Papers and Ongoing Research

A review of [insert book title here]

Forward

In Winter 2016, I took up a rather interesting challenge. A student walked into my classroom carrying a copy of a rather large book. I took one look at it and guessed that it was an “airport bookshop” style management guru book, feeding cheap advice on what to do in organizations in order to placate anxious managers and students. He saw the look on my face and started to defend the books quality. Beyond making a face and shamefully judging a book by its cover, however, I couldn’t articulate why I was so apprehensive about this book.20180927_120308.jpg

Anyone who knows me will be able to predict how I reacted to not knowing what to say about something. I bought the book, read it, and wrote a review of it.What follows is that review, one where I try to play with giving and withholding details in order to comment on this book specifically and this type of book in general. I was also quite jaded at the end of my PhD and so I took the review as an opportunity to take potshots at academic writing. I ended up reworking this review into a paper titled ‘Understanding microfascism: Reading Deleuze and Guattari alongside management guru texts’ which hopefully will be published soon, and while digging on my hard-drive I found the following short piece and decided to post it here rather than letting it gather digital dust in obscurity elsewhere.

[insert book title here]

With the resurgence of authoritarian “strong man leadership” and the cult of personality around leaders themselves in our collective popular culture, it is perhaps no surprise that [insert book title here] is at the top of many “Bestselling Books about Leadership” at the close of 2016. [insert author’s name here] is well known for their image as a successful investor and entrepreneur, with their previous titles like [insert other book title here] trading upon this in order to sell a rhetoric of increasing efficiency and optimizing everyday life. With their newest book [insert author’s name here] broadens their scope, offering lessons from the nearly two hundred “world-class performers” that the author interviewed over the last few years. While critical scholars might argue that such a text has little of value to offer to rigorous, critical, academic analysis, being, at best, no more than a representation of the £6 billion management consultancy industry in the UK, a cheap “guru guide” [insert names of important professors here] to “managing” which tells the audience what they already know in pithy and quasi-inspirational tones and at worst, a blatant cash grab that builds off of the publicity for a highly successful podcast, which features [insert author’s name here], in order to bolster sales. However, following the precedent set by other CMS researchers like [insert reference to work of PhD supervisor here] and [insert reference to work of PhD supervisor’s conference drinking buddy here] this review aims to take the work of [insert author’s name here] seriously and understand it on its own terms, placing it into dialogue with the logic of [insert CMS buzzword here] and [insert half-understood concept from obscure philosopher] in order to suggest that rather than dismissal or readers of [insert journal name here] might find a truly “transformational” understanding of leadership in the writing of [insert author’s name here].

As such, let us begin from the proposition that there is more complexity to [insert book title here] than one would first assume. Though it seems to trade a crude kind of macho, [insert superfluous adjectives] bravado that speaks not only to the image of the leader as a great hero or messiah, but to the deep-seated anxiety and insecurity that underpins much of the popular literature on leadership and leads to the production of texts like this in the first place, [insert commentary cribbed from whoever is popular right now in critical leadership studies here]. There is, to be fair, no shortage of this and the Forward to the text, written by [insert name of popular celebrity here], speaks about how he is not a “self-made man” but rather is one who “stood on the shoulders of giants”. This is the logic by which the book operates, guiding the reader through, over the course of 674 pages, a wealth of stories about the habits of strong leaders who [insert leadership buzzwords here].

Divided into parts with labels like “Healthy”, “Wealthy” and “Wise”,  [insert book title here] seems to flaunt itself before the critical gaze, unconcerned in the face of chastisement because it is lightheaded at the thought of the sheer volume of money that it will make in sales.

Indeed, while [insert book title here] can be read as the climax of a society-wide and Business School cultivated masturbatory obsession around the strong leader (the book contains some 101 “profile chapters”, each focusing on a different “transformational leader”, one whose characteristics, qualities and successes are extolled as the [insert pithy catchphrase from book’s blurb here]) this is inadequate to the sheer magnitude of the project of  [insert book title here]. The star studded list of giants whose shoulders the reader might stand on include Olympic gymnastics coaches, Professors and PhD’s in everything from Molecular Pharmacology and Physiology to Neuroscience, doctors who were once endurance athletes, CrossFit trainers, professional wrestlers, high profile investors off of the cover of Forbes magazine, politicians, developers and founders of some of the mainstay websites of the contemporary internet, Oscar nominated film-makers, billionaires, hedge fund managers, professional snowboarders, CEO’s, master chefs, Navy SEALs, Grammy nominated musicians and popular actors; all of whom have a small space in [insert book title here] to share their wisdom and insights on life and being successful at living. However, the constant emphasis on adopting the life habits of “great men” [insert feminist critique here] and various health and wellness routines evokes the image of the transformation of a man  into some manner of drug-enhanced, low-bodyfat, business-savvy guru who speaks only in maxims about “success” and “motivation” rather than any of the above. A Gregor Samsa for the modern age. [insert witticism based on Kafka’s original German here].

However, despite what nightmarish imagery can be conjured about its content, what is perhaps noteworthy about [insert book title here] is its boldfaced simplicity. It wants to be nothing other than an instruction manual for how to be a great leader. There are no footnotes, no references to previous work done in the field, no “obligatory references”, no “positioning of the work”, no “theory” bandied about and yet, even if one might critique the rigour of the “200 interviews” that form the books basis, [insert book title here] is a qualitative study underpinned by a philosophical project of holistic wellness, mastery and development of the kind more common to ancient Greece than contemporary academia. All of this, one might contend, is in the writing, or, more apropos, in the ineffable ways in the writing constructs its reader –  an eager young millennial struggling for a sense of purpose or direction, likely to be enchanted by stories of “great men” who were successful through a series of habits or qualities that you too can cultivate. Such a reader might peruse this book and be expected to learn everything from where to meet high profile people, how to exercise more effectively, what books to read, habits to adopt to deal with ennui.  [insert book title here] is thus, in its coverage of topics as diverse as investment strategy in relation to [insert new business trend here] to why MBA programs are a 2-year vacation that look good on one’s CV, from work-out tips from people who’ve climbed Mount Everest to many other instances of what philosopher Daniel Dennett termed “deepity” (“The basics are the basics, and you can’t beat the basics” or “Life is a continual process of arrival into who we are”), a startling caricature of the life of its target audience, insofar as it seems to suggest a group so fatigued by the trials, tribulations and anxieties of modern life that they need advice with [insert list that will shock a CMS reader, like the mattress buying checklist or the constant array of “healthy living” tips, here]. One could almost be duped into believing that one were reading a “modernization” of classic philosophical aphorisms, like those of Nietzsche or Seneca for [insert book title here] has as much life affirming and positive insight in its “deepity” to help one cope with modern life as any of the dusty volumes that organizational scholars dredge from the library in order to make themselves “sound smarter than everyone else” [insert reference to anyone within CMS who has moaned about “academic writing” here]. Indeed, [insert author’s name here] shares this concern and [insert reference to story about author’s rejection of MBA programs based upon his dislike for academics who use too many big words and PowerPoint slides here] seems to suggest that one might find a more thorough and grounded education outside of the academic university. Though recent scholarship within CMS [insert a number of references to publications by members of the jorunal’s editorial board in order to mask a prayer to Dvalin, the Norse rune-god, asking both that this review be published and that the entire edifice of “academic writing” which supports a sentence like this one could burn ingloriously to the ground, here] has done much to address concerns around writing and pedagogy, what we might see in [insert book title here] is an unparalleled knowledge of audience. Such a tailored approach enables it to speak directly and prescriptively about how they may “transform”.

Like so many of these train station bookshop “leadership guides” [insert book title here] will like fade fast, into the discount bin; its status as a transformative bible for a 21-year old, final year Bsc Management student from a small British town with dreams of becoming a successful entrepreneur dwindling into the aether of memory as the book that he spent two weeks swearing to live his life by gathers dust on a shelf or is used to elevate a computer monitor. However, one wonders whether the critical scholars who number amongst [insert journal name here] audience might find the text as transient, or whether they might find something of value in the way that [insert author’s name here] writes, in the way that he draws in and captures the same audience that we would want to in order to ensure the future of our discipline. These are no doubt our students and it is worth speaking to them.

In the least, the readers of [insert journal name here] might find a reference point for critique in [insert book title here]. All too often CMS caricatures “the mainstream”, to the degree where this reviewer wonders if the readers of [insert journal name here] can remember the last time that they read a book that was on a list of “Best Sellers in Business”…

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Reflections

EGOS 2018:

EGOS 2018 is over. The conference was held in Tallinn, Estonia and I had a great time exploring the city while taking my usual absurd pictures with a tiny stuffed wolf called, Penumbra.

20180707_133758.jpgDuring the conference, I followed the stream titled Ethnography: Surprises, Stories, Speaking Out and wanted to chronicle a few thoughts on the presentations while they were still fresh in my memory.

How short can fieldwork be?

There have been several reflections that ask questions of the now intractable myth of Malinowskian fieldwork as this lengthy and labyrinthine project of extensive, immobile and detail focused study. The emergence of multi-sited ethnography or even ethnographic work that tracks organization across different sites and spaces has done much to challenge some of the presuppositions around what ethnography is “supposed to be”. However, quite often (at EGOS and elsewhere) I find myself viewing presentations on work that describes itself as “ethnographic” where the fieldwork is based upon a few interviews conducted on site or a few days at a site. I have perhaps no grounds to challenge other people’s attempt to experiment or test the limits of ethnography but I find myself wondering whether we are able to generate the depth of insight necessary for work to meaningfully understand the dynamics of a site, to become attuned to its mores, to be sensitive to its practices, or to be able to trace its conceptual lines and unique forms of thought. I also struggle with the idea that my scepticism towards the projects in which these colleagues are involved is a form of disciplinary conservativism on my part – some form of desire to keep things controlled, predictable, and as expected.

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On encroaching positivism and the possibility of surprise

During the stream I watched with no small degree of concern as a colleague presented a piece of ethnographic work that had some undeniably positivistic undertones to its design – there was talk of “theory building” and “theory testing” and a conclusion of a similar type to “men demonstrate behaviour X more than women”. My concern was primarily ideological and relates to what I mentioned earlier regarding disciplinary conservativism. I have trouble finding grounds to say that “this is not ethnography” and pontificate that it should be about exploration, understanding the lives of interlocutors or the site where they live – a confrontation with an Other that represents an analytical, metaphysical, and existential shock that confronts oneself and the academy with radical alterity. The best I can do is to appeal to authority and quote someone like Judith Oakley saying “anthropology is also an artistic and creative engagement, not scientific mimicry.” What Oakley sketches is the fundamental uncertainty about the outcomes and activities of fieldwork; one never knows what might happen. But who am I to say that ethnography cannot be about theory testing and design – that this experiment must be abandoned. I also reflected on the fact that I might be jealous because, while a journal like Organization Science will never publish the kind of Deleuze-inspired ethnographic work that I want to write, it might very well publish this attempt to make ethnography more “scientific”.

At the end of the colleague’s presentation, I made an intervention on the order of asking whether they thought that this method of theorizing beforehand and then testing precluded the possibility of “surprise” (reflecting not only on the conference theme but my supervisor’s invocation that good ethnography means opening yourself up to be surprised by the field) but I’m not sure that this was something that they were able to work with.

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On silences

One of the themes that emerged from the panels was “silence”, the things that we do not say or speak about that emerge in the course of ethnographic work. This related to questions of whether ethnography should be necessarily activist, particularly when it deals with the stories of exploited, at risk or suffering groups are well established.

One paper presented at the stream clearly dealt with a sensitive subject that was quite personally important to the presenter. Their paper explicitly listed the ambition of advocating and making salient the very important cause that the author had first-hand experience of and on which they were now reporting. The paper, however, stopped short in its theorization around the work of Marquis de Sade because it wanted to (very understandably) present the people upon whose behalf it sought to advocate in a positive light. I couldn’t help but reflect on the choice that this colleague was confronted with, to either focus on their advocacy to give voice to those who were suffering or to develop a theoretical position – via Deleuze or Bataille- which might suggest that desire could become so perverse and distorted by social coding that their interlocutors could be said to desire their suffering. As I made a comment which suggested the latter, I wondered if I should have kept silent because the colleague was likely aware of this struggle between theorizing and advocating and if pressed would, unlike me, probably choose the latter.

The question of when to intervene or inject question or commentary is one that I think that I obsess over. I try to keep to a rule at conferences that I won’t say anything unless: a) I think that it will help the discussion
b) I think that the presenter will be able to meaningfully use/work with the question and c) I can do it without talking about my own research.
I’ve evolved this rule-set over years of watching with embarrassment as other conference attendees fail to adhere to them. We’ve all been in a room where someone derails an interesting conversation to ask their own narrow question, where someone tries to shame a presenter with a difficult question, or where an older professor goes on about their own work until the whole room forgets what the presentation was about. I sometimes reflect that this silence makes me guilty of not sufficiently advocating for my own expertise and whether facing silence after a presentation would be worse than breaking one of the above guidelines. I kept thinking about this colleagues paper for some time, wondering how I would write it and if in so doing, I might be complicit in trying to silence those who the presenter was trying to speak for.

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Reflections

Andrea Gibson: Affect(ing)Words

Andrea Gibson is perhaps my favourite human being.

Andrea Gibson

On some days I think that I’d like to loudly confess my love and beg Andrea to live with me forever. Friends and colleagues may well balk at such a statement, not only because of my general misanthropic demeanour, but because Andrea Gibson’s affecting, queer, and emotional poetry represents a neat antithesis to my stoic, detached, and cerebral public persona.

But Andrea’s work is so mesmerizing as to be worth memorizing. Occasionally, with a full heart, I will replay the poem Ashes in my mind, walking through the spaces where it lives and falling in love with it and its author all over again. There is so much feel, so much body, so much light and life, so much hurt, so much feel, so much poetry in everything that Andrea writes that for a long time I have felt that it could only ever be cheapened by analysis. I say that as someone who lets nothing slip by unanalyzed; Andrea Gibson’s work is better if you try to open yourself up to feeling it.

In this regard, whenever I encounter reviews of Andrea’s work I often find them to be either merely observational or a poor reflection of something that Andrea does better than poet that I know: affect.

Thinking about affect, perhaps we do not have to let the work pass by unanalyzed but rather we need to invoke the necessity of developing a different kind of sense to analyze it. I’ve always loved this quote from Felicity Coleman on how Deleuze considers affect:

Watch me: affection is the intensity of colour in a sunset on a dry and cold autumn evening. Kiss me: affect is that indescribable moment before the registration of the audible, visual, and tactile transformations produced in reaction to a certain situation, event, or thing. Run away from me: affected are the bodies of spectres when their space is disturbed. In all these situations, affect is an independent thing; sometimes described in terms of the expression of an emotion or physiological effect, but according to Deleuze, the affect is a transitory thought or thing that occurs prior to an idea or perception. Affect is the change, or variation, that occurs when bodies collide, or come into contact.

What changes when bodies collide… I saw Andrea perform in Manchester this month and can certainly say that my heart left with bruises from a quite brutal crash. Thinking in terms of affect,  (as an aside, “to impress the mind or move the feelings of” might number among my favourite definitions), renders thinking available to the dense cacophony of emotion and feeling in each of Andrea’s poems.

As a challenge to any readers I might suggest the following: listen to these three poems:

I Sing the Body Electric, Especially When My Power’s Out  (Text)

Angels of the get through (Text)

Radio (Text)

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A page from “Take me with you” showing the opening lines of the poem “Orlando”

Pay attention neither to what is said, nor to the captivating array of imagery and partial-objects which constitute these poems, and instead try to feel your way into the affective spaces that the poems are carving out. Those heavy-hearted feelings that come before you can think through what they are about. I picked those three at random but all are entwined with the theme of a pedagogy of love: of self, of a friend, of a partner. This is perhaps too cerebral a version of the analysis. To think in terms of affect is simply to be rendered open by the lightness and weight of what is being said, thus rendering a life vulnerable to the possibility of compassion; of suffering with someone else.

Andrea’s work batters down the well-practiced apathy of everyday life and joyously invites the listener to suffer with them (recall the etymology of compassion), to smile, laugh, hope, dream, and weep with them. This audacious act of compassion is a collision of bodies of a kind, words used as weapons, catapulted against the walls of stoic detachment and disengagement.

But, there are cynical and critical voices who live in my head. As such, I sometimes find myself thinking that even this preoccupation with affect is limited, following from some comments by Claire Colebrook on the subject of affect:

There is nothing radical per se about affect, but the thought of affect–the power of philosophy or true thinking to pass beyond affects and images to the thought of differential imaging, the thought of life in its power to differ–is desire, and is always and necessarily radical. The power of art not just to present this or that affect, but to bring us to an experience of any affect whatever or “affectuality”–or that there is affect–is ethical: not a judgment upon life so much as an affirmation of life.

Art- not as the presentation of liberatory affect- but as an affirmation of life. Even if Andrea’s affect(ing) writing can’t save us, the affirmation of life doesn’t seem like such a bad consolation prize. We all need that sometimes.

Needless to say, I am looking forward to Andrea’s new book being released in November.

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Reflections

Conflicting agendas and the impossibility of marking

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It’s exam season again and that means that I’ve been obsessing over marking again. While there is a broader conversation to be had about the intensification of academic work and the long hours culture that entirely obfuscates any notion of a “work-life balance” and the way that an obsessive climate of measurement (and consequently marking) contributes this, my preoccupation has most often been on the psychological complexity of marking and my reflexive questioning of myself and my own agenda while marking rather than on the stress placed on me by, say being told by the University that I must mark 130 papers in 5 days.

In one of the few essays within our discipline to even consider the problem of marking (and one of my favourite essays of his) Damian O’Doherty reflects on the “Impossibility of Marking” and the complex of psychic forces that intervene in and direct the process of marking exam papers. These often conflicting desires include general expectations over standards, the lecturer’s desire to be seen as a ‘good lecturer’ and the student’s desire to be seen as a good student, the performance of identifying students by a particular grade etc. Indeed, O’Doherty importantly unpacks that marking is not just an arbitrary grading system but a system of identity construction, a branding. Students are labelled as ‘first class’ or ‘average’ which constructs, threatens and reinforces various identity politics, prompting anxiety, uncertainty and general panic among both markers and the marked.

O’Doherty stops short of a full catalogue of experiences in his short essay and I wanted to add a listing of my own experiences of the complexity of marking as an append to his text:

1. A student has not quite answered the question but has followed my advice to think ‘critically’ and ‘ethically’ about the topic of performance appraisals. I give them a higher mark than I should both because I am glad that they followed my advice and because I am afraid that my instruction has been insufficient to help them appreciate how to think critically about a question.

2. I spot the essay of a notably brilliant student by the handwriting and syntax. It is undeniably better than the majority of their peers but it does not seem to merit a first. I cannot tell if I think that it does not deserve a first because I expected further excellence from this particular student (based on my conversations with them, their previous assignments, conduct in seminars, attendance etc.) or because it actually does not meet some supposed ‘objective’ standard of quality. I give them the first.

3. I notice that I am far more generous in my grading than my colleagues. Where another would give a 25 for a thoroughly insubstantial answer, I am tempted by a 38, the idea being that I am already failing this paper and see no point in tanking their average with a very low grade. I do not know if this means that the integrity of my marking is compromised or if it is because I am more sympathetic and less willing to pretend to be “objective”. A situation comes up in the Board of Examiners meeting where a student fails all of their modules except mine, passing with a 43. I try not to make eye contact with the chair of the Board, just in case she decides to ask if I’m sure about that grade or why mine is the only module that this student passed.

4. A student gives an answer which seems average: noting points briefly without fully developing them, lacking substantive analysis, lacking a real awareness of the literature etc. I am, however, sorely tempted to give them a first because I recognize whole passages of text as quotations of things that I said over the course of the term. I feel vaguely flattered that a student has put time and effort into memorizing things that I said but I am concerned that there is no understanding of that quotation and furthermore that if an internal or external examiner got their hands on this paper they wouldn’t see what I was rewarding. I decide to go with a low 2:1 but would feel guilty about it later.

5. I find myself marking the paper of a student who does not speak English as a first language. Their writing is bad enough that I have trouble understanding a) what they’re trying to argue and b) whether they’ve understood key content from the course. I wonder whether my willingness to give this essay is a Third is because of my own fairly conservative attitudes towards English and its use and consequentially whether I have somehow been indoctrinated by some manner of anti-immigrant discourse that convinces me to more harshly judge the paper. I also reflect that the “official marking criteria” state that one of the criteria by which I should judge the quality of a paper is its “Presentation” (which includes grammar and punctuation) and I wonder whether if conforming to this makes me complicit in a system that at once seeks to attract International Students because of the money that they bring, while also vilifying them in the press. I give the paper a Third but later will feel anxious about the exploitation of the hopes and dreams of students from the global south.

6. While marking I keep a spreadsheet of averages and numbers of papers in different ranges. I notice that the number of firsts is getting a bit high and wonder about whether I should be more strict and “willing to see 2:1’s” in order not to raise any faculty or external examiner suspicions. I dismiss this as foolish and resolve to try to consider each paper on its own merits. The next paper that I mark is one that I can clearly identify as being “on the borderline” (either a 72 or a 68 because of the University’s categorical marking system). I decide upon a 68 but later will be bothered by the question of whether or not I decided that because it’s what the student deserves or because I wanted to keep my averages in line.

There are perhaps many more that I could add to this list and readers may well have their own. The moments of doubt, uncertainty, and self-questioning that all examiners go through aren’t considered or discussed because we have to maintain the pretence of “academic expertise” so that students will trust or otherwise accept their given marks. This is the reality to which O’Doherty alludes when the notes that consistency can vary wildly among different markers. No amount of training addresses or assuages this because it functions as a manifestation of the chaotic and confused nature of the human condition. In an era of automation, how dare we have human concerns?

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Conceptual Explorations

Conceptual Explorations: The death drive

IMG_3757[1].JPGI’ve spent much time recently thinking about the “death instinct”. It appears in a number of different forms and for a number of different purposes throughout Deleuze’s  corpus and his work with Guattari. While I am still cataloguing all of these, I wanted to highlight the following two quotations:

“The full body without organs is the unproductive, the sterile, the unengendered, the unconsumable. Antonin Artaud discovered this one day, finding himself with no shape or form whatsoever, right there where he was at that moment. The death instinct: that is its name, and death is not without a model. For desire desires death also, because the full body of death is its motor, just as it desires life, because the organs of life are the working machine.” (Anti- Oedipus, p.8.)

“The sadism which is today everywhere springs from a desire for nothingness which is established deep within man, especially in the mass of men-a sort of amorous, almost irresistible and unanimous impatience for death.” (Logic of Sense p.326- note that Deleuze is here quoting novelist Louis-Ferdinand Céline)

What can be gleaned from these two quotes? I would suggest that for Deleuze, the rejection of Freud extends only as far as Oedipus and that the death instinct or drive advanced in Beyond the Pleasure Principle is of interest. While it is no means consistently thus, Deleuze (and Guattari) seems to regard the desire for disorganization, for nothingness, for the breaking off of social codes, as a form of death drive. The destructive desire for annihilation, for nothingness and the freedom from “the social” that would accompany it.

I have recently been thinking about this in relation to a famous quote from Frederick Jameson,

“Someone once said that it is easier to imagine the end of the world than to imagine the end of capitalism. We can now revise that and witness the attempt to imagine capitalism by way of imagining the end of the world.”

Though it may not have been precisely what Jameson meant, the rank excesses of contemporary capitalism and the prevailing culture of what I can only term Corporate Social Irresponsibility. A corporate world where excessive Carbon Emissions (and cheating emissions tests),  animal testing, pollution, deforestation, fraud and deception (e.g. Enron, Worldcom), failing to pay workers a living wage, marketing products harmful to users, use of child labour, gender pay gaps and discrimination against women (re: glass ceilings, “motherhood penalties” etc.), discrimination against BME, LGBTQ+, the disabled and the elderly , cultivating climates of unnecessary stress, anxiety, burnout and “presenteeism” in organization, Union busting and denial of workers’ rights, making light of workplace deaths, deaths from overwork, war profiteering and the military industrial complex, insider trading and other morally dubious investing practices, attacks on Human Rights activists, punishing whistleblowers, enabling gross wealth inequality etc. etc.;  where all of this can be considered a norm can only be said to be irresponsible if not more aptly described as manifestly immoral. It is a corporate world that seems to be actively seeking out an end to capitalism by means of an end of the world; a system so unsustainable as to be inevitably stamped with an expiration date.

And yet, the popular press and corporate websites often bear out how good and ethical the contemporary corporation is. Students in contemporary Business Schools will frequently hold the idea that business ethics are important, that firms should be devoting resources to socially responsible projects and will celebrate “ethical businesses/leaders” in presentations and essays but will also seem to ignore this reality of corporate immorality. I’ve been thinking a lot recently about cases like Volkswagen which seem to indicate a fundamental paradox in our perception of the contemporary corporation, one that speaks to the existence of two seemingly mutually contradictory realities.

On the one hand, the contemporary corporation is destroying or complicit in the destruction of the planet and on the other, it is trying to save it. I debated with myself for some time about whether these represented contradictory positions at all; whether it was possible to for the corporation, in its plurality, heterogeneity and non-uniformity to have some of its members trying to destroy the corporation while others tried to save it. However, I reasoned that this was perhaps the core of the problem, that insofar as the corporation can be thought of as a person, its personality seems split between trying to save the planet (through socially responsible initiatives) and trying to profit maximize in ways that actively make life worse for its inhabitants (in gross shows of corporate social irresponsibility).

What I would suggest is that this paradox, this “divided-self”, is a reflection of the death drive. The corporate person, eager for death and disorganization, deludes itself  into believing that its actions are saving the planet in order to intentionally blind itself to the ways in which it is destroying it. That is to say, we represent social responsibility in order to distract ourselves from the sordid realities of corporate social irresponsibility. We do this because we secretly want irresponsible behaviour, because a profound eschatological instinct compels us towards the end, towards disorganization and nothingness. We do it because desire desires death also. Perhaps we are simply curious as to what an end to capitalism would look like. Regardless, since the most immoral actors are always the ones who have convinced themselves that they are acting morally, this strategy of self-deception towards death is certainly effective.

In his 1992 text, Pandemonium: Towards a Retro Organization Theory Gibson Burrell says the following: “our own total destruction is what humanity actually desires, rather than fears. It has become our goal. So endism is rampant.” (p.49). I could not agree more, but I have some more work to do on the death drive before I can fully articulate why.

 

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Reflections

Reflections on convening your first module in Higher Education: Compassion, capitulation, complicity and critique

Over the last few months, much of my time has been taken up by convening a module at the University of Kent. CB681: “Managing Human Resources in Contemporary Organizations” is in many respects a generalist course that seeks to introduce students to thinking about HRM in a very broad sense in order to lay the groundwork for a number of final year undergraduate modules as well as the Msc HRM which is taught by my department. It’s the first time that I was made fully and solely responsible for a course. IMG_3676.JPGWhile I greatly enjoyed the experience of the course there are a few things that I continue to reflect upon while I wait for the final exam scripts to come in. I’ve decided to pen them here in the hopes that I might develop them into a more substantive paper at some point. I use the second person as a way of addressing the text to a reader (perhaps my future self) who does not quite remember what it’s like to convene a module as an early-career researcher, still technically in the limbo between PhD and a permanent lectureship.


Compassion

Most research currently indicates that both students and staff in the contemporary university are increasingly suffering with various forms of mental illness (depression, anxiety disorders, chronic stress, workaholism, burnout etc.). Whether this is because we are better at spotting the signs of mental illness, more willing to pathologize the highs and lows that constitute human life, less able to cope with highs and lows because of the various currents of modernity or because something about our current socio-historical moment (precarious work, debt, normalized intensity of work etc.) which produces the symptoms of mental illness, is a consideration beyond you. Regardless, you find yourself often confronted with students who are struggling to manage, to continue to live and do the basic tasks of studying at a university. Students missing presentations, lectures and seminars because of their struggles with depression or anxiety has become a common part of your job.

You find yourself reflecting on the word “compassion”; not just a form of empathy or sympathy, compassion literally means “to suffer with”. While your are sensitive to the idea of co-opting someone else’s struggles and are aware that you can’t feel their sorrows for them, you do feel a profound sense of misery over the plights of your students and often find yourself in situations where you think that you are more sensitive to the ways in which academic action (through setting tests/creating a culture of continuous assessment, ambiguity in the teaching method etc.) can often be complicit in heightening stress and anxiety in the student body. Perhaps you are simply younger and less jaded than your colleagues and soon enough the crushing reality of the UK Higher Education system will strip you of this. Perhaps, your position within CMS and engagement with critiques of neoliberalism have made it so that you are more aware of the sundry effects of late-capitalism. Perhaps what is needed is not prescription and pathology but an existential education, one which, to borrow from Robert Solomon’s excellent introduction to the subject, can cultivate:

“an attitude that recognizes the unresolvable confusion of the human world, yet resists the all-too-human temptation to resolve the confusion by grasping toward whatever appears or can be made to appear firm or familiar […] the existential attitude begins with a disoriented individual facing  a confused world that he cannot accept” (Solomon, 1987: 238)

You start thinking about ways to worm an existential agenda into your teaching/discussions with students, while staying on the right side of expectations in terms of the correct conduct of a lecturer and with deference to the practice of referring students to university support services.


Capitulation

The first examination that you sat at university was for a course called “People and Organizations” taught by John Hassard. It’s format was simple enough: answer two essay questions in two hours. It was the kind of thing that you’d done before at A-Levels. However, because you’d never lived in a temperate climate before, you didn’t really understand being cold. You walked the 15 minutes from your apartment to the exam hall in the middle of January in nothing more than a T-shirt and a thin hoodie. You were perhaps an hour early and would be shivering by the time they let you into an unheated exam hall to sit the test. Even though you attended every lecture, and understood the material (indeed, four years later you would find yourself guest lecturing on that course), panic exacerbated by the cold rendered you largely unable to produce even one coherent essay. You received a 43 for the module- the lowest grade that you’d receive during your entire tenure in higher education.

Even now, this mortifying experience remains in the back of your mind. You oppose tests for a number of reasons, and will openly say that they are pedagogically bankrupt. They create unnecessary stress for the students because of the spectre of the unknown that accompanies them; they are tests of recall and memory rather than tests of understanding, research and reasoning. They offer limited opportunities for skills development/feedback because essay papers are seldom returned. Most importantly, they are unsuited to your pedagogical style which always emphasizes critical thinking rather than memorization. You often say to students: “I don’t care if you remember what I say, I want to see that you can think like I do about organizations”. For these reasons you prefer essays to exams, finding them to be better opportunities for the demonstration of the kinds of skills that you care to examine.

When you begin your new job, you inherit a course that uses not one but two examinations as modes of assessment. Finding this to be highly problematic you go to your Head of Department and ask how you would go about changing these to something more suitable. You are cordially informed that because you are only taking the course temporarily and because of the time of the year, you would not be able to change the mode of assessment. Rather than protesting and standing by your principles, you capitulate and do as you’re told. While you rationalize that you don’t have the institutional power to refuse to participate in a system of assessment which you do not agree with, when you find yourself having to put students through an exam you will feel guilty about not having done more to stand by what you believed. As you invigilate the first of the tests, you want a student’s leg jittering nervously and remember being in the January cold.


Complicity

i.

At some point during your PhD, you notice the emergence of a perverse new language throughout the Business School. Suddenly, everyone seemed to be speaking about “transferrable skills development” and “employability”. You would hear colleagues berating students with sentences that began “when you go into the world of work…” as a way of making them do what they’re supposed to. When you first hear it you find it repellant. It seemed abhorrent to you that supposedly critical scholars could be so casually complicit in the neoliberal discourses that they should seek to critique of undermine. You remember a passage from a paper by Thompson and Cook:

“Disciplinary institutions such as schools, which have traditionally functioned as places of enclosure, affecting normalisation as individualisation and marked surfaces (bodies, classrooms, knowledges), are adopting corporate and free-market ideology.”

There are no ends to the colonizing logic of capitalism, everything must be rendered as a commodity- labour, ideas, behaviours, resistance- a perpetual and eternal obsession over the purchase encounter.

Two months into convening you first module, you use exactly this rhetoric of “When you go into the world of work…” to chide students for complaining about a 0900 seminar because you were distracted and couldn’t think of anything else to say at the time. Later that week, you use the phrase, “this is something that employers are looking for…” to convince a reluctant student that it’s important to develop their critical thinking skills. It is only when leaving both classrooms that you realize what you said. You feel a curious contempt for yourself both times. The truly insidious nature of “business bullshit” is how easy it is to reproduce it.

ii.

“This is the most interesting module I’ve taken at university and I wanted to speak to you about pursuing a career in HRM” they say. Somehow a student has conflated your promptings to consider the moral, social and ecological sustainability of the dominant paradigms of HRM to be an indication that this is what HRM practice is like. It is clear from conversation with them that they believe HRM to be an organizational arm of “social justice” or ethical concern. You don’t know how to tell them that the appeal of this course is very different from the appeal of a well-paying job in Human Resources where one’s actions can be dressed up in the rhetoric of “helping people do their best”. You panic while sitting in your own office because you aren’t sure how to describe to this student that the reason that you were so insistent upon weekly “critical considerations” of HRM’s role in the modern corporation was precisely because it is so often complicit in underpaying workers, ignoring realities of stress and overwork, perpetuating the gender pay gap and other forms of discrimination, outsourcing to find cheaper solutions, layoffs as organizational strategy, suppressing unions, and controlling rather than empowering employee voice etc. etc.. You decide to say nothing and hope that your provocations can lead to this student being some kind of agent of change in whatever workplace they end up in and not either a victim or another stooge (you are not sure which would be worse) in what Thompson called “disconnected capitalism”. You are, however, too cynical to be so hopeful.


Critique

Critical Management Studies is arguably a part of the “mainstream” of HRM. Given how difficult it has proven for you to find a job and explain to interview panels what CMS is and why it matters, you are very surprised to see critical scholars and their perspectives in mainstream textbooks like Bratton and Gold (2017). Tony Watson’s work is discussed, as it Delbridge and Keenoy’s interest in critical HRM; mentions of Barbara Townley and Karen Legge are everywhere and the more critical aspects of David Guest’s project make an appearance. Perhaps Bratton and Gold are more to the left than you think. Perhaps you simply expected to find no critique and are overestimating the ubiquity of what little you seen. Perhaps you are simply unfamiliar with the intellectual territory but you have yet to see a discussion of supply-side economics or a course on “transformational leadership” be punctuated with a discussion of the exploitation of precarious workers or the identity politics of leadership; CMS does not appear to be as take up elsewhere.

While this might encouragingly mean that the conversation around HRM is becoming more socially progressive  (in one sense perhaps the discipline’s “Overton window” is shifting Left), you still find this troubling because of the ways in which HRM conceptualizes itself as a pro-business function in the organization; never truly an advocate for worker interests. You worry that, rather than subverting this pro-business, “profit-at-any-costs” agenda, you are complicit in a system that teaches the language of critical thinking, to be deployed by students who will go on to work in the contemporary corporation and use that same language to better exploit and manipulate workers. You remember Kane Faucher’s paper McDeleuze: What’s More Rhizomal than the Big Mac? and reflect on the inevitability of attempts at critique or resistance being co-opted in order to further profit maximization.

While you find a certain joy in the legitimacy of recommending critical readings out of the course textbook, you continue to be concerned rather than hopeful about the consequences.

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Reflections

Business School “Discourse”

A few weeks ago, I greatly enjoyed seeing that Andre Spicer had published a new book titled simply “Business Bullshit”. There are no words to express how much I love the succinctness and poignancy of that title. If I might crudely summarize, Spicer’s argument is that the world of business is populated by a perverse repertoire of vacuous “Newspeak” that not only wastes organizational time and resources but (here I elaborate) presents us with a peculiar discourse that bars us from understanding organizational processes.

IMG_3705

While it is not lost on me that critical management studies may indeed be said to have its own vocabulary of “bulllshit” which may well include a term like “discourse” (which is perhaps why Spicer largely avoids it), I have recently had frequent recourse to think about discourse because of a lecture that I recently gave on the topic. In it I cite the good work of Norman Fairclough on critical discourse analysis or a mode of study

“which aims to systematically explore often opaque relationships of causality and determination between a) discursive practices, events and texts, and b) wider social and cultural structures, relations and processes; to investigate how such practices, events and texts arise out of and are ideologically shaped by relations of power and struggles over power; and to explore how the opacity of these relationships between discourse and society is itself a factor securing power and hegemony.” (Fairclough, 1993: 135)

I had cause to reflect on this recently as I attended an induction event for new staff at Kent Business School. Certain terms began to stand out to me as they were repeatedly used: “innovative”, “research narrative”, and  “student voice” all used in a quasi-branding/marketing sense to speak to how KBS might distinguish itself from other schools either in the next REF, to potential people seeking consultancy services, or as a centre for “teaching excellence”. I found it interesting to reflect on Spicer’s descriptions of “bullshit” as divorced from “reality” and indeed, the reality of academic workaholism, the increasing precarity of academic work (temporary and short term contracts) and the marketization of the university  seemed far removed from the cheerful presentations given by colleagues and support staff.

It should go without saying that I have enormous respect for my colleagues and by no means seek to imply that their complicity in this discourse is the product of intellectual underdevelopment or moral bankruptcy. The clawing logic of neoliberalism and its effects are worth tracing, especially here at the university.

I found myself thinking about a particularly interesting passage where Spicer says “the great task of the business bullshit spotter is simply to stay awake”; to resist the urge to gloss-over corporate nonsense and to reject the desire to be lulled into a sense of security about corporate misbehaviour. Put another way, the task is to keep analyzing the discourse that advertises the university as “student-centric” or providing skills for “employability” in order to understand the relationships of power and the social inequalities that they produce/rely upon.

I enjoyed Spicer’s book and so might one day write a more substantive and meaningful review of it than this passing mention, but for the moment it has become part of a heightened and growing suspicion of the language around me in the contemporary business school.

PS: It is with great joy that I recently discovered that “Business Bullshit” has its own twitter page. Enjoy.

Standard
Papers and Ongoing Research

EGOS Papers: Past and Present

It’s conference abstract season again and while I’ve already submitted something on microfascism and management gurus to the Deleuze Studies Conference in Brazil, I find myself struggling with a submission for EGOS. The short paper form of EGOS has always irked me. While I understand how useful it can be to get meaningful feedback on a piece of work, I’ve always found it a miserable struggle to cut down a long paper to below 3000 words. It has never been clear to me whether the same norms of academic writing apply (i.e., “strategic” or “political” referencing to demonstrate command of a body of literature; meticulously differentiated and carefully couched contributions etc.) or whether I’m supposed to be communicating just the gist of the paper without the “bells and whistles”.

This is, of course, not the first time that I’ve submitted something to EGOS. While working on my PhD in 2015, I took the time to write up a short submission on the theme of  “Lines” and their relationship to organizational ethnography for a stream on the “power of organizational ethnography“. In reflecting upon this work, I could have done much more  to develop the notion of “linear thinking” that I struggled to articulate in the paper’s short space. Much of the thinking of this short paper would go on to form a chapter in my thesis that no one but me (not even my supervisors or external examiner) seemed to like.

The paper ended up being rejected with the following comments:

Unfortunately the ideas in this paper might need some further development. It does not become clear from the short paper how Deleuze and the ‘power of lines’ contribute to our thinking about the role of the ethnographer and the reflexive challenges that are faced in the field. This is not to say that there might be a good paper here but we had to make some hard choices on accepting papers.

Reflecting this paper, I think that this was a very charitable set of comments by stream conveners Juliette Koning and Jana Costas, but ones that I think were also reflective of the space from which I was writing at the time. The struggle was one that still troubles my writing, namely the figure of the reader. What can you assume that they know, understand, are already aware of etc. Obviously this is something that Patricia Dunker has made me reflect on further, but it also represents a pedagogical problem, namely how one is to teach/explain something. I’m posting the 2015 short paper below in full (warts and all) so that I might continue to reflect on this.


The Power of Lines: Deleuze and The Shopping Centre
Short Paper for the 32nd EGOS Colloquium: July 7–9, 2016. Naples, Italy.
With the recent publication of the second of two monographs by Tim Ingold (2007, 2015) on the nature and character of lines, the question of the line has once again risen to the forefront of contemporary anthropological thinking. Within anthropology and among practicing ethnographers the line has also become a source of interest and concern in the last decade- whether evidenced in Glowczewski’s (2005) observation of the crisscrossing storylines among hyperlinks which ethically tell the stories of the Warlpiri, or Gershon’s (2008) concern for lines of power among the multiple layers of complexity in the classroom, or Tierney’s (2008) exploration of the demarcation of the border between ethnography and fiction in Hauro’s “Demon Bird’- thinking on the line seems to be everywhere. As Ingold (2010) himself notes, this attention to lines follows in the tradition of artists like Paul Klee, who in taking lines for walks around the canvass, becomes a key example for the philosopher Gilles Deleuze in his writing on lines. Within Organizational Studies some have already begun to draw inspiration from this trend (see Holt and Mueller, 2010) but for those of us who wish to explore similar lines of thought through ethnographic work, there are still many avenues that might be pursued. This short essay, itself a product of our fieldwork at the shopping centre over the course of the last few years, will consider only one of these, namely reading through Deleuze’s work, the lines which constitute the shopping centre in time and through the subject, examining the ways that these manifest, develop, proliferate through and intersect with the shopping centre. We contend that despite Ingold’s prodigious efforts, the power of lines remains unrealized, for what lines offer is a way to problematize the role of the ethnographer and rethink the reflexive challenges that are faced in the field.

Deleuze says “whether we are individuals or groups, we are made up of lines” (Deleuze and Parnet, 2007. p.124) echoing a sentiment expressed in A Thousand Plateaus as “we are made of lines. We are not only referring to lines of writing. Lines of writing conjugate with other lines, life lines, lines of luck or misfortune, lines productive of the variation of the line of writing itself, lines that are between the lines of writing.”(Deleuze and Guattari, 2005. p.194) The line here replaces the point as the focus of analysis or, put another way, the connections between ideas, thoughts, moments or regimes of coding becomes, in Deleuze’s analysis, more important than the identification and categorization of the things themselves. Thinking in these terms, we might see the shopping centre as constituted entirely by lines. Parallel lines mark the escalator, flowing uphill into the shopping centre and downhill into the network of roads which connect its spaces to nearby towns and cities. Lines created by tiles form seemingly infinite grid, breaking only to betray areas of wear and tear, repair and heavy traffic; signs of heavy scuff marks, scrapes, prams dragging, cleaning carts grating. These lines extending from the floor, travel up the walls and intersect with ostentatious patterning which in turn weaves its way around signs adorned with various other lines of text. Diagonal white lines on a black dress adorn a mannequin in the window display of a trendy store because that particular pattern- endorsed by fashion gurus, mass-produced and worn by characters on television programs- is back in style this summer. Lines buzz in the mind from books read on the bus while travelling to the shopping centre, intermingled with the lines of multi-lingual (a trained ear might detect variants of Hindi, French and Japanese) conversations with which the bus route resonated. Lines from television, film and radio filter their way into conversation as opinions and ideas are repeated untraceably. Messes of lines pile high and offer value to the discerning Italian restaurant-goer who visits the food court. Policed and surveilled lines surround the shopping centre, creating a bordered and sovereign territory within which there are specific laws and codes of conduct; rules that often do not apply in the world outside. Lines themselves are, at times, the enemy, an indicator that further resources must be allocated in order to deal with the customers who have formed the line, lest a glut form or there be something which negatively affects the shopper’s perception of the space. However, lines themselves can be desired, like the sleek lines of a car sold in a temporary pop-up-store which are both often the subject of conversation. It seems that lines have the power to function as everything from an aesthetic choice to a vector, demonstrating variously despotic power, as it marshals men and women to attend to it, and a passive permeation, as they floats around the collective consciousness.

Our captivation with the lines of the shopping centre is entangled with Ingold’s own interest in, for example, the lines made by slugs (Ingold, 2012) or those implicated in the history of writing and inscription (Ingold, 2007). This fascination with lines is also found throughout Deleuze’s work. For instance, in Difference and Repetition, Deleuze (2001) often mentions lines in relation to time. His intention for much of this work, is to give a genetic account for not just thought and the conditions of thinking but thought of the subject. Paraphrasing Voss (2013), one of Deleuze propositions is simply that “thought” forms the “I” rather than the “I” “thought”. While a long-form discussion of Deleuze’s understanding of “the subject” (the “I” in this context) is beyond the scope of this paper, it is sufficient to say that Deleuze owes a great debt to Kant in this regard and that, for Deleuze, Kant’s work presents a subject profoundly fractured by the “line of time”. To use James William’s translation of Difference and Repetition “It is as if the ‘I’ is traversed by a fault line: it is fractured by the pure and empty form of time.” (Williams, 2011. p.82). This fracturing of the subject by what is referred to as the third synthesis of time is explained in many ways across the secondary literature, from discussions of inheritance in Hamlet, to the Nietzschean eternal return (see, for example: Voss, 2013) in each case emphasising the way that the subject is divided between the unity of the “I think” (the assumption of the naturality of which is a key concern for the project of Difference and Repetition) and the empirical experiences of the self. We shall return to this point, for what concerns us here is less this series of lines of thought and time which revolve around the exegesis of the Deleuze/Kant relationship and more what Joe Hughes says with regards to the chapter of Difference and Repetition wherein Deleuze develops this theory of time:

“This chapter in particular manages to bring together thinkers as diverse as Hume, Leibniz, Kant, Hegel, Bergson James, Freud, Husserl, Heidegger, Levinas, Merleau-Ponty, Lacan and Ricoeur – and there are probably more […] Of course it would be impossible to untangle all of these lines, not to mention counter-productive” (Hughes, 2009. p.87-88).

Indeed, Deleuze writes with a rich plethora of references and draws from a wide variety of sources, some of them acknowledged while others remain uncited. Another way to think about this is to say that the work which we call Deleuze’s is an intersection of various untraceable lines, all of ambiguous origin which will have always produced the text, given the soico-cultural, economic, historical and intellectual climate of Europe at the time of inscription. This authorial ambiguity is a source of great pride for Deleuze and his co-authors, as can be seen in the famed introductory paragraphs of A Thousand Plateaus where the question of “who wrote what” parts of the text, which is itself to be viewed as a tangle of different living lines of thought, is treated with disdain; as though it could not have been written other than written by a many at once.

The question of “Who writes thus?” is germane to ethnographic thinking and has, as such, already been considered in different ways. Though the Writing Culture project, and its current iterations in the trends of cosmological perspectivism (de la Cadena, 2015; Viveiros de Castro, 2012) or attention to the thoughts and dreams of a forest (see Kohn, 2013) or the topology of a road and other manifestations of the discourse of material ontology more broadly (see Harvey, 2012 or Harvey et al., 2013) or to the various intersections with the postmodern (Spiro, 1996; Spencer, 2001), has accomplished much in the way of achieving similar reflexive and self-aware writing, it has never gone as far as one might in reading Deleuze’s antagonism towards the subject. The auto- ethnographic turn to examine the self as it conducts ethnography (Davies, 1999; Foley, 2002) is here also insufficient, for it is attentive primarily to that relation between the assumed object of study, “outside” and that which is revealed through reflexive practice “inside”. It is perhaps yet to be considered that the lines of thinking and time intersect the subject in ways, rendering nonsensical the distinction between inside and outside or indeed the notion of the subject as origin. To adapt Wilfred Bion (1989) thoughts might live in the shopping centre, produced by no one individual but simply awaiting a thinker. Even in a cursory reading, the challenge of Deleuze’s reading of the subject as a residuum (Deleuze and Guattari, 2000), as nothing more than a by-product of the habitual synthesis of time (Deleuze, 1991) or as fractured by time (Deleuze, 2005), is to push our understanding of the interrelation of ethnographer and field further. This is perhaps what it means to answer the call to “take Deleuze into the field” (Bonta, 2005); thinking through philosophy while doing fieldwork rather than viewing “theory” as an ex post facto addendum to the completed ethnographic project. It is to ask “What does it mean to think without the ‘I’?” acknowledging that under the scrutiny of such a reflexive gaze, the subject disappears entirely, unable to function as a font of knowledge, wisdom or interpretation, what space and time occupies the subject becomes a reflector of the field and all of its madnesses. To put it differently, the study of the field becomes one about attending to lines, some of which may seem far off or remote.

Within Organization Studies, such ideas will no doubt seem paradoxical, for we have taken to, either as or in lieu of reflexivity, glorifying the identity of the researcher as subject (see, for example, Alvesson’s (2010) “Seven-S” model of “self-identity in organization studies”). While such a comment may seem facetious, given the developments to the concept of “reflexivity” that have followed from authors like Chia (1996) or Linstead (1994) it worth reflecting upon the fact that it is still a popular opinion within Organization Studies that ethnography has the potential to unveil the “realities of how things work” in an organization as researchers seek to “get into the heads” of those who live and work there (Watson, 2011. p.1); as though reality were a thing “out there” which the brave ethnographer could uncover being by implication, able to understand it; able to interpret the fundamentally chaotic nature of the universe by distilling said chaos through the “I”, to organize it and make it manageable (and no organization is more immediate to our thinking than the “I”). Where the “I” becomes part of the process, as is the case for those influenced by the discourses around actor-network-theory (see Hardy et al., 2001), it is as a part of a laudable interest in process and the construction of research subjects, however, we are still, debatably, unable to follow the lines.

Let us illustrate this with an example. While sitting in the shopping centre on a bench and waiting for an interlocutor to arrive for an “interview” one might read in a book by Deleuze and Guattari (2005) about different types of lines. They speak of the line of molar or rigid segmentarity (a line of ossified binary systems), the line of molecular or supple segmentation (a line of deterritorialization) and the line of flight (a line of rupture that disrupts the other two lines). After thinking about these three types of line for a while, contemplating how the rigid line, can be thought in terms of sites of discipline (Deleuze, 1992) such as the school, the family, the shopping centre while the supple line might be considered in terms of the small modifications, connections or resistances that one might make against such discipline by appropriating for example, the spaces of the shopping centre for exercise or dancing as are done by various small communities. Contemplating the third type of line however, leaves one perplexed for, in Deleuze and Guattari’s terms, a single line of flight might overthrow a regime, change a state of affairs and upset the order of the world for along that line is that which slips by uncoded and uncontrolled. How it could this be understood and meaningfully developed in the context of the shopping centre? Dwelling on this one might write down in a field journal only this note “There is nothing more subversive than a line”, to be puzzled over at a later date.

When one’s interlocutor arrives, the two of you slip into easy, familiar and casual conversation as this is not your first meeting. Even if the conversation was recorded, it would have been impossible to trace where or when the discussion turned to lines. Perhaps it happened while wandering past the Apple store and seeing a long line of shoppers queued up for the latest Apple gadget. Perhaps it was seeing a sign advertising a new line of lingerie. Perhaps it happened when you inadvertently revealed that you were reading about lines. Regardless of how it happened, the conversation has shifted and the discussion is now of the various lines that one might say in the shopping centre. “Thank you, come again!”, “You alright there, mate?”, “Have a nice day!” considering how these are scripted and inscribed into the employee through customer service training. As a mystery shopper, the interlocutor’s job is to evaluate how well the employee delivers these and other lines and report on how well they perform their roles. As the conversation evolves one learns much about the lines which both parties say and follow.

Can it be said that this conversation was “authored”? To do so, one would have to neglect the insight of offered by the likes of Foucault and Barthes about the death of the author. To adapt Barthes, conversation, as text does not have secret meanings instilled by an author but rather, is “a multi-dimensional space in which a variety of writings, none of them original, blend and clash” (Barthes, 1977. p.146). Despite our reflexivity, however, we would not ask who wrote these lines (The interlocutor, the ethnographer, both of them together, or perhaps the shopping centre itself- Could its lines dream themselves into the discussion, the space colluding to produce a discussion of lines) because to do so would threaten the validity of the “data gathering” that is taking place. The lines of thought seem too many and too entangled. Is Hughes (2009) thus right and is the complex inter-tanglement of the different relations of author(ity) counterproductive to attempt to parse- the text of a spoken conversation being as analytically rich as any work of philosophy- because any causal links or points of origin and genesis are the product of either the imagination or a set of relations so interlinked and inextricably intertwined that their complexity and nuance are ineffable? Did the shopping centre cause this attention to lines (rather than say, points) or were lines caused elsewhere and then imposed onto the shopping centre by a pretentious, navel-gazing academic who wanted to speak about Deleuze and lines? To ask this is to reveal ourselves to be looking for the author again, for an ethnographer as an autonomous- thinking subject- at the core of it all.

For another example, we might return to Ingold’s (2010) discussion of the interconnectedness of a tree, that is, an inability to draw lines around its boundaries and determine where the tree begins and ends, citing the problems posed by algae, squirrels and other things which don’t seem to fit traditionally in the definition of “tree”. Though Ingold himself does not make this point, when read through Deleuze, the examples of the tree or other instances of what he calls the “meshwork” (Ingold, 2015), one can think the human subject under exactly the same terms; as impossible to border with fixed lines.

Thus the question which we return to again, is that of the subject. We have puzzled over it and its assumed identity for millennia but perhaps have yet to develop an answer to the question of “How might one live?” (May, 2005) or, more relevantly, how one might research without returning to a subject. Therein lies the power of lines: a way out of the trap of the subject and the redux to the I think. By making the lines the centre of our analysis we might ask not “What is?” but the question which Deleuze and Guattari (2005. p.214) ask: “Whatever could have happened for things to have come to this?” for this is the question of ethnographic lines; not the rigid lines of a discipline nor the supple lines of individual experiments within ethnographic practice but lines of flight, radical ruptures with the organization of the “I”. Thinking thus is to begin trying to reject researching as an “I” who is thinking about those who are thought but, as Deleuze himself writes in a volume titled Who Comes after the Subject?, to think in terms of “pre-individual singularities and non-personal individuations” (Cadava et al., 1991. p.95). To put this another way, rather than being serf to the “grammatical fiction” of the I, one might- whether through experiments in writing via the “fourth person singular” or through cultivating an attention to lines- attempt to think differently.

Here we find that there is truly nothing more subversive than a line, for though we are all of us changed by our fields, we hold ourselves, nevertheless bound by the rigid li(n)es of the subject. However, inasmuch as the rigid lines of the subject constrain and subvert the creativity of our thoughts, making us always ask “Who said that?” or “What happened?” as we look for an author or origin, an attention to lines can also be what subverts this image and, in rupture, allows us to see the field differently and thus understand our mode of relating to it in ways other than those of separateness, author(ity) and identity. This is the power of lines; to follow a philosophical line of thought and see the linear thinking of the subject finally decline.

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Reflections

Why we should care more about shopping centres

Who owns your local shopping centre and why should you care?

Earlier this month, property giant Hammerson announced plans to acquire Intu in a £3.4bn deal. Unless you’re an investor in or an employee of either of these companies, however, you probably didn’t hear about it.

Millions of us have spent many hours in retail spaces over the last month getting ready for our annual consumerist festivities; summoning the real three “wise men” of the holiday season: debt, stress and anxiety. Indeed, despite the ever increasing popularity of online retailing, shopping centres across Britain report incredible foot traffic at this time of year. However, most of us do not notice the shopping centre’s branding, the corporate infrastructure that facilitates something as simple as having all of our favourite shops in one climate controlled, well-lit and comfortable space.

When Manchester’s Trafford Centre was sold by the Peel Group to Capital Shopping Centres (which would later rebrand itself as Intu Properties) in January 2011 for a reported £1.6 billion, for example, visitors noticed little more than cosmetic changes to staff uniforms, signage etc.. For the most part, things seemed to stay the same, with the Trafford Centre evoking the same timeless, unchanging facade that it will always have portrayed allowing most to go on with their shopping unencumbered.DSC_0001

However, shopping centres are more than just retail spaces. Many of them serve as places of collective gathering, home to community groups like mall walkers who do not visit for the purpose of purchasing, but instead function as support structures for kindly retirees and upbeat suburban housewives. Shopping centres are sites of political protest over the killing of unarmed African American men by police, spaces where animal rights debates are brought to the fore of public consciousness, and unfortunately, places where we live out the worst effects of terrorist or social violence (real or simulated).  Researchers from Stockholm University have even found them to be sites of resistance to urban planning initiatives that seek to organized the homeless out of built-up areas.

Shopping centres, it seems, play an increasingly central role in our social and civic lives. It is worth remembering, however, that unlike the town squares of the past which they seek to emulate, shopping centres are not public spaces, even if they look that way. All of the importance that we attach to the shopping centre as a site of collective meeting, protest, gathering and civic conversation, a polis, becomes problematic once we remember that a private corporation controls who has and does not have access, who can and cannot afford to shop there. In this sense, shopping centres reflect broader social inequalities, income gaps, racial and gender biases etc. that our society struggles under the weight of.

It is thus that we return to reflect on the Hammerson  buyout which brings with it, as all mergers of this kind do, increased power through the elimination of competition and thus an increased ability for agenda setting, shaping of behavioural and disciplinary norms, exclusion of fringe groups, naturalization of particular brands, shopping behaviours and communal mores etc. It is worth remembering thereby that shopping centres control most everything within their walls, from smell to sound, from light to temperature, all in order to elicit particular responses  from shoppers.

In the context of what many are calling “the death of the British High Street”, however, consolidation is perhaps one of the reasons that shopping centres are surviving the current period while across Britain, storefronts in local shopping districts sit empty. Over a year on, there are still huge outlets vacated by the collapse of BHS that have yet to be filled. Small towns across the country are witnessing the realities of urban decay as only large chain stores can hold up against escalating rents and falls in foot-traffic.

It would seem then, that merging and consolidating- the agglomeration of corporate power- would be the order of the day for firms and retail spaces that wish to survive, but we, as a public, should be increasingly wary of who is in charge of the spaces that we frequent, what they do with them and how they shape our behaviour.

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Conceptual Explorations, Reflections

Love and Patricia Dunker

Some novels stay with you. Perhaps because they capture your imagination as a child. Perhaps you recognize something of yourself in them (your struggles, identities, insecurities etc.). Perhaps they speak to you at a particular moment in your life when you are receptive to their message. Whatever the reason, reading Patricia Dunker’s Hallucinating Foucault recently struck me so to the core that I openly wept and experienced that peculiar sensation of loneliness and fulfilment that one gets when one finishes a good novel but is unable to share the experience with anyone else.

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The story of a young PhD student who goes in search of the institutionalized author about whom he has been writing his thesis, Dunker’s novel is a seminal exploration of the love that flows between a reader and a writer. While I have myself written about this relationship before, it was regarding the ways in which the assumptions of who the reader is construct the author(ity) of the author in an attempt to deconstruct precisely this and suspend the subjectivity of both author and reader as unknowable and ineffable constructions that should rightly be undermined in order to think otherwise, nothing in my work could match the poetics and passion of the reader/writer relationship in Dunker’s text.

What struck me the most were the ever so poignant moments that emerge when the protagonist finally meets his author, Paul Michel. In some ways he dreams himself Paul Michel’s reader (and says as much) in other ways he has always been writing for Paul Michel to read without knowing him. The novel centres on their relationship and the complex of feeling that this relationship is inflected with given that Paul Michel’s reader- the one for whom he writes- is Michel Foucault. Dunker captures this masterfully:

“The love between writer and a reader is never celebrated. It can never be proved to exist. But he was the man I loved most. He was the reader for whom I wrote.”

Other moments like the pointed “you have to love the one who you write about”- which recalled for me something that Deleuze said in a 1969 interview with Jeanette Colombel,“if you don’t admire something, if you don’t love it, you have no reason to write a word about it.” (Desert Islands, p.144)- made me feel something ineffable but sad, a kind of hollowness that compelled me to consider more carefully my own relationship to reader/writer.

Recently, I’ve been reflecting increasingly on the fact that my life has become a love affair with a group of dead, white, European philosophers. Our interactions are only ever correspondence, they write texts which my heart believes are for me, and I respond, often overcoming some disciplinary irrespons-ability in order to do so, in short essays; love letters to the deceased; messages in bottles thrown irresponsibly into the sea. While it may be a pretentious or pompous confession, it is this perverse experience with Dunker captures beautifully:

“Well — there are two kinds of loneliness, aren’t there? There’s the loneliness of absolute solitude […] But there is another kind of loneliness which is terrible to endure […] And that is the loneliness of seeing a different world from that of the people around you. Their lives remain remote from yours. You can see the gulf and they can’t. You live among them. They walk on earth. You walk on glass. They reassure themselves with conformity, with carefully constructed resemblances. You are masked, aware of your absolute difference.”

To some this may seem a trite exaggeration, at worst a reprehensible blindness to the internal complexity and nuance of one’s fellow man (i.e., those living with to you) and at best an anti-humanist sentiment from an arrogant pseudo-intellectual, at once convinced that he is smarter than everyone else and seduced by the romanticized imagery of the tortured genius/auteur. To me, however, this rings true on many days; the love of the one for whom your write and the assumption that they understand and the experience of having your loneliness abated by that understanding. Perhaps it is a rank over-poeticization and dramatization of what I do, in many ways my work can be understood as the careful practice of writing sincere and open-hearted love letters to someone who will never respond; to someone who is dead and cannot respond and therefore cannot requite my love.

In one sense this is perhaps the shallowest form of love, one that is attached to an “idealized” version of the lover, in this case actively written by the author but in another, it is perhaps the most sincere and open form of love. An author has no secrets from a reader, labours daily for their pleasure, sacrifices for their happiness, develops and builds them through these efforts, works with them in the most intimate relationship of understanding, mutual concern and self-discovery. I am not sure how much of this I actually believe in terms of my critique of subjectivity and its ability to hamper our creativity and act as a scupper to original thought. However, I do know that I feel wounded by quotes like the following, passed by Dunker between an author and his reader:

“My greatest fear is that one day, unexpectedly, suddenly, I will lose you […] You have never asked me who I have loved most. You know already and that is why you have never asked. I have always loved you.”

The spectre of the reader who could have been looms large. For me Dunker’s text is the most passionate and maniac exploration of the interlaced love between reader and author. The author constructs and creates the reader as an image of the one who he loves the most. Love is here not a blind devotion or a corporeal lusting, but rather it is argument, impassioned frustration and repartee; it is courtship and kindness, a stolen memory from a message in a bottle and a dream of something more that will never have been. Here we encounter perhaps my greatest critique of Dunker’s novel: that our perception of love is so implicated in the corporeal, the physical, and the embodied; in short, in fucking; that it was impossible for the novel not to succumb to the reduction of love to these coordinates as the protagonist and Paul Michel have sex near the end of the novel.

Despite this minor concern over the nature of the “consummation” of a love, I cannot speak highly enough of Dunker’s novel, nor can I more strongly recommend reflecting upon the love for the one(s) about whom and for whom you write.

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