Let's Make Anti-fascism Great Again

 info-es-seville@democratsabroad.org

The next four years are gonna suck

"The next four years are gonna suck. But they’ll suck worse if we let the news cycle — and the man who dominates it — drain the joy from our lives. We need to pay attention and we need to stay in the fight. Because of course we do. But we should spend as much time as we possibly can over the next four years with friends and lovers doing things that bring us joy.

Anyone who tells you that making time for joy — however you define it — is a distraction or a betrayal has no idea what they’re talking about. During the darkest days of the AIDS Crisis, we buried our friends in the morning, we protested in the afternoon, and we danced all night. The dance kept us in the fight because it was the dance we were fighting for.

It didn’t look like we were going to win then and we did. It doesn’t feel like we’re going to win now but we could. Keep fighting, keep dancing."

- Dan Savage

What the 2024 Olympics tells us about global geopolitics

1. By Simon Chadwick, Professor of Sport and Geopolitical Economy, SKEMA Business School and Paul Widdop, Associate Professor of Sport Business, Manchester Metropolitan University
2. 
   
3. Published in The Conversation, August 2, 2004
4. 
   

Since the Olympic Games in Paris began, the French president, Emmanuel Macron, has posted the statement “This is France!” several times on his social media platforms.

Macron has been implicitly asserting that he is delivering on his personal vision of the event, and of France. Since his election in 2017, he has sought to project a diverse, cosmopolitan and outward-facing France while at the same time strengthening existing preconceptions of its style, culture and history.

The opening ceremony was therefore the embodiment of Macron’s ambitions. It combined landmarks like the Eiffel Tower and key figures from French history, such as Marie Antoinette, with cultural, musical and fashion representations of modern France. These included surfers, rappers and members of LGBTQ+ communities.

Since the Olympic Games in Paris began, the French president, Emmanuel Macron, has posted the statement “This is France!” several times on his social media platforms.

Macron has been implicitly asserting that he is delivering on his personal vision of the event, and of France. Since his election in 2017, he has sought to project a diverse, cosmopolitan and outward-facing France while at the same time strengthening existing preconceptions of its style, culture and history.

The opening ceremony was therefore the embodiment of Macron’s ambitions. It combined landmarks like the Eiffel Tower and key figures from French history, such as Marie Antoinette, with cultural, musical and fashion representations of modern France. These included surfers, rappers and members of LGBTQ+ communities.

Meanwhile, those from the extreme right have long resented and resisted Macron’s Parisian-centric and urban-led vision of diversity and modernity. This was evident in reactions to the opening ceremony’s depiction of Leonardo da Vinci’s painting, The Last Supper, in which drag queens, a transgender model and a naked singer appeared. France’s Catholic church condemned the sketch as a “mockery of Christianity”.

Paris Olympic organisers have since issued an apology, though this is unlikely to have placated Muslim communities around the world. Some among them labelled parts of the opening ceremony “absurd”, “disgusting” and a “promotion of satanic forms”. Others saw it as an attempt by the west to impose its values on them.

This sentiment was apparently shared by the Chinese state broadcaster, China Central Television, whose event commentators went quiet during the segments in which members of LGBTQ+ communities appeared. China has a record of seeking to suppress these communities.

For some French Muslims, there may also have been dismay at the depiction of a religious scene at an event being staged by a French state entity. After all, it was announced late last year that Muslim women would not be allowed to wear their hijabs when competing for France at the Olympics. The justification for this decision was that it would breach the country’s secularist principles, which create a clear separation between religion and state.

That decision came at an especially sensitive time, following the Hamas-led October 7 attacks and Macron’s invitation to France’s chief Rabbi to light Hannukah candles at the Élysée Palace. The war in Gaza continues to cast a shadow over the Games. Indeed, there are rumours of some athletes being prepared to withdraw from the event if they are required to compete directly against an Israeli athlete.

The simmering threat of such direct action has already manifested itself at the Games. During a football match between Mali and Israel on July 24, members of the crowd unfurled banners condemning the latter country and waved flags in support of Palestine. The vast majority (95%) of Malians are Muslim, and there are 120,000 people from Mali living in France.

Limited Russian presence

Israel is not the only country where there is some disquiet. Following recent doping scandals and the invasion of Ukraine, most Russian and Belarusian athletes are banned from participating in Paris. A few athletes are competing as neutrals, but national flags, anthems and other national symbols are banned, and no government or state officials have been invited.

The exclusion of Russia has led to speculation that its agents may have been responsible for a series of railway sabotages that caused significant travel disruption on the opening day of the Games. Though nobody was hurt or killed, such attacks undermine public confidence, impose economic and social costs on people, and were clearly an attempt to tarnish the image of France.

France has a long-held reputation for successfully delivering numerous major events each year. However, there was also disruption at the Uefa Champions League final in 2022, which was being staged at the Stade de France (the main Olympic venue this summer). Many Liverpool supporters were put through a traumatising experience when entering the stadium, and riot police teargassed spectators while failing to protect them from being attacked by local thugs.

This followed Paris quickly stepping in to stage the match after Uefa removed St Petersburg’s right to host the game following Russia’s invasion of Ukraine. Whether these events were another deliberate attempt to diminish France or just a coincidence remains debatable.

Some have suggested that Russia’s president, Vladimir Putin, has wanted to undermine the IOC for much of the past decade. He sees it as a western institution governed by values and rules that maintain a dominance he resents.

As such, Russia has been planning to host the World Friendship Games a little more than a month after the Paris Olympics finishes. While there is some confusion over whether the event will be postponed to 2025, there are claims that more than 100 nations have already committed to participating in what may ultimately come to pose an existential threat to the modern Olympic movement.

The IOC normally does its utmost to control the places and spaces that it selects to host Olympic events, whether that means suppressing displays of activism, preventing acts of terrorism, or even minimising the commercial intrusion of brands that have no legal right to associate with the event.

However, such is the currently fractious nature of local and global geopolitics that we should expect more controversy before the Olympic flame in Paris is finally extinguished.

QUEENDOM, remarkable portrait of a fearless activist and queer performer

Russian queer performance artist Gena Marvin’s incredible courage – and costumes – are on vivid display in Agniia Galdanova’s absorbing documentary. By WENDY IDE, The Observer, December 3, 2023

Protest takes many forms. When Russia invaded Ukraine in February 2022, some brave souls took to the streets of Moscow to voice their horror at the war, and were met with batons and police brutality. Radical queer performance artist Gena Marvin took a different approach. Wearing platform boots, body paint and wrapped in barbed wire, she walked the streets of Moscow in a stark, silent statement against the war. To call Gena a drag artist fails to capture just how subversive and courageous her public “performances” are. Her otherworldly costumes, created from junk and tape, show the influence of Leigh Bowery; her fearlessness evokes the punk provocation of Pussy Riot. But ultimately, as Agniia Galdanova’s remarkable observational documentary shows, Gena is her own extraordinary creation.

GENA MARVIN defiantly marches on the streets of Moscow dressed in 3-colour
scotch tape In protest against alexey navalny's arrest

MUST RESIST

An aerial view of protesters holding banners during a demonstration in Tel Aviv against Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu's judicial overhaul plans. Tens of thousands of protesters took to the streets of Israeli cities for the ninth straight week, on Saturday March 4th, to fight a government plan to overhaul the country's court system. 

Drone photo by Or Adar

We Stand With Salman Rushdie

Today, outside the New York Public Library, defending freedom of speech.

Yes, Europe is in danger. It always is.

By CAROLINE DE GRUYTER

The New York Times, Tuesday, May 3, 2022

BRUSSELS — In July 2020, along with European officials and experts, I was asked to take part in a policy game. Convened by a German think tank, we were asked to play out what would happen if either Matteo Salvini or Marine Le Pen, the far-right leaders in Italy and France, came to power. We spent a few hours frenziedly debating how the European Union would respond to each occurrence. Of one thing we were sure: It would be a disaster.

Neither scenario, of course, materialized. In Italy, Mario Draghi is prime minister and Mr. Salvini is sliding in the polls. In France, President Emmanuel Macron defeated Ms. Le Pen to win re-election. On the same day, Slovenia’s right-wing prime minister, an admirer of Donald Trump, lost too. It was a good few hours for Europe.

That’s about as long as it lasted. In Brussels and other European capitals, relief turned quickly to angst. The French parliamentary elections in June, in which Mr. Macron could lose his majority and be forced into awkward compromises with the far right or the radical left, are the new worry. Prime Minister Viktor Orban of Hungary, after securing re-election in early April, remains a disruptive presence on the scene. And Russia’s war in Ukraine grinds on.

Such anxiety is common in Europe. Many people seem to think that the European Union, which in different forms has provided Europeans with prosperity and peace since the 1950s, is always on the cusp of ruin. The past decade — encompassing a debt crisis, a refugee crisis, Brexit, the rise of the far right and, not least, the pandemic — has set off regular cries about the coming end of the union. And yet, despite everything, it endures. In a world of war and calamity, it needs to pull together even more.

The European Union’s solidity is perhaps its greatest asset. But it can’t rely on institutional stability alone. Europe is a dangerous place again. As a former prime minister of Sweden, Carl Bildt, once said, the union used to be surrounded by friends, but now it is surrounded by fire. Some neighbors are actively trying to undermine the union and destroy all that Europe stands for — with the war in Ukraine the latest terrifying example. In the face of such peril, which threatens to return the continent to barbarism, the case for binding together more tightly is all the more compelling.

Fortunately, Europeans have gotten to know one another better in recent times. During the debt crisis a decade ago, people across the continent watched heated debates in Greece’s Parliament. The fate of the country, bound to painful economic reforms, resonated far beyond its borders. Europeans likewise take great interest in Poland and Hungary curbing the independence of their judiciaries and press, and want the rule of law to be respected in member states.

Russia’s brutal war in Ukraine, and China’s growing economic and political coercion, have brought Europeans together even more. They realize they cannot weather these storms alone: Feeling their way of life is on the line, their reflex is to stick together. They may still not be very happy with the European Union — the way it works, the kinds of compromises it relies on — but they are certainly happier in it.

Such common feeling is of a piece with the union’s structure. The European Union has a federal, statelike construction that should be strong enough to defend common European interests in the face of geopolitical adversity. It has an executive (the Commission), a Parliament representing citizens, a senate representing states (the Council), an independent court of justice, a central bank and even a common border guard. This sturdy federal architecture is the bedrock of Europe’s stability.

In practice, however, it’s not like the federal structures in America or Germany. In Brussels, the de facto capital of the union, member states make most of the decisions. When European heads of state and government meet, they do so as national leaders. They are elected to act in the interests not of Europe but of their own nations. Whatever the issue at hand, they sit down, put their national concerns on the table and start bargaining. In the end, each will find some of its demands in the eventual compromise.

The system certainly has its advantages. It more or less guarantees national ownership of European decision-making; every member recognizes its fingerprints on the final agreement. This sense of ownership helps to explain why the union has survived so many crises in recent years: Member states have invested in it, depend on it and, crucially, want it to survive. But the downside to this approach is that by seeking consensus on almost every issue, Europe becomes as strong only as its weakest link. Leaders regularly make half-baked decisions because some countries refuse to go further, with results that do not always meet Europe’s real needs.

Examples are legion. Hungary, for instance, has blocked several foreign policy statements against Russia or China that all other member states agreed on. Poland, for its part, has single-handedly diluted Europe’s climate goals. And before the presidential elections in France, the government there delayed a decision on a European oil embargo against Russia, fearing the resulting rise of energy prices could favor Ms. Le Pen in her campaign against Mr. Macron. Often, Europe is the plaything of member states seeking to promote their own narrow interests. Mr. Macron, however “pro-European,” is no exception.

That’s why elections often cause such headaches. Democracy, to be sure, is Europe’s strength. It is the union’s core value, its beating heart. But democracy is also Europe’s weakness. That’s because the union is not really European: Instead, it involves 27 separate national democracies. If one of them produces a Eurosceptic government, it can endanger the entire European project, which depends on unanimity. The union is effectively held hostage every time elections are held somewhere — hardly a sustainable way to do things.

The French election, Mr. Macron said, was “a referendum on Europe.” The problem with Europe is exactly that: Every election is a referendum about Europe, in every corner of the continent. It would be strange if a state election in Montana or Mississippi risked undoing the Republic or derailing its foreign policy. In Europe, this is normal practice. That’s partly why, despite its success as a global economic powerhouse and a beacon of stability, Europe often lacks confidence and looks vulnerable in the mildest headwind.

Yet this paradox needn’t be permanent. In a world defined by instability, great power competition and rising prices, Europe must look after itself — and it has the means to do so. A phased embargoon Russian oil, likely to be finalized this week, is just a start. In the wake of the war in Ukraine, collective provision of defense and security is also a must, as is an energy union. What’s more, some kind of fiscal union — augmenting the current monetary union — might also be necessary, to coordinate the serious investments needed to shore up Europe’s resilience. Recognizing the need for bolstered unity, a group of European intellectuals last week even called for a United States of Europe.

I’m not sure the union will ever come to that. But it would be nice if at the policy game in Berlin this year, instead of fretting over worst-case scenarios, we could perhaps let ourselves imagine a bolder, stronger European Union. If we could all allow Europe to stand a little more on its own feet, it would make a world of difference.

On Democracy and the Internet

Social media’s business model is a threat to democracy – it’s time to change it. These companies are eroding our democratic institutions. The creator of Facebook’s ‘Like’ button says only public pressure and collective action can put a stop to it.

By JUSTIN ROSENSTEIN

30 October 2020 

In 2008, I helped create Facebook’s “Like” button. We were motivated by a simple question: “Can we spread more positivity and love in the world?” We wanted to build a feature that offered people more human connection.

Over a decade later, we have overwhelming evidence that social media – and its prioritization of Like-ability over truth – has had catastrophic, unintended consequences. We’re weeks away from an unprecedented US general election, which has become a referendum not only on political leadership, but also on the legitimacy of democracy. How did we get here? In no small part because social media platforms have degraded meaningful connection, threatened people’s ability to vote in fair and free elections and undermined faith in, and the future of, democracy.

As long as technology companies are incentivized to maximize profits, technology will be built that rewards shareholders at the expense of society

This is not fake news. For millions who have felt the effects, it’s not news at all. We have seen social media destabilize elections worldwide. We have felt our conversations become polarized. We have measured increasing rates of depression and cyberbullying, and seen both change the lives of our children. We have heard early social media employees speak out, myself included, most recently in the Netflix documentary, The Social Dilemma.

What haven’t we seen? Systemic change.

Social media and its content-recommendation algorithms are designed to maximize the amount of attention we give them. The more of your attention companies mine, the more ads they can sell and the more money they make. Unfortunately, outrage, blame and salacious lies are more engaging than nuanced truth.

As I’ve said before, prioritizing profit at the expense of the public good is not new. Because trees are worth more money dead than alive, people cut down trees. Because whales are worth more dead than alive, people kill whales. And because humans are worth more staring at screens than out living rich lives, platforms keep us staring.

As long as technology companies are incentivized to maximize profits, technology will be built that rewards shareholders at the expense of society. Absurdly, they have a legally-binding fiduciary duty to do so. Without radical changes to corporate incentives, companies will continue to degrade and threaten the future of democracy.

When it comes to elections, companies default to blaming bad content and bad users. Disinformation and manipulation existed long before social media, but social media’s structure and algorithms favor them, profit from them and enable their virality. Lies spread six times faster than truth on Twitter. In 2016, Facebook admitted that 64% of the growth of extremist groups occurred due to their own recommendation algorithm. A 2020 study found that misinformation on Facebook is three times more popular than during the last US presidential election.

In this year’s election, both presidential candidates have poured money into social media ads. Biden blitzed Facebook over the summer. Trump pre-purchased YouTube’s homepage for early November. Since June, they have spent a combined $100 million [€85 million] in ads on Instagram and Facebook.

But because of social media platforms' algorithms and incentives, it’s not legitimate election content that goes viral. It’s the lies, fear, fabricated conspiracy theories and threats of violence. These have resulted in fears of social unrest on and after election day. Twitter and Facebook’s efforts to flag the most egregious false and dangerous posts have not kept pace with relentless misinformation campaigns that are undermining people’s very faith in democracy.

I know that social media companies didn’t set out to become vehicles for dangerous political propaganda. But they have not made the deep structural changes to address it – and we, the people, are bearing the costs.

Despite what companies would lead you to believe, the solution is not hiring more content moderators or training better AI to detect misinformation. These are band-aids. The system is broken. Real change requires changes to the structure of social media companies' corporate governance. The solution to saving our democracy from these companies is, in fact, to apply the principles of democracy directly to these companies.

Imagine, for example, if Facebook reported to a Board of the People instead of a Board of Directors. This Board of the People, made up of diverse stakeholders from many walks of life, would decide the company’s high-level goals, what metrics mattered and when to hire a new CEO. Instead of defining success on financial metrics, the Board could ask to optimize for metrics that strengthen democratic institutions and individual lives, like users reporting greater empathy for other people’s perspectives, reduction in loneliness and increased quality of mental health.

Over the last decades, countries worldwide have used such advanced democratic processes to empower citizens to make change. In both 2015 and 2018, Ireland celebrated after amending its constitution under the guidance of a Citizens' Assembly, a representative sample of the Irish population that worked through structured collaboration and facilitated processes. In 2020, Taiwan gracefully managed its Covid-19 outbreak through digital democracy tools that built trust and leveraged citizen participation.

Does this sound utopian? It is compared to what we have now. It is also possible.

Companies can choose to change, but we can’t wait for them to do so. Public pressure from social media users, from politicians and governments, and from company employees is vital. Public pressure starts with a global understanding of the harm these platforms cause our families and our institutions. It accelerates when people refuse to accept the status quo and demand changes for our public good. It succeeds with collective action: when we, the people, change our own use of social media and demand change from our public officials.

This work has begun. Governments and politicians have increased pressure on platforms, including new anti-trust and public accountability measures. Inside social media companies, employees have begun walking out and standing up against policies, actions and platform features that do not align with the public good or collective ethics. The Social Dilemma was the top movie on Netflix in September – unprecedented for a documentary. Millions of people worldwide have watched it, often with their families and spoken up about the negative impacts social media platforms have had on their lives.

We’ve seen the impact of public pressure in recent social movements, like the call to #End SARS in Nigeria and reform the police in the United States and in changes caused by the #MeToo movement. The more pressure companies feel from users, regulators and employees, the more leverage we have to force real change.

In the United States, we’ve begun voting in an election where the stakes are exceptionally high, and trust in democracy is exceptionally low. If social media is going to dominate our public square, we have to ensure democratic principles take priority over profits. We, the people, have a right to govern the institutions that shape our lives. That’s what it means to live in a democracy.

Justin Rosenstein is a prominent voice in the documentary The Social Dilemma and the founder of One Project, a social venture aiming to advance democracy to meet the challenges of the Internet age and enable global collaboration through advances in civics, economics, technology, and culture. Previously he co-founded Asana and helped build some of today’s most-used tech features, including Google Drive and Facebook’s “Like” button.