The Petraeus sex scandal, liberal 'naming and shaming' of young racists and Rihanna's new single share a common theme: popular culture as survelliance. We all seem to be minding one another's business and keeping a watchful eye on one another.
Chris Brown's latest tattoo supposedly boasts violence against women. Lady Gaga has gained weight and now she's attempting to start a 'body revolution'. Amanda Todd, a teenage girl defined (and destroyed) by the image of her own body, committed suicide.
Now don’t get me wrong—of course I believe in saving the planet (at least until scientists determine if there are other inhabitable planets with better mobile phone service), but there's gotta be a limit.
The audience interested in seeing a black drug-dealing, rogue cop trumps any audience interested in seeing an entertaining film with plenty of black characters about the birth of America's most revolutionary and transformative civil conflict of the century, challenging white supremacy. Yet, with Negroes like Nellie neatly assimilated into the hegemonic beat, white racism really does not have to exist for blacks to perceive and profess oppression.