Spring 2014 Unit for Criticism Faculty Lecture, Lisa Cacho: "Criminalizing the Dead"
Response by Margareth Etienne

Monday, June 2, 2014

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[On April 21, the Unit for Criticism & Interpretive Theory hosted a Spring 2014 faculty lecture, "Criminalizing the Dead." The lecture was delivered by Lisa Cacho (Latina/o Studies, Asian American Studies. The response by Margareth Etienne (Law) is published below.]

“Excerpts from A Response to Dr. Lisa Cacho’s ‘Criminalizing the Dead’”

Written by Margareth Etienne (Law)



A group of teenagers getting stop-and-frisked on
Seneca Avenue,  Bronx, on their way home from
school on September 2012. (Photo: Pearl Gabel)
As you are all surely aware, it has become a fairly common-place observation that our criminal justice system over-criminalizes black and brown people (and the spaces they occupy). There are many versions of this claim: driving while black or brown; selectively enforced stop and frisk rules; loitering ordinances; racial and ethnic profiling. Lisa Cacho does in her work, Criminalizing the Dead, is to take this observation further and documents its application well beyond the ethnic minority criminal defendant to the ethnic minority victim. She argues that even when underrepresented minorities and women are victims of violent crimes like homicide, they are viewed not as victims but as criminals or criminals averted. Cacho notes this is especially true with the murder victim who can no longer speak her or his own narrative but whose very persons become the new embodiment of a racialized stereotype. She shows how under current law, as applied, in many cases, death facilitates the criminalization of these individuals. Yes, this gives us much to think about.

There is a lot to be said about this work but I want to share with you today a few thoughts that have been churning over and over in my mind over the last couple weeks as I have been contemplating what I, as a criminal law scholar, could contribute to this conversation. Like much engaging scholarship, Cacho has leads us to re-envision old problems in new ways.

I want to invite you to think about the legal concept of proxies and how they elucidate a point that Cacho already makes quite forcefully.

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Mad World on Kritik: Mad Men Season 7.2
"The Working Day"
Guest Writer: Corey K. Creekmur

Monday, April 21, 2014

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[The second in the Unit for Criticism's multi-authored series of posts on Season 7 of AMC's Mad Men, posted in collaboration with the publication of MAD MEN, MAD WORLD: Sex, Politics, Style, and the 1960s (Duke University Press, March 2013) Eds. Lauren M. E. Goodlad, Lilya Kaganovsky and Robert A. Rushing]

 "The Working Day"

 Written by: Corey K. Creekmur (University of Iowa) 

 “ … in secret as it were, the contraband of modes of behavior proper to the domain of work, which will not let people out of its power, is being smuggled into the realm of free time.”

-- Theodor W. Adorno, “Free Time”

Everyone agrees: last week’s season-launching episode, “Time Zones,” was a bummer, to use a term current in early 1969, when this final (half) season of Mad Men begins. “This is the end,” Jim Morrison was already announcing in 1967, the actual musical touchstone for the episode’s two framing songs, by the Spencer Davis Group and the Vanilla Fudge. Or at least this is the beginning of the end for Mad Men, and the rather grim episode seemed to announce that the last season would trace a downward spiral. Grounded in its historical moment by Richard Nixon’s January 20th inauguration (another beginning of the end of an era, perhaps), we might, in the time travel we conduct in the consumption of historical fictions, remember what is coming, since our past is these characters’ immediate future: not just the cultural high points of the Apollo 11 moon landing or Woodstock, but the Manson Family murders and Altamont (both in California, of course, now one of the series’ regular locations).


Among the major characters, “Time Zones” left Don Draper looking terrible and alone on his freezing New York City balcony, while simultaneously across town Peggy Olson broke down in her lonely apartment. Back at the office, an overworked and one-eyed Ken Cosgrove complained that he doesn’t even have time to take a crap, and for all of her efforts for the firm, Joan Harris is again reminded that she isn’t the boss. Only Pete Campbell in Los Angeles (feeling good vibrations, unlike everyone else) and Roger Sterling in New York seemed to be having some fun at the tail end of the 1960s, Pete by comically assimilating to a California lifestyle (Don cluelessly calls him a hippie), and Roger by fully indulging in the last gasp of the free love movement. Don – previously suave and smartly dressed – now seems fully out of time and place, arriving in LA (in an homage to Benjamin Braddock’s return home from school at the start of The Graduate [1967]) in a suit and hat (a hat! in 1969!) that now render him entirely uncool, especially in contrast to Megan’s trendy mini-dress. Perhaps the most telling evidence of a drastic shift in the energies of Mad Men’s final season is marked later in the episode when Don chooses work over sex; moreover, across the entire episode, all the characters are eating more than they are drinking, like never before.

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Mad World on Kritik: Mad Men Season 6.8
"Leaving the Whorehouse"
Guest Writer: Todd McGowan

Monday, May 20, 2013

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[The seventh in the Unit for Criticism's multi-authored series of posts on Season 6 of AMC's Mad Men, posted in collaboration with the publication of MAD MEN, MAD WORLD: Sex, Politics, Style, and the 1960s (Duke University Press, March 2013) Eds. Lauren M. E. Goodlad, Lilya Kaganovsky and Robert A. Rushing]

"Leaving the Whorehouse"

Written by: Todd McGowan (University of Vermont)


It is difficult to claim that someone who leaves his children unattended in a large city and cheats indiscriminately on his spouse is an ethical figure, but this is precisely the wager of Mad Men. This wager comes to the fore in this week’s episode, “The Crash,” which depicts the fragile construction of Don’s personal life and the aura that sustains his work life crashing down around him. Don Draper is an appealing character not due to his physical appearance, his sense of mystery, or his ability as an advertiser. The source of his appeal lies in the relationship that he has to trauma. The series makes clear that our ethical being emerges through an engagement with trauma, and with “The Crash,” Mad Men develops this conception of ethics even further than it hitherto has.

An advertising agency does not seem like the site where we would find ethical acts. Rather than act ethically, advertisers willingly prostitute themselves to sell whatever product their clients want them to sell, no matter how destructive that product might be. Mad Men emphasized this dimension of advertising in its first few years by highlighting the dependence of the agency Sterling Cooper on revenue from cigarette advertising. But there is another sense in which an advertising agency is the perfect site for the deployment of an ethical subjectivity. The advertiser, even more than everyone else in society, must constantly confront the emptiness of the Other’s desire and try to find a way to speak to that desire. Even if the series uses the backdrop of advertising as a metaphor for the world of unrestrained capitalism, it shows the possibility for the ethical act within this world. Of course, capitalism can make use of this act for its self-reproduction, but the act itself retains its ethical status. And despite his affairs, his mistreatment of coworkers, and his many other flaws, Don is the ethical center of the series. With “The Crash,” we see for the first time why this is so.

In earlier episodes, Don’s ethical status becomes apparent through his capacity to act against his own self-interest and abandon the assurances of his symbolic identity. He can, for instance, publicly highlight the dangers of cigarettes after establishing his name as the advertiser for Lucky Strike. This act requires an engagement with the trauma of abandoning the security of his reputation, and this public betrayal of Lucky Strike in Season 4 (“Blowing Smoke”) does have lasting repercussions for Don’s career. He acts as he does, however, because he recognizes that there is no ground for his identity, that one’s symbolic identity provides no ultimate foundation upon which one might act. But the series shows a stark contrast between Don’s life in advertising and his private life, where he uses a series of lovers to avoid the trauma that he confronts in the advertising world. He uses these lovers to avoid the ethical self-destruction that he welcomes at work.

This dynamic undergoes a radical change with the introduction of Sylvia and with the development of their relationship in “The Crash.” Unlike Don’s previous lovers, Sylvia embodies for him his fundamental exclusion: his relationship with her repeats the exclusion that defined him as a young boy. No matter how closely Don approaches Sylvia, he remains at a distance from her, and she refuses to allow him to broach that distance. The series highlights Sylvia’s importance formally at the very beginning of this episode.

The second scene of the episode shows Don eavesdropping outside Sylvia’s apartment, and it is soon clear how traumatic their relationship is for him. Though the series typically respects the rules of continuity editing, this scene begins with a direct violation of the 180 degree rule. We see Don in profile from the right side, and the show cuts directly to a profile shot from the left, so that Don seems turn around instantaneously, facing one direction and then facing the other. This disruption for the spectator suggests the traumatic disruption of Don’s subjectivity in his encounter with Sylvia. Rather than bolstering his sense of his identity in the way that Betty or Megan did, Sylvia returns Don to the trauma of his emergence as a desiring subject and forces him to exist within this trauma. This is why the episode that begins with Don traumatized outside Sylvia’s door returns him to his childhood and to his first sexual experience.

“The Crash” is the first episode of Mad Men to show Don’s introduction to sex. This introduction occurs thanks to a prostitute, Aimée, who works at the brothel where he is being raised. Aimée comes to the aid of the young Don when he is sick with a cough and cold and, as he recovers, she seduces him and provides him with his first sexual experience, in spite of his reluctance. As she lies down next to him on the bed, she asks, “Do you want to know what all the fuss is about?” Though he responds in the negative, Aimée continues and tells him that she’ll “do everything.” After she says this, the scene concludes with a close-up of the young Don’s face as he grimaces before it cuts to an image of Don in the present day in the archives of the agency where he has discovered an ad that he believes holds the key not just to the Chevy campaign but to the very problem of existence.

In this shot following his sexual initiation, Don stands holding an advertisement that he did for oatmeal that shows a mother standing over her son with the caption, “Because You Know What He Needs.” As the prior scene makes evident, Don never had a mother who understood what he needed. In contrast to life at a brothel and to Aimée who traumatically seduces Don, the advertisement promises a mother who will nurture the child and protect it from trauma while speaking perfectly to the child’s desires. Don immediately sees this ad as not just the answer to his own trauma but also the key to advertising as such.

After returning to his office, Don calls Peggy and Michael Ginsberg in order to announce his discovery to them. In the midst of describing his idea, he proclaims, “If this strategy is successful, it’s way bigger than a car. It’s everything.” Though Ginsberg plays along with Don in awe of his reputation, Peggy soon recognizes that this is a massive delusion and that, rather than producing ideas for a Chevy campaign, Don has spent the weekend in a drug-induced haze in which he created nothing but gibberish. He fails because he imagines a mystical union with a non-existent mother who would save him from the trauma that continues to mark his existence.

The absence of this mother is apparent in the seemingly unrelated interaction of Don’s daughter Sally with an intruder in Don and Megan’s apartment. The show emphasizes that this is a black woman not just visually but also when multiple characters describe her as a “Negro” and when Don’s son Bobby wonders aloud if he is himself a “Negro.” Many critics (including my colleague here at the University of Vermont, Sarah Nilsen and some of the contributors to Mad Men, Mad World) have taken the show to task for its depictions of race and racism. Despite taking place during a time of integration, the show remains relatively white, and the black characters often serve not as independent figures but as mere indices of the attitudes that the white characters take up toward the question of race. The death of Martin Luther King, for instance, inspires white characters to seek out black characters in order to display their anti-racism, but it also enables the otherwise unattractive Pete Campbell to express genuine concern in the face of this event. If prior episodes incidentally provided fodder for critics more through omission than commission, “The Crash” seems to go out of its way to employ a racist stereotype in the figure of Grandma Ida, a thief who presents herself to Don’s children as the woman who raised their father.

Viewers of the show are aware immediately that Ida is neither Don’s mother nor the woman who raised Don. And as her interaction with Sally goes on, it becomes clear even to the uninformed that she is trying to rob the apartment rather than visit Don. But she nonetheless plays an important structural role in the episode. She is a motherly figure—she immediately wants to cook for Sally—and claims to occupy the position of Don’s nurturer at the same time as Don is imagining the existence of such a figure. The fact that she is lying tells us that this nurturer doesn’t exist, that though some of us, unlike Don, may have mothers, none of us has a nurturer who knows what we need. Instead of the nurturer, we must confront and embrace the stranger who appears in this position.

Though she is lying, the woman posing as Don’s mother and robbing him is in another sense telling the truth insofar as Don shares her exclusion. She is the mother that he didn’t have. Her blackness is not merely contingent or a signifier of the show’s underlying racism. If Don didn’t have a black mother, that is only because such a narrative line would provide an easy answer for his exclusion. This sequence, which parallels Don’s own flashbacks to his upbringing, reveals that no one has the mother who offers what is needed. Both Don and Peggy share this absence.

Throughout the series, the link between Don and Peggy (discussed last week by Sean O’ Sullivan) provides one of the touchstones to which we continually return. On one level, their connection stems from their skill as advertisers, and it is clear that they have a mutual respect for this skill. But it is much more their ethical being that separates them from other characters on the show, and “The Crash” highlights this through their shared engagement with trauma.

After trying to seduce Peggy, Stan reveals to her that his cousin has just died in Vietnam. She tells him, “I’ve had loss in my life. You have to let yourself feel it. You can’t dampen it with drugs and sex. It won’t get you through.” Though Stan is unconvinced, this statement makes clear the basic point of connection between Peggy and Don, especially as we see Don in this episode. He works through a continuing confrontation with the trauma of loss and exclusion, and every ad that he creates emerges out of this confrontation.

The episode ends with Don once again acting against his self-interest by abandoning work on the Chevy advertising campaign. Just two episodes ago, abandoned the agency’s most important client, Jaguar, when he refused to allow Herb Rennet, their connection at Jaguar, to involve someone from his dealership in the development of the advertising. In “The Crash,” after an unproductive weekend of nonstop work, Don decides that the agency resembles the milieu in which he grew up. He announces to new partners Ted Chaough and Jim Cutler that he will now only oversee creative work on Chevy rather than producing any. The final word of the episode, which Don speaks as he’s walking back to his office, is “whorehouse.”

With this word, Don makes the connection that many do between advertising and prostitution, but this is especially poignant for him since he grew up in a brothel. By dismissing the agency as a whorehouse and refusing to continue to work as a prostitute, Don displays once again the possibility for the ethical act that exists within the most ethically compromising spaces. One should not judge this act on the activity that follows it. If Don goes back to writing copy for Chevy in the next episode, here he nonetheless breaks for a moment from his enslavement to the Other’s demand and confronts the absence of anyone who knows “what he needs.” This break and this confrontation are the basis for every ethical act.

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Berlin Diary: For A Democratic Culture

Monday, September 29, 2008

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Written by Michael Rothberg, Unit for Criticism and Interpretive Theory

Greetings from Berlin, where I’m spending several months of my sabbatical. Among other things, I hope to use my time here to provide an outside-the-US perspective on some of the questions of theory, culture, and politics that concern us at Kritik and at the Unit for Criticism. I composed the following thoughts before reading the excellent forum around the work of Roberto Dainotto, but this post might be taken as part of a further thinking of “Europe,” here observed from a slightly different—and perhaps more optimistic—angle.

Berlin is an extraordinary city in many ways, and it’s impossible not to be fascinated by the intensive layering of histories that characterizes it. This layering is especially obvious when you move through the city on a bicycle, the preferred means of transportation. Within a few minutes you can pass from West to East, riding over the site of the former wall and moving from a reconstructed city-center-cum-mall like Potsdamer Platz through the late eighteenth-century Brandenburg Gate and on to the former East Germany’s main drag, Unter den Linden. On the way, you pass Peter Eisenman’s recently constructed Holocaust memorial, the new American embassy, and government buildings like the Reichstag, a late nineteenth-century colossus topped with a beautiful Norman Foster-designed glass dome. If you continue down Unter den Linden, you’ll come to the Humboldt University, where Hegel lectured and Du Bois studied, and the Pergamon Museum, which houses an enormous altar taken from what is now Turkey. And that’s just one small, albeit central, part of the city.


[Peter Eisenman's "Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe"]

What is most interesting to me about Berlin, however, goes beyond architecture: it has to do with the particular intellectual culture one finds here. At its best, the city’s intellectual life represents a kind of critical and reflective embodiment of the historical layering one finds in the urban environment.


[Daniel Libeskind's Jewish Museum, with the East German television tower in the background]

Let me give an example. A couple of weeks ago I attended a small conference on “Antisemitism in the Context of Migration and Racism.” The outgrowth of a study on this topic by the group “amira”—a research project sponsored by Berlin’s Verein für Demokratische Kultur e.V. [Association for Democratic Culture]—the conference was primarily directed at social workers involved with migrant youth (of primarily Turkish, Kurdish, and Arab background). The conference itself featured academics, activists, and civil servants as well as social workers and teachers of varied ages and backgrounds, and consisted of a day of presentations, discussions, and workshops. As all involved agreed, the topic of the study itself is a sensitive one—the alleged presence of antisemitism among young minorities who themselves suffer daily the effects of racism, poverty, and marginalization. Many expressed discomfort with the possible impact of such a discussion in a moment of heightened anti-Muslim racism (or “Islamophobia,” as it’s come to be called by some), in Germany and elsewhere. Personaly, I was never fully convinced of the premise of the event—i.e. that a problem exists that is best addressed in terms of particular ethnicized populations, as opposed to at a more holistic, societal level.

Yet, despite these apparent shortcomings, the conference struck me as successful. It created the space for a complex, searching discussion that brought together many layers of the social topography of the city, the country, and indeed the “new” Europe as a whole. It moved back and forth between the most practical questions of pedagogy and more conceptual issues about how to frame the problems of antisemitism and racism in a society both fractured and held together by a diverse population.

As a scholar, I was particularly struck by the degree to which the discussion confronted what I have come to call “multidirectional memory”—the fact that collective memories circulate between social groups and that those groups do not maintain unique possession of “their own” pasts. Remembrance is a social process in which disparate histories intersect, catalyze, and shape each other; it is not, despite what is often believed, a zero-sum game defined by scarce resources. At the “amira” conference, the discussion turned again and again to the relation between different histories of suffering and to the non-obvious but necessary question of how to adjudicate between them. It was not a “competition of victims” but a multidirectional confrontation with the past and present of a stratified and layered social situation—a “post-National Socialist” context, as one of the participants called it, that is also analogous to, but not identical with, postcolonial contexts in other European countries. It was a confrontation that involved addressing delicate questions of “speaking for others” and “speaking as an X,” but somehow it also seemed to avoid the particularly American problem of identity politics and the moralization of the political that too often accompanies it.

As is often the case—but perhaps even more so when one is out of one’s most familiar element and questions of translation are unavoidable—I found myself listening from a double perspective. As I, along with the other audience members and participants, reflected on the topic at hand—the situation in Berlin today—I kept thinking at the same time about another context: the United States. I thought in particular about the name of the event’s sponsoring agency—the “Association for Democratic Culture.” That, I thought, is precisely what we need in America: a renewal of democratic culture. Although my thinking of late has certainly been influenced by the sorry state of electoral politics in the US, I was not, obviously, thinking of the Democratic Party. I was thinking instead of what the conference set in motion: a multidirectional confrontation with history and actuality that was free of excess pathos, resentment, and accusation, and that took place in a context of reasonable disagreement and debate.

I don’t want to idealize the situation in Germany by any means; the very fact that it is still necessary (as it most definitely is) to talk about antisemitism and racism more than sixty years “after Auschwitz,” a half century after the first “guestworkers” arrived, and almost two decades after the fall of the Berlin Wall indicates that democratic pedagogy has not been as fully successful here as it might sometimes seem. But it is precisely the decades of confronting its own racist past that has made Germany—and Berlin in particular—a space where serious and non-reductive conversations about social injustice and intersecting histories can take place, at least occasionally, in the public sphere.

What will it take to build that kind of self-critical democratic culture in the United States?
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