“We believe the world will continue to get worse but that our lives will continue to get better.” – an American teenager
This is a quote from a fascinating essay written by a high schooler in Virginia. I am not sure what to make of it—which is very typical of how I, a mid-20-something, often feel about people a few years younger than myself. Sometimes I find it amazing that when I was in middle school and high school people here in the US still listened to Nirvana, there was no global war, and someone as articulate as Bill Clinton was president. This was before the rise of hardcore “retro” culture (I know some will debate me on when retro culture emerged–I would say, at least, there has been a categorically-different acceleration of retro culture since 2001), the global war, and a person seemingly without any of the qualities of a traditional leader being twice elected president of the US. This was also the brief period between the “simulated” war (Desert Storm) and the global war, that is, in the happy time before even the earth beneath our feet became endangered by the abstract, diffuse forces of global warming– (itself becoming a media trope for the uncontrollable destruction of global capitalist development, with the understated implication that even if the USA DID SOMETHING about global warming it wouldn’t matter because India and China would just plow right ahead.)
However, people under the age of twenty probably do not remember this time at all. For them, Pearl Jam has always been a crappy, backwards looking band–I remember when Vitalogy seemed like the cutting-edge!
But more seriously, people who are high school seniors–like the author of the linked essay–were not mature at the time of 9/11. Their entire metamorphosis into adulthood has occurred within this environment of global war, popular discussions of global catastrophe (especially pandemics and, over the last couple of years, the “tipping point” of global warming), and the emergence of what I tend to think of as Hardt and Negri’s “Empire”: a global network of geo-political formations (esp. the WTO and G8, but also the North American super-state created by NAFTA) that exceed the political-economic boundaries of the nation-state, roughly ranked with information economies on top, then industrial, and then agricultural/tourist economies. When NAFTA first went into effect, there was still the (misguided) hope that the US would somehow retain its role as an industrial and agricultural economy–it’s clear no one really believes this any more. In the cultural sphere, grunge music walked the line between the time when America still had a flannel-wearing, white working class and the rise of transnational industrial and agricultural servitude and migrant labor. In 1994, NAFTA went into effect–and Kurt Cobain killed himself, with warm flannel and overworked jeans being totally assimilated into the cold sphere of America’s empty signs, i.e. fashion and retro (simulacra).
It is within this American context that I read statements like “We don’t believe in politics.” It is a perfectly reasonable thing to say, in so much as politics is rooted in Aristotle’s conception of how to best organize and manage a city-state. There is nothing further from a city-state than Empire, and while for people my age who came to maturity in the booming nationalism of the 90’s tech boom the nation-state and traditional politics (to me Bill Clinton is the last politician, so to speak) seemed operative, but people under the age of 20 apparently do not remember this era.
The essay continues:
“We don’t believe that protests or the media can create change. In short, today’s teens have given up on traditional ways to participate in politics.“
“What do we believe in? We believe in technology, that newer, cleaner machines will help save the environment. We believe in education, and that investing in college will help us find better-paying jobs–which we’ll need because we sure don’t place our trust in Social Security. We believe that, as we are less racist and sexist than our parents, so too our children will be less biased than we are. We believe the world will continue to get worse but that our lives will continue to get better. We believe, in an abstract way, in justice, peace and freedom, but we mostly fail to see our connection to those ideals. Teenagers today aren’t “apathetic”–most of us just don’t see the point of politics.“
There is a lot that can be said about this essay. I would love to hear someone else’s opinions about it.
This last paragraph is disturbing to me because it suggests being “stuck,” so to speak. What I mean is that 1) it is clear to most young people that established democratic political strategies are completely compromised, and 2) there isn’t an alternative. All that is currently available to young people is the pie-in-the-sky hope that “technology”–itself a reification of a variety of processes and developments that are inseparable from the political sphere itself–will stop the looming world disaster of global warming, that college will assure a more stable life (which, as recent graduates have found, is definitely not the case), and, most paradoxically, that even though “the world” will continue to get worse, “our” lives will continue to get better (a total, reactionary refusal of the old modernist dialectic between Self and Other).
Out of these incoherent beliefs emerges less a particular consciousness or a generational “experience” than a collection of singular expressions of fear and, I believe, an isolation that marks off the individual and her “good life” from the general good life of the world to which she is (unconsciously) bound. There is no feeling of responsibility to an other, seemingly no feeling that one’s own happiness is bound up with the person on the street–rather, the essay expresses the feeling that although “the world” might well be going to hell in a handbasket, “we” (always an almost self-conscious recoding of “the privileged”) will still be better off. To me, this kind of statement always rings hollow: it comes off more like bravado in the face of uncertainty than any expression of sustainable, heartfelt belief.
This feeling of being unbound from a community and “the world” is probably the major theme of the essay, and the basic reason that politics seems to have no point. Combined with the sadness in the writing, and the fearfulness beneath the surface of its many assertions, it seems evident that for these high schoolers a feeling of radical unboundedness is a way of expressing a sense of indescribable confinement.
To be unbound–what does that mean?
The essay suggests a youth with no space to explore, to think, to develop relationships that may be entirely stupid but also entirely fruitful. This isn’t just romanticism but, truly, social and ethical connections are space, and to assert the absence of connection to either “the world” or to “ideals” is another way of expressing a kind of metaphysical suffocation. The room without walls is a debilitating schizophrenia–not the productive “new-connections-making” schizophrenia of D&G, but a total “unplugging” from the world and consequent loss of means through which one establishes identities.
But, I struggle in reading this essay–as I said before, for me its overarching message is one of alterity. I do not feel this way, and I DEFINITELY did not feel that way when I was 17 or 18. This attitude of floating detachment is, in most way, wholly other to me.
For those of us from a different “world,” so to speak, we must approach this generation with a difficult combination of openness and distance. We must remember we were not like them, the generation whose consciousness is molded by catastrophist war and rhetoric.
The most dangerous response to this teenager’s essay, I fear, will be the most common one: “Oh, it’s always been like that.”
For those of us who are older, we must maintain the truth.
In short, we must maintain that, on the contrary, it hasn’t always been this way–and it needn’t be this way.