Rum, Socrates, and the Lasch, Part II: Why the Rum is Not, in Fact, Gone.

One name that should show up on any reading list for postmodern conservatism is James C. Scott, the Yale anthropologist who argues that weak and powerless classes don’t get brainwashed by powerful elites but rather learn how to manifest rebellion against the elites in subtle ways. Being subversive is sometimes better than being revolutionary, it’s never "hegemony all the way down," and Antonio Gramsci can sit down and shut up:

. . . the greater the disparity in power between dominant and subordinate and the more arbitrarily it is exercised, the more the public transcript of subordinates will take on a stereotyped, ritualistic cast. In other words, the more menacing the power, the thicker the mask.



. . . A second and sharply contrasting form of political discourse is that of the hidden transcript. Here, offstage, where subordinates may gather outside the intimidating gaze of power, a sharply dissonant political culture is possible. Slaves in the relative safety of their quarters can speak the words of anger, revenge, and self-assertion that they must normally choke back when in the presence of the masters and mistresses.



A central argument of this book is that there is a third realm of subordinate group politics that lies strategically between the first two. This is a politics of disguise and anonymity that takes place in public view but is designed to have a double meaning or to shield the identity of the actors. Rumor, gossip, folktales, jokes, songs, rituals, codes, and euphemisms—a good part of the folk culture of subordinate groups—fit this description. As a case in point, consider the Brer Rabbit stories of slaves, and trickster tales more generally. At one level these are nothing but innocent stories about animals; at another level they appear to celebrate the cunning wiles and vengeful spirit of the weak as they triumph over the strong . . .

I mention all of this because I hear via Jake that University of Colorado students have come up with a sneaky way to get liquor into football games, and I think James C. Scott would be proud of them. (Also Michel de Certeau . Vive le perruqueur! ) I prefer their tactic over some kind of SDS-style protest of the drinking age (too obvious), and anyone who thinks such regulations are better disdained than railed against should, too. Subversion before revolution, always.