I walked down to Occupied Wall Street the other day. Just strolled right on down from Chinatown. I wanted to see it for myself. Not hear about it from my hard left facebook friends, or settle for tepid media coverage. Especially coverage from men and women in business casual clothing talking about what all this means. Like they were even trying to understand it.

So I walked down to see it for myself.

The northeast is wonderful this time of year. This is truly the great season. When the fall gives you one of those bright clear days in October, you seize it. Far too often I watch through the glass of the office window, a passing mirage of sheer meteorological pleasure.

But when I walked down to Wall Street, I was firmly seizing the moment and the season. The weather was right and no further sense of professional responsibility was going to keep me in check.

First came the barricades. There were barricades everywhere. They were casually thrown up on sidewalks and in front of Dunkin’ Donuts. I was sure the heart of the political beast was around the corner, and felt a distinct twinge of fear as I imagined citizens with unchecked anger calling me out for merely passing through.

But I simply couldn’t find Liberty Plaza. So I took a corner near City Hall and there they were: at least two thousand people of all walks of life streaming across the Brooklyn Bridge.

They were clad in multicolored shirts and holding illuminated balloons. As they streamed across the bridge, dusk fell over Manhattan creating the most serene and majestic testament to peace and human unity.

I got closer. This truly was a middle class movement. Here were the ninety-nine percent in action: families, the elderly, school children. All were here.

Then I noticed something odd. They were being ushered across the street by volunteers in blue t-shirts with the words Barclay’s Capital plastered on the backs. The balloons too were branded. This wasn’t Occupy Wall Street. This was a walk for Leukemia! And god damn it was beautiful .

I pushed through the hordes of cancer protesters to get further south. There were dejected looking Wesleyan students coming against me. In there hands were hand-painted signs. Surely the protest was nigh!

On my right, the 9/11 memorial opened up. Goodness why has no one in the news thought it fit to mention how close the protests are to Ground Zero?! Perhaps that’s just a political nightmare waiting to unfurl. Perhaps it’s simply that in New York, everything is next to something else significant and historic.

The occupation was dark and feral. There were cops everywhere around the narrow park. But inside, the benches and fountains had been totally re-invented. It was what political theorist Hakim Bey once called a Temporary Autonomous Zone. Though the park is flanked by police and office buildings of banking firms, these people in the heart of Liberty Plaza believe they are a part of something new and different: they believe they are in the bosom of a new democracy.

Signs littered the pavement. You could comb through to pick the message you believed it and hoist it up for the world to see. That’s been the supposed problem with these protests: no unified message. But standing there with the signs before me, I felt that democracy does indeed work best when it looks like this. A hundred people willing to stand for something they believe in, or at least, listen to someone else who does.

This post was originally published in the Newport Mercury as a part of my ongoing column “Every 7 Seconds” 

Julian Assange, the founder of WikiLeaks.org knows and understands what Brand was talking about. His site has not only become world (in)famous, it is done so by dealing in information. It makes “free” what others believe is quite “expensive.” It makes public what was private, problematicizing privacy in the already slippery age of cloud computing and trust in computer networks. So much of what was once physically kept personal has bee electronically made ubiquitous, and in the process privacy itself as become as easy to sneak around as the familiar command “copy-paste.”

Julian Assange has become a sort of villain. He does not photograph well, looking at once sad, sickly, and sinister. His motives unclear, most Americans take his actions at face value: in releasing hundreds of thousands of secret American documents, Assange alienates a fundamental American right to … what is it actually that he’s done illegally?

Remember Watergate? That was this historical episode when an American president tried to conceal illegal actions with intimidation, money, and aspirations to American patriotism. Two journalists stuck to the case and in the process became American heroes, far more patriotic than the “patriots” who had tried to protect the president with lies and threats. These men would be played by Dustin Hoffman and Robert Redford in a film that made their dogged sense of “freeing information” into a sort of patriotic virtue. The implications of the film and the event itself were that there is nothing to fear about the truth if you are among the just and responsible. Nixon wasn’t.

I met Julian Assange in Austria, at a digital festival in an opera house overlooking the Danube. It was the fall of 2009, and he was in Austria to receive an award from the Ars Electronica Festival for his contributions to public discourse. Assange gave a speech in which he never smiled and never laughed, but talked instead about the need to give people around the world a safe way to share information that the world needed to know. He saw himself and his organization as more of a technology of protecting those who would share secrets than a political statement on secrets.

But his ideology was powerful and unmistakable. A former journalist, inspired by Woodward and Bernstein, Assange had begun WikiLeaks to protect the “deep throats” of today and tomorrow. He expressed a hope that the information that wanted to be free could be. And of couse, that it should be. He was prepared to go to all lengths for this conviction.

A year later, we now know that Assange has gone to all lengths for this conviction. He has been labeled a “terrorist,” has been criticized by world governments, has been implicated in several court cases, and most sadly, attacked by journalists and news organizations themselves. Assange’s dour disposition is nothing more than the frank understanding that despite the freedom he has given information, we refuse to be liberated by it.

Zachary McCune will not stand for the witch trial of a man who actually forces accountability in the golden age of the unaccountable.

[ Printed in this week's Newport Mercury ]

Stop cheaping out on the young ambitious people of the world by offering only “unpaid internships.” It’s class warfare anyway you cut it, and unless you are quite literally a mom and pop establishment, I think you can afford to shell out $3,000 for a summer of exploitative work.

Don’t even try to defend yourselves. You are the Museum of Modern Art. The cost of an intern doesn’t even equal the cost of mounting a single painting. What do you expect me to do? Live in New York City for a summer without even my housing costs covered? Perhaps in your cushy life as a curator you’ve forgotten how expensive your fair island is. Imagine trying to live here, eat here, all in o

rder to simply work here. I will be that reminder: its f***ing expensive.

And we’re just talking about costs. We’re not talking about students who need to make enough money to cover tuition, or school housing, or books. No, we’re just talking about being able to make an internship in New York City, or Boston, or San Francisco, or Chicago a reality.

The unpaid internship is everywhere. It’s become a common facet of the student workplace. And I can see the attraction to employers. A whole summer/fall/winter/spring or even a year of work provided at no cost? All you need to offer is a place for someone to work? Perhaps a letter of recommendation somewhere after the fact?

What a deal indeed. From an employer perspective it’s a steal.

Yes, truly it is theft. It steals opportunities from all students or workers and gives it only to the students who can afford it. Students or workers from secure financial backgrounds. Students or workers with private wealth. Which means that the unpaid internship always acts a social filter, reinforcing the idea that jobs in the arts, in print, in museums, in broadcasting are continually reserved for those in the middle class who can afford them. And students from other backgrounds are kept from even considering these positions.

Employers of the world, stop being socially thrifty. Stop confusing saving money with preserving the class-orientation of higher employment.

It may be true that merit is considered among an applicant pool for unpaid internships. No doubt, the most qualified applicant is selected for the job. But what can be said for the applicants who are not present because they cannot afford to even consider such a position? Their merits have not even been considered. Their perspectives, talents, and qualifications have been erased by a financial bottom line. Your financial bottom line.

So what can you do? It’s quite simple: fund your internships. Here’s the minimum equation: find the average cost of housing in your immediate (10 mile) vicinity for a summer. Add $100 for food a week for the duration of the internship. Then add the cost of a monthly pass for local public transportation. You know have a working idea of how much an internship should promise in terms of funding. It’s probably around $3,000.

If you are charitable soul, consider adding money for tuition/books. It may be a small thing for you, but it will mean the world to your intern. S/he will work harder, and think higher of you.

As will we all.

david plouffe, the campaign manager for obama 2008, just finished giving an hour and half speech at pomona college in claremont, california. he was described in the event’s “lecture bill” in the words of his former boss, now president, obama. “he is the unsung hero of this campaign, who built the … best political campaign, i think, in the history of United States.” that’s some pretty top-notch praise, from someone who should know. but let’s be honest for a moment, who doesn’t know that about david plouffe.

in his half hour of taking questions from the crowd of claremont consortium students, plouffe thoroughly revealed his deep analytical perspective, and a great sense of loyalty to president obama as well as the democratic party. this was somewhat surprising, as one might recall that plouffe is a hired professional, not an elected official. not to make the guy out to be a mercenary, especially considering the fact that according to reports, he only made $144,000 on the year. which is INSANELY low for the liberal answer to karl rove. particularly when we consider that axelrod apparently made over a million dollars.

anyway, plouffe had a lot of interesting things to say at pomona. speaking to a crowd of well over 1,000 students at the gorgeous bridges auditorium, plouffe commended young people for being involved in the democratic process. “I’ve never been more sure in the future of our couintry than I am becuase of the creativity and energey of young people” plouffe said. he also laughed derisively at the lack of youth-orientation of the other campaigns. responding to what allowed obama to overtake hillary in iowa, plouffe recalled a comment by mark penn (then hillary’s campaing manager). just before the caucus, penn told reporters that obama’s youth strategy was misguided, because “facebook doesn’t caucus.” not only was this proven quite wrong, but everyone in the crowd got a good laugh over the incorrect grammatical phrasing.

a thorough democrat, plouffe reserved his best wit for deriding the republican party. responding to questions about how obama outplayed mccain for the win, plouffe explained that obama had a notable disadvantage in that he did not secure the democratic nomination until june 3rd,  two months later than it had taken john kerry to do the same in 2004. “john mccain had 8 months to raise money and differentiate himself from george bush,” plouffe explained, “but by some feat of political malpractice, mccain did neither of those things.”

“the republican party is having an identity crisis” he later confessed, “i look forward to watching how they reform.”

known for his belief that sarah palin was a gift to the obama campaign, plouffe also spent some time joyfully recalling what he characterized as her political inepitude and deviseness. “sarah plain was our best campaigner and fundraiser,” he told the crowd. “we receieved $8-9 million while she spoke in minneapolis alone. the next day, all our campaign headquarters received swarms of people saying: ‘i’m gonna give you the next 45 days of my life.’”

plouffe maintained that it was that kind of grassroots support that made the difference in the obama campaign. he left by giving the students of claremont a reason to clap for him by clapping for themselves. “we owe you,” he repeated twice. “you are the heroes of this election.”

it made me feel like i was back in new hampshire, right before the election, with everything up for grabs. i joined the standing ovation.

just to give the background on this story, i’ve been spending the week with my brother in california while i am on spring break. my brother is a sophomore studying international relations and spanish at pomona college. we actually spent the day at venice beach and arrived halfway through plouffe’s speech. but it was worth it.

the american action movie is founded on the idea of catharsis through violence. which is why critics and intellectuals generally object to it. because it espouses a sort of primitivism in the name of healing, and engages in profound acts of brutality in the pursuit of some sort of harmony.

the american action movie confronts an unresolved paradox: violence at the service of peace, killing in the cause of saving, destroying as a way of building. the ironies are not lost on the american people, whose politics ceaselessly engage this same paradox. and is this way, the american action movie, is the narrative pursuit of the american social psyche.

and is this way, the newest james bond installment ‘quantum of solace,’ reflects american societal contradictions in a way that is singularly genius and pluristically unexpected. this is not the film america thought it would see, and that’s both the problem and the potential.

take this as a spoiler alert: you don’t need to meet the villains of this film to know them. you already know them. ‘quantum of solace’ is in short, a transnational corporation, who know no financial limits, national boundaries or organizations they cannot gain access to. they are everyone, because everyone is a part of them. let me be more specific: ‘quantum of solace’ is globalization, in all of the fears benedict anderson and fredric jameson imagined. they do not answer to any one government, so they make governments. they are capitalism render as jameson might say ‘late capitalistic’ in that they have mutated far past capitalism proper into an organization who preys on the capitalistic, able to overcome the local and the provincial from the total (global) perspective.

quantum of solace are so huge, they manage the earth’s resources. where capitalism managed commodities and negotiated a ideal profitable balance between supply and demand, the post-capitalistic q of s deal in resources, simply what the earth has and humans need. this is oil, as capitalism would commodify, but water, the substance which divides human life and death. so their plot, to control the world’s water and then artificially create drought conditions in which they are the only brokers of life, is so simple as to be offensive. that this plausible in today’s world only further problematizes the viewer’s experience of the film. this is not us and them, there is no division here. this is the american capitalistic system played beyond itself, and in that elevated to the point where the american state can no longer contend with the american psychology. it is capitalism over all. the politics of bound (russians, communists, nations) and the criminal elements (terrorists like dr. no) are lost to the winds of time. in this bondian moment it is globalization that is the enemy, and how can it be fought?

let me re-ask the question: how do you fight (the global) everyone?

the answer is that you must become someone. you must constitute a discrete identity. and that identity cannot be a state (easily fit into the global) or an army (embedded within the state/political) or a force (defined by other forces). no, this someone must be a ‘one,’ an individual.

and that individual, as if framed by our question, is james bond- the ultimate someone. the role which is prepetually passed on and reintrepreted, but always inhabited. he is the man in the circle. the discrete individual. bond. james bond.

utterance as identity.

not that daniel craig’s james bond needs it. his bond is a identity enacted, but rarely named. in the opening half hour, craig races through the Italian Alps, Siena, Port Au Prince, and Austria. he is driven, and the cinematography is likewise propelled, almost unwatchably so, at a pace that can be difficult to follow. which is our protagonist’s own malady. if we cannot follow the plot at first, it is because our young, driven hero cannot either. he simply fights, drives, runs, wins, kills.

judi dench, cast as ‘m,’ asks him why he killed a man who he tracks through a busy siena without thinking to wound him and bring him in. bond doesn’t know. and neither do we. it seems somehow like the thing to do at the end of the chase, and as natural as it feels to us, it feels even more obvious to bond. so like him, we are confronted by the obvious rationality of m’s rebuke and wonder back at the overwhelming emotionality trying to read reason back into the adredinale that had the viewer and bond unequivocally wanting our rival dead.

it is back to that first rule of the action film, catharsis through violence. absolution through dissolution. and then, there’s m to tell us to knock it off.

judi dench is the intellectual embedded in the film. when she ask’s bond to gain control of his recklessness (the central theme of the film) it’s really a critique of the bond film rather than this bond in particular. her admonition is a critic’s voice patched through to bond directly; don’t just kill people, fuck women, and wreck cars, make it mean something.

so he does.

in fear of watching two hours of non-stop, hard-hitting, non-narrative violence, craig’s bond takes a breath just when we need it. the pacing’s been too much. we need a break. so bond goes by boat to a friend from ‘casino royale’ and we re-engage with what bond might be thinking, not just doing. his friend takes him in, helps him out, moves him along in our story. it is a reflection in motion, but still a reflection. it is an acknowledgement of the fundamental flaw of the action movie: no time to think, just never-ending violence. and this bond needs to reflect, because even though we are never invited into bond, it’s clear that there’s a lot at work. lots going on. what after all, must be healed by the catharsis of his unattached violence?

bond goes awol. he is cut off by mi6. which is inevitable. because for all their alteriority, their as much a part of the globalization that bond is fighting in quantum of solace. they cut off his money, take his passport, all semblages of his global citizenship, objects which are hostage to his enemies and which he must do without. which is why he must appeal to a friend. because in the face of everyone you need to be someone, and bond’s someone needs someone else.

daniel craig is the anti-bond, and it’s beautiful to watch. where connery and moore seduce major supporting figures of their films (socialities, scientists, mistresses of their enemies) craig fucks a secretary sent to turn back around to london. he does it without seeming to give a damn. because he doesn’t. there is no seduction, and she’s not anyone special. she’s just another someone. she’s not beautiful. she’s available. this not conquest. it’s sex. which is the way you’re never supposed to think of james bond sex- it always has to be conquest and seduction. it always has to be strategic. it can never just be doing the secretary because she was available.

no, daniel craig does not need to be the rabid male potency that connery was. in fact, he must be more inhuman than superhuman. and there’s no way that he can beat the quantum of solace, only disrupt it, unveil it, cause it to take shape, and that confront the shape that it presents. not accidentally, bond ends up in bolivia, framed by the bolivian campesinos as the ultimate anti-globalist population (hyper local in their suffering over the lack of water in their single canister), and in the end can only succeed by forcing the tentacles of globalization of ‘greene planet’ out of the country. in this bond defeats the idea of a ‘planet’ as a total homogenized reality, to preserve the individuality of the bolivians. his somebodyness allows them too, to avoid becoming everyones, and remain someones.

which is why the american movie goer will leave quickly when the film ends. unsure. unsure if he liked it. disappointed that it was not more… something.

because the villain seemed to much like an executive from aig. because even with the stacks of bodies, and the secretary made into an ebony object, even with the bolivian secret service agent telling us about her mother’s rape, the last act of violence doesn’t seem to release any anger in the viewer.

they don’t realize that bond’s shooting at globalism. and if they do, they might be shooting back.

a tradition begun with thomas paine (aka t-paine) and continued through the glory of the onion 2.0 wherein they begin creating youtube-like clips. well done, american satire, you always find a way through social, cultural, legal, and even technological changes to stay cynical about this “great” nation.

in the words of esteemed patriot nathaniel hale, “i only regret that i have but one life to ridicule this country.”

but i do think i know these people.

WELL.

7:30 am is a time that doesn’t really exist for me. under virtually no circumstances do i ever exist as a conscious, sentient human being at this hour. when i see the number on my alarm clock, waking accidentally or suddenly in the night, i am bewildered that it exists.

7:30 is the new midnight.

somehow (by some miracle of time, space and love) i was get able by 7:30 on saturday to get to new hampshire to canvass for barack obama. it’s something i’ve been meaning to do for a long while, but now that the election is in crunch-time and my time is about to go 130% midterm, i knew that saturday was the last chance to actually contribute.

so i got up, and with nick werle, and jenna silver, some of my glorious housemates, journeyed to new hampshire.

i was hard to shake the fact that just a week ago, i was on the campus of uc berkeley listening to lawrence lessig ruminate on the problems in congress. in berkeley, despite its reputation, there was virtually no political action going on. not that there was on saturday morning at brown either, but at least there were over 150 brown students loading onto vans to help get the vote out for barack in nh.

it was damn cold in the granite state. 28 degrees in fact, when the sun got up, and the vestiges of this deep cold were huge chunks of frost all over the ground. people were passing around cider and donuts (VERY NEW HAMPSHIRE, everytime i come up here in the fall, this is what people are eating) and talking about barack, the newest polls, and the sense of destiny that currenyl marks the obama supporter. this is the whole “oh my god, i think it’s actually going to happen” spirit, that redoubles the efforts of obama supporters, and puts 300 people from connecticut, massachusetts, and rhode island in nashua, nh on a cold saturday morning.

we went out canvassing. i won’t lie about being terribly comfortable with the whole idea (in fact, i was terrified of “bothering” people) but within a few doors, i began to register there was nothing particularly invasive, inappropriate or scary about canvassing. in fact, contrary to popular opinion (or perhaps due to the proximity of the electiob) there was almost no one to convince of voting our way and not the other. people have generally made up their minds by now, so the canvasser’s job at this point is to make sure obama supporters are actually going to vote, and zeroing in on undecided and unknown voters, by eliminating mccain households. it’s a very methodical process.

one lesson i learned from the trip was don’t judge a book by its cover. there was one house, when we were canvassing that had a number of pick-up trucks in the drive way, an american flag out front, an nra sticker on the window of the front door, and a loud barking dog inside. we knocked, because that’s what we’re supposed to do, even though i think we all felt that this would be another “i think you have the wrong house, we don’t support obama here.”

a young woman with a one year old baby answered. she held back a young golden retriever puppy. she smiled at us when we asked about the baby and who the baby was voting for this year. “well, i think she’s just decided the mother answered, and i think she’s going with obama…” we gave her some pamphlets (or “literature” as they are called by the campaign) then continued on. talking with that woman made the entire day worth it.

there was another highlight to be sure. it was john kerry (senator, former presidential nominee john keryy) speaking to the canvassers at a pep rally from the bed of a pick-up truck. i was so close, i could practically have shook his hand. but i took a photo instead, and it came out brilliantly, just like the day  i had in new hampshire.