2017年1月27日 星期五

Fellow Prisoners by John Berger

GRID: Times of Crisis - John Berger and Noam Chomsky (4/22/14)

約從12紛起,John Berger 讀

Fellow Prisoners

The best way to understand the world is not as a metaphorical prison but a literal one.

 Fellow Prisoners

Fellow Prisoners by John Berger

John Berger reads his essay, Fellow Prisoners. transcript: https://www.guernicamag.com/features/john_berger_7_15_11/

The wonderful American poet Adrienne Rich pointed out in a recent lecture about poetry that “this year, a report from the Bureau of Justice Statistics finds that one out of every 136 residents of the United States is behind bars—many in jails, unconvicted.”
In the same lecture she quoted the Greek poet Yannis Ritsos:
In the field the last swallow had lingered late,
balancing in the air like a black ribbon on the sleeve
of autumn.
Nothing else remained. Only the burned houses
smouldering still.
I picked up the phone and knew immediately it was an unexpected call from you, speaking from your flat in the Via Paolo Sarpi. (Two days after the election results and Berlusconi’s comeback.) The speed with which we identify a familiar voice coming out of the blue is comforting, but also somewhat mysterious. Because the measures, the units we use in calculating the clear distinction that exists between one voice and another, are unformulated and nameless. They don’t have a code. These days more and more is encoded.
So I wonder whether there aren’t other measures, equally uncoded yet precise, by which we calculate other givens. For example, the amount of circumstantial freedom existing in a certain situation, its extent and its strict limits. Prisoners become experts at this. They develop a particular sensitivity toward liberty, not as a principle, but as a granular substance. They spot fragments of liberty almost immediately whenever they occur.
On an ordinary day, when nothing is happening and the crises announced hourly are the old familiar ones—and the politicians are declaring yet again that without them there would be catastrophe—people as they pass one another exchange glances, and some of their glances check whether the others are envisaging the same thing when they say to themselves, So this is life!
Often they are envisaging the same thing and in this primary sharing there is a kind of solidarity before anything further has been said or discussed.
I’m searching for words to describe the period of history we’re living through. To say it’s unprecedented means little because all periods were unprecedented since history was first discovered.
I’m not searching for a complex definition—there are a number of thinkers, such as Zygmunt Bauman, who have taken on this essential task. I’m looking for nothing more than a figurative image to serve as a landmark. Landmarks don’t fully explain themselves, but they offer a reference point that can be shared. In this they are like the tacit assumptions contained in popular proverbs. Without landmarks there is the great human risk of turning in circles.
The landmark I’ve found is that of prison. Nothing less. Across the planet we are living in a prison.
The word we, when printed or pronounced on screens, has become suspect, for it’s continually used by those with power in the demagogic claim that they are also speaking for those who are denied power. Let’s talk of ourselves as they. They are living in a prison.
What kind of prison? How is it constructed? Where is it situated? Or am I only using the word as a figure of speech?
No, it’s not a metaphor, the imprisonment is real, but to describe it one has to think historically.
Michel Foucault has graphically shown how the penitentiary was a late-eighteenth-, early-nineteenth-century invention closely linked to industrial production, its factories and its utilitarian philosophy. Earlier, there were jails that were extensions of the cage and the dungeon. What distinguishes the penitentiary is the number of prisoners it can pack in—and the fact that all of them are under continuous surveillance thanks to the model of the Pantopticon, as conceived by Jeremy Bentham, who introduced the principle of accountancy into ethics.
Accountancy demands that every transaction be noted. Hence the penitentiary’s circular walls with the cells arranged around the screw’s watchtower at the center. Bentham, who was John Stuart Mill’s tutor at the beginning of the nineteenth century, was the principal utilitarian apologist for industrial capitalism.
Today, in the era of globalization, the world is dominated by financial, not industrial, capital, and the dogmas defining criminality and the logics of imprisonment have changed radically. Penitentiaries still exist and more and more are being built. But prison walls now serve a different purpose. What constitutes an incarceration area has been transformed.
Twenty years ago, Nella Bielski and I wrote A Question of Geography, a play about the Gulag. In act two, a zek (a political prisoner) talks to a boy who has just arrived about choice, about the limits of what can be chosen in a labor camp: when you drag yourself back after a day’s work in the taiga, when you are marched back, half dead with fatigue and hunger, you are given your ration of soup and bread. About the soup you have no choice—it has to be eaten whilst it’s hot, or whilst it’s at least warm. About the four hundred grams of bread you have choice. For instance, you can cut it into three little bits: one to eat now with the soup, one to suck in the mouth before going to sleep in your bunk, and the third to keep until next morning at ten, when you’re working in the taiga and the emptiness in your stomach feels like a stone.
You empty a wheelbarrow full of rock. About pushing the barrow to the dump you have no choice. Now it’s empty you have a choice. You can walk your barrow back just like you came, or—if you’re clever, and survival makes you clever—you push it back like this, almost upright. If you choose the second way you give your shoulders a rest. If you are a zek and you become a team leader, you have the choice of playing at being a screw, or of never forgetting that you are a zek.
The Gulag no longer exists. Millions work, however, under conditions that are not very different. What has changed is the forensic logic applied to workers and criminals.
During the Gulag, political prisoners, categorized as criminals, were reduced to slave laborers. Today millions of brutally exploited workers are being reduced to the status of criminals.
The Gulag equation “criminal = slave laborer” has been rewritten by neoliberalism to become “worker = hidden criminal.” The whole drama of global migration is expressed in this new formula; those who work are latent criminals. When accused, they are found guilty of trying at all costs to survive.
Over six million Mexican women and men work in the US without papers and are consequently illegal. A concrete wall of over one thousand kilometers and a “virtual” wall of eighteen hundred watchtowers were planned along the frontier between the US and Mexico, although the projects have recently been scrapped. Ways around them—though all of them dangerous—will of course be found.
Between industrial capitalism, dependent on manufacture and factories, and financial capitalism, dependent on free-market speculation and front office traders, the incarceration area has changed. Speculative financial transactions add up to, each day, $1,300 billion, fifty times more than the sum of the commercial exchanges. The prison is now as large as the planet and its allotted zones can vary and can be termed worksite, refugee camp, shopping mall, periphery, ghetto, office block, favela, suburb. What is essential is that those incarcerated in these zones are fellow prisoners.
It’s the first week in May and on the hillsides and mountains, along the avenues and around the gates in the northern hemisphere, the leaves of most of the trees are coming out. Not only are all their different varieties of green still distinct, people also have the impression that each single leaf is distinct, and so they are confronting billions—no, not billions (the word has been corrupted by dollars), they are confronting an infinite multitude of new leaves.
For prisoners, small visible signs of nature’s continuity have always been, and still are, a covert encouragement.

Today the purpose of most prison walls (concrete, electronic, patrolled, or interrogatory) is not to keep prisoners in and correct them, but to keep prisoners out and exclude them.
Most of the excluded are anonymous—hence the obsession of all security forces with identity. They are also numberless, for two reasons. First because their numbers fluctuate; every famine, natural disaster and military intervention (now called policing) either diminishes or increases their multitude. And second, because to assess their number is to confront the fact that they constitute most of those living on the surface of the earth—and to acknowledge this is to plummet into absolute absurdity.
Have you noticed small commodities are increasingly difficult to remove from their packaging? Something similar has happened with the lives of the gainfully employed. Those who have legal employment and are not poor are living in a very reduced space that allows them fewer and fewer choices—except the continual binary choice between obedience and disobedience. Their working hours, their place of residence, their past skills and experience, their health, the future of their children, everything outside their function as employees has to take a small second place beside the unforeseeable and vast demands of liquid profit. Furthermore, the rigidity of this house rule is called flexibility. In prison, words get turned upside down.
The alarming pressure of high-grade working conditions has obliged the courts in Japan to recognize and define a new coroners’ category of “death by overwork.”
No other system, the gainfully employed are told, is feasible. There is no alternative. Take the elevator. The elevator is a small cell.
Somewhere in the prison I’m watching a five-year-old girl having a swimming lesson in a municipal indoor swimming pool. She’s wearing a dark blue costume. She can swim but doesn’t yet have the confidence to swim alone without any support. The instructor takes her to the deep end of the pool. The girl is going to jump into the water whilst grasping a long rod held out toward her by her teacher. It’s a way of getting over her fear of water. They did the same thing yesterday.
Today she wants the girl to jump without clutching the rod. One, two, three! The girl jumps, but at the last moment seizes the rod. Not a word is spoken. A faint smile passes between the woman and the girl, the girl cheeky, the woman patient.
The girl clambers up the ladder out of the pool and returns to the edge. Again! she hisses. She jumps, hands to her sides, holding nothing. When she comes up to the surface the tip of the rod is there in front of her very nose. The girl swims two strokes to the ladder without touching the rod.
Am I proposing that the girl in the dark blue costume and the swimming instructor in her sandals are prisoners? Certainly at the moment when the girl jumped without the rod, neither of them was in prison. If I think, however, of the years to come or look back at the recent past, I fear that, notwithstanding what I describe, both of them risk becoming or re-becoming a prisoner.
Look at the power structure of the surrounding world, and how its authority functions. Every tyranny finds and improvises its own set of controls. Which is why they are often, at first, not recognized as the vicious controls they are.
The market forces dominating the world assert that they are inevitably stronger than any nation-state. The assertion is corroborated every minute. From an unsolicited telephone call trying to persuade the subscriber to take out private health insurance or a pension, to the latest ultimatum of the World Trade Organization.
As a result, most governments no longer govern. A government no longer steers toward its chosen destination. The word “horizon,” with its promise of a hoped-for future, has vanished from political discourse on both right and left. All that remains for debate is how to measure what is there. Opinion polls replace direction and replace desire.
Most governments herd instead of steer. (In US prison slang, “herders” is one of the many words for jailers.)
In the nineteenth century, long-term imprisonment was approvingly defined as a punishment of “civic death.” Two centuries later, governments are imposing—by law, force, economic threats and their buzz—mass regimes of civic death.
Wasn’t living under any tyranny in the past a form of imprisonment? Not in the sense I’m describing. What is being lived today is new because of its relationship with space.
It’s here that the thinking of Zygmunt Bauman is illuminating. He points out that the corporate market forces now running the world are ex-territorial, that’s to say “free from territorial constraints—the constraints of locality.” They are perpetually remote, anonymous, and thus never have to take account of the territorial, physical consequences of their actions. He quotes Hans Tietmeyer, former president of the German Federal Bank: “Today’s stake is to create conditions favorable to the confidence of investors.” The single supreme priority.
Following this, the control of the world’s populations, consisting of producers, consumers, and the marginalized poor, is the task allotted to the obedient national governments.
The planet is a prison and the obedient governments, whether of left or right, are the herders.
The prison system operates thanks to cyberspace. Cyberspace offers the market a speed of exchange which is almost instantaneous and used across the world day and night for trading. From this speed, the market tyranny gains its ex-territorial license. Such velocity, however, has a pathological effect on its practitioners: it anesthetizes them. No matter what has befallen, “business as usual.”
There is no place for pain in that velocity; announcements of pain perhaps, but not the suffering of it. Consequently, the human condition is banished, excluded from those operating the system. They are alone because utterly heartless.
Earlier, tyrants were pitiless and inaccessible, but they were neighbors who were subject to pain. This is no longer the case, and therein lies the system’s probable weakness.

The tall doors swing background
We’re inside the prison yard
in a new season.
They (we) are fellow prisoners. That recognition, in whatever tone of voice it may be declared, contains a refusal. Nowhere more than in prison is the future calculated and awaited as something utterly opposed to the present. The incarcerated never accept the present as final.
Meanwhile, how to live this present? What conclusions to draw? What decisions to take? How to act? I have a few guidelines to suggest, now that the landmark has been established.
On this side of the walls experience is listened to, no experience is considered obsolete. Here survival is respected, and it’s a commonplace that survival frequently depends upon solidarity between fellow prisoners. The authorities know this—hence their use of solitary confinement, either through physical isolation from history, from heritage, from the earth and, above all, from a common future.
Ignore the jailers’ talk. There are of course bad jailers and less bad. In certain conditions it’s useful to note the difference. But what they say—including the less evil ones—is bullshit. Their hymns, their shibboleths, their incanted words security, democracy, identity, civilization, flexibility, productivity, human rights, integration, terrorism, freedom are repeated and repeated in order to confuse, divide, distract, and sedate all fellow prisoners. On this side of the walls, words spoken by the jailers are meaningless and are no longer useful for thought. They cut through nothing. Reject them even when thinking silently to oneself.
By contrast, prisoners have their own vocabulary with which they think. Many words are kept secret and many are local, with countless variations. Small words and phrases, small yet containing a world: I’ll-show-you-my-way, sometimes-wonder, pajarillo, something-happening-in-B-wing, stripped, take-this-small-earring, died-for-us, go-for-it, etc.
Between fellow prisoners there are conflicts, sometimes violent. All prisoners are deprived, yet there are degrees of deprivation and the differences of degree provoke envy. On this side of the walls life is cheap. The very facelessness of the global tyranny encourages hunts to find scapegoats, to find instantly definable enemies among other prisoners. The asphyxiating cells then become a madhouse. The poor attack the poor, the invaded pillage the invaded. Fellow prisoners should not be idealized.
Without idealization, simply take note that what they have in common—which is their unnecessary suffering, their endurance, their cunning—is more significant, more telling, than what separates them. And from this, new forms of solidarity are being born. The new solidarities start with the mutual recognition of differences and multiplicity. So this is life! A solidarity, not of masses but of interconnectivity, far more appropriate to the conditions of prison.
The authorities do their systematic best to keep fellow prisoners misinformed about what is happening elsewhere in the world prison. They do not, in the aggressive sense of the term, indoctrinate. Indoctrination is reserved for the training of the small élite of traders and managerial and market experts. For the mass prison population the aim is not to activate them, but to keep them in a state of passive uncertainty, to remind them remorselessly that there is nothing in life but risk, and that the earth is an unsafe place.
This is done with carefully selected information, with misinformation, commentaries, rumors, fictions. Insofar as the operation succeeds, it proposes and maintains a hallucinating paradox, for it tricks a prison population into believing that the priority for each one of them is to make arrangements for their own personal protection and to acquire somehow, even though incarcerated, their own particular exemption from the common fate. This image of mankind as transmitted through a view of the world is truly without precedent. Mankind is presented as a coward; only winners are brave. In addition, there are no gifts; there are only prizes.
Prisoners have always found ways of communicating with one another. In today’s global prison, cyberspace can be used against the interests of those who first installed it. Like this, prisoners inform themselves about what the world does each day, and they follow suppressed stories from the past and so stand shoulder to shoulder with the dead.
In doing so, they rediscover little gifts, examples of courage, a single rose in a kitchen where there’s not enough to eat, indelible pains, the indefatigability of mothers, laughter, mutual aid, silence, ever-widening resistance, willing sacrifice, more laughter…
The messages are brief but they extend in the solitude of their (our) nights.
The final guideline is not tactical but strategic.
The fact that the world’s tyrants are ex-territorial explains the extent of their overseeing power, yet it also indicates a coming weakness. They operate in cyberspace and they lodge in guarded condominiums. They have no knowledge of the surrounding earth. Furthermore, they dismiss such knowledge as superficial, not profound. Only extracted resources count. They cannot listen to the earth. On the ground they are blind. In the local they are lost.
For fellow prisoners the opposite is true. Cells have walls that touch across the world. Effective acts of sustained resistance will be embedded in the local, near and far. Outback resistance, listening to the earth.
Liberty is slowly being found not outside but in the depths of the prison.
Not only did I immediately recognize your voice, speaking from your flat in the Via Paolo Sarpi, I could also guess, thanks to your voice, how you were feeling. I sensed your exasperation or, rather, an exasperated endurance combined—and this is so typical of you—with the quick steps of our next hope.
Copyright ©johnberger2011.

2017年1月19日 星期四

鍾漢清:「簡介Walter Benjamin 生平與著作」

鍾漢清先生:「簡介Walter Benjamin 及其 The Arcades Project (1927-40?)」


在台灣大學圖書館用"Walter Benjamin"查書,會有其他有趣的資訊,譬如說:



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Walter Benjamin 生平、大事記

Howard Eiland: Walter Benjamin - A Critical Life
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=56IqpusrTsoOne Way Street Fragments for Walter Benjamin by 

毛姆•布羅德森(Momme Brodersen),1951年出生,德國學者,本雅明研究者,1977年起在意大利巴勒莫大學講授德語及相關課程,曾在多家德國媒體發表文章,並有多部本雅明研究專著問世。
本雅明傳 蘭州:敦煌文藝,2000=在不確定中游走:本雅明傳,北京:金城出版社,2013

第一卷 在柏林的童年和青年時代(1892—1901)
第二卷 弗里德里希大帝學校(1901—1912)
第三卷 弗萊堡和柏林的學生時代(1912—1915)
第四卷 慕尼黑和伯爾尼(1915—1919)
第五卷 德國通貨膨脹巡禮(1919—1924)
第六卷 從莫斯科到巴黎(1925—1929)
第七卷 文學戰場上的謀略家(1929—1933)
第八卷 活着的憂傷:流亡中的本雅明(1933—1940)

本雅明 作者: (英)萊斯利 :北京大學出版社,2013


第一章 本雅明遺稿
第二章 青年時代:1892-1916年
第三章 出人頭地:1917-1924年
第四章 撰文立著:1925-1929年
第五章 文人學者:1930-1932年
第六章 隱姓埋名:1933-1937年
第七章 作家之障:1938-1940年
第八章 后記
劉北成 本雅明:思想肖像 上海人民,1998

關於Walter Benjamin的中文著作 (德文5大卷,每本上千頁) 和傳記,總篇幅說不定是The Arcades Project 的4倍~5倍。

2013年: 北京师范大学出版社:本雅明作品系列  13本
2017.1.16 查,約出版6本

无法扼杀的愉悦 : 文学与美学漫笔


論瓦爾特.本雅明:現代性、寓言和語言的種子郭軍 曹雷雨譯,長春:吉林人民出版社,2003/2011







瓦爾特・本雅明:1892―1940 漢娜・阿倫特

原作名: Ursprung des deutschen Trauerspiels
德國悲劇的起源, 陈永国译 , 北京:文化藝術,2001

迎向靈光消逝的年代:本雅明論藝術,許綺玲譯,台北:台灣攝影,1998; 廣西師範,2004,許綺玲、林志明譯


  • 攝影小史
  • 機械複製時代的藝術作品
  • 人名索引

機械複製時代的藝術作品 北京:中國城市,2002
機械複製時代的藝術作品  浙江文藝,2005

本雅明文選,陳永國 / 馬海良譯,北京:中國社會科學出版社, 2011

內容簡介  · · · · · ·

作者簡介  · · · · · ·

本書是“知識分子圖書館”的一種。瓦爾特.本雅明(Walter Benjamin,1892-1940)猶太人。他是20世紀罕見的天才,真正的天才,是“歐洲最後一名知識分子”。本雅明的一生是一部顛沛流離的戲劇,他的卡夫卡式的細膩、敏感、脆弱不是讓他安靜地躲在一個固定的夜晚,而是驅使他流落整個歐洲去體驗震驚;本雅明的孤獨是喧嘩和運動背景下的孤獨,這種孤獨既令人絕望,又摧發希望,本雅明的寫作就永遠徘徊在絕望和希望之間,大眾和神學之間,這種寫作因此就獲得了某種暖昧的倫理學態度。曖昧正是本雅明的特性之一,他的身份,他的職業,他的主題,他的著述,他的信仰,他的空間,他的只言片語,都不是確定的,都是難以分類的。真正確定的,只有一點,那就是他的博學、才華和敏銳的辯證融會,正是這種融會,留給了20世紀一個巨大背景和一個思考空間。

目錄  · · · · · ·


張旭東   現為美國紐約大學比較文學系和東亞研究系教授。1986年北京大學中文系畢業。美國杜克大學文學博士。曾任教於美國新澤西州立羅格斯大學東亞系。著有Chinese Modernism in the Era of Reforms: Cultural Fever, Avant-garde Fiction, and New Chinese Cinema,  Postsocialism and Cultural Politics: The Last Decade of China's Twentieth Century,《幻想的秩序:批評理論與現代中國文學話語》、《批評的蹤跡︰文化理論與文化批評》、《全球化時代的文化認同︰西方普通主義話語的歷史批判》等。譯有《發達資本主義時代的抒情詩人:論波特萊爾》等。
王斑    美國斯坦福大學東亞系William Haas講座教授。加州大學洛杉磯分校比較文學博士,先後任教于紐約州立大學、新澤西羅格斯大學。學術寫作涉及文學、美學、歷史、國際政治、電影及大眾文化。主要著作有The Sublime Figure of History: Aesthetics and Politics in Twentieth-Century China, Narrative Perspective and Irony in Chinese and American Fiction, Illuminations from the Past,《歷史與記憶——全球現代性的質疑》(香港:牛津)。1997與2001年兩次獲美國人文基金學術研究獎勵。
中譯本代序 從「資產階級世紀」中蘇醒(張旭東)
導言 瓦爾特.本雅明 1892-1940(漢娜.阿倫特)
附錄 本雅明作品年表(選目)


《經驗與貧乏》直接翻譯自德文 是本很有價值的{Walter Benjamin文選},我估計它囊括約三分之一強的重要作品。它用一篇短文《經驗與貧乏》當此本24萬字的文論選之書名,很有意思。
缺點是專有名詞附原文、註解還不夠多。另一缺點是缺索引---它的優點是,可讓讀者了解,除了附錄中的人名、書名之外,Walter Benjamin也多次提倒畫家Paul Klee (本書直接以正確發音翻譯,惜未附原文)等。

作者: (德)瓦爾特·本雅明
譯者: 王炳鈞 / 楊勁
出版社: 百花文藝出版社
出版年: 1999-9
頁數: 400定價: 24.00
裝幀:平裝叢書: 20世紀歐美文論叢書ISBN: 9787530627488
副標題: 20世紀歐美文論叢書

內容簡介 · · · · · ·

本雅明一直以一個自由作家和翻譯家的身份維生。他幾乎將一生奉獻於寫作。他寫了大量的有關十九世紀的文化、文學論文。本書收編了作者自1915年所寫的《評弗里德里希·荷爾德林的兩首詩》(《詩人之勇氣》《羞澀》),1920年所寫的《德國浪漫主義的藝術批評概念》,1931年創作的《評弗蘭茨·卡夫卡的建造中國長城時》,1933年《經驗和勇氣》再到1934,《弗蘭茨·卡夫卡——紀念卡夫卡逝世十週年》,1938年的《致格爾斯霍姆· 朔勒姆的信》,總計十二篇力作。其中《評陀思妥耶夫斯基的人(白痴)》、《評歌德的(親合力)》、《貝爾托爾特·布萊希特》等幾篇均寫得有藝術見解,又有細膩情感的表達。作者簡介 · · · · · ·

瓦爾特·木雅明(Walter Benjamin,1892-1940),20世紀最具影響力的文學評論家和哲學家之一。出生於德國富裕的猶太人家庭,在申請大學教職失敗後,一直從事文學評論和翻譯工作。他的作品在法蘭克福學派批評理論的發展中扮演著重要的角色。納粹興起後他離開德國,1940年在法國與西班牙邊鏡自殺。目錄 · · · · · ·
緒論一 課題的限定二 材料來源

第一部分 反思
一 費希特的“反思’和“假定’概念直接認識――假定的限定――反思的限定
二 早期浪漫主義者對反思的理解反思的三個階段―一智力直觀――反思的媒介――藝術
三 系統與概念絕對系統――神秘術語――玩笑―― 藝術之術語
四 早​​期浪漫派的自然認識理論自我認識――客體認識的基本原理

第二部分 藝術批評
一 早期浪漫派的藝術認識理論作為反思媒介的藝術――批評――作品的獨立性
二 藝術作品形式――內在批評――素材及形式的反諷
三 藝術理念形式和作品的整體性――漸進的總匯詩――超驗文學――小說――散文――冷靜――批評早期浪漫派的藝術理論與歌德理念與理想――繆斯式的――無條件的作品――古希臘羅馬――風格――批評


可技術複製時代的藝術作品 259
致格爾斯霍姆・朔勒姆的信 379