks to the person in the chair. Glass partitions enabled the people to see each other. When the person administering the shock was allowed to wear a hood, and disguise their identity from the subject in the chair, the levels of pain and shock they administered sharply increased.

Rise in bullying

Online conduct is very like that. The rise in bullying and cyber harassment, in countries like ours, with heavy internet usage, reflects that the relative anonymity of internet activity - the fact that people observe and interact with people they do not know in real life - seems to liberate the sadism within a lot of people, whom we see participating in online chats and comments threads, desensitised, enjoying the blood rush of bullying, forgetting (or uncaring of) the impact their words may have on the subjects of discussion.

A particularly interesting example of this occurred in Colombo in late December, 2017. A person posted what he called a PSA (Public Service Announcement) on his personal FB page wall, tagged seven of his friends, and wrote a post in which he viciously defamed the character of a person he had a grievance against. He named the person, and set the post to a public setting, so anyone online could see it. He then stayed on the thread, inciting further discussion, and inviting other people to join in.

This was a rant, an expression of personal opinion, and people are of course free to form, hold and express opinion on their own pages and platforms. But, it was also malicious harassment and breach of the internet. The fact that the post was set to public, and the choices made to use digital technology to further the damage he sought to cause to the reputation of the person he attacked, opened his actions to legal scrutiny. He was summoned and charged by the Police with malicious harassment. Ten of his friends and supporters, who had chimed in to the comments thread with their opinions and reactions, were warned by legal letter that their comments on that thread constituted participation in the furtherance of a libellous act. A second offence would lead to litigation.

Abuse on record

The intention to harm was clear, and the evidence was the printed transcript of the post and comments thread. The perpetrator removed the post and comments thread 24 hours after he posted it, but the damage was done, and the evidence was filed. He has a record, incidentally, of verbal abuse against women on public platforms going back a few years. Under the cover of jokes, the professional status of Sri Lankan women has been easy to undermine and call into question. 
Statements that women use their bodies or their beauty to sell their business products, that their success is due to their marriages to powerful men, or the accident of their birth into famous families, and not to any personal talent or hard work on their part, find great traction in a culture where women obviously do not have the status and respect they deserve.

Group think, compliance, conformity and the natural desire to fall in with prevailing trends are easily discerned and manipulated in our tribalist society. Few people have the time or the skill to investigate people’s claims and assertions and separate fact from fraudulent misrepresentation.
Like many perpetrators of hate speech, his actions flourished in a culture of misogyny, where gross disrespect has become normalised. Eve-teasing and street harassment is physical. Online harassment and defamation occurs verbally, and often behind the scenes, comments being circulated in private or secret or closed WhatsApp discussions and FB posts which go viral, fuelled by emojis of shock and amusement which indicate that the activity spikes dopamine, generating pleasure and excitement in the minds of those participating in damage to a person they do not know or care about.

Many people in such a culture do not realise what they are seeing and participating in, when they comment or react in such online hate attacks.  They are genuinely upset when they hear of people committing suicide due to ragging or bullying at school or university. They say it sickens them. But they themselves participate in chats and threads on FB and WhatsApp, passing opinion without restraint, and without apparent recognition of the similarity of behaviour between what they are condemning publicly, and joining in, privately.

Bullying

The terrible ragging incident, which resulted in the suicide of a young man, recently, would not have happened in a culture where abuse and harassment had not become normalised. It is not acceptable, and yet it happened. And apparently it cannot be prevented from ‘happening’ again. 
The bullying and abuse which resulted in such a tragic loss of life took some time to escalate. There were bystanders. There were people who saw it, many incidents of it, and did nothing. There were people who participated in the abuse, feeling a sense of bonding with their fellow perpetrators.

It did not just happen. It does not need to ‘happen’ again.


Black Panther Takes Cues From African Tradition And Storytelling


Note: Two viewpoints, two authors in this review


Kevin Andrews says:

Fable.
Bedside tale.
The Lion King.
The opening scene of Black Panther is pregnant with these impressions. A mark of Marvel Studios’ strength is that their best movies almost always focus on superior storytelling. This is showcased in my favourite movies from their cinematic universe, as they enraptured me in the same way children are enthralled before they sleep and dream of the impossible.

Black Panther takes cues from African tradition and storytelling right from the establishing sequence, beginning with a masterful narration coupled with a unique visual aesthetic: the figures and locations emerge as living sand sculptures.

Its setting, style, and the incredible performance delivered by its actors combine to earn the nostalgic throwbacks it makes to legendary stories. To be clear, Black Panther does not ride on The Lion King’s coattails: both movies simply benefit enormously from the rich fabric of life and history that makes up the African continent. It pulls enormous strings tied to the continent’s history, particularly concerning slavery and oppression, and uses the stunning backdrop of Africa’s various cultures, fashions, rituals, and cuisines to proudly ground its audience.
Rich, vibrant, and sometimes even neon colours make up the visual aspect of this tale, set mostly in the fictional African nation of Wakanda. Despite being the most technologically advanced city on the planet, it shucks off the trappings of many minimalist-and-chrome, futuristic-seeking worlds portrayed in other contemporary works, choosing instead to represent the might and splendour of a nation that wove its heritage and traditions into the evolution brought about by technological progress.
Black Panther divests itself of other trappings as well. It is the first superhero movie since Blade (1998) to feature a person of colour in the lead role. In fact, it is much more: a blockbuster whose cast comprises almost exclusively people of colour. The titular character, T’Challa, played by  Chadwick Boseman, is portrayed powerfully through multi-dimensional representation as a son, a king, and Wakanda’s guardian angel, particularly as he grapples with ideals concerning those whom he should or should not consider his people.
His younger sister Shuri (Letitia Wright) and his mother Ramonda (Angela Basset) are excellent in their supporting roles as loving family, but the real stars of the show are the Wakandan General Okoye (Danai Gurira) and the spy Nakia (Lupita Nyong’o).
Okoye is a force of personality and skill, backed by her unshakeable faith and perseverance in duty. Of all the characters in this film, she relies on tricks, technology, and superhuman abilities the least, preferring to act upon the fulcrum of her close-quarters combat skill and experience.
Nakia is another character that displays strong agency in Black Panther. While she plays T’Challa’s love interest, the romantic subplot is vastly superseded by her will to execute her job as effectively as possible, and to work for the betterment of all people. This comes up early on in the movie, when she tells T’Challa that she cannot stay in Wakanda because she is needed elsewhere. She too is a capable combatant in her own right, another warrior with noble bloodlines and strong cultural roots.
It must be said that Shuri also has the distinct markings of a character who is being set up for larger prominence in future movies or spin-offs. In the comics, the Princess has long wanted to become Wakanda’s first female Black Panther, and Wright’s portrayal of the character is both lovable and solid enough to make this a distinctly intriguing possibility. What’s more, it’s clear that the filmmakers have the sense to portray Shuri foremost by her personality and merit. An example of this is seen fairly early on in the movie, where she is referred to as “a child” during a heated monologue by M’Baku (Winston Duke), where other movies would refer disparagingly to a similar character as “a girl”.
Tied inextricably with Black Panther’s commentary on oppression is Erik Killmonger (Michael B Jordan), who can arguably be labelled the most engaging character of the movie, and the most compelling villain of every modern Marvel movie to date.
Killmonger shares some core beliefs with our heroes, but is set apart by the means he feels are necessary to make his vision a reality. It is also telling that his relationship to T’Challa means the two were separated only by the circumstances of their birth – one child born into wealth and power and trained to become a superhuman king, while the other was born into poverty and felt the sting of paternal loss early in life.
Killmonger, therefore, does what good comic book villains are supposed to do. He holds a mirror to our hero’s thoughts, ideals, doubts, strengths, and weaknesses, and tests T’Challa’s right to call himself the centre of our story. He is not the villain so much as he is what T’Challa may have been if his origin and circumstances of birth had been corrupted to the extent Killmonger’s had.

Black Panther‘s greatest feat is in how it makes you wonder that maybe, just maybe, the movie should have been called Killmonger instead.
Kevin Andrews is a lifelong fan of Spider-man’s antics, and now dissects the narratives and characterization within every Marvel and DC movie. He grew up in the Middle East, and is currently based in Sri Lanka.

Dulcinea Angelline says:
The images and sounds of the panorama on the screen imprint you: the thundering waterfall, with its strangely still, epicentered liquid dais, the graceful deadly warriors, glorying in their fierce skill, each person seen in the fullness of themselves, journeying to their own version of heroism, colliding in a vivid choreography.
The serrated fusions of tribalism and gang culture, of the powerful natural country and the CGI enhanced Cityscape, the giant metallic rhinos, the totem animals and the voodoo of the connecting rituals of life and transitional after-life. The vast, sun-scorched plains, the dark shapes in the trees. I loved the characters’ tactile and visceral affinity with their land. Watch for the joy in their faces when they see their country in its beauty and glory, as they come in on the plane from their mission in the outside world.
Other impressions: Wounds unto death, the hero who does not yield, the sassy kid sister with the mad tech skills, every stately woman a Queen. The ladies are impatient with restrictions and falsity: the General hates the fake wig and throws it like a weapon in combat at her pop-up enemy, and the kid sister disrupts the coronation ceremony when she complains that her corset is too tight. People thought at first she was contesting for the throne. No question that she is not a Princess, but a Queen. Her brother the Boy King with the lovely smile, his colours all on the inside at first, is tested as he should be, almost beyond our endurance.

All the colour and the wondrousness could not suppress a small question which has been growing in my mind since my first viewing. It is this. All these strong, fierce, archetypal women ultimately embraced wholly supportive roles: Mother, Sister, Lover, Warriors, Medicine ElderWoman, all surround him, at the periphery of his power, assisting the boy king to achieve his majesty.

Not one of these women felt ready to take her seat on the vacated throne; they felt the lack of an army, and sought help from another male tribal leader. They seemed to see themselves only as backup ancillary support. I hope true female power will emerge in the franchise to come, and that this ‘moment’ of fempowerment will become an era.
When I see it again, I will appreciate fully the crackling resonances of the colonial outrages underlying the dialogue, the slashing glances, the random humour, the furious tensions of competing sovereignties. The glowing purple flowers, horrifically burned by the failed contender at the height of his false glory, the one residual one saved and kept sacred by the girl who says ‘It is my duty to fight for what I love’. Who wants to ‘save her country, not just serve it’. But I also remember the heroic villain holding the elder woman by her throat in disrespect. This model of male violence contrasts with T’Challa, and his challenge ends in a watery grave.
Black Panther is great, but its portrayal of women is still a work in progress. I carry with me now these worlds within worlds. The way the waterfalls seem to flow upwards into space. My own eyes wet with tears I did not expect to shed.

Dulcinea Angelline is a movie buff and cultural commentator, currently based in Sri Lanka. 'Dulcinea' is the pseudonym I use when writing film reviews. 

Participatory Grief Is Proof Of Our Humanity

Participatory grief





COLUMNS
CT WEB
09:45 PM APR 28 2019
UPDATED 4 DAYS AGO


By Dr Devika Brendon
So, after the last few days of varied responses to the fire at Notre Dame Cathedral in France, and the collective global reactions to it, we note that a great universal treasure has not been lost, but damaged.

People publicly wept, because of what this building represented to them, both personally and on a more universal level. It has aesthetic value, cultural value, spiritual and religious meaning, and is associated with famous literature and popular films.

Other people expressed themselves as dry-eyed, and unemotional, because of the disproportionate significance placed on a Western religious icon, when the West has been responsible for so much desecration and appropriation of the art and cultural artefacts of the countries it has colonised, over the past several hundred years.

Extremely wealthy people have stepped forward to fund restoration of the building. On a material level, restoration will be done. But the extent of the damage, in my view, can really be measured in the lack of empathy and the sneering contempt of those of the ‘now they know what it feels like’ school of inhumanities.

One of the most significant academic courses I have studied was called ‘The Holocaust and Moral Justice’, a Jurisprudence course at the Graduate Law School at The University of Sydney. Each student in the class of 30 had to present a seminar on one section of the course materials to the rest of the class, and mine was a report on the writing of the holocaust deniers.

The book I reviewed by David Irving was loathsome and repellent, and my presentation said so, but the response of my fellow students to his book was a revelation. Many of them were grandchildren of survivors of the holocaust, and to have terrible acts of genocide against their ancestors mocked, diminished and belittled was insult on an unprecedented scale.

One student told me that, because I was not genetically from one of the ethnic categories affected directly in that specific time and place, I had no right to claim any feeling at all, or speak about the experience of others.

I pointed out that as a fellow human being, if I feel genuine sorrow for another’s loss, it makes my human experience greater than the limits defined by my mere ethnic identity. To restrict what resonates within us, and what we respond to, is to narrow our own lives.

I have had the opportunity to study the meaning and symbolism of the rose windows of the cathedrals of France as part of a course I was taught on Poetry and the Visual Arts. I have been to see the flying and soaring buttresses and arches of the glorious building, and have sat inside its sanctuary. People’s reactions to this recent fire seem to reflect not so much what happened to an architectural monument, but their own residual pain. 
They are afraid about the end of the world as they know it, and the meaning they make from it: that Western values, which have formed their frames of reference, are now under threat from vigorous anti-colonialism.
And indeed all eras do come to an end, and the longevities and viabilities of first world empires which profited from colonialism are being challenged, in the days of Brexit and of Trump.

Hypocrisy

Many of the world leaders now commiserating with the French people in their loss authorised the destruction of other people’s culture and lives during their political tenure. Former US Secretary of State under President Clinton, Madeleine Albright, said the deaths of 500,000 Iraqis were ‘a price she was willing to pay’ for the mission she was spearheading. When loss of life was measured, the lives of her citizens were more valuable than those of others, to her, at that time.

If we operate on this isolationist and egotistical principle, any chance of a broader humanity will wither. If we mock the losses of other people, and their grief at the damage to what they hold dear, we attack any common ground we might ever have had. To jeer at the pain of another is unforgivably petty, however justified or karmic satisfying it may seem to our judgment.

Our own losses and ordeals have been great, and precious little empathy was accorded to us. Situated on the nexus of a trade route, rich in natural resources, colonised threefold, by empire -building Europeans, we have a right to be bitter. But at this point in our own history, to not allow ourselves a response of participatory grief in a universal loss is to perpetuate the injustices of ‘us’ and ‘them’, of divide and rule, that colonisation imposed on every country it utilised. Only we can free ourselves of this dynamic.

That student said so, after the class, when we had coffee after the Jurisprudence presentation. Recognising what someone values via their grief at its loss is an act of empathy, and that is a human instinct which is denied by hatred. It is the opposite of appropriation, because it respects the rights and dignity of the other, and the value of what is important to them. It is the opposite of denial. It is affirmation of more than just an assertion of self and identity rights.
It is the opposite of annihilation.





Image credit: Disney

Articles, Interviews & Reviews published in Femasia Magazine

DEVIKA BRENDON

Devika Brendon is a Consultant Editor at FemAsia. She is an Educator, Reviewer, Journalist, and Writer. Devika was awarded First Class Honours in English Literature at the University of Sydney, and holds a PhD in English Literature from Monash University. She is a Teacher of English Language and Literature, and a literary mentor to emerging writers of all ages. Devika’s poetry and short stories have been published in journals and anthologies in Sri Lanka, Australia, India and Italy. Her critical reviews and opinion pieces have been published in both print and digital media, and can be viewed on her blog.