continent. maps a topology of unstable confluences and ranges across new thinking, traversing interstices and alternate directions in culture, theory, biopolitics and art.
Issue 8.1-2 / 2019: 130-137

The Road Belong Savvy

Laurence Rickels


That Melanesians saw in the first white man an ancestor back from the dead was the digest of what was originally a more eclectic and staticky perception of a possible monster, ghoul, or ghost. The re-setting of first contact on the Melanesian equation between white men and their own ancestral dead merited a primal scene, one that the Europeans too could recognize. Andrew Lattas tells the scene’s story through the internal recount of legend.

In 1991 an old man, Bowl, told me how one of his classificatory fathers had been down on the coast and saw, as a reflection in water, the first white man to come into the Kaliai area. Startled by this image, Bowl’s father turned to look behind him, and there he saw a German called Master Paris. ... Seeing the first white man as a reflection in water was significant because tambaran, msalai, and the souls of the dead often reside in water. In the Kaliai area the word for soul, ano, is the same word for reflection; this means that from their earliest memories people saw whites as emerging from the reflective space of water, which in traditional culture is inhabited by the dead and masalai.[1]

Through the many iterations of white men arriving to boss the Melanesians around the Cargo Cult reserved a primal language for communication with the ancestral dead: Djaman.[2] 

Pausanias revised the Narcissus legend, making it over into a scene of grieving misrecognition to get the motivation right for the image’s riveting impact. When the boy sought his reflection in the water the apparition of his lookalike dead sister stared back at him. In the primal scene of Cargo Cult the black Melanesian sees in the water not his own reflection but a white man at the ghostly remove and return of the dead.  While the Pausanias revision realigns narcissistic disturbance with an origin in melancholia, the Cargo Cult followers attribute disturbance and retention span to the Europeans blocking contact with the ancestors, the mourned dead.

The Melanesians recognized that the white man’s Cargo, his techno-culture, turned on the gist of one single-minded innovation: live transmission. If you can telegraph across long distances in one instant of sending and receiving then you can communicate with the long distant, the dead. Cargo was the response to centuries of one-way discourse that the Melanesians had prayerfully addressed to their dead. But the Europeans routed it to their dead letter office, refusing, like vengeful ghosts, to transmit the Cargo to the rightful recipients. The Europeans had brought along the prospect of direct contact of the living with the dead and then taken it all away.

At the same time, some Europeans appeared to be their recent dearly departed trickling through the barrier.  Lattas gives a cross section of the topography of this ambivalence.

Indeed, villagers have been known to cry when seeing a new white man, for they believe they have recognized a lost relative.  .... The villagers were suspicious at what they saw as Europeans who were not expressing genuine grief at funerals; they also were suspicious of the flowers planted around European houses. Villagers also saw white bodies as similar to corpses (21).

Unmourning is the fluidum of the Europeans, who like unquiet dead haunt the Melanesians, intercepting the messages and waylaying the Cargo sent from the afterlife.

The return of the mourned dead – or, in Daniel Paul Schreber’s lingo, the cleansed and tested souls – yields the nihilistic consequence that goes into Christianity’s wrap of resurrection not at the end of the world but as the end of the world. The Cult started setting dates for the arrival of the Cargo-bearing ancestors. In preparation the followers had to trash, waste, get rid of all their possessions. To be sure, they had to make room for the Cargo but they also needed a clearing for the oblivion and nothingness of successful mourning. All the above, I argued in Aberrations of Mourning, is the Cargo Cult in theory and plain text.

Cargo Cult tells it like it is: we are all the indigenous people of new technologies facing ghosts coming round the bend of the latest mediatic extension of our sensorium.[3] We tend to see a cultural difference when animistic indigenous cultures turn the outward aspects of technology into props for worship and belief. To bring about live transmission the Melanesians set up posts in imitation of telegraph poles, which they beat while the high priest summoning from his belly his ventriloquation by the ancestors communicated with the afterlife in Djaman.

But consider the origin of modern Spritualism, our counterpart to the Cargo Cult in the midst of techno innovations unto liveness across long distances. Telegraphy was on the rise, even and especially next door in Rochester, when the mediatic Fox Sisters started picking up their own Morse Code messages from ghosts knocking against the walls. Were they imitating something they didn’t understand but wished to apply, the way Western Civilization had been and was still using electricity unwittingly? Or were they bending telegraphy to another kind of transmission that could not be located in the span of the technology’s proper functioning?

What made spiritualism modern was that communication with the other side was analogized with telecommunications media. These media were not used, however. Instead, disabused of function, they were turned into allegories, endopsychic perceptions, animism props, or alternate means of transmission hiding out in the recording. Between the input and output of the message sent by electric live transmission there was immaterial mediation that bordered on the unknown and infinite. What could be bent to function for live communication among the living was open wide for immaterial contact of the other kind. Photographs of ghosts could be taken with the lens covered. The tape recording of the noise between radio stations picked up spirit voices that upon incessant replay could be discerned. To reverse film, tape, and vinyl record means to undo function for the outside chance of an alternate message.

The Cargo Cult’s demand for live communication and contact with their dead was corollary to the larger demand for savvy, which of course refers to knowledge but also addresses the interest and cathexis imbuing the whites. When Cult followers dismissed their own pre-colonial culture and beliefs, bringing this world to an end to make room for the Second Coming of Cargo, they were responding in the first place to the perceived lack of savvy in their goods.

Dorothy Billings documents the last upsurge of Cargo Cult, the spontaneous decision by Melanesians to vote for U.S. President Johnson. The 1964 election, which was to prepare the Melanesians for their own autonomous statehood, was just another episode in their schooling by Australians and Europeans. And the Melanesians continued to be frustrated with the missionary-style schooling, which withheld savvy: “Many of men have savvy about English, and what have they done? They know English for nothing, that’s all.” The performance of a turn toward America was in answer to the question, “Who will show us about everything?”[4] 


Tom McCarthy worked the Cargo Cult into his novel Satin Island, which in conversation he said was inflected by my interpretation in Aberrations of Mourning. Another tribute to my first book went into his novel C, in which I could make out the amalgamation of my crypt rereadings of Freud’s case studies of his totemic patients, Rat Man and Wolfman. But in Satin Island I couldn’t readily discern my Cargo Cult reading. For one, McCarthy writes explicitly about the John Frumm movement, a WWII offshoot of the Cult that redirected its call for Cargo away from Europe and Australia toward the United States, the new home of the grateful dead, its otherworldly impression made utopian by the copresence in the U.S. military of African American soldiers. This last understanding of the Cargo Cult was central to the Johnson movement that Billings documents.

The emphasis in McCarthy’s novel on the WWII-switched address of Cargo Cult was preceded by Christopher Moore’s novel Island of the Sequined Love Nun,[5] which is situated within the restaging of the Cult around takeoff and landing of the troop and supply planes of the U.S. war effort. In Moore’s satire on postcolonial capitalism, an opportunistic couple manipulates the plane text of the local Cargo Cult followers, who worship a female mascot their classificatory fathers saw painted on an American aircraft, and under cover of exacting sacrifice harvest organs from islanders in trance states laced with anesthesia. The couple hires on the sly the protagonist, an out of luck pilot, to fly the transplant cargo to Japan (the Yakuza are backing the scam). However, the protagonist’s arrival was anticipated in the chief’s dream, a contradiction of the couple’s monopoly of contact with the other world. When the pilot recognizes that he’s not just overlooking the occasional loss of an islander’s extra kidney but that the couple intends the exhaustion unto death of the islanders as human material, he steals a 747 and forklifts the population to a new location in Costa Rica.  Moore uses anthropology in place of outer space to stagger his fantasy saga, which he hitches to the Star Wars Effect wrapped around the Pacific Theater of the good war.

Roland Emmerich, who was originally enrolled in film school in Germany to become a producer, switched his career goal to directing when he saw Star Wars. Did it take a German to recognize Lucas’s refurbishing of Allied propaganda films? The Death Star, the unbeatable foe, is brought down by a makeshift alliance of unlikely victors, who win as losers, not as winners. Lucas’s remix of the propaganda formula meant that winning as winner would be tantamount to filling the position that the Nazis forever occupy in the global culture industry.

McCarthy’s novel is a deconstructed heroic saga using anthropology to navigate an imploded outer space befitting the digital relation. A modern anthropologist working on, in, and for the corporate world, the protagonist U has been assigned the authorship of a universal report, an ultimate statement. It is an assignment without guidelines or specifications and by his efforts U enters the fulcrum of the novel in the court of the reader (You). In a manner modeled on the structuralism of Levy-Strauss U is engaged in interconnecting anything and everything he comes across in the worldwide news with afterimages in the archives of his discipline. The conceit the novel follows through is that the discipline of anthropology, bereft of the exteriority of fieldwork, has been thrown back upon itself as modernity’s corporate-sponsored self reflection.

The two brief sections on the John Frumm Cargo Cult sharpen U’s apprenticeship to the Great Report, which will supply the Company its ultimate microcosmic self-reflection. U confirms that a Cult of waiting around for scheduled dis-appointments with the return of the Golden Age, the WWII U.S. military presence, is hardly a throwback but instead an integral part and portrait of world culture. Waiting for a prediction or wish to be fullfilled is the carrot and stick for taming instinctual life and hitching narcissism to civilization: „humanity, its gaze fixed on this apparition hovering just over the horizon, is thus herded along the requisite channels,“ its destructiveness kept in check.[6] 

From his vantage point in the Company, U recognizes that the near future is the time zone of hypothesis and forecast. „Certainly each brief the Company worked on, every pitch we made, involved an invocation of ... the Future“ (91). The Company is the P.R. firm for its forecasts. That’s why it uses „the Future to confer the seal of truth on these scenarios and assertions, making them absolute and objective simply by placing them within this Future“ (ibid.). What U doesn’t address because he, his report, and the novel are working toward its performance in New York harbor is that the Cargo Cult is a death cult.

The allegory of the report to be heard around the world is underscored by two phenomena compelling U’s repeated reflections, deaths by faulty or tampered-with parachutes and the ritual of land diving in Vanuatu, the original site of the Jon Frumm Cargo Cult. That the control release of the fall from a plane and the cord yanking back the jumper from a high tower right before fatal impact are parallel goes, literally, without saying. U’s biography puts through another connection that like the ceremony is older than (his knowledge of) the Cult (58-9). As a child U watched a documentary on TV all about the land diving on Vanuatu, which he prefers to refer to as tower jumping. When he started mimicking the ceremony his parents put a stop to it. That meant that whenever asked what he wanted to be when grownup he could answer: an anthropologist.

The exception made in the case of land diving to the testing of analogies makes room for another ceremony in Vanuatu that puts all the participants who shoot arrows straight up into the sky in the line of fire. In what appears to be a fiction (at least I couldn’t find a trace of it online) U sees the key to understanding the parachuting casualties in terms of a rite of gambling with death. The doubly speculative discovery is grounds for elation and the arrows become pointers. U is straddling a manic defense against an inner sense of deadness, which he would escape like the passing thought that the report is „defunct.“  The elation, U realizes, was „the same reaction I had when I watched the Twin Towers falling down on live TV“ (129).

When the difficulties involved in treating a dud parachutte like a bullet in Russian Roulette prove insurmountable and U must abandon his great discovery, the dive in his mood launches another flight from the dead end of inner reality to outer reality but made over, as D. W. Winnicott points out, by omnipotent fantasy.[7]

A new spectre, an even more grotesque realization, presented itself to me: the truly terrifying thought wasn’t that the Great Report might be un-writable, but – quite the opposite – that it had already been written. Not by a person, nor even by some nefarious cabal, but simply by a neutral and indifferent binary system that had given rise to itself, moved by itself and would perpetuate itself .... And that we, far from being its authors, or its operators, or even its slaves ..., were no more than actions and commands within its key-chains. This Great Report, once it came into being, would, from that point onwards, have existed always, since time immemorial; and nothing else would really matter. But who could read it? ... Only another piece of software could do that. (133-34)

 What arrives like prehistory with a wallop of catastrophe is the return of the recent past from its vanishing point. The recent past, Adorno reminded Benjamin, is the most readily and regularly repressed point in time.[8] U’s inner terrorist also arises out of the repression to envisage sabotage. But then he recognizes that even the undoing he contemplates is already underway, out of reach of his agency. However, before letting the outside chance of his terrorism slip away inside the digital archive, U’s first association is with the cathexis appeal of the RAF in West Germany.  Never Again beats around the tribal drum of all-white savvy.


Through a kind of free association with likely near-synonyms Billings seeks to identify the Melanesian understanding of savvy. „When I was trying to make sure that I understood what Oliver meant when he said he ‚believed in’ America, he said, ‚Just like, like; it’s just like, like, that’s all’“ (168). While America can’t be compelled to respond to or fulfill their wishes, just the same, Joseph, for one, wants to know, „Does America ... want to love our wish to them?“ (169). Billings instructs that in the local culture „public pronouncements concering one’s wishes are often made ..., and they are considered final. It is expected that what a person wants will be treated as inviolable: ‚Like is a big thing,’ they often said“ (ibid.).  Liking, wishing, being a daydream believer all suggest that savvy translates youthful innovativeness and cathexis appeal, the cuteness going into the evolutionary trait of neoteny, the protracted juvenility that protects us like the Future according to U.  

Did the black Melanesians see in the African-American servicemen the prospect of equality or did they recognize instead that the cool American demeanor, the adolescent energy among peers, the savvy imbuing the group was emanating from the black men? What is distinctive about Americans, especially in their politics, is that they remain too inconsistent to qualify for closed-ranks European fascism. That Americans are inconsistent in their racism goes into the spread of the foreign body of savvy, which the Melanesians recognized. Oppression and inequality didn’t contradict the pervasiveness of black savvy.

There’s another reason it was a good war. In the incubator of military service during WWII, being with it and being cool could be transmitted on the edge and badge of courage. Following Norman Mailer, it is possible to see the phenomenon of the American hipster as coming out of the war’s metabolization of what he calls the White Negro. There is much that must be bracketed out in Mailer’s 1957 essay before one can even read it. The symptom arc is given by the open disdain for psychoanalysis, although Mailer would appear to have been familar only with its New York headquarters. Knowledge of D. W. Winnicott on the antisocial tendency would have honed his reading of psychopathy, making it less a provocation and more of an intervention. While for some of us it didn’t hurt this much, the gist of Mailer’s exposition cuts close to the truth (perhaps because it implies his castration): „Since the Negro knows more about the ugliness and danger of life than the White, it is probable that if the Negro can win his equality, he will possess a potential superiority, a superiority so feared that the fear itself has become the underground drama of domestic politics. Like all conservative political fear it is the fear of unforeseeable consequences, for the Negro’s equality would tear a profound shift into the psychology, the sexuality, and the moral imagination of every White alive.“[9] 

The new White Man’s Burden in our day is that savvy has either absconded or been cast off. The problem U/You must face: Who wants to read another novel by a white man? Ferdinand Celine’s plaint that the mixing of races always diminishes whiteness may be true on the palette but whiteness today is a contact-low contaminating all the non-black minority departments, from Jewishness and divergent orientation to being of color: brown gets around but doesn’t alleviate the malaise. Does the fracking for distinction across gender make it through this impasse? If so, it means that Michael Jackson and his double claim on race and gender should be reassessed as candidacy for sainthood.

Most white Americans no longer retain the neoteny of youthful innovativeness. They grow older, lose the future, and become undifferentiated within the white population that is probably the world’s most bland. In a Berlin subway car the copresence of white Europeans from different countries and cultures still suggests a degree of diversity. In the new world, however, the white immigrants excelled at assimilation unto homogenization. A few diacritical accent marks might denote an American region, but that’s all. Hence white resentment toward their fellow citizens of color who don’t let go of the distinction of being hyphenated Americans.

However, those once schooled in adolescence still know how to ad-lib their wish without the projective machinery of fulfillment. Having no script is no problem if they have a common understanding, which in the Trump Cult is that they are bereft of savvy. Liberalism is an alien symbol, one that belongs to the Europeans and educated elites who learned how to function according to a European mindset. Brexit inspired them and Trump’s efforts seem aimed only when they undermine Europe. In the absurd situation of the celebrated triumphs of the civil rights movement they found it easy to make an absurd suggestion. The vote for making America great again offered a perspective on reality that pleased the Cult followers and the script grew. They found a way to play all the leading roles instead of the dull parts assigned them by the history of their assimilation and adjustment.

In our time the rallying of white Americans for white cathexis passed from the awkwardness of the Tea Party movement to the Heil saluting and Heil bringing Trump campaign. How soon we forgot that the last hurrahs of white savvy were made in Germany.  Beginning with The Sorrows of Young Werther the Passion of white adolesence has been pitched and tossed in German (Djaman). One current landed in Southern Cal (see Beach Blanket Bingo) until the counter-tide of Helter Skelter’s projected influence cut in. National Socialism channeled the main current of the lost cause of white savvy, pitching it against the melting plot. Just the same, Nazi ideologues had to adapt to a world of difference that already extended into the constitution of the Axis. So, they acknowledged that there were other races that were equally pure (but not equally equal). It followed that it was possible to be Nazi and to accept former colonial subjects, non-whites, as honorary Aryans.  While aryan was the purest white, „honorary“ made it another name for the teen legacy of Werther. The contradiction that couldn’t be metabolized goes into literary conceits like the Schwarzkommando in Thomas Pynchon’s Gravity’s Rainbow.

Leni Riefenstahl wasn’t just following her own agenda when she alternated in Olympia between the triumphs of black America and scenes of Aryan jocks getting hot together in the light of Antiquity. Our focus gets blurred when we assume that every conquered populace fraternizes with the enemy and always to the same degree. German women fell for the (African) American GIs because they recognized them crossing the finish line of the race that Riefenstahl projected between the agents of black savvy and the Germans bearing the torch of Greek primary narcissism. By then the Siegfrieds were gone. But while the race was still being run they were hot properties for the non-German women of Fortress Europe.


How soon we forgot the contest of B-genres in anticipation of changes the new media held in store. The changes were realized (but outside the box of what had been projected) with the arrival of the digital relation, which at last seemed to award the fantasy genre the prize. Science fiction failed to predict the digital future, but fantasy did not so much succeed as draw benefit from the basic resemblance of fantasying to the new relation. If the fantasy that is true is no longer the Gospel (Tolkien's definition) but instead digitization, then fantasy becomes the genre, quite pointlessly, of "fiction."  The unmooring of fantasy from its belief system occurred in tandem with the revaluation of the science fiction genre. Once its future orientation was “history,” the genre indwelled the ruins of its faulty forecasts. Benjamin’s derivation of modern allegory from the shortfall of Christianity's purchase on the future can be seen to apply to reading our future in science fiction.

In his poetics of the daydream, Freud supplied the notion of a date mark that belongs to the moment in the present that triggers the fantasying and indelibly stamps it. The constitutive arc in every daydream, which takes off from an idealized past and jump cuts to the future of wish fulfillment so as to elide the present, is a bridge that will fall down. Fantasy is historicization waiting to happen, the mortal recoil of its flight. Science fiction’s allegory also lies in wait: by its salvos of right or wrong extrapolation, the genre is situated within the present tense and its ongoing tensions and encrypted contents.

U breaches the impasse of his digital fantasy in a dream of flight over a city that is a composite of all the major world centers, „all of them, from all periods“ (141). Before the arrival of digital special effects the prospect of simultaneity of visualization and remembrance was the place Freud marked in his book of analogues for unconscious thought. To illustrate the unconscious, he asked us to see the history of a city in the light of remembrance: when gazing upon Rome, see not only the coliseum, for example, but also, at the same time, the edifices it replaced.

There is certainly not a little that is ancient still buried in the soil of the city or beneath its modern buildings. This is the manner in which the past is preserved in historical sites like Rome. Now let us, by a flight of the imagination, suppose that Rome is not a human habitation but a psychical entity with a similarly long and copious past – an entity, that is to say, in which nothing that has once come into existence will have passed away and all the earlier phases of development continue to exist alongside the latest one.[10]

For Freud the hysteric stuck in grief misplaced in time can see better these alternate yet simulcast realities. The hysteric is like a modern citizen of London who, before the train station Charing Cross, still recognizes and grieves over the original station in the crossing of the funeral procession bearing Queen Eleanor to her place of burial.[11]

Leaving behind the city encompassing all the cities in history U flies over the harbor toward an island covered in ruins like “the shells of bombed cathedrals” (141). He soon recognizes that they form one continuous ruinous edifice, a functioning trash-incinerating plant. „If the city was the capital, the seat of empire, then this island was the exact opposite, the inverse – the other place“ (142). As U gazes upon a homogenizing substance flashing morphing colors,  an unidentified voice pronounces a name that fits the aestheticization under way, Satin Island. But after his spree of printing out the entries and images searched in association with the dreamed-up place, U realizes that the dream voice stammered out Staten Island. Once it had been home to the world’s largest landfill, a site of waste burial that closed in 2001 to allow its transformation into park land. The development into Elysian Fields had to be interrupted and the fill reopened to accommodate the detritus of 9/11.

U imagines presenting the words from his dream – „Satin Island“ – written on a piece of paper in lieu of the report he can’t deliver. However, U’s corporation has already accepted and published his report, comprising all the work he had collected online, glossed, and circulated internally since assigned its authorship. Sent to New York to represent the corporation at a conference celebrating the Great Report, U finds his way inside the other report that’s been gathering since his arrows and parachuttes theory had to be trashed. On his way to the Staten Island ferry he moves through the throng toward a terminal „not unlike the Company’s headquarters“ (179). His passage edits his field of vision making the letters spelling out the destination into a series of anagrams until, with another upsurge of elation, he sees SATIN on the sign over the entrance.

At last he stands before the rebus of the novel’s title, which has supplanted the image of a brave new medium that he can’t influence or let go. It doesn’t last long, however. The next morphing spells or spills STAIN. Unlike the hallucinatory prospects of digital fetishism and literary self-reflexivity, which don’t admit death, U makes out in the static on the pier rhyme-words sounding out „Stix or Stycks“ (180), in other words, the river Styx. And then the arrow falls:

The mass of people in the terminal started compressing even tighter as the glass walls’ funnel grew still narrower, till we became, collectively, a Vanuatan arrowhead, being flighted now across this harbour, on an arced trajecory with the same, inevitable destination, it seemed, as everything else, only few more feet of terminal and gantry remaining between us and the pyonngg! of irreversible release ... (185)

Earlier when the man with a megaphone announced the ferry’s arrival „momentarily,“ U dismissed it as pidgin. But then he adjusts to the new word setting. „The term’s correct sense ..., given these ferries’ quick and constant turnaround, was carried over in his misuse of it“ (180). The wrong word for „in a moment“ since it means instead „for a moment,“ it nonetheless supports the local or indigenous reversal of a proper scheduling of arrival and departure.  

U’s manic defense sought a way around the impasse of an inner dead end. According to Winnicott, the termination phase of analysis, which psychoanalyst and patient are already interpreting in the first session, prepares for integration of the dead end of inner reality, which it resembles and reassembles like an inoculum. Now in the terminus phase, U notices a homeless man belaboring the defunct telephones for forgotten change. Their eyes meet and U leaves, loving it or living it.

U didn’t get on board and, in becoming one who waits, who reads the signals of the future in the recent past, signs up with modern allegory, Benjamin’s Cargo Cult.  The light show prefigured in the dream of Satin Island, he now watches in the wake of the ferry’s departure. The sun right behind Staten Island makes it appear as „a brilliant orange pool. ... spreading right towards the ferry, swallowing it up, dismantling it pixel by orange pixel. Its haze spread even further, past the boat’s still discernible stern“ (187). U repaints with the fantasy palette a work bearing down hard with the date mark of historicization: William Turner’s The Fighting Temeraire, tugged to her last berth to be broken up, 1838.

[1] Andrew Lattas, Cultures of Secrecy: Reinventing Race in Bush Kaliai Cargo Cults (Madison and London: The University of Wisconsin Press, 1998): 21.

[2] Peter Worsley, The Trumpet Shall Sound. A Study of „Cargo“ Cults in Melanesia (New York: Schocken Books, 1968): 80

[3] That the itinerary of ghosts tells us how far our mediatic sensorium reaches was Friedrich Kittler’s surprising insight. See Grammophon, Film, Typewriter (Berlin: Brinkmann & Bose, 1986).

[4] Dorothy K. Billings, Cargo Cult as Theater. Political Performance in the Pacific (Lanham, Maryland: Lexington Books, 2005): 168. Subsequent page references are given in the text.

[5] Christopher Moore, Island of the Sequined Love Nun (New York: Avon Books: 1997).

[6] Tom McCarthy, Satin Island. A Novel (New York: Vintage Books, 2015): 91. Subsequent page references are given in the text.

[7] D. W. Winnicott, "The Manic Defence," Through Paediatrics to Psychoanalysis. Collected Papers (New York: Brunner-Routledge, 1992). The essay was first published in 1935.

[8] I long ago took the gist of Adorno’s memo to Benjamin in a letter dated December 4-5, 1935 and rewrote it on my banner.

[9] Norman Mailer, „The White Negro: Superficial Reflections on the Hipster,“ Dissent Magazine (Fall 1957): 291.

[10] Civilization and its Discontents, in The Standard Edition of the Complete Psychological Works, trans. and ed. James Strachey, vol. (London: The Hogarth Press, 1958): 70-71.

[11] Five Lectures on Psychoanalysis, The Standard Edition, vol. 11: 16-17