American Arrogance

As a culture, Americana has influenced people the world over. From music and the arts, to food and theater, Americana has expanded beyond the geographic borders of the United States.

When traveling abroad, Americans should understand and attempt to learn the customs and traditions of people within their local community. Often, however, it is perceived that there is unwillingness by many Americans to do so, which unfortunately leads to the stigma of American arrogance.

In discussing accountability it was argued that in order to justifiably hold someone accountable for their actions they must have had knowledge of the expectations. Without this information it is difficult, if not impossible, to justifiably hold someone accountable for their actions.

Where there is arrogance there is an assumed or actual misuse of power based on a perception of superiority. Insofar as our discussion here pertains to the globalization of Americana, American arrogance is a necessary consequence of its globalization, a precariously dangerous consequence of its economic and military might.

Though this is certainly not an attempt to justify or even excuse the believed existence of American arrogance, many within the United States are unaware of their privileges, an oversight others find particularly offensive. Take, for example, the ease with which one, in the U.S. may simply walk to the kitchen, turn on the faucet, and drink a clean cool glass of water. This is a privilege. To many Americans, it may not seem like a privilege. It is simply taken for granted.

When traveling abroad, Americans should recognize that the conveniences they are afforded within the United States are luxuries that so many must do without. The knowledge of one's privileges can allow those sensitive to the plight of others the necessary tact in espousing their discomforts.

Unfortunately, however, the perception of American arrogance is further fueled by the immediacy of American culture. As Americans, we are privileged to conveniences that are inaccessible to millions around the globe.

Burger King, for example, has recently come under fire for its advertisement campaign to find "Whopper virgins." They have traveled to some of the most rural and destitute locations in the world, fully equipped with a state of the art production crew, attempting to find individuals that have never eaten a Burger King Whopper.

I can think of no better example, hypothetical or actual, that definitively embodies the notion of American arrogance better than Burger King's most recent ad campaigns. The hubris, the ridiculous and pompous arrogance of the Burger King Corporation is rooted in the wonderment that someone hasn't eaten their burgers. So bizarre the thought that in a world of billions of people, there might exist that sole individual that has yet to contaminate their system with Burger King's wonderful Whoppers.

The arrogance is unbelievable - that the existence of such people is so incredibly bizarre that it justifies spending millions of dollars in advertisements and travel expenses to visually document their first taste of a Whopper. All that is wrong with the globalization of Americana and all that is most diabolical with the notion of American arrogance, is exemplified in the actions of the Burger King Corporation. On behalf of all semi-rational and decent Americans, I do most sincerely apologize.

The truth is that many within this land of plenty want more; many within this land of wealth struggle to amass more wealth; and so many Americans are in fact arrogant. There is a grave danger, however, with arrogance, with vanity, and with the narcissism inherent in Burger King's audacious campaign to document "Whopper virgins."

Others will not take lightly to arrogance. People are struggling to survive, struggling to meet the most basic of necessities for sustaining life - and here come the Americans with their film crew to document someone eating a burger.

Are we so blind as a nation that we cannot see the inherent evil in our practices? Are we so callused that we don't recognize all that is wrong with such assumptions? If we are so jaded and so far removed from the struggles of millions around the world over, then we are in even graver danger as a nation.

The arrogant American is something to loathe. The arrogant American is demanding and unaccommodating, which is precisely why Americana must make a concentrated effort to undo the harms and injustices of our past. Simply acknowledging the suffering of others is the beginning of revamping our international respectability. We must, as a nation, realize that the world is a collection of various cultures and people.

It is and will always be larger than the United States. For these reasons, when we travel abroad and when we advertise our products to a global market, we must be held accountable for our actions. We must at every instance try to understand and accommodate the concerns of others. Otherwise, the stigma of American arrogance may prove to be our undoing.

Originally published for Blogcritics.

norms, americana, culture, assimilation, globalization, ethics

Our current economic crisis presents a challenge in restructuring and regulating the billions of dollars of capital that will soon be flowing through our economy. Note, however, that this capital is technically taxpayer dollars that have been appropriated through the American Recovery and Reinvestment Act of 2009, appropriations that are desperately needed but which have not been generated from private investments and market demands.

The true challenge, that is, the long term challenge of our current economic crisis, is in part the infusion of capital into a dilapidated system, but is it also of dire importance that market confidence and consumer spending are buttressed by a sense of a progression out of our current economic recession. It will be difficult if not impossible to encourage spending when all available indicators point to the sudden collapse of our economy.

The challenge, then, for this administration is to continuously present an aura of confidence and assurance to investors and banks, potential borrowers and consumers, that we have a sustainable method for gradual yet total economic recovery. The expectations and banking models that dominated the market during the last eight years have little if anything to contribute to the restructuring of America’s financial markets as they are in part responsible for the collapse of the system.

Regulations, however, will not suffice to ensure business accountability and conduct, for that, we must utilize our vast accessibility to information to hold failing and manipulative businesses accountable for their actions. By far, the best and most effective tool we can implement is the power of the boycott. If corporations like AIG insist on wasting the taxpayer dollars they were appropriated, we’ll boycott AIG’s products. Very quickly corporations will realize that as a nation we’ve had enough. After eight years of war and the mismanagement of our markets and political system, we’ve had enough.

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Misology and Cultural Accountability

(Disclaimer: This section references The Matrix and contains spoilers.)

If, in the discussion of freedom, one is better apt to describe freedom in terms of creation rather than choice, then on an individual level we can express our freedom in terms of the things we create, rather than the things we consume. The same holds true on a cultural level, as there is no culture without individuals.

Understanding this distinction, however — that is, the realization that true freedom resides in our creative abilities and how we express these abilities within the world — is not be taken lightly. For in knowing and understanding this, one may then be held accountable for refusing to be free.

I've taught this argument — not in the detail that I have presented here — to my ethics students over the years, and it is precisely at this point that someone in the class raises their and asks, "Why would someone refuse to be free?" Given the discussion thus far, this question is well founded.

Misology can be described as the hatred of knowledge. It is the willful refusal of knowledge and an unapologetic embracement of ignorance. The idea of misology is so foreign to so many that without a clear example it is just another of the many abstract concepts that philosophers discuss, which have no real application in the world.

This conception of misology, of defiantly embracing ignorance, is best expressed in the movie The Matrix (I'm here speaking of the first movie in the trilogy, which of course was the best in the series). There is a scene where Cypher meets with Agent Smith at a fancy restaurant.

Cypher: You know, I know this steak doesn't exist. I know when I put it in my mouth, the Matrix is telling my brain that it is juicy and delicious. After nine years, do you know what I've realized? Ignorance is bliss.

Agent Smith: Then we have a deal?

Cypher: I don't want to remember nothing. Nothing! You understand? And I want to be rich.

Cypher is the embodiment of misology. He is resentful of the knowledge he has acquired over the last nine years. He fully understands that the Matrix isn't real, that it doesn't exist, and yet he would choose to live a lie, rather than living the truth.

What is the truth?

The truth is the real world is a mixture of brutality and beauty. Violence plagues us all, not just Americans, and we all have the potential to create a world of beauty or brutality, which is the only exercise of freedom that exists. 

All of the discussion until this point served only as a means of demonstrating that with knowledge comes accountability. Cypher would rather live a life without accountability, a life where he can be rich without accounting for how he gained his riches. Remember, it was because of his tertiary that Zion was invaded and so many lost their lives.

If it is true that freedom is expressed in what one creates rather than what one consumes, and you understand this claim, then you must also acknowledge that you will be held accountable for your creations. Thus, in discussing accountability, one must also discuss punishment. If I know what should be done and yet refuse to do so, then my punishment will be justified because of the knowledge I had.

To demonstrate this point I offer the following example. Imagine that you and your friend Prianka meet everyday after class to discuss the lecture, and on this day she invites you to her home. She tells you beforehand, "Please remove your shoes before entering the house," and you agree.

When you arrive at her front door, she removes her shoes. You watch her do this, and she recognizes that you are watching. If after being asked and seeing her remove her shoes, you choose to enter the house with your shoes on, you have violated your agreement with her because you knew what the expectation was. Thus, you could be held accountable for refusing to remove your shoes after agreeing to do so.

If, on the other hand, Prianka invited you to her home during a conversation you were having over the phone and forgot to inform you to remove your shoes upon entering the hose, then, after ringing the doorbell, when she opens the door and you enter the house with your shoes on, you cannot be held accountable. You had no knowledge of the expectation. Thus, with knowledge comes accountability.

In the next few sections I will qualify what I mean by cultural accountability and offer examples to further our discussion.

Originally published for Blogcritics.

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The Myth of Freedom

In the previous section I proposed the somewhat controversial claim that freedom cannot adequately be described in terms of choice. I began the previous discussion by asking, "What word do economists use to describe us?" Of course, the word they use is 'consumer.' For economists, corporations, Wall Street insiders, and would be investors we are consumers, and our action as consumers is to consume.

Returning to a discussion of freedom however, let us, for the sake of argument, analyze the ice cream business. If someone were to ask me, "So Jason, what's your favorite ice cream?" I would say, "chocolate ice cream." They may ask why. Like everyone else, I browsed the selection of ice cream at my local grocery store and tried a variety of flavors. I arrived at the decision that, for me, chocolate ice cream is the best.

But, now let's suppose my friend, like myself, is a philosopher — up to something deeper — and he asks, "Well, have you been to the ice cream convention in Vegas?" He begins to describe how all the ice cream manufactures meet in Vegas once a year to display their new creations and snoop on their competitors' creations. After the convention they return to their respective production plants and ice cream labs and eventually their ice creams make it to the frozen food aisle of my local grocery store.

Going shopping, I notice that they have chocolate ice cream. I buy it. I try it. I like it. Then I claim, "Indeed chocolate ice cream is my favorite!" My friend being the gadfly that he is is still unsatisfied. So he asks, "Is there a flavor of ice cream that doesn't exist, that you wish did exist?" I think for a few seconds and reply, "Yes, popcorn flavored ice cream."

"Popcorn?"

I'll stop my bizarre hypothetical experiment at that point. The truth is one cannot assert freedom if one has no say and no input in the availability of options. Granted there are choices of ice cream to choose from. In fact, there are probably several hundred choices to choose from, but those choices were agreed upon and offered to consumers by corporations, knowing that some will choose A rather than B, but in the end we had no control, no say in the options.

Thus, the more astute question to ask is, "What are options?" An option is created based on the opportunity and availability for its existence. So, something like popcorn ice cream is an option. It might not be a profitable option, but it is an option nonetheless. For business professionals, options are only viable if they are also profitable. So the good businessperson would probably disagree with me, and rightfully so, that popcorn flavored ice cream is really an option. However, I'm a philosopher, not a businessman, so popcorn flavored ice cream is an option.

After having this bizarre yet interesting discussion with my friend, I start thinking I might want to create popcorn flavored ice cream. I know it won't be profitable. I know most people won't like it, but I want to try anyway, and so I do. Regrettably, after all my efforts, I realize that popcorn flavored ice cream is horrible. I forgot to account for the kernels and the mushiness of the popcorn. It was a disaster.

But I did create something. Let's say no one had tried it before. I could then say, with a bit of satisfaction, that I was the first human being to create popcorn ice cream - and it was terrible.

The gist of my example is that freedom is rooted in the act of creation, not in the act of consumption. What a tragic life for the person that has never written a poem or penned an original song. What a sense of loss from those who spend their lives buying but never creating, never contributing, never giving. What a tragic end.

We are only free insofar as we are free to create. What we create, be it a beautiful mural or the most heinous crimes against humanity, it is entirely our doing. Creators put options in motion from which others choose. Creators understand that there is a life bound to imagination; and imagination, as we all know, is limitless.

The greatest lie ever told was told by an economist. Though I do love their knowledge, I cower in the implication of their thought because I refuse to label myself as a consumer. I am not and I have never been nor will I ever be a consumer.

I am a producer and we all have that same potential.

If I must purchase a television, I will. But I'll make sure to purchase the television I've never heard of and the one I've never seen a commercial for. If I must purchase music, I'll browse Myspace for hours to find that one indie group in the middle of nowhere with only three friends and I'll buy all their music.

If I must wear clothes, I'll by white tees and browse the net for really cool images and iron them on to my shirts - not for sale, but for myself. If I must eat, I'll drive the extra block to support that one guy who has a little shop, though it's a bit more expensive, because he loves to see me come and the food is always good.

I support. I do not consume. I support those that struggle to support themselves. I do not have any interest in supporting multinational, mega conglomerates that only have profit in mind. Note I do not condemn those that do, but that's not why I'm here. That's not my purpose. I don't even know what is. What I do know is that I am a creator and therefore I am free.

"Emancipate yourselves from mental slavery, none but ourselves can free our minds." - The Great Bob Marley

Originally published for Blogcritics.

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A Culture Enslaved

There is a question one should ask about how we are classified, how we are characterized within Americana. The question pertains not only to our roles as citizens and laborers, but also to a more fundamental purpose, a purpose that as of yet remains to be discussed.

The question is, "What word do economists use to describe us?"

The answer to this question is surprisingly simple, but its ramifications are anything but trivial. Economists describe us as consumers. We are, in a very strict sense, consumers. We are classified by our ability to consume. On an even deeper level of interpretation we are the embodiment of consumption. To say that something is necessitates that thing's existence. Thus, to say we are consumers necessitates at least the perceived existence of this conception of consumption.

But what is consumption?

Consumers consume, which is not to be redundant. We are, metaphorically speaking, decomposers. We digest, assume, purchase, and bequeath the products of capitalism. Without our efforts as consumers, warehouses remain full as there is more supply than demand. Thus, while we are fixated on ownership, and while Americana is defined by its principles of ownership, corporations love an empty warehouse.

The formula is simple. We consume, they provide; and in their provisions corporation must make appropriations for what they perceive as a "need" in the general population. They, of course, are in the business of fulfilling needs, at least perceived needs.

What has any of this to do with freedom? If someone were to ask you, with all seriousness, "What's freedom?" how would you respond? What would you say? What could you say? I'd venture to guess that more than half of the population would suggest that freedom is inextricably bound with an ability to choose. Choice is what determines freedom.

Such a response, in fact, is expected, maybe even conditioned. On this notion, then, to assert the concept of freedom is to equally invoke the idea of choice. For example, I can choose to go to my political science class or I can choose to ditch class and hangout with my friends.

If I choose to go to class, I have freely made a decision based on a set of pro and cons and decided that the cons of ditching class outweigh the pros of going and so I choose to go. If, on the other hand, I decide to ditch class and hangout with my friends, I have decided that the cons of going to class (like boredom, sleepiness, and general ambivalence) outweigh the benefits of drinking a few Heineken with my friends and so I ditch class and drink a couple Heineken.

Such an account is a fair assessment of how one describes freedom; that is, freedom is described in terms of our ability to choose. But now I'll ask the further question, "Can you think of an instance when someone has an ability to choose, but you won't also agree that they had an ability to exercise their freedom?" Granted, this question is a bit more difficult.

If it could be demonstrated that Bob, for the sake of argument, had two options, option (A) and option (B), and it was shown that he chose option (B) over (A), but in so doing couldn't really exercise any freedom in his choice, then it would, at least, suggest that the notion of freedom being defined in terms of choice is really a lie.

To that effect I offer the following example. Imagine that Bob finds himself confronted by an armed gunman while he is shopping at the mall and a nearby woman is yelling uncontrollably (forgive me for the sexist stereotype, but it factors into the discussion). The armed gunman is deadly serious when he instructs Bob to, "Shut her the (insert explicative) up!"

Bob, not knowing what else to do, shushes the woman by placing his index finger over his lip. The gunman, growing increasingly impatient, yells, "Punch that woman in the face and shut her up or I'll kill her!"

Now Bob is confronted with a dilemma. Punching a woman in the face has serious cultural and, more so, legal consequences, but it also has moral consequences, which is why Bob has never struck a woman. Bob also understands that his failure to strike this woman may result in her getting shot and so Bob punches the woman and she falls to the floor, silent.

In analyzing this scenario, Bob had options and the basis of choice is grounded in the ability to choose from at least two alternatives. So it is very clear that Bob had an ability to choose. What isn't so clear, however, was whether Bob exercised freedom in choosing to punch the lady.

I'll skip the many steps of outlining the argument and jump right to the conclusion: Bob was not free because his options were imposed upon by the threat of death, and in an attempt to prevent murder, Bob committed a bit of harm to save a life. Bob was not free, however, because his hand was, so to speak, forced.

Granted, there are many rejoinders, but this isn't a debate class. The point is simple. To assert that freedom is described as an ability to choose is naive at best, and a down right lie at worst. I will argue for the latter.

The wool has been pulled over our eyes. The greatest lie ever told in the history of human civilization is that freedom is expressed in our ability to choose. In the upcoming pages, I'll offer what I believe to be the true source of freedom, which is not rooted in choice. In fact, there is no surprise that economists classify us as consumers and still we believe we are free.

Originally published for Blogcritics.

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Materialism and Anakin Skywalker

For the last several sections I have discussed the fixation in Americana with stuff: possessing stuff, acquiring stuff, and storing stuff. As I explained in the last section, Americana has become a culture in storage. Until now those remarks have all been preliminary, insights into the nature of Americana's fascination with collecting stuff. We are increasingly becoming a culture that equates success with how much stuff one has, but there is a darker story to be told about our obsession with things.

Generally stated, materialism, within the context of cultural economics, is the assumed importance and preoccupation with material possessions. A materialist is one who professes such a claim as the general principle of one's life, and one who further identifies one's self worth with the value of his or her possessions.

With reference to two chief dangers that arise in discussing materialism in an account of Americana, it should be noted that I am not suggesting these dangers are in any sense exhaustive, as there are surely more dangers in assuming a materialist stance. I am, however, asserting that in a discussion of materialism, the two dangers I will address threaten the very fabric of Americana. Moreover, since this investigation is an analysis of the process wherein Americana is globalized, the dangers of materialism threaten to undermine the very fabric of the world.

There is no inherent danger in merely acquiring nice things, but one must understand that there is more to life than simply acquiring stuff. Life is filled with complex decisions and relationships, and if every decision and relationship is based on positioning oneself to amass more, one is essentially using oneself as a means.

Thus, the first danger to assuming a materialist stance is to understand that such an assumption necessitates unhappiness or at the very best, intermittent happiness. If, in acquiring things, I come to identify my success with the possessions I have attained and success makes me happy, then it follows that my happiness is itself dependent on my possessions.

The trouble with possessions, however, something we learn as children during the holiday season, is that our gifts, no matter how grand they are, eventually lose their original appeal. We get bored with things and gadgets, which is only complicated by the fact that manufactures are always coming out with newer and better products.

Take, for example, my favorite chip - Doritos. I've been eating Doritos since I was a child. I remember saving any money I could find to purchase a bag of Doritos from the neighborhood convenient store. Recalling the probably hundreds of bags of Doritos I've eaten over the years, I seem to remember a consistency in the flavor of the chip, but each year, branded across the entire face of the Doritos bag is the proclamation that it's the cheesiest bag ever! The reason why this practice is done it to keep consumers "brand loyal." To be honest with you, if Doritos were never to get any cheesier, I'd still eat them.

As a culture and as consumers we quickly lose interest in things we once craved. That's why Doritos keeps getting cheesier. That's why the toys from Christmas day are usually in storage by Easter. That's why we, as a culture of consumers, are so miserable.

If one's happiness is tied to the attainment of things, then, at its best, our possessions will afford us temporary happiness. To be truly happy, however, we must first realize that happiness does not reside in the things we've amassed over the years. We fill storage unit after storage unit and still we're miserable. I have no suggestions about happiness, as I am no guru, but I do know how to be miserable. I also know that where there is misery, evil and violence is sure to follow.

The second problem with assuming a materialist stance, then, is that such an assumption inherently breeds or fosters violence. If I have exchanged my labor over the course of a year and finally saved enough money to by a car, only to be carjacked at a traffic light by a nonracially descript man, it may seem justifiable to resist his threat, thereby saving one's possession from theft. Countless people try this each year and die. They die for a car.

Evil is bred in our obsession with things, our desire to remain attached to that which is fundamentally prone to decay. Things break, people die, that's life. The clearest example of the evil that arises from our connection to things and even other people is best demonstrated in Star Wars.

Remember that Anakin Skywalker's progression to Vader was contingent on his unyielding attachment to Padmé Amidala. Anakin couldn't see that his inability to accept Padmé's mortality was corrupting in judgment. Eventually, he loses to the darkness and evil triumphs over his life. (At least that's my take).

My point is simple: materialism corrupts. To prevent the tragedy of Anakin Skywalker from manifesting in each of our lives, we must acknowledge the mortality of everyone we encounter and the decay inherent in everything we touch. All of this will pass. Irrespective of what one believes of an afterlife, this life and everything in it is sure to end. That is the meaning of life.

Originally published for Blogcritics.

norms, americana, culture, assimilation, globalization, ethics

A Culture in Storage

In the previous discussion on the philosophy of work, I argued that a vast majority of Americans work either to maintain their standards of living or their possessions. In discussing the latter, it often results in the accumulation of stuff, typically collectibles, as individuals conflate their identity with the things they own.

A sense of ownership, of holding claim to one's possessions, isn't inherently problematic. The problem arises when it is only through ownership that one feels a sense of personal worth. What results from such beliefs is the conception that the more one owns, the more valuable one is to one's family or one's society.

In a sense, though, this conception isn't too far from the mark. If over the course of my lifetime, I have amassed a lot of possessions, in trying to establish credit with any banking system, I can then use those possessions as assets, to leverage capital, to buy more stuff.

Thus, I can leverage stuff to get more stuff.

The system is constructed such that one's possessions, irrespective of how dated they may be, retain some worth, and that worth can later be used as leverage to amass even greater possessions. Though the average American collector may not have taken the time to think of the process of collecting in such explicit terms, there needs to be some level of understanding of this system, no matter how latent, for the system to work.

The more one possesses, the more assets one has. The more assets one has, the more leverage one has. The more leverage one has, the more capital one can borrow. The more capital one can borrow, the more stuff one can possess. And the cycle repeats.

There is, however, a very real limitation to a culture that values possessions. Americans have exceedingly found it difficult to purge their possessions, either through charitable donations or throwing unused items in the trash. Americana is bloated with stuff. We have become a culture of storage.

Such high levels of consumption results in an industry of storage facilities and inherently undermines the notion of altruism and the benefits of giving.

Since everything has value, the thought of giving away a childhood toy, which has been discovered in an attic, unused and unopened, would present a very real dilemma. For the sake of argument, let's suppose the toy is more than twenty five years old. The likelihood that such a toy exists, unopened for twenty five years is very small. Thus, the likelihood that another toy in exactly the same "mint condition" exists is also very unlikely. It is probably best to assume, then, that the rarity of such a toy in such condition would result in an increased value. Later in the discussion I will return to the very important distinction between worth and value, as the two concepts are not interchangeable.

Thus, not only is it the case that our cultural practices support collecting and stockpiling things, it is even beneficial to stockpile unused and unopened things, especially potential collector's items, for decades thereby increasing their value.

For example, any parent of a small boy between ages four and thirteen during the Christmas season of 2008 knew that the most have item for a boy in this age range was bakugan. Based on cultural practices and the conditions that I have outlined, it would be beneficial for the savvy collector to collect as many bakugan as possible. Moreover, not only should collectors collect these toys, they should not open them. They should be purchased and placed in storage for twenty five years and then resold as collector's items to men seeking to reclaim the fond memories of their childhood.

What about all the millions of boys and girls without these toys? What about all those that weren't able to enjoy the holiday season because of their financial inability? Granted, there can be no requirement that we share, but we should recognize the value in sharing, a claim that is often overlooked and trivialized.

Americana does not embrace the value of sharing.

As our obsession with collecting stuff increases, our need for more storage increases as well. As our need for more storage increases, storage compartments also increase to accommodate our increased stuff. As the size of storage compartments increase, the cost to rent them increases. And thus, the more we get, the more we own, the more we have to spend to house the stuff we own.

But just imagine the absurdity of working to preserve one's stuff in storage. Rather than assuming a minimalist lifestyle and donating excess to charity or simply ridding one's self of unused things, we have been taught that our things are assets and as such they have an intrinsic value.

There is, however, an alternative, something which Americana has yet to embrace: the value of not seeking value in things. The bitter truth is that things are only valuable insofar as we deem them desirable. And the problem of Americana's obsession with things is a direct result with our inability to govern our desires.

It is as if the child, full of indulgences, were able to satisfy any and every desire. For children, however, parenting is essential. For government, paternalism is something to be challenged. Thus, Americana's dilemma is one of balancing desires with good parental guidance without neglect or indulgence.

Originally published for Blogcritics.

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