Information is powerful. As academics we know this, and it animates our professional lives. We uncover, collate, verify, and disseminate knowledge. And once we do, it is out of our hands. This presentation is an attempt to think through the afterlives of our work, particularly the clash between the impulse to transparency and the increasing authoritarianism of the spaces where we work.<\/em> Then the situation changed in some of the places where I work, and I considered withdrawing from the conference altogether\u2014a grief response, in retrospect. The bloodless language in my abstract felt wholly unsuited to the viciousness being forced upon people dear to me. I spiralled over the privilege of my mobility, and the ways that we, as researchers, may help to reproduce the kinds of violence and closure that we thought we were just illuminating. I don\u2019t know what to do with that, but this is where I started.<\/p>\nIn the places where we work, the prisons fill.<\/p>\n
At first it seemed a trickle,<\/p>\n
no one we knew,<\/p>\n
then one or two,<\/p>\n
\u2014was that his middle name? I think so.<\/p>\n
I know it was his father\u2019s name,<\/p>\n
but it\u2019s such a common name so maybe not.<\/p>\n
I\u2019d need to see a photo to be sure.<\/p>\n
And now?<\/p>\n
Now we know better.<\/p>\n
Now we wait for news.<\/p>\n
I ask everyone whom I think might hear it early: tell me,<\/p>\n
tell me if they\u2019re being fed,<\/p>\n
tell me if she\u2019s getting the medicine her family sends,<\/p>\n
tell me if his wife receives his salary, even though he\u2019s<\/p>\n
gone.<\/p>\n
I don\u2019t know what that knowledge gets me,<\/p>\n
but still, I need to know.<\/p>\n
I don\u2019t know much about knowing anymore,<\/p>\n
only that it\u2019s not tied to freedom, or transparency,<\/p>\n
or power,<\/p>\n
in the way I used to think.<\/p>\n
Now I think that knowledge isn\u2019t power.<\/p>\n
I think that power is forgetting,<\/p>\n
that it\u2019s through power we forget.<\/p>\n
Not through brainwashing, or censorship\u2014<\/p>\n
how indiscreet\u2014<\/p>\n
No,<\/p>\n
just in how we know what not to know in order to get by.<\/p>\n
Keep it light,<\/p>\n
not rock the boat,<\/p>\n
not be so basic as to say<\/p>\n
what everyone already knows:<\/p>\n
like how, in times like these, the prisons fill.<\/p>\n
We know, we know.<\/p>\n
We\u2019re doing surveys on it as we speak.<\/p>\n
*<\/p>\n
So, tell me if they\u2019re losing weight,<\/p>\n
or if you hear she made it through the checkpoints before they came for her.<\/p>\n
Tell me if they let his mother, now Stage 4, see him<\/p>\n
one last time.<\/p>\n
Another friend was robbed of that last week<\/p>\n
apparently.<\/p>\n
I didn\u2019t even know they\u2019d taken him until a photo on my feed,<\/p>\n
with condolences for his father,<\/p>\n
said shame on them:<\/p>\n
he wasn\u2019t even at the funeral; the blackest shame on them.<\/p>\n
In the photo he is older, greyer, a little heavier in the cheeks,<\/p>\n
but it\u2019s him.<\/p>\n
He wears glasses now,<\/p>\n
though he didn\u2019t used to.<\/p>\n
So, it seems, we still have things in common.<\/p>\n
I found another photo, from maybe 20 years ago,<\/p>\n
when his hair was black, and he was smiling as we worked<\/p>\n
our way through a pack of cigarettes that he\u2019s waving in the air for<\/p>\n
some reason.<\/p>\n
I think we were playing poker, with cigarettes for chips,<\/p>\n
back when the stakes of bluffing<\/p>\n
were a few Marlboro Reds that we\u2019d all smoke together anyway.<\/p>\n
*<\/p>\n
Tell me if I should not contact you again. Oh, you can\u2019t.<\/p>\n
Any connection between us,<\/p>\n
you inside, me out,<\/p>\n
is all it takes, in times like these, to send the boys at<\/p>\n
night.<\/p>\n
I won\u2019t contact you again.<\/p>\n
I hope you know it\u2019s not that I don\u2019t want to.<\/p>\n
*<\/p>\n
In the places where we work, the prisons fill,<\/p>\n
but there\u2019s always room for more.<\/p>\n
That\u2019s the thing with prisons,<\/p>\n
in the chasms under cities, where<\/p>\n
the factories sew more prison jumpsuits.<\/p>\n
And the sewing machines buzz,<\/p>\n
like the urinous fluorescent lights above them buzz,<\/p>\n
and it\u2019s always daytime or, at least,<\/p>\n
it\u2019s always hard to sleep.<\/p>\n
And they\u2019re not really factories,<\/p>\n
most of those were levelled in the war<\/p>\n
and won\u2019t come back.<\/p>\n
It\u2019s just prisoners sewing jumpsuits for more prisoners<\/p>\n
from what must be an endless roll of dark green fabric,<\/p>\n
flimsy and synthetic,<\/p>\n
to clothe those who plotted something so dastardly that it defies belief,<\/p>\n
to clothe those who say to camera that they plotted something so dastardly<\/p>\n
they can scarcely believe it themselves\u2014<\/p>\n
The Fatherland betrayed like this!<\/p>\n
Subverted by its enemies!<\/p>\n
who tricked me into sabotage, before I realised it too late!\u2014<\/p>\n
in the hope of getting the medicine their families must be sending,<\/p>\n
or a reprieve for their children<\/p>\n
from the harassment of their teachers,<\/p>\n
who are either frightened or complicit,<\/p>\n
but what child can tell the difference?<\/p>\n
Sometimes there is none,<\/p>\n
in times like these.<\/p>\n
What is that dastardly thing?\u2014<\/p>\n
It was under our noses all along.<\/p>\n
Focus on the big picture. Now, focus on the camera.<\/p>\n
Look into the camera. Look natural. Try again. Maybe use your hands to look less wooden. Look remorseful. You want the people to believe you.<\/p>\n
If you\u2019re smart, you want them to believe you.<\/p>\n
And of course you\u2019re smart. You kept yourself hidden in broad daylight all these years, as you spied on the Fatherland, before the people caught you and said you must confess\u2014<\/p>\n
One of them is reading his confession,<\/p>\n
his jumpsuit sticking to the sweat on his chest.<\/p>\n
His eyes move from side to side,<\/p>\n
like they\u2019re tearing paper, his voice expressionless.<\/p>\n
An insect circles and his eye twitches,<\/p>\n
but he stares at the camera and continues to read:<\/p>\n
After I converted to Christianity, I joined the CIA,<\/p>\n
and went to work spreading malicious lies, and<\/p>\n
homosexuality.<\/p>\n
His staccato words are his defiance.<\/p>\n
His delivery says,<\/p>\n
see, I am lying.<\/p>\n
The others are more animated,<\/p>\n
but who am I to judge<\/p>\n
their body language?<\/p>\n
I have no idea how my voice would sound,<\/p>\n
how I\u2019d carry my shoulders,<\/p>\n
what I\u2019d do with my hands,<\/p>\n
if I\u2019d fall into a nervous laugh<\/p>\n
as I confessed to that, most dastardly, of things.<\/p>\n
As I brought down others with me,<\/p>\n
with this power that I didn\u2019t want<\/p>\n
of whom to name, and who to not.<\/p>\n
As I gave their names in exchange for what?<\/p>\n
Bread? Hope? A faster death?<\/p>\n
I don\u2019t know what exchange is underway as I watch them<\/p>\n
boil.<\/p>\n
One after another,<\/p>\n
boil.<\/p>\n
As my connection drops in and out,<\/p>\n
because I am far away,<\/p>\n
and can only imagine<\/p>\n
boiling<\/p>\n
from this side of the screen.<\/p>\n
*<\/p>\n
Meanwhile\u2014and I\u2019m not even aware I do it until it\u2019s done\u2014I<\/p>\n
reach into my bag<\/p>\n
and check I haven\u2019t dropped my passport somewhere,<\/p>\n
maybe earlier, on the way to one of my interviews<\/p>\n
where we spoke<\/p>\n
of whether there\u2019s still space for hope<\/p>\n
for the things we still remember.<\/p>\n
I thumb its thick cover<\/p>\n
to be sure it\u2019s not my notebook<\/p>\n
and exhale:<\/p>\n
my easy passage through any airport should the walls close in,<\/p>\n
in times like these.<\/p>\n
A visa on arrival,<\/p>\n
a cold drink on the plane,<\/p>\n
maybe a salad,<\/p>\n
some headphones to relax.<\/p>\n
*<\/p>\n
I wear the necklace that she gave me\u2014<\/p>\n
how long since she wore one too?<\/p>\n
I leave for work\u2014<\/p>\n
how long since she saw the sun?<\/p>\n
I call my parents\u2014<\/p>\n
How long until\u2014and on.<\/p>\n
Milan Kundra says the struggle \u2018against power<\/p>\n
is the struggle of memory against forgetting.\u2019<\/p>\n
So, I remember.<\/p>\n
I wake up sweating and remember,<\/p>\n
but it changes nothing.<\/p>\n
I remember that it could all be otherwise,<\/p>\n
and it changes nothing.<\/p>\n
Because with all of my remembering,<\/p>\n
I\u2019ve done the utmost violent thing,<\/p>\n
I\u2019ve used the phrase: \u2018in times like these\u2019<\/p>\n
and known what not to know.<\/p>\n
*<\/p>\n
When I was asked what I might say today about any of this<\/p>\n
\u2014a keynote on The Future of Authoritarianism\u2014<\/p>\n
I wasn\u2019t sure.<\/p>\n
I mustered a few spindly sentences,<\/p>\n
muscle memory, mostly.<\/p>\n
I said that knowledge is powerful.<\/p>\n
I said that we\u2014us here in this room\u2014we know this.<\/p>\n
It animates our lives.<\/p>\n
We uncover, we collate,<\/p>\n
we verify, disseminate.<\/p>\n
Truth to power,<\/p>\n
the greater good.<\/p>\n
The transparency that should<\/p>\n
be the sunlight to disinfect<\/p>\n
the stench of polyester prison sweat.<\/p>\n
But<\/p>\n
what I actually want to say is this:<\/p>\n
I search his name, and it comes up next to mine.<\/p>\n
I feel sick.<\/p>\n
My mouth tastes of metal.<\/p>\n
And I realise that this tang<\/p>\n
of salty iron is my body\u2019s own rebellion against what should have been so clear.<\/p>\n
That our mouths are made of metal,<\/p>\n
that they do not decompose,<\/p>\n
that we say everything forever.<\/p>\n
That our words, captured there in the machine, will never change,<\/p>\n
unlike their meaning,<\/p>\n
which floats like tissues in the breeze.<\/p>\n
*<\/p>\n
I left before the war.<\/p>\n
Before the snipers shot out the<\/p>\n
eyes<\/p>\n
of people chanting chants for change.<\/p>\n
Before the motorbike assassins came<\/p>\n
for the scholars, activists, the kids,<\/p>\n
the doctors, journalists, my god, the kids<\/p>\n
were so brave.<\/p>\n
I left before the war.<\/p>\n
Before a nation\u2019s suitcases were stuffed full,<\/p>\n
clenched shut,<\/p>\n
loaded onto planes,<\/p>\n
and scattered like dandelion seeds to places that knew nothing of what they left behind.<\/p>\n
Before the airport was blockaded and no more suitcases followed.<\/p>\n
I left before the war.<\/p>\n
When words still meant, mostly, what we thought they did.<\/p>\n
Before big binaries collapsed and fused.<\/p>\n
Before friend was foe,<\/p>\n
war was peace,<\/p>\n
civilian, spy,<\/p>\n
grifter, God.<\/p>\n
I left before the war.<\/p>\n
*<\/p>\n
My mind wanders to the gallows,<\/p>\n
I can\u2019t help it,<\/p>\n
picturing<\/p>\n
what that day might look like.<\/p>\n
An iron sky, a windswept square, and everywhere<\/p>\n
military haircuts<\/p>\n
along the balconies,<\/p>\n
and in the streets,<\/p>\n
unruffled by the wind<\/p>\n
now playing with expectant ropes.<\/p>\n
My mind wanders and I picture<\/p>\n
the people in a chorus line below,<\/p>\n
mouthing no, no, no,<\/p>\n
to no one:<\/p>\n
the borders have been sealed,<\/p>\n
the people\u2019s passports vaporised,<\/p>\n
a nation now immobile.<\/p>\n
\u2018We know, we just don\u2019t know what to do,\u2019 I say<\/p>\n
but no sound comes.<\/p>\n
\u2018You do,\u2019 they mouth back.<\/p>\n
\u2018No,\u2019 I shake my head, \u2018too many moving parts.\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018You do,\u2019 they mouth again.<\/p>\n
\u2018Oh, that,\u2019 I nod, hoping that they actually meant something else,<\/p>\n
something we might start on Monday,<\/p>\n
or at least get in the diary,<\/p>\n
get on the same page.<\/p>\n
Their mouths are open wider.<\/p>\n
\u2018Let\u2019s start with smaller steps,\u2019 I try.<\/p>\n
They close their eyes in unison.<\/p>\n
\u2018It\u2019s not practical.\u2019 I gesture, open palmed, to show<\/p>\n
I wish that it was otherwise.<\/p>\n
\u2018Then what?\u2019 They blink, as if to scream.<\/p>\n
\u2018We need more information.\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018You know enough already: You know the ones who sell the bombs<\/p>\n
are selling the cement.\u2019<\/p>\n
*<\/p>\n
But back to my search,<\/p>\n
and those whom it condemns when the game changes, from poker to hangman<\/p>\n
overnight,<\/p>\n
and masked boys leap out of trucks and kick in doors,<\/p>\n
leaving holes the size of jumpsuits in loved ones\u2019 beds,<\/p>\n
condemning children to be called<\/p>\n
the traitor\u2019s child.<\/p>\n
I searched his name, and it came up next to mine.<\/p>\n
In bold text at the top of the screen,<\/p>\n
and beneath it, a footnote that<\/p>\n
I wrote before the war.<\/p>\n
A footnote for transparency, precision,<\/p>\n
for gratitude, for recognition,<\/p>\n
forever binds him to what they might think of me, or worse,<\/p>\n
my stupid book,<\/p>\n
whose words have learnt to swim beyond<\/p>\n
its pages,<\/p>\n
which saw him in one instant,<\/p>\n
and suspended him in time.<\/p>\n
*<\/p>\n
It\u2019s hard for shadows to confess<\/p>\n
to having footprints,<\/p>\n
feelings,<\/p>\n
fuckups.<\/p>\n
They\u2019re shadows after all.<\/p>\n
Born as shadows,<\/p>\n
raised and rewarded for their work as shadows.<\/p>\n
For being everywhere and nowhere,<\/p>\n
just the facts.<\/p>\n
All the while forgetting just the fact<\/p>\n
that they\u2019re not shadows once they speak,<\/p>\n
and that their work detecting signals sends<\/p>\n
the signals they detect.<\/p>\n
*<\/p>\n
I search his name, and it comes up next to mine<\/p>\n
and I don\u2019t know what that means when<\/p>\n
in the places where we work, the prisons fill,<\/p>\n
the houses burn,<\/p>\n
the cities fall.<\/p>\n
And the rebels do what rebels do,<\/p>\n
of course, the politicians too.<\/p>\n
The bureaucrats bureaucratise,<\/p>\n
and the researchers compare the size<\/p>\n
of this war to that war,<\/p>\n
or better yet, to all the wars,<\/p>\n
to tell us God knows what<\/p>\n
about why we go to war.<\/p>\n
But here it is,<\/p>\n
what we\u2019ve learnt<\/p>\n
about the arithmetic of war:<\/p>\n
How much destruction does deterrence take, again?<\/p>\n
How much trade for how much peace?<\/p>\n
How many of them for how many of us?<\/p>\n
Discuss.<\/p>\n
What if it is more of them, can it be<\/p>\n
less of us?<\/p>\n
Discuss.<\/p>\n
How many bombs is greater than<\/p>\n
the ability of hungry people to<\/p>\n
fight back?<\/p>\n
Discuss.<\/p>\n
Calories in, calories out.<\/p>\n
Discuss.<\/p>\n
I search his name, and it comes up next to mine.<\/p>\n
Discuss.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Last year, I submitted an abstract for a conference about the future of authoritarianism with the title \u2018knowledge production and transparency in a time of secrets\u2019 (Deakin University, Australia). My intention was to reflect on issues that I was writing about in a research project funded by the Australian Research Council (FT200100539). It read: Information […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":113121,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[11767],"tags":[17626,22086,6403,8840,4319,16837],"dealstore":[],"offerexpiration":[],"class_list":["post-113119","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-anthropology","tag-allegra","tag-authoritarianism","tag-emotions","tag-lab","tag-times","tag-violence"],"yoast_head":"\n
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Allegra Lab - Som2ny Network","robots":{"index":"index","follow":"follow","max-snippet":"max-snippet:-1","max-image-preview":"max-image-preview:large","max-video-preview":"max-video-preview:-1"},"canonical":"https:\/\/fivemor.com\/?p=113119","og_locale":"en_US","og_type":"article","og_title":"In times like these - Allegra Lab - Som2ny Network","og_description":"Last year, I submitted an abstract for a conference about the future of authoritarianism with the title \u2018knowledge production and transparency in a time of secrets\u2019 (Deakin University, Australia). My intention was to reflect on issues that I was writing about in a research project funded by the Australian Research Council (FT200100539). It read: Information […]","og_url":"https:\/\/fivemor.com\/?p=113119","og_site_name":"Som2ny Network","article_published_time":"2025-02-27T10:21:10+00:00","og_image":[{"width":500,"height":500,"url":"https:\/\/fivemor.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/02\/Anthropocene-poetry-flocculation.jpg","type":"image\/jpeg"}],"author":"admin","twitter_card":"summary_large_image","twitter_misc":{"Written by":"admin","Est. reading time":"11 minutes"},"schema":{"@context":"https:\/\/schema.org","@graph":[{"@type":"Article","@id":"https:\/\/fivemor.com\/?p=113119#article","isPartOf":{"@id":"https:\/\/fivemor.com\/?p=113119"},"author":{"name":"admin","@id":"https:\/\/fivemor.com\/#\/schema\/person\/b85e3c3dc0e1daea076524dc8810c371"},"headline":"In times like these – Allegra Lab","datePublished":"2025-02-27T10:21:10+00:00","mainEntityOfPage":{"@id":"https:\/\/fivemor.com\/?p=113119"},"wordCount":2237,"commentCount":0,"publisher":{"@id":"https:\/\/fivemor.com\/#organization"},"image":{"@id":"https:\/\/fivemor.com\/?p=113119#primaryimage"},"thumbnailUrl":"https:\/\/fivemor.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/02\/Anthropocene-poetry-flocculation.jpg","keywords":["Allegra","Authoritarianism","Emotions","LAB","Times","Violence"],"articleSection":["Anthropology"],"inLanguage":"en-US","potentialAction":[{"@type":"CommentAction","name":"Comment","target":["https:\/\/fivemor.com\/?p=113119#respond"]}]},{"@type":"WebPage","@id":"https:\/\/fivemor.com\/?p=113119","url":"https:\/\/fivemor.com\/?p=113119","name":"In times like these - 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