'Violence and Utopia'

An unpublished, incomplete liner note meant to accompany the 2017 edition of Film Mutations in Zagreb, with its thematic emphasis on 'Violence and Utopia' - written for Tanja Vrvilo. 

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‘Violence and utopia’ – phrased in this manner, the two seem to resemble, so to say, the components of a mathematical equation: variable quantities, sovereign unto themselves, inert from the influence of the other; bestowed with the privilege to exert an independent consequence on the final outcome.

The Child’s Return, a short story by Rabindranath Tagore ends thus:

At the end of the month, Anukul sent him some money to his village. But the money came back. There was no one there by the name of Raicharan.

The only real privilege available to the oppressed is anonymity – he is the lord, ultimately, of only his physical form, and nothing else. As a radical gesture, he will sublimate himself, render himself absent. He will commit therefore the greatest act of violence: that of self-erasure. He will no longer be available to a system whose sustenance depends on his steady exploitation – and yet, soon, his moral victory will be forgotten. It is the truth that he is not indispensable, that he will be replaced; his agency is, after all, hardly exclusive. Violence exists, therefore, not as a quantity sovereign from utopia, but as its greatest, most enduring yield. A violence because of utopia – not separate from it.

It is also true that the part of the country I come from, the family is the most fundamental, irreducible unit of personal existence – the circumstances of one’s birth can determine the course of an entire lifetime. While one’s affiliations may vary: from a political party, to an artistic movement, to a pop-culture icon, to a larger ideology – one belongs, ultimately, to one’s family and not much else. Families in India simulate the utopian notion through a series of peripheral, visible symbols: an expensive house, imported furniture, a car with leather upholstery (or perhaps, a convoy), a son who is sent overseas for education, a membership of the neighbourhood club, a library with shelves full of unread books, etc.

The sustenance and nourishment of this utopian order does not rely, however, on understanding, on compassion, or on gestures of kindness – but on a regime of violence. On a day-to-day basis, a chronology of casual violence is erected: individuality is denied, mocked at; there is no possibility of sexual expression; atheism is discouraged; and the pursuit of hygiene and aesthetics are deemed collective goals. Then, acts of swift, grave malevolence: the food is not distributed equally, there is no heating in one of the bedrooms, the elderly are not invited to family functions to avoid embarrassment, etc. Violence as a fuel that perpetuates a utopia, makes it possible. A utopia because of violence – again, not separate from it.