Pregled posta

Marketing

One of the projects that the new colonial media, BBC Persian, has benevolently embarked on recently, is to construct a history of Iranian radical leftist resistance for us. They narrated and categories a history of armed struggle on the 40th anniversary of formation of Fadayian-Khalgh (radical Marxist guerillas). Moreover, they attempted to single out prominent Marxists to set measures of who is really a Communist fighter.
Among all the possible choices, they assigned a large space to introduce Maryam Firouz, the wife of Kianouri (head of Toudeh party) as the Red Princess. She was represented as Princess Maryam Farman Farmanian, the woman who left his powerful and super affluent aristocratic family to join a life of combatant and hardship with Toudeh members and remained a Marxist till the end even turtured by Islamic Republic (can you recognize the conventional romanticised narrative?).
To me that was such a problematic choice, prioritising Maryam Firouz over all Iranian or let's say Farsi-speaking (to include Afghan and Tajik comrades) female comrades seems to follow certain criteria. During the 150 years of fierce fighting with Imperialism and capitalism, many women from proletariat background whose father and husband were not affluent, powerful or famous fought and sacrificed their lives for their belief. Why was Maryam Firouz singled out?

Lacan would say the choice was based on her relation to phallus. In this chain of signification (Western, Liberal and here colonial) one is recognised as a signifier either through being phallus (such as conventional representation of women as phallus, sexy and desirable and BBC Persian website presented such photos of Maryam Firouz) or having phallus; being attached to sources of power, fame, wealth through identification with masculine positions.

What if we decide to narrate our history not in accordance with phallus but in accordance with lack?

One day, we will write a history of prominent female Marxists who fought for their beliefs in the last 150 years. We will choose women who did not come from wealthy background, did not have powerful father, were not the wife or mistress of this or that party member, thinker or who did not have any association with the important circles. We will write another history of those who fought for their desire which cracked all the phallic representations, those who started from their lack and remained faithful to their pain.

And the last chapter will be about female comrades who were brought up in the Islamic Republic, those who started to fight with empty hands, no support what so ever, those who started with nothing not because they were crazy but because there were no other choice than to fight. A history of unknown comrades which BBC Persian deletes.

Comrade M should be assigned a spacial place in that narrative.

This is the last rally I was at with with Luke. In Sacramento, CA a week before Thanksgiving 2008, fighting for climate justice and against wanton carbon market hijinks. Luke managed to co-organize hundreds of folks from the central valley to turn up to bear witness to the normally sanguine meeting of the CARB-CA Air Resources Board. The "suits" sitting next to me in the auditorium, were busily typing into blackberries: "All these folks are here in green t-shirts! You won't believe it..." Folks like Luke!

The last time I spoke to him was the day before he began an around-the-world birding expedition earlier this year. He called me. "Yo Dorsey...I gotta tell ya, I'm not going to be able to speak to you for about the next six months... I'm going far, far away...and I won't have access to a phone or even the internet..." I was flabbergasted. We had been co-plotting over the past several months on so much: about sharing a researcher, dealing with legal matters, dealing with the emerging CO2 markets, dealing with Obama's environment team, etc., etc., etc.. Jokingly I said, "Well... if you're not gonna have a damn phone or internet... you had better be going to Easter Island or the South Pole...And you had better be going there by ship! Especially if I can't reach you..." There was a longish pause...and he continued: "Well... that's actually where we're going...and we're going by boat..."

We both burst into laughter!

I'd been ribbing him, via comments on his fotos, on the whole trip, which he'd been documenting on facebook. "Enough already with these amazing fotos!" ... "When are you getting back to work!?" (Of course I was jealous...and the fotos were BREATHTAKING. Dude is/was a great fotographer.)

Comrade Cole, left the earth on Saturday (6 June 2009) morning, after sustaining injuries from a car crash in Western Uganda. I miss him now and will miss him dearly.