Thursday, April 24, 2014

The Comedian and the Audience

“You can’t worry about what others think of you,” says every authority figure to our children. “Don’t worry about what others think!” It’s one of the most common pieces of wisdom always blindly espoused by others. There is of course an admirable ideal in what people intend in this wisdom: don’t be a slave to what others want you to be. But, in truth, what are we beyond the perceptions of others in reaction to our selves? What merit is our self-perception in the definition of our self? 

Take, for instance, a man whose project in life is to tell jokes and make people laugh and happy. The world he strives to create is a world of laughter and happiness. Unfortunately, one day he tells a joke with this project in mind, but the receiver of the joke finds the joke unfunny and offensive, to the point where the receiver of the joke is upset. This man then, at least momentarily, took part in creating a world of unhappiness. Perhaps this incident is rare, and the man goes on through life by pursuing his project by telling the same jokes and all is well. However, what happens if the same jokes continue to upset others in similar ways? The man is then an actor of unhappiness in the world, creating a world that is tragically opposed to his original project of laughter and happiness. The man is left with the choice of either continuing to make people unhappy, or to change his jokes. 

The point is that the intentions of the man in question are irrelevant, for the concrete measurements of his jokes and actions in the world are a force of unhappiness to others. Consequently, this man is, at least partially, defined as a man who brings unhappiness, not laughter, to others. Facing this he still can change his jokes to alter his projections into the world. Life is but adjustments. We adjust so our intentions match their concrete impact in the world, which can only be defined by others. Furthermore, it is the continuous struggle to have our self-perception match other’s perception of our self, for only then can we guide our actions to create the concrete impact that our intentions seek to fulfill. Man starts with an intention, a project that is enacted through an action, and a meaning that is ultimately given by others, the witness. 

Despite all this, is it really so simple? Is there no accountability of the witness to our actions? Is witnessing, the decoding of others’ actions, not an action itself? This is something more fluid and transactional. There must be a responsibility on the witness to properly apply the correct meaning to actions, for our reactions also determine a world just the same. This complexity is best illustrated in cases of oppression. The French interpreted the terrorism of the Algerians as acts of murder and chaos, without understanding the intentions of liberation in their actions. The failure of the French to do so left the French oblivious to the concrete oppression of the Algerian situation that in fact was propagating the terrorism. The oppressor is often the unreliable witness to the acts of the oppressed, for the oppressed’s acts often carries an intention and meaning prescribed by the oppressed that rebels against the oppressor. The oppressor remains oblivious to his oppression of the oppressed, because he sees the oppressed as inferior, and how can one oppress one that is unequal? Consequently, the oppressor remains oblivious to his own situation in the world. Therefore the witness must also strive to understand the intentions of the actor, so as to understand the situation that ultimately causes the actor’s actions and also the situation that is the witness’ own. 



But the Algerians still must ask themselves – were our intentions of liberation obscured in the acts of terror? Like the man whose project is to make people laugh and happy, perhaps we should change our jokes, change our methods and actions to fulfill our project. The ultimate question, which there is no objective answer, is what action can best bring about the world we wish to construct? Instead of violence, MLK lead by civil disobedience in the civil rights movement -- the white oppressors faced with peaceful actors who didn’t enact their intentions of liberation with violence. The white population viewed the images of docile, peaceful black people being beaten and brutalized as they harmlessly assembled – attacked with dogs, beaten with sticks, and sprayed with fire hoses. Those images revealed the concrete violence of the oppressors toward an oppressed. It was then clear to many white people -- the oppressing witness -- that the civil rights movement was not a cause defined by violence and brutality but one that was victim of it by whites, and thus the white witness finally realized the black cause of bringing recognition to blacks’ situation of oppression. 

It is ultimately alarming how ambiguous our actions truly are – meaningless without the witness. Like being itself, the action’s existence precedes its essence. Intentions of the actor merely creates its existence, but the witness gives the action -- and thereby the actor – his essence. So often our actions betray the notion of our self to others, but what actually is our true self? 

We live in a world of negotiated meaning of our selves and others. We must be both conscious of how others perceive us, and how we perceive others. A person’s actions are measured and defined by the witness, just like a comedian’s jokes are measured and defined by the audience. The actor must be conscious and critical, always looking to adjust his actions to best represent his project. The witness, likewise, must remain conscious and critical of his reactions so as to best understand the concrete situation that provides the actor the need for his project; ignoring such is ignoring the world that the witness too is situated in. We exist as beings bound to one another, our freedom tied to the freedom of others. The burden of responsibility to create meaning in the world lies with comedian and audience, actor and witness. 

Tuesday, April 1, 2014

JAWS: A Viewing Between a Father and Son


The days and nights following the reveal of my dad’s cancer diagnosis were mostly marked by a state of nightmarish disbelief and a shadow of sadness cast down upon my family. It was in those days and nights where I had to confront the world; where I had to examine and evaluate what was truly at stake; where I had to think through my situation, or else fall into despair. But no, I refused to fall into despair, for I saw nothing more pointless and revolting than the idleness that despair entails. Rejecting despair became my greatest responsibility for myself and for my family. Therefore, it wasn’t that everything in my life necessarily changed, but rather certain things finally became clearer.

One night that stood out was when my father and I watched Jaws together after my sister and mother went to bed. This was a film we had always shared, but on that evening it brought us together deeper than ever. The film itself of course features a protagonist, a father of two sons who is thrust against the will of a seemingly unstoppable force of nature -- thrust in defense of his family and his town. It is not just a shark. He must overcome fears, and become more than a sheriff in this situation. He must innovate and overcome, despite the odds, as he does in the film's climactic moments.



My father and I had seen the film countless times. We nearly knew it by heart. He reminisced with me about first seeing it during his high school years in the drive-in in 1975; a great year for movies, he said (and it was). He still remembered the invigorating pain of his girlfriend’s nails digging into his arm during the film’s scariest moments. Meanwhile, I discussed the beauty of certain shots in the movie, the slight yet effective meaning and visual storytelling conveyed in the simplest and seemingly most insignificant of scenes. Usually he would block out such analysis on my part, and I would typically block out such nostalgic musings from him. But on that night the movie took a backseat. On that night it was about us, and we listened.

 
He started discussing many things and many deeper things. As we were alone, he shared wisdom and he shared secrets. Secrets, not terribly dramatic but yet deeply significant, bringing tears to his eyes as he unveiled pieces of his being from within. An urgency flowed through him. He spoke as a man aware of his looming mortality. It haunted his words and his voice.

 
I will not share the secrets, because the secrets are not mine to tell. However, he did reveal something significant about our relationship that I never recognized before. He told me that in all our conversations he always tried to play devil’s advocate by taking the opposing position of whatever I supported. He explained that it was his way of making me more critical about my beliefs. I always naively reduced this behavior as some sort of almost spiteful contrarianism in the form of some father/son family banter. But upon revealing his true intentions I realized it was one of the most profound forms of nurturing a son could receive.




Truthfully, I have always felt a little at odds at how I view the world in relation to others. Especially in my younger days, I was dissatisfied with mainstream political positions, skeptical of religion, and skeptical of much of the world. I always perceived this skepticism, my “unique” way of thinking, to be my own. I would concede that I was influenced by certain thinkers and even institutions in what I believed; but the source of my vision of the world -- the how and why of my thinking and beliefs -- remained a mystery to me. A prideful part of myself considered this to be something innate in my being. But on that night I realized that the source of my thinking comes from my father’s best effort to will into me a skeptical and compassionate view of the world. I reflected quietly on this discovery as the film continued, a newfound sense of humility and gratitude within me.


And when the film finished, and when the shark and the unstoppable force of nature was gloriously eradicated, we both admired together what is a truly great film.


That night, during my shower before bed, I had a culminating realization within myself. No matter what happens with my father, he will live on within me. My father is, above all, the biggest influence in the shaping of myself, beyond school or university or friends or country or art or other admirable persons. My father will always be eternal through me. As I extend into the world, so does he.


He lives within me, as he does within "Jaws".