When the French Revolution broke out, many of its enemies decamped. When the Bolsheviks set up their dictatorship in Russia, millions of White Russians left the country and lived abroad for years with suitcases packed in hopes of a Bolshevik collapse. In these cases, however, the defeated enemies of the revolution were the ones who left. The contrast brings out the historical anomaly of After the velvet revolutions, it was the winners—not the losers—who moved away.
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Those most impatient to see their countries change were also the ones most eager to plunge into the life of a free citizenry. They were the first to go abroad to study, work, and live in the West, taking their pro-Western inclinations with them. It is hard to picture Leon Trotsky, after his Bolsheviks won, deciding that it was time to go study at Oxford. And they had good reasons to do so. Unlike the French and Russian revolutionaries, who believed that they were building a new civilization hostile to the old order of throne and altar, and that Paris and Moscow were where this future was being forged, the revolutionaries of were strongly motivated to travel to the West in order to see up close how the normal society they hoped to build at home actually worked in practice.
Every revolutionary wants to live in the future, and if Germany was the future of Poland, then the most heartfelt revolutionaries might as well pack up and move to Germany. The dream of a collective return to Europe made such a choice both logical and legitimate. Why should a young Pole or Hungarian wait for his country one day to become like Germany, when he could start working and raising a family in Frankfurt or Hamburg tomorrow? After all, it is easier to change countries than to change your country. When borders were opened after , exit was favored over voice because political reform requires the focused cooperation of many organized social interests, while emigration requires only you and yours.
This brings us to the refugee crisis that struck Europe in and Today, openness to the world, for large swaths of the Central and East European electorate, connotes not freedom but danger: immigrant invasion, depopulation, and loss of national sovereignty. What Central and East Europeans realized in the course of the refugee crisis was that, in our connected but unequal world, migration is the most revolutionary revolution of them all. The twentieth-century revolt of the masses is a thing of the past. We are now facing a twenty-first—century revolt of the migrants.
Undertaken anarchically, not by organized revolutionary parties but by millions of disconnected individuals and families, this revolt faces no collective-action problems. It is inspired not by ideologically colored pictures of a radiant, imaginary future, but by glossy photos of life on the other side of the border. Globalization has made the world a village, but this village lives under a kind of dictatorship—a dictatorship of global comparisons. People these days no longer compare their own lives only to the lives of their neighbors; they also compare themselves to the most prosperous inhabitants of the planet.
Thus if you seek an economically secure life for your children, the best thing you can do is to make sure that they will be born in Denmark, Germany, or Sweden, with the Czech Republic or Poland as perhaps second-tier options. The combination of an aging population, low birth rates, and an unending flow of outmigration is the ultimate source of demographic panic in Central and Eastern Europe, even though it is expressed politically in the nonsensical claim that invading migrants from Africa and the Middle East pose an existential threat to the nations of the region.
Immigration anxiety is fomented by a fear that unassimilable foreigners will enter the country, dilute national identity, and weaken national cohesion. This fear, in turn, reflects a largely unspoken preoccupation with demographic collapse. The number of Central and East Europeans who left their home region mostly bound for Western Europe as a result of the economic crisis exceeds the total number of refugees who came to Western Europe from outside Europe, including the refugees from Syria.
About 3. Three-quarters of these Romanians, moreover, were 35 or younger when they left. The threat that confronts Central and Eastern Europe today resembles the prospect of depopulation that East Germany faced before the communists put up the Berlin Wall. It is the danger that working-age citizens will leave the East to pursue lives in the West. The magnitude of the post migration out of Central and Eastern Europe explains why there has been such a deeply hostile reaction to the refugee crisis across the region even though hardly any refugees have relocated to it as distinguished from transiting across it.
Fear of diversity is at the core of the rise of European illiberalism, but it has a different meaning in the East than in the West. In Western Europe, illiberalism is born of the fear that liberal societies are unable to cope with diversity. In the East, the question is how to prevent diversity from arising in the first place. Only 1.
The trauma of people pouring out of the region explains what might otherwise seem mysterious—the strong sense of loss in countries that have benefited from the political and economic changes since Across Europe, the areas that suffered the greatest hemorrhaging of population in recent decades have been the ones most inclined to vote for far-right parties. The consequence is a new understanding in the East of the essential divide between the two halves of the continent: While the East is still homogeneous and monoethnic, the West is viewed as having become heterogeneous and multiethnic as a result of a thoughtless and suicidal policy of allowing easy immigration.
The radical revaluation of values here is remarkable. Rather than West Europeans being considered far ahead and East Europeans far behind, West Europeans are now described, in the rhetoric of xenophobic populists, as having lost their way.
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As a result, Western Europe no longer represents the model of a culturally triumphant West that Central and East Europeans long aspired to imitate. To resurrect the moral disapproval that once attached to emigration, Central and East European populists must reject the claim that Hungary, Poland, or the other countries in the region can succeed politically and economically only if they faithfully imitate the West. Frost, Laura. The Problem with Pleasure: Modernism and its Discontents. New York: Columbia University Press, Paperback format published ISBN: Review by Naomi Milthorpe Nothing, one might argue, could be further from popular romance than literary modernism.
Ngai, Sianne. Ugly Feelings. Posted in Book Reviews , Issue 5.
We need, but do not yet have, a compelling explanation of how modernism and its designs on the human sensorium were transformed at midcentury. As designers pressed the medium of film to expand beyond its routine commercial functioning and theatrical sites, they found new worlds for film, exploring and testing the perceptual-affective conditions of worldly citizenship in the strangest of places: the image-rich inside of a designer egg, a slideshow in an introductory architecture class, the total environment of an MGM robot, the new rites and sites of cinema in a Paleocybernetic age.
Culture in the period—in its medial forms, and through its sensory-affective appeals and demands—could not but be administered. In this context, designers routinely functioned in media-pedagogical capacities with a worldly scope, playing important roles within a broader Cold War administration of culture. The essay turns first to the contested status of the Eameses in recent critical assessments of the sensory politics of expanded cinema, before offering an alternative genealogy of expanded cinema discourses.
My aim is thus to reframe expanded cinema discourses as a terrain of modernist thought about the very worldliness of media—its baffling spatial and geographic extensiveness across the globe; its seemingly new times, speeds, and natures; and the forms of belonging, community, and citizenship it might offer in proposing a human sensorium scaled to the world. Inside the egg was, in fact, a multi-media theatre that presented, on 15 screens of various sizes, a film and slideshow called Think , designed by Charles and Ray Eames.
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Noyes, the first curator of design at MoMA. Think , to put it mildly, has not fared well in many of the more persuasive reassessments of the sensory-affective politics of expanded cinema. Exemplary in this regard is Andrew V. By immersing the subject within an overwhelming accumulation of visual data, they sought to produce a heightened experience of reality without too great a concern for realism. As I argue elsewhere, this utopianism, like the images of Eamesian happiness through which it circulated worldwide, is best understood not solely through consumption and spectatorship, but as a model of technophilic production, a process or technical manner of working with objects and images in their midcentury techno-scientific environments.
To get a better sense of this sensory pedagogy, consider how Seascape operated in the lecture context. Eames proceeds by a disjunctive montage of sound and vision: images of people at the beach, and then elements of beach itself and marine life shown in rapid succession alongside a tape recording that mixes the continuous breaking of surf along the beach with snatches of French, American, and Italian songs, and the ambient sounds of the seascape: seagulls, barking dogs, and airplanes. After the show, the students were asked what they best remembered, and whether it affected them negatively or positively.
This is change you can feel secure in. For Eames, speculative thought demands of students both conceptual flexibility—the capacity to imagine radically other scenarios or environments, whether in unearthly space or historical time—and mobile forms of collective production and problem solving that challenge ideas about individual expression and creativity.
The community and its architectural forms, Eames insists, is a model of efficient communal production across large swaths of time—you can sense, he notes, the presence of individual innovations and improvements, but they are subordinated to a supervening organizational structure, an abiding, integral whole. The fetish of originality, he insists, is overrated.
In fact, it is one of the major hurdles for designers to overcome. Indeed, in the postwar terrain of production presided over by the new cultural prestige of designers like the Eameses, the midcentury object is thrown into pronounced crisis: its solidity fissured, catastrophically, by atomic science; its materiality flattened in a post-industrial society driven by the circulation and consumption of images; its capacity to function as an autonomous fragment of non-self challenged by expanding informatic networks that force it into scenes of communicative transparency.