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Progressive Infiltration

Ima Iduozee gave an interview for Ruskeat tytöt in 2017 where they recalled an insightful moment that affected their understanding of “integration” in Finnish society as a black Finnish person. The full interview focuses on their artistic practice and does not address integration in detail but I assume the working premise is that in a majority white culture “integration” includes a demand to comply to white gaze – without equal pressure for society to change.

Their interview presents a solution, or an angle towards the question of integration.

Military conscripts are not allowed to wear their own clothes when leaving the barracks for holidays, this is a brilliantly effective tool for the army to enforce its presence in public spaces. Iduozee recalls when they were granted leave and moved through the city in uniform. They describe it as passing in the city: the uniform afforded them public acceptance. They present this as “infiltrating” this society, and propose investigating it in opposition to integration. They propose hacking the system.

Uniforms allow us to take space, to circumvent expectations and biases. The interview presents it as a path to outsmart and topple systems, operating in them without compromising ourselves. I think this offers a novel path for organizing progressive spaces. Movements and assemblies may work against integration, yet occupy structures that afford them to pass in the public sphere. This is useful locally, in a society led by the elderly, that still wants to maintain democratic structures, expressed as a multitude of “independent” organizations such as associations.

A classical precondition of progressive movement hinges on a miraculous-amount of study, self-improvement and sustainable community organizing. (In practice I think sustainability is too often defined as something quantifiable but the focus should be on desire, which we should seek to maintain as we progress upstream) This is a utopia we work to achieve and which I believe in, by committing in sharing skills, knowledge and making thought accessible. The premise of collecting a miraculous-amount of people under an umbrella for the revolutionary phase to emerge, is a monolithic approach. I have a feeling that hacking and infiltration offers relevant momentum for organizing.

Hacking works because it does not rely on our best trades, rather it starts from the premise that systems are made vulnerable because we, as humans, are exploitable. Respecting our weaker trades as organizers, affords fluidity and dexterity. In practice, as an organizer in progressive spaces, I can only hope that people share a trajectory, and even accept that they do not articulate their goals in a manner I feel comfortable with. I don’t want to police people’s desires.  Hacking leans on trust and enforces trust in others. People do not need to engage from a shared premise to be effective in their revolt against ruling class interests.

As an example, all European independence struggles have been started by conspiring to topple ruling groups. To foster change, it makes sense to maintain tolerance for people who are building movements by enforcing binary models (us vs. them). I choose to trust that people will, through inclusive organizing, favor democratic models because the desire to be together is stronger than a desire for control.

This way organizing emerges as something close to community pedagogic’, where the focus is in facilitating people’s engagements and mutual aid, so that we don’t hurt each other. It respects people’s autonomy and embraces weaknesses. The process is led by a desire to ensure that respect for basic human rights is maintained, rather than testing or vetting the rigor of people’s ambitions or militancy. A common understanding of what people want, will emerge as we proceed in toppling the structures that oppress us.

I know scientific Marxism identifies this as opportunism, which is proven to lead to betrayal and… I’m conflicted. But right now, for me it feels that the local terrain permits shrewdness. The sustainability deficit of our local boomer-generation-erected-institutions is heading towards a full collapse. The responsibilities which a multitude of specialized institutions have maintained are being redistributed, or re-concentrated and positions of power are up for grabs. Social services, and some health services like gambling addictions are now handled as volunteer efforts, and safeguarded positions (like volunteer vote-counters in elections) are crying for community involvement for their upkeep.

There are real openings which progressive groups can choose occupy, with small risks and minimal effort. The moment for this occupy movement is now and won’t wait for proper class consciousness to emerge. While we wait, we risk losing access to the public sphere and the popular support of local democracy initiatives.

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Post-Document

I’m embarrassed to write about “the genocide” because it unclear how to write about it when we are involved in it. (We write it weekly, daily and hourly in secure chats and to make article correction letters to mainstream media, to make sure the word is used and killings made explicit. But this is not writing to express anything, its writing to survive as a human while witnessing a genocide)

A genocide has to be stopped, but writing “after” it feels worse. This is what “post-” is for, to make space for something which is current but too close to fully observe. We have arrived at post-genocide and have to come to terms that it occurred with institutional approval. Legal and institutional frameworks rooted on an idea of a common good & rational have been invalidated.

Post-democratic leaders have lost their mandate to rule and they will work to change definitions to meet past criteria. This is producing “humanitarian ethnic cleansing” and “geopolitical gentrification” as a reality. To continue in power our post-leaders will have to radically alter what is in living memory.

Words changing meaning is generally good. For example friendships becoming love and political dreams becoming humanitarian duty. But people get hurt when the technocratic mainstream media is applying market logic to popular discourse. Today our national broadcasting company Yle published an article explaining what “a famine” is, or explicitly how UN defines it. A definition of a concept has become news.

We the people are mostly fine with post-truth, it does not concern people who believe and hear each other. The more propaganda we get served the closer we listen to our peers and the more sense it makes to organize demonstrations, to come together for staying in truth. But institutions in the public sphere, which are in dialogue with mainstream media and use it to access public discourse are weaker than people. When the Sumud – Finnish Palestine network sent a complaint to the justice counselor on Finland’s complicity in the genocide trough arms-trade, the government included a citation from BBC News to downplay the concern.

If there is no-one trying to make sense of things, our state becomes a vessel for capital interests. This is not the communist in me analyzing life post-covid… This is me, in my moderate SDP-pants, expressing myself in a blog as a university graduate petite bourgeoisie. A “sivistysporvari” with a three-wheel moped and mid-career issues. This me was shocked to learn that a senior researcher of the Finnish Institute of International Affairs Timo R. Stewart, moderate but firm in issues related to settler colonialism and Palestine, got sacked yesterday.

This is how our state will proceed to erase living memory, it is happening today. Radical individuals get hurt and moderate voices sidelined. The best option conservative leaders imagine is getting used by an empire. They scrambling for the protection of oligarchs east and west.

Democratic post-war institutions of Europe, which we the citizens commit to and under which accords have granted state control over our education and privacy, have failed in their duty to prevent a genocide. The foundations of the EU are torn apart and its mandate lost, existence ungrounded. To establish a new base post-leaders are scrambling to present war and preparation as a valid agenda. To cope with their inaction institutions turned to suppressing freedom of speech and silencing folk. To top this off Chat Control, an espionage directive might pass in the parliament.

There is no memory organization to sustain an understanding of what has taken place post-October 2023. The truth persists in the assemblies, bruises and DIY. It’s weak but has piercing current. To change where we are headed we need to halt the common good agenda, seeking a good life is not an option.

In Finland we can say anything but there is no one to listen to us. We talk sense to each other through direct democratic action, and take comfort that all traces get automatically deleted for security. Resistance efforts get archived as 2D and slogans on Instagram. We represent a generation which does not have enough assets to become a fossil.

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Our Greatest Times

When returning from my studio on the E Train last week, I stumbled on something weird about text. As I immersed myself deep into my book I noticed the distances between individual characters changing the more I understood what was written. Have you ever experienced the same? I used my thumb as a ruler, placing it over short sentences to verify the movement of their characters. To my horror I observed that anything placed on top of the words changed dimensions too. Convinced that I was witnessing words changing their meaning, I hastily changed trains at Pasila and returned to my studio to study the phenomenon. In my experiments, I noticed the effect was strongest in sentences referencing different guidelines and rules. I proceeded to measure the character dispersal rate and observed that different watch instruments indicated widely different dispersal speeds. For example, a watch made from a fossil did not measure significant changes and even helped to contain character movement and alphabetical jitters. But a watch containing Kurängen spring water accelerated letter movement: I saw words recompiling anew as if they were in a whirlpool. To permit safe return home I geared up with watches that affected character dispersals at different speeds. Passing the city, I used them to control the movements of floating letters and entire words, which had dislodged from between book covers and blocked my passage by hovering mid-air in public spaces. With practice, using my watch instruments I could reorder entire chapters when I needed to make room for thought. Armed with my timepieces I finally made it home and have since continued patrolling the district at night time. If you witness floating characters please get in touch immediately +358505729743

Score for the “Our Greatest Times” -performance executed by exhibition overseers & art mediators at Survival Kit 15 Measures: Wear the watch you enjoy the most and ask the public “What time is it?” when you get bored. Script details in in Latvian and English (.pdf) provided to the exhibition overseers. “Yli-Vakkuri’s frustrated, altered wristwatches, decorated with nonsensical objects, seashells and rocks, point to hiccups and ambiguities in the linear timeline.” Xenia Benivolski (e-flux)

 

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Virgincore

Becoming a Virgin came easy for them. Their pose and gait echoed determination in the matter, even before anyone could spot the badge on their sleeve. There were a few others committed to the cause in their school but they didn’t hang out —as advised— only meeting during scheduled training like today and eventually when deployed. This helped them avoid falling in love and aided remaining in love.

They felt a tap on their shoulder and knew to lower their comsystem, focusing on the lecture. A Con-Kar Virgin waiting deployment had entered the room and gazed patiently at the recruits.

“Welcome.” They spoke in a soft tone and continued by providing a thorough account of their privileges.

Their account was short, not reflecting the absence of such but rather providing the first lesson of the day… How to express them in a manner which does not take any unnecessary space or time. The condensation was punctuated with a shallow nod and a kind eyed gaze touching all the attendees. All in equal measure for total accountability.

They were captivated by the instructors’ passing gaze. It was serene and fair, both acknowledging the acuteness of the moment and allowing it to pass. These were the moments which kept them in the Virgincore program despite their families disapproval. Participation set a trajectory, an articulated path, witnessing it provided them a sense of freedom few could afford.

In truth their family was proud of their commitment but horrified to express it. The lockdown of Inner cities was firm and opportunities to protest or feel publicly were scarce. The Virgincores commitment and performances had become a lifeline. For many the Virgins, serving as proxy were the only way to experience anything at all. Being constantly reminded of their service was, for their family, a privilege beyond what they could afford to express.

They dozed into a comfortable slumber listening to the Con-Kar Virgins introductory notes. After this the trainees exercised the cone position, entered a diamond position and performed privilege exposures by meticulously naming all their skin hues.

A trainee of their age expressed skills in identifying tones in the ultraviolet spectrum. “I am hamdazzle, slisre, peelorg and my arms are fiibfer below the elbow…” the group gathered around bewildered. Noting the disruption the instructor explained: “Please observe, the ultraviolet spectrum is a novel area and our vocabulary is not yet codified on the colours in this domain.”

They all continued documenting the uttering and tuning their irises, hoping to catch a glimpse of what the gifted practitioner witnessed. This overtook the rest of the session.

At the same time the Elders Council voted on a Proposal for the Third Declaration for Provisional Measures for Cancelling the Scheduled Grant Reset Events. The proposal had no binding articles, most voted “blank” anyway and just in case someone had issued a veto too. In the grand scheme the impact of the measure would have been marginal anyway. The chair inhaled deep into the microphone adjourning the assembly. They all headed to tea in full ranks. As the bulky iron doors of the Elders Councils tea chamber were sealed the Pre-emptive system initiated its daily calculation.

The Pre-emptive system, an orb on a stick appearing to be hovering in the middle of the bunker plaza, assesses all known vectors and maps the impact of the Elders decisions on the severest of recent conflicts across and plots proportional responses. If the maths suggested an immediate Grant Reset, the Virgincore advisory group was automatically notified and tasked to dispatch Virgins to halt the escalation. This time the call arose for seven and the Virgincore advisory group sent them out without hesitation. “A Virgin per Gigaton” the clerk, noting the process muttered.

The training was interrupted by seven brass chimes. The trainees, currently engaged in a group massage turned to the Con-Kar Virgin for advice. “Comms” they spoke softly and all formed a circle on the floor all opening their devices and immersed in the blue glow they emitted.

Collectively they witnessed Virgins being loaded into their shells. “That’s 7 gigatons worth of de-escalation! It’s a big one, wonder which front they will be dispatched to?” someone asked as others nodded. “One is a trainee! This is serious! Look, just like us!”

Trainee Virgins were only sent accompanied by multiple Con-Kar Virgins as the risks of trainees micro-flinching before impact was high. In the unfolding scenario, accompanied by six Con-Kar, a trainees yield could overexeed their intrinsic potential. Performance depended on timing. The Virgin capsules were serene ovals, fitting a laying body. After being closed the kind eyes of the Virgins inside were projected on the capsule’s outer shells. The trainees looked diligently for signs of regret in the eye projections. None should be expressed during loading for the operation to succeed in maximum yield.

The stream glowing blue from their comsystem appeared slow paced. The only distinct markers on the pods were eyes showing on their outer hulls. Each gray pod taking an unassuming position in a neat row, all flown straight towards the front line. Assessing the carrier vessel’s speed was difficult as the scale of the ruins under it, in the greyness of the torn landscape, was endless.

Then, the vessel’s hatch opened determinately. Air flow caught on a loose strap which shook violently in the wind and in the scale of things it was the only thing moving. The eyes on the capsules did not blink as they were dropped. Trainees immersed in the blue glow could see shells falling down appearing as gray rice grains, reflecting the terrain as they descended. Very soon the capsules were too small to be distinguished from the rubble and the hatch closed smoothly.

A text scrolled in the blue glow: “Seven Virgins dead from impact. Visuals too graphic to share. Casualties include a Trainee. Elders Council pleased, Grand Reset Averted”. The glow then displayed the eyes of the decided, their final eye blink before the capsules impacted. They all looked confident, with absolutely no regrets. The last pair on the stream were of the trainees’. Their pupils dilated, as a microscopic expression of divine delight.

In response the Con-Kar Virgin produced a tear, which positioned itself neatly on the outermost corner of their eyelid, politely making for an easy wipe. “Class dismissed” they spoke and all knotted. Each walking home a different path and keeping distance from the crowds. They could feel their pose changing as they departed but closer to home their gait had a light touch. Washing their feet before bed they spotted a new hue on their skin. It was paslax but they could see it only for an eye blink.

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Dandelion

They were looking for puzzle pieces under the sofa. The green piece which father called nallen kenkä was the last part missing. But they only saw a yellow ball and soft cloth there. “This cloth you wear around the neck” they remembered, with the white hapsut which feel neat to roll between fingers.

Someone was doing the dishes in the small room. Metal bowls chimed in the sink, the tones muffled by soap bubbles. They wanted jam their hands into the white foam but felt an urgency to find something. The yellow ball was too far to reach, so they gave up and sat legs straight on the rug. It tickled.

They needed to scratch their leg bends and as they did they felt wet noodles between their fingers. Pulling on them hurt so they turned and saw spaghetti coming out of their feet. It wiggled coming out and they could feel the tips of the treads moving fast, looking for cracks to settle in.

It was exciting. Mother would be proud of them because they grew in size. They shouted in delight and stood up. As they stood they reached high, they were all grown up and the spaghetti was blasting from their fingertips towards the floor. The tips crawled into cracks seeking for moisture and they felt their throat opening at ease.

The cry had severity to it but mother remained calm. Being alarmed by every alarm would be too much, so they dried their hands before attending to it. The shout had not been that of pain but excitement. While passing the narrow corridor leading to the living room they heard something curiously scraping the floor.

Entering the room, they had to support themselves by touching the wall. They knew they were too late but still shouted the child’s name before dropping to their knees. This cry was of pain but muffed to not to alarm what remained. They looked around for support but we’re alone now. The child had turned into a flower, standing tall on the living room floor.

They saw proudness in the sadness and felt accomplished. Mother sat down with their eyes in awe, then placed their hand on their chest, all fingers pointed out and nodded with approval. This helped them to spread their petals out evenly. Every leaf fresh and soft. New buds formed on their shoulders and they settled their chest leaves towards the sun.

A week passed and they were planted to the garden. From there they gained a way to travel, surprising their father and sister by quickly pushing through the soil with a smile. Sister cried in delight every time. Father too, but they had a concerned expression as if they had lost something. Occasionally they turned a patch of the meadow yellow, appearing right before mother passed it.

Wobbling in the sun.