Signs of the Times

by NAOMI KLEIN

As shocking as this must be to New Yorkers, in Toronto, the city where I live, lampposts and

mailboxes are plastered with posters advertising a plan by antipoverty activists to "shut down" the

business district on October 16. Some of the posters (those put up before September 11) even have a

picture of skyscrapers outlined in red--the perimeters of the designated direct-action zone. Many have

argued that O16 should be canceled, as other protests and demonstrations have been, in deference to

the mood of mourning--and out of fear of stepped-up police violence.

But the shutdown is going ahead. In the end, the events of September 11 don't change the fact that the

nights are getting colder and the recession is looming. They don't change the fact that in a city that

used to be described as "safe" and, well, "maybe a little boring," many will die on the streets this winter,

as they did last winter, and the one before that, unless more beds are found immediately.

And yet there is no disputing that the event, its militant tone and its choice of target will provoke terrible

memories and associations. Many political campaigns face a similar, and sudden, shift. Post-September

11, tactics that rely on attacking--even peacefully--powerful symbols of capitalism find themselves in

an utterly transformed semiotic landscape. After all, the attacks were acts of very real and horrifying

terror, but they were also acts of symbolic warfare, and instantly understood as such. As Tom Brokaw

and so many others put it, the towers were not just any buildings, they were "symbols of American

capitalism."

As someone whose life is thoroughly entwined with what some people call "the antiglobalization

movement," others call "anticapitalism" (and I tend to just sloppily call "the movement"), I find it difficult

to avoid discussions about symbolism these days. About all the anticorporate signs and signifiers--the

culture-jammed logos, the guerrilla-warfare stylings, the choices of brand name and political

targets--that make up the movement's dominant metaphors.

Many political opponents of anticorporate activism are using the symbolism of the World Trade Center

and Pentagon attacks to argue that young activists, playing at guerrilla war, have now been caught out

by a real war. The obituaries are already appearing in newspapers around the world:

"Anti-Globalization Is So Yesterday," reads a typical headline. It is, according to the Boston Globe, "in

tatters." Is it true? Our activism has been declared dead before. Indeed, it is declared dead with

ritualistic regularity before and after every mass demonstration: our strategies apparently discredited,

our coalitions divided, our arguments misguided. And yet those demonstrations have kept growing

larger, from 50,000 in Seattle to 300,000, by some estimates, in Genoa.

At the same time, it would be foolish to pretend that nothing has changed since September 11. This

struck me recently, looking at a slide show I had been pulling together before the attacks. It is about

how anticorporate imagery is increasingly being absorbed by corporate marketing. One slide shows a

group of activists spray-painting the window of a Gap outlet during the anti-WTO protests in Seattle.

The next shows The Gap's recent window displays featuring its own prefab graffiti--words like

"Independence" sprayed in black. And the next is a frame from Sony PlayStation's "State of

Emergency" game featuring cool-haired anarchists throwing rocks at evil riot cops protecting the

fictitious American Trade Organization. When I first looked at these images beside each other, I was

amazed by the speed of corporate co-optation. Now all I can see is how these snapshots from the

corporate versus anticorporate image wars have been instantly overshadowed, blown away by

September 11 like so many toy cars and action figures on a disaster movie set.

Despite the altered landscape--or because of it--it bears remembering why this movement chose to

wage symbolic struggles in the first place. The Ontario Coalition Against Poverty's decision to "shut

down" the business district came from a set of very specific and still relevant circumstances. Like so

many others trying to get issues of economic inequality on the political agenda, the people the group

represents felt that they had been discarded, left outside the paradigm, disappeared and reconstituted

as a panhandling or squeegee problem requiring tough new legislation. They realized that what they had

to confront was just not a local political enemy or even a particular trade law but an economic

system--the broken promise of deregulated, trickle-down capitalism. Thus the modern activist

challenge: How do you organize against an ideology so vast, it has no edges; so everywhere, it seems

nowhere? Where is the site of resistance for those with no workplaces to shut down, whose

communities are constantly being uprooted? What do we hold on to when so much that is powerful is

virtual--currency trades, stock prices, intellectual property and arcane trade agreements?

The short answer, at least before September 11, was that you grab anything you can get your hands

on: the brand image of a famous multinational, a stock exchange, a meeting of world leaders, a single

trade agreement or, in the case of the Toronto group, the banks and corporate headquarters that are

the engines that power this agenda. Anything that, even fleetingly, makes the intangible actual, the

vastness somehow human-scale. In short, you find symbols and you hope they become metaphors for

change.

For instance, when the United States launched a trade war against France for daring to ban