Two Things I Read Today, or, Doing Cinephilia Better

Quite by chance, I read two articles today that worked in tandem to make me reflect, not only on what I'm doing here, but what I am accomplishing or not accomplishing in my (minor) career as a writer and public citizen. It isn't as though the issues addressed were completely new to me, but they were expressed in a way that prompted me to think deeply about what they had to say.

The first was an interview in The Guardian with Robin DiAngelo, the sociologist who wrote the bestseller White Fragility. In the interview, she discusses, not surprisingly, the invisibility of whiteness and in particular the perils of white liberalism, the defensiveness that comes along with thinking "I'm not racist," but being unwilling to interrogate the degree to which one participates in, and benefits from, the prevailing system of white supremacy. 

This is something I try to be cognizant of as I go through life, but I began to wonder whether I am being vigilant enough. After all, I benefit from a presumption of expertise, based on my academic credentials, but also, I strongly suspect, my white maleness. My embodied self simply corresponds to the presumed knowing subject of white supremacy and patriarchy. I don't know how much easier it is for me to get assignments, or to be taken seriously, than my women colleagues or my colleagues of color. But I know that the publications I write for tend to be overwhelmingly white male in their composition. I directly benefit from this, but am I doing enough, or anything, to change it? (The same goes for my queer colleagues as well. I am a bisexual man, but I am in a long-term marriage with a woman, so I have considerable heteronormative privililege.)

The second article I read was a manifesto by my friend Girish Shambu entitled "For a New Cinephilia." In it, Girish articulates how the history of classical or "old" cinephilia is based on certain traits and practices that systematically exclude women, queer people, and people of color. The exclusive focus on aesthetic value, for example, to the exclusion of social and political meaning, is a form of privilege that is ingrained in the old cinephilia, as well as a propensity for hierarchies and listmaking. It's not just that the old cinephilia has favored an overwhelmingly white male canon; it has done so by making value judgments in large part derived from the authority that comes from patriarchy and white supremacy. A particular mode of engaging with cinema has become "naturalized" and "normal," like whiteness itself.

Girish goes on to explain how a "new" cinephilia exists, one that is more inclusive, not only in terms of its canon (or its skepticism toward canonicity itself), but also in terms of the aspects of cinema which are given value: engagement with the world, polyvocality, diversity, and political acuity. (I may be oversimplifying Girish's arguments, but I hope I am summarizing them fairly.) Cinema itself becomes plural rather than monolithic, and a multitude of ways of engaging with it are equally valid. As Girish states in his conclusion, "the two cinephilias do not form a simple, either/or binary system. Instead, they both live, whether in degrees small or large, in every individual cinephile." The old cinephilia, like sexism or racism, is always there to be unlearned.

How does my practice alienate non-whites and women? I am an obsessive list-maker, and I award numerical values to every new release I see. This pseudo-quantification is a hallmark of masculine prerogative, even though I have tried to downplay its importance. But just as importantly, how has my concern with aesthetic values -- in particular my engagement with experimental film -- sometimes curtailed my fuller engagement with diverse practices and cinematic identities? I have made an effort to write about women and people of color, but am I doing enough? And am I always gravitating towards artists who are working within a framework that aligns with my aesthetic biases? 

What's more, am I forthright enough about foregrounding what I do not know and cannot understand? When films engage with a specific cultural or ethnic tradition, in terms of folklore or minoritarian histories, do I admit that my whiteness limits my ability to engage with the object? Does engagement with the object on other (aesthetic) grounds represent a form of avoidance? Am I taking care to pass assignments on to colleagues more competent to handle those discourses (and who can always benefit from added exposure)?

The system in which I participate encourages business as usual. Because I care about revolutionary social justice, and because I care about my friends who are women, queer, and /or people of color, I insist on doing better.