772021, issue 2
III
Adorno, we imagine, does not survive Fanon. He does not survive this encounter with
blackness that he very well knows (herein lies Adorno’s exceptional contribution) to be
the epicentre of the double helix of fascism and capitalism. And so he avoids it, being
caught up in, and most forcefully and tellingly expressing, an aect we might call ‘white
pessimism’ – but only if you promise to crack a smile, or giggle a little at the very idea,
at the very thought that this could be an aect one is caught in.
White pessimism acts as, pretends to be, the last defense against… well, what
else: history. Against the return of history, of all those ghosts, of lives expended. Payback
time. This pretense acts to hold up, swallow and piteously regurgitate the history of
mankind so that our future never arrives and is forever cast as a foreshadowing of man’s
disillusionment. Caved still. Negative dialectics: something to claim to have arrived at, a
claim to history, history now undone – undone only now, it is implied.
The catch, of course, is that the pessimism is fully justied. There is nothing to
redeem. We will be stripped of everything we may once have thought was ours, and
we lack even a single reason to object. As it was gained, it will be lost. Capital will not
endure anything else. So as long as one pretends that all of this would eventually come
about, that all of this, however contingent, has been unfolding along some temporal arc,
progress now unmasked as doom, one is still masking, still clinging to whiteness and,
as such, even if resigned to a stationary posture, still waiting for some contradiction, for
help. However, as Jonathan Jackson writes to his brother George, “While we await the
precise moment when all of capitalism’s victims will indignantly rise to destroy the
system, we are being devoured in family lots at the whim of this thing. There will be
no super-slave” (Jackson 1990, 10-11). There was never going to be one. Dialectics is
how this thing called whiteness entertains itself in the meantime. Or, and this cannot be
controversial: dialectics tracks the time it takes the master to abolish himself. A long time.
And while we wait: what if we practice pessimism not as any negative con-
clusion to what humanity, at one time, might have expected, but as the lived reality of
our common existence in invention? The ever-recurring inventiveness that lives from,
in, and through the failure of the world. Never getting stuck on words. So let’s quickly
rush past words, words about how white people don’t deserve pessimism. White people,
like the rest of us, deserve nothing to begin with. The pessimism that is our existence
in common was already right there, plenty already, escaping history, coming with us,
returning with us. We were never going anywhere, so what’s the wait? Why the posture?
IV
Martin Jay is right to point out the despair and mournfulness on Adorno’s face. But
why is Adorno not surprised when Fanon cuts his throat? Don’t you know he’s been
talking to Houria Bouteldja all along?
Adorno’s despair, this aect of total capture, emerges as the ultimate realiza-
tion of capital’s avowal of its operations as eacement, as desertication. Is there any-
thing negative here? Anything that is not folded into a logic that claims total capture,
but that of course fails to achieve it, fails to preclude invention? Why does Adorno
appear to believe capital’s confession of total capture, this armative admission of guilt?