Rad Geek People's Daily

The whole notion of misinformation as conventionally construed has taken some blows lately, including scandals in the misinformation research field and, more importantly, some great work from Brendan Nyhan, Emily Thorson, and co-authors showing that in our review of behavioural science research on online misinformation, we document a pattern of low exposure to false and inflammatory content that is concentrated among a narrow fringe with strong motivations to seek out such information.

From where I sit, that’s all to the good — I’ve been complaining for years about the problems with this framework as an explanation for political outcomes. It is true that there is fringe content circulating on the internet and also that some of your political enemies probably believe some of it, but there’s little reason to believe that such content exerts an important causal influence on American politics.

That said, one complaint I still have about the misinformation paradigm is that even in its debunking forms, it uses a generic term in a highly specific and somewhat peculiar way.

People have a lot of erroneous beliefs about the policy status quo in the United States, and that seems to matter. These beliefs are normally not formed via exposure to some kind of social media misinformation; they’re just about things that aren’t in the news very much and that people misunderstand. Which is to say that people having information that is not correct is absolutely a huge deal in politics… it’s just not necessarily misinformation in the sense that the misinformation police intend. In Dylan Matthews’ profile of the State Department’s small but very successful intelligence bureau, for example, one thing that comes through is that the bulk of American intelligence agencies genuinely believed that Iraq had an advanced nuclear weapons program. This erroneous information had a huge impact on the media, on the mass public understanding of political debates 2002-2003, in decision-making in Washington, and on the broad trajectory of American politics.

And I think erroneous ideas that are perpetrated by mainstream institutions — what I’m going to call elite misinformation — are a really big deal in an underrated way. . . .

— Matt Yglesias, Elite misinformation is an underrated problem
Slow Boring, June 26, 2024

RIP Kinky Friedman (1944-2024).

From Albert Murray’s The Omni-Americans: Some Alternatives to the Folklore of White Supremacy (1970), in The Blues Idiom and the Mainstream:

The Blues Idiom and the Mainstream

. . . In current social science usage,^[1] the concept of survival technique has somehow become confused with technology and restricted to matters of food, clothing, and shelter. (Incidentally the most transparent fallacy of all white norm/black deviation folklore is its exaggeration of the cultural implications of the control by white people of the production and distribution of the creature comforts required for subsistence in the Temperate Zone.) Human survival, however, involves much more than biological prolongation. The human organism must be nourished and secured against destruction, to be sure, but what makes man^[2] human is style. Hence the crucial significance of art in the study of human behavior: All human effort beyond the lowest level of the struggle for animal subsistence is motivated by the need to live in style.

Certainly the struggle for political and social liberty is nothing if not a quest for freedom to choose one’s own way or style of life. Moreover, it should be equally as obvious that there can be no such thing as human dignity and nobility without a consummate, definite style, pattern, or archetypal image. Economic interpretations of history notwithstanding, what activates revolutions is not destitution (which is most often leads only to petty thievery and the like) but intolerable systems and methods–intolerable styles of life. . . .

. . . As an art form, the blues idiom by its very nature goes beyond the objective of making human existence bearable physically or psychologically. The most elementary and hence the least dispensable objective of all serious artistic expression, whether aboriginal or sophisticated, is to make human existence meaningful. Man’s^[3] primary concern with life is to make it as significant as possible, and the blues are part of this effort.

— Albert Murray, The Blues Idiom and the Mainstream
In The Omni-Americans: Some Alternatives to the Folklore of White Supremacy (1970), pp. 54-55, 57.

1. ^[1][The opening section of the book is really fascinating. The argument in this section is also notable for its especially unrelenting hostility towards efforts (by social science technicians, etc.) to introduce quantitative social science findings into the public debate over social issues. There are some reasons why staking out this opposition was understandable, and productive, within the specific context of Murray’s argument and the rising strains of technocratic liberalism and neoconservatism within the public intellectualism in mid-late 1960s America. (You can see some similar strains of argument raising parallel concerns in something like young Noam Chomsky’s The Responsibility of Intellectuals, for example.) On the other hand, on the whole I think that nevertheless, on reflection, introducing quantitative social science findings into the public debate over social issues is often a pretty good idea, and the efforts to do this at the time deserved plenty of vigorous criticism but also a lot of attention and sympathy. —R.G.]↩
2. ^[2][Sic. —R.G.]↩
3. ^[3][Sic. —R.G.]↩

This is from the generally really excellent Prologue to Ira Berlin’s Many Thousands Gone: The First Two Centuries of Slavery in North America (1998). Many Thousands Gone is and remains one of the best, must-read books on the history of American slavery. Not because it proves an important point; it does prove some important points, but the reason it’s a must-read is that it very seriously, and thoroughly, and thoughtfully complicates an important point that is all too often over-simplified.

Prologue: Making Slavery, Making Race

Of late, it has become fashionable to declare that race is a social construction. In the academy, this precept has gained universal and even tiresome assent, as geneticists and physical anthropologists replace outmoded classifications of humanity with new ones drawn from recent explorations of the genome.^[1] But while the belief that race is socially constructed has gained a privileged place in contemporary scholarly debates, it has won few practical battles. Few people believe it; fewer act on it. The new understanding of race has changed behavior little if at all.

Perhaps this is because the theory is not quite right. Race is not simply a social construction; it is a particular kind of social construction–a historical construction.^[2] Indeed, like other historical constructions–the most famous of course being class–it cannot exist outside of time and place. To follow Edward Thompson’s celebrated discussion of class, race is also a fluency which evades analysis if we attempt to stop it dead at any given moment and atomize its structure. Race, no less than class, is the product of history, and it only exists on the contested social terrain in which men and women struggle to control their destinies.^[3] The reluctance to embrace the new understanding of race as socially constructed derives neither from a commitment to an older biological classification system, which in truth is no better understood than the newer genetics, nor from a refusal to acknowledge the reality of an ideological logical construct. Instead, it derives from the failure to demonstrate how race is continually redefined, who does the defining, and why. This book is in part an attempt to address that problem, first by recognizing the volatility of the experiences which collectively defined race, and then by suggesting how they shifted over the course of two centuries.

Many Thousands Gone is a history of African-American slavery in mainland North America during the first two centuries of European and African settlement. Like all history, it is a study of changing relationships. The emphasis on change is important. . . .

— Ira Berlin (1998), Many Thousands Gone: The First Two Centuries of Slavery in North America (Belknap Press / Harvard University Press; Kindle Locations 25-36).

. . .

Slave society in mainland North America did not cease to change in the first decades of the nineteenth century when this book concludes. Historians who have tried to hold time constant in order to explain the complex interactions of master and slave or the development of the slave personality have inevitably found their investigations stymied and their conclusions stereotyped by their very method. Even the most complex social relationships become caricatures when men and women-subalterns or superiors-are frozen in time. In the study of slavery, such static visions rob both slaves and slaveholders of their agency or, more strangely, allows agency but denies that their struggle changed the basic constellation of social relations. If the masters’ hegemony is immutable, slaves and their owners are reduced to stock figures of the scholarly imagination. In mainland North America, slaves (like their owners) were simply not the same people in 1819 that they had been in 1719 or 1619, although the origins and color of the slave population often had not changed.

Indeed, the meaning of race itself changed as slavery was continually reconstructed over the course of those two centuries. Projecting the regimen of seventeenth-century tobacco production, the aesthetics of African pottery, or the eschatology of animistic religion into the nineteenth century is no more useful than reading the demands of blackbelt cotton production, the theology of African-American Christianity, and the ethos of antebellum paternalism back into the seventeenth century. It is important to remember that at the beginning of the nineteenth century, when this book concludes, the vast majority of black people, slave and free, did not reside in the blackbelt, grow cotton, or subscribe to Christianity. That the character of slave life in North America was reversed a half century later is a striking commentary on a period that historians have represented as stable maturity. This radical transformation affirms the notion that slavery’s history can be best appreciated in terms of generations of captivity and the many thousands who suffered through the long night of American enslavement. Although it would take more than another other half century before the last slave in the United States could intone the words, No more auction block … No more hundred lash … No more Mistress call, the words of the great spiritual would remind all of the many thousands before the day of jubilee.

— Ira Berlin (1998), Many Thousands Gone: The First Two Centuries of Slavery in North America (Belknap Press / Harvard University Press; Kindle Locations 195-208).

1. ^[1]For a powerful statement, see Barbara Jeanne Fields, Race and Ideology in American History, in J. Morgan Kousser and James M. McPherson, eds., Region, Race, and Reconstruction: Essays in Honor of C. Vann Woodward (New York, 1982), 143-77. Also see Henry Louis Gates, Jr., ed., Race, Writing, and Difference (Chicago, 1986), 1-20; Stuart Hall, Cultural Identity and Diaspora, in Jonathan Rutherford, ed., Identity (London, 1990), 222-37; and Evelyn Brooks Higginbotham, African-American Women’s History and the Metalanguage of Race, Signs, 17 (1992), 251-74. A handy discussion of the new biology can be found in Jonathan M. Marks, Human Biodiversity: Genes, Race, and History (New York, 1995); also see Steven Jay Gould, Why We Should Not Name Races–A Biological View, in Gould, Ever Since Darwin: Reflections on Natural History (New York, 1977).↩
2. ^[2]Although Barbara Fields’s original formulation and later elaborations on the meaning of race (Slavery, Race and Ideology in the United States of America, NLR, 181 [1990], 85-118) were aggressively historical, not all scholars have taken that tack. See, for example, Michael Omi and Howard Winant, Racial Formation in the United States: From the 1960s to the 1980s (London, 1986), which situates race in a specific historical setting but ignores the processes that are continually transforming it.↩
3. ^[3]E. P. Thompson, The Making of the English Working Class (New York, 1964), 9.↩