I am the tagger, the tagged and tag and so are you
Julian Assange, dubbed as the prophet of the coming age of
involuntary transparency, was not a known-name until very recently. Few
had heard of Assange or the whistle-blowing outfit Wikileaks a year ago.
This information insurgent has over the last year made public 76,000
secret Afghan war documents and 392,000 files from the Iraq war. A few
days ago, Assange leaked some 250,000 classified US State Department
cables. That which a few knew for years is now known to millions.
Now there is a school of thought that contends that Wikileaks is
actually a tool of the very forces it purportedly targets, where ‘leaks’
tell us that which cannot be officially told.
They argue that the embarrassment caused is a small price to pay and
indeed a necessary frill to obtain believability. They point out that at
the end of the day, the perception that settles down is, for example,
Iran wanting to attack certain Arab countries.
Charismatic spokesperson
Others say that costume and make up will not hide the truth any
longer, that skeletons are tumbling by their thousands from closets that
were thought to be under lock and key and will continue to fall out in
the coming months.
The discourse of transparency is fascinating but I am leaving it
alone. For now. For now I am thinking of one thing: Julian Assange is
being called a rapist. Whether or not he is guilty of the charge I do
not know.
What matters is that he’s been tagged. It reminded me of another
‘labeling’ which sought to prey on the prejudices that people may
entertain. It was a label that backfired.
The intended victim was Subcommandante Marcos, the charismatic
spokesperson for the Zapatistas, the movement of indigenous peoples in
Mexico that began in the Chiapas and fired the imagination of radicals
across the globe. They targeted the wrong man. Marcos used the tag in
ways that were not anticipated. He fired a communiqu‚ on the subject on
November 5, 1997:
“Yes, Marcos is gay. Marcos is gay in San Francisco Black in South
Africa an Asian in Europe, a Chicano in San Ysidro, an anarchist in
Spain, a Palestinian in Israel, a Mayan Indian in the streets of San
Cristobal, a Jew in Germany, a Gypsy in Poland, a Mohawk in Quebec, a
pacifist in Bosnia, a single woman on the Metro at 10pm a peasant
without land, a gang member in the slums, an unemployed worker, an
unhappy student and, of course, a Zapatista in the mountains.
Fascinating individual
‘Marcos is all the exploited, marginalised, oppressed minorities
resisting and saying ‘Enough’. He is every minority who is now beginning
to speak and every majority that must shut up and listen. He is every
untolerated group searching for a way to speak. Everything that makes
power and the good consciences of those in power uncomfortable - this is
Marcos.”A video-version of the principle can be found on youtube if you
type ‘subcommandante marcos unmasks’ in the search box. Worth watching.
It is a beautiful way of thinking about self and other people. It
makes perfect sense and is clearly laid out in the Satipattana Sutra.
When you meditate on the body, mind, sensations and mental contents, the
notion of ‘I’ becomes meaningless or else collapses to its true (and
transient) dimensions. A quick illustration might help. Body is mostly
water. Water moves. The water that makes you at this moment, was not
yours or did not make you a few days ago and will not be yours tomorrow.
That which makes you (the water, the air in your lungs, the thoughts
that you say are ‘yours’) did not belong and will not belong; they are
passing through a corporeal entity which too is in flux.
Marcos gives the argument a radical twist and one which lends itself
to much replication, depending on context and preferred solidarities. I
believe a more radical turn is possible. Something like this: ‘I am
everyone that Subcommandante Marcos says he is. I am also the person who
would put me down, insult and humiliate, exploit and rob.
I am the bandit and the bandicoot. I am the terrorist who blew
himself up and the bystander who was blown off in the process.
I am the thief and the old woman he robbed, the dog that bit and the
child that got bitten. I am the pensioner who is forgotten, the
un-limbed man who is stumped also by the deletion of access-clauses from
building-specification.
I can go on and on and on and I will be the continuing voice and the
ear that has to listen or chooses to ignore. I am my enemy and my enemy
is me.’
Pass judgment
My favourite octogenarian who is a teenager, is a teacher who refuses
to surrender studentship, is so made of so many characters and yet a
singularly fascinating individual, emailed me a question a little while
ago: ‘Do you realize that we have our own twins (not biological) inside
of us?’
We tag ourselves when we tag others. It is good to keep this in mind
as we deliberate on one another and pass judgment, as we have, do and
will continue to do as consequence of our human frailty and the
confidences that give meaning to our existences.
Someone said ‘Roses are red, violets are blue, I am schizophrenic and
so am I’. There is a Julian Assange in each of us. A Subcommandante
Marcos too. A Rosa Luxenburgh. A Saradiel. A Cortez and a Keppetipola. A
Konappu Bandara too. And of course, a bodhisattva. Yes?
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