July 16, 2023

Depois de 135 anos da Lei Áurea: Chaga Aberta

 

 

 

p o r F A B Í O L A M E N D O N Ç A
 
PASSADOS  ANOS DA LEI ÁUREA, O TRABALHO ESCRAVO PERSISTE GRAÇAS AO VALETUDO DAS TERCEIRIZAÇÕES E À RELUTÂNCIA DO JUDICIÁRIO EM  PUNIR OS ESCRAVOCRATAS
Aos 8 anos de idade, Valdi-
rene foi trabalhar como
doméstica em troca de
um punhado de cruzei-
ros que eram repassados
à mãe todo mês. Isso, no
fim dos anos 1980. A me-
nina foi entregue à famí-
lia pela própria genitora, que não tinha
mais condições de criar os filhos depois
de ser abandonada pelo marido. Valdi-
rene passou, então, a cuidar de crianças
quase da mesma idade da dela e a dar con-
ta dos afazeres domésticos, que não eram
poucos. “No interior, se diz muito ‘vou le-
var pra casa pra brincar com meus filhos’,
mas, na verdade, faz-se de tudo. Muitas
vezes em troca das sobras de comida. O
que sobra das próprias crianças eles di-
zem ‘ah, está limpo’ e botam no seu pra-
to para você comer”, relembra a domés-
tica, hoje com 42 anos e diretora do Sin-
dicato das Empregadas Domésticas da
Bahia. A história de Valdirene é um típi-
co caso de escravidão moderna, uma he-
rança maldita de mais de três séculos de
escravização no Brasil, uma ferida aberta
até os dias de hoje, mesmo passados 135
anos da Lei Áurea.
 
O processo de escravização de Valdire-
ne repetiu-se em outras casas e estendeu-
-se por longos dez anos. Aos 12 anos, de-
pois de ter sido estuprada pelo patrão e de
uma breve passagem por outro trabalho
forçado no município de Camacã, no ex-
tremo sul da Bahia, Valdirene fugiu pa-
ra Salvador, com a promessa de ter os di-
reitos trabalhistas garantidos em um no-
vo emprego doméstico. Ledo engano. Lá,
passou outros quatro anos em cárcere pri-
vado, muitas vezes trabalhando sob vio-
lência e à base de biscoito e água. Segundo
explica, “num vacilo” da patroa escravis-
ta, ela conseguiu escapar e chegar à sede
do Sindicato das Domésticas, que denun-
ciou o caso ao Conselho Tutelar e ao Mi-
nistério do Trabalho. “Infelizmente, não
deu em nada. É muito triste a gente passar
por tudo isso e um juiz dar ganho de causa
ao empregador”, recorda. “As pessoas que
julgam nossas causas também são em-
pregadores e pensam igual aos patrões.”
 
Situação semelhante à de Valdirene é
a de Madalena Gordiano, um caso em-
blemático de grande repercussão ocorri-
do em Minas Gerais. A diferença entre as
duas foi o desfecho. Depois de 38 anos vi-
vendo em condições análogas à escravi-
dão e servindo a duas gerações da mesma
família, Gordiano foi resgatada no fim de
2020 e conseguiu, via um Termo de Ajus-
tamento de Conduta (TAC), uma indeni-
zação equivalente a mais de 600 mil reais,
valor considerado fora da curva pelos pró-
prios especialistas. Madá, como é chama-
da, trabalhou por 24 anos para uma famí-
lia no município de Viçosa, interior minei-
ro, e, depois, foi levada para Patos de Mi-
nas, onde ficou por mais 14 anos, servin-
do à segunda geração da família.
 
“Constatamos que Madalena era sub-
metida a jornadas exaustivas de trabalho,
de domingo a domingo, sem direito a in-
tervalo entre uma jornada e outra. Ela co-
meçava a trabalhar às 2, 4 horas da ma-
drugada e ia até as 8 da noite, uma carga
extenuante”, relembra Thiago de Castro,
procurador do trabalho que atuou no caso
e vice-coordenador nacional do GT sobre
trabalho doméstico do Ministério Públi-
co do Trabalho (MPT). Gordiano recebia,
em média, 200 reais por mês, valor que
não dava sequer para os custos com mate-
rial de higiene pessoal, que não era ofere-
cido pelos patrões. “Eu colocava bilhetes
por baixo da porta dos vizinhos pedindo
ajuda, um dinheiro para comprar um sa-
bonete, um papel higiênico, que eu não ti-
nha. Eles me pagavam pouco, eu tinha de
pedir porque não dava para comprar na-
da”, explica a ex-doméstica, que, com a in-
denização, adquiriu dois quitinetes. Mora
em um e alugou o outro, de onde tira seu
sustento. Orgulhosa, Madá diz que voltou
a estudar, através do programa Educação
de Jovens e Adultos.
 
“Não tem indenização financeira que
recupere a vida que essas pessoas perdem
nas casas onde são escravizadas. A gen-
te precisa desconstruir esse discurso do
‘é como se fosse uma pessoa da família’.
Não sentamos na mesa para nos alimen-
tar com eles, não dormimos nos melhores
aposentos da casa, e sim num quartinho
quente, abafado, cheio de objetos que eles
não querem mais, não estamos no testa-
mento nem no plano de saúde deles e não
participamos das decisões da família. En-
tão, como é que somos da família?”, dis-
para Luíza Batista, presidente da Federa-
ção Nacional das Trabalhadoras Domés-
ticas. Ela cita a dificuldade do sindicato de
ter acesso ao local de trabalho, facilitan-
do ainda mais a exploração por parte dos
patrões. “Como o crime acontece dentro
das residências, os sindicatos não podem
ir até lá, porque, pela Constituição, a re-
sidência é inviolável”, observa, chaman-
do atenção para uma campanha do MPT,
em parceria com o Sindicato Nacional dos
Auditores Fiscais (Sinait), para flexibili-
zar a fiscalização do trabalho doméstico.
Apesar de real, a escravidão domésti-
ca está longe da aparecer nas estatísticas.
Segundo dados compilados pela platafor-
ma Smartlabbr.org, com base nos núme-
ros divulgados pelo Ministério do Traba-
lho, entre 1995 e 2022, os setores econômi-
cos com maior incidência de trabalho aná-
logo à escravidão são os de criação de bo-
vinos (29%), plantações de cana (14%) e de
café (6%), seguidos de fabricação de álcool,
construção civil e produção florestal (to-
dos figuram com 4%), além dos cultivos de
soja e algodão (3% cada). Nesta série his-
tórica de quase 30 anos foram resgatados
57,7 mil trabalhadores em situação análo-
ga à escravidão, dos quais 2.575 em 2022.
De acordo com uma pesqui-
sa realizada pela Clínica de
Trabalho Escravo e Tráfico
de Pessoas da Faculdade de
Direito da UFMG, entre 2017
e 2022 foram realizadas 335
fiscalizações no estado. Em 174 (51,4%)
delas foi constatado trabalho análogo à
escravidão. A maior incidência foi no se-
tor da agricultura (45,97%), seguida pe-
la carvoaria (33,33%), onde os trabalha-
dores viviam e trabalhavam em situa-
ção degradante, uma das modalidades da
escravidão moderna. “Em praticamen-
te 100% dos casos identificamos o que a
gente chama de tripé do trabalho degra-
dante: alojamento precário, sem água po-
tável, sem instalações sanitárias e condi-
ções de higiene sequer para se alimentar.
Não é só uma mera irregularidade traba-
lhista”, explica Lívia Miraglia, uma das
coordenadoras da Clínica da UFMG. A
pesquisadora acrescenta que o estudo
também identificou jornada de trabalho
exaustiva, servidão por dívida e confisco
de documentos das vítimas, reforçando
a prática escravista.
 
Há mais de dez anos realizando traba-
lho de campo nas operações que fiscali-
zam a escravidão moderna, Lucas Reis,
auditor do trabalho e diretor do Sinait,
explica que o trabalho forçado está pre-
sente em todos os setores econômicos.
 
“Antes, as fiscalizações eram pratica-
mente na área rural, mas avançaram
para o ambiente urbano. No setor têxtil,
o número de resgates tem sido bastante
representativo, assim como no trabalho
doméstico”, ressalta Reis, citando que a
construção civil é mais um segmento que
figura entre as atividades escravocratas,
sobretudo no processo de construção de
grandes obras, como aeroportos e nos es-
tádios da Copa e das Olimpíadas. No ra-
mo têxtil, marcas já conhecidas do con-
sumidor como Zara, Farm, Animale e
M. Officer também estão associadas ao
trabalho análogo à escravidão. Em abril
passado, quatro bolivianos foram resga-
tados de uma oficina de costura, no inte-
rior de São Paulo. Eles chegavam a traba-
lhar 15 horas por dia e viviam em situa-
ção degradante, sem higiene e segurança.
 
Em março deste ano, cinco trabalha-
dores que prestavam serviços para o fes-
tival de música Lollapalooza, considera-
do um dos maiores do mundo, também
foram resgatados em condições análo-
gas à escravidão. A organização do even-
to tentou se desvencilhar da responsabi-
lidade, alegando tratar-se de contratados
por empresas terceirizadas, o mesmo
álibi apresentado pelas vinícolas Aurora,
Salton e Garibaldi, na Serra Gaúcha, on-
de foram resgatados no início deste ano
207 pessoas trabalhando em situação de-
gradante e sob violência física. Em mar-
ço foi assinado um TAC entre o MPT e
as vinícolas, dando o direito a cada víti-
ma de receber míseros 9,6 mil reais em
indenização. Outros 5 milhões de reais
foram destinados a entidades, fundos e
projetos voltados para o combate ao tra-
balho escravo.
 
As vinícolas disseram que as vítimas
não eram contratadas diretamente por
elas, e sim pelas empresas terceirizadas
Fênix Serviços Administrativos e Apoio
à Gestão de Saúde Ltda. Este é um discur-
so recorrente, uma vez que, após a apro-
vação da Lei da Terceirização, que permi-
te esse tipo de prática para atividade-fim,
muitas empresas pulverizam sua cadeia
de produção, como explica Lucas Reis.
“A terceirização faz com que as grandes
empresas, que mais se beneficiam com
o trabalho escravo, fechem os olhos pa-
ra as violações que ocorrem nessa cadeia
de produção. Elas se apropriam do lucro
que advém do trabalho nessas condições
desumanas, mas não se responsabilizam
pelas violações que ocorrem.”

AS VINÍCOLAS
GAÚCHAS
FLAGRADAS
COM TRABALHO
ESCRAVO
PAGARAM MENOS
DE  MIL REAIS
DE INDENIZAÇÃO
PARA CADA UMA
DAS VÍTIMAS
 
Outro problema é a baixa punição dos
empregadores escravocratas, fato que é
apontado como estímulo a esse tipo de
ilegalidade. No Pará, por exemplo, há o
caso polêmico de uma ação civil público
ca promovida pelo MPT, em que dois fa-
zendeiros são condenados pela prática de
trabalho escravo contemporâneo na pri-
meira instância, com total improcedên-
cia da ação na segunda instância. Apesar
da tentativa dos ruralistas de destruí-
rem as provas ao queimar os alojamen-
tos instalados em situação degradante, o
Grupo Móvel do Ministério do Trabalho
recebeu a denúncia por filmagens feitas
pelos próprios trabalhadores e, ao chegar
ao local, constatou o crime e ainda conse-
guiu resgatar três trabalhadores. Cientes
da chegada da equipe com os auditores na
cidade, os fazendeiros expulsaram os tra-
balhadores sob tiros. Na primeira instân-
cia, os ruralistas, conhecidos na região co-
mo “reis do gado”, foram condenados a pa-
gar 500 mil reais por dano moral coleti-
vo e verbas rescisórias para os trabalha-
dores. Mas a quarta turma do TRT-8 não
reconheceu o caso como trabalho escra-
vo e julgou improcedente a ação.
 
“O que é trabalho degradante para os
magistrados brasileiros, pessoas bran-
cas, de classe média alta em sua expres-
siva maioria, que dificilmente tiveram de
enfrentar as agruras do trabalho braçal
que esses trabalhadores enfrentam des-
de a tenra idade? As pesquisas sociológi-
cas indicam que eles se solidarizam com
esses exploradores de mão de obra de tra-
balhadores escravizados, não condenan-
do nem reconhecendo a prática crimino-
sa”, observa Valena Jacob, pesquisadora e
coordenadora da Clínica de Combate ao
Trabalho Escravo da Universidade Fede-
ral do Pará. O caso será julgado pelo TST e
a Clínica participará do processo na con-
dição de amicus curiae.
 
A legislação brasileira é muito clara
na definição do trabalho escravo, mas a
aplicabilidade da lei nem sempre preva-
lece. A PEC que trata desse tipo de crime
foi aprovada em 2014, depois de quase 20
anos tramitando no Congresso Nacio-
nal, mas precisaria de um PL para regu-
lamentar o conceito de trabalho escravo.
 
“Temos o artigo 149 do Código Penal, que
já foi alterado em 2003 e diz claramen-
te o que é trabalho escravo, um conceito
bastante elogiado pela OIT e pela ONU”,
esclarece a juíza do trabalho e presiden-
ta eleita da Associação Nacional dos Ma-
gistrado da Justiça do Trabalho, Luciana
Conforti. Dentre as penalidades previs-
tas na PEC do Trabalho Escravo está a ex-
propriação de terras onde ocorre o crime,
mas a proposta não foi regulamentada, es-
tá em debate no Senado Federal.
Segundo o Código Penal, são
quatro as modalidades de tra-
balho escravo: 1. Forçado,
quando as vítimas trabalham
sob ameaça de sofrer punição
ou têm sua liberdade restrin-
gida, como, por exemplo, trabalham em
local onde há vigilância ostensiva arma-
da. 2. Quando o trabalhador é submeti-
do a condições degradantes no ambiente
laboral e de moradia. 3. Quando a jorna-
da de trabalho é exaustiva e compromete
a saúde do trabalhador. 6. A servidão por
dívida, na qual o trabalhador se endivida
com o explorador para comprar itens es-
senciais à sua sobrevivência.
 
A impunidade, nos casos de respon-
sabilização criminal, é a regra. Um terço
dos indiciados nem sequer vai a julgamen-
to e somente 6,3% dos réus são condena-
dos definitivamente, atesta uma pesqui-
sa da Clínica da UFMG. Pior, apenas 1%
dos acusados acaba sentenciado a mais
de quatro anos de prisão e, efetivamente,
cumpre pena em regime fechado.
 
Além do Código Penal, que cuida da
parte criminal, existe a responsabiliza-
ção trabalhista, que fica a cargo dos audi-
tores fiscais do trabalho, do MPT, da De-
fensoria Pública da União e da Justiça do
Trabalho. “Nos termos dos direitos tra-
balhistas existem ações diversas, como
as cautelares, as civis públicas e o TAC.
 
Em todas essas medidas são levados em
consideração critérios como a avaliação
dos valores a título de responsabiliza-
ção do empregador, a gravidade da situ-
ação encontrada, o tempo de duração da
prática ilegal e a quantidade de pessoas
atingidas”, explica Lys Sobral Cardoso,
procuradora do trabalho e coordenado-
ra nacional de Erradicação do Trabalho
Escravo e Enfrentamento ao Tráfico de
Pessoas do Ministério Público do Tra-
balho. Segundo Cardoso, muitas vezes
os acordos prévios acontecem para evi-
tar que o caso se estenda muito e se per-
ca por conta do tempo decorrido. “Mui-
tas vezes, pelo risco de não se conseguir
nada, garante-se um acordo logo no iní-
cio, para que as vítimas possam receber
os valores devidos.”
O  presidente do Sinait, Bob Machado,
queixa-se da defasagem de pessoal para
fazer as fiscalizações. Segundo afirma, o
Ministério do Trabalho passa por um mo-
vimento de esvaziamento e há dez anos
não realiza concurso público para audito-
res do trabalho. “Nós temos, hoje, do pon-
to de vista da inspeção do trabalho, o me-
nor número de auditores fiscais dos últi-
mos 33 anos. É humanamente impossível
atender às demandas da sociedade brasi-
leira de maneira adequada, e aí estou fa-
lando não só do combate ao trabalho es-
cravo, mas de outros tipos de fiscaliza-
ções, a exemplo do combate ao trabalho
infantil”, diz, acrescentando que hoje há
menos de 2 mil auditores do trabalho em
atividade no País e que mesmo que os ou-
tros 1,7 mil cargos vagos fossem ocupados
o número não seria suficiente. O ideal, se-
gundo Machado, seria a contratação de 5
mil novos auditores do trabalho.
ASuperintendência Regional
do Trabalho em Pernambuco
criou uma comissão triparti-
te, com representação dos tra-
balhadores, dos empregado-
res e os fiscais do Ministério
do Trabalho, para discutir a responsa-
bilização de cada ator nesse processo, no
sentido de prevenir não só a escravidão
moderna, mas todo tipo de trabalho ile-
gal. “Fiscalizar é importante, mas é pre-
ciso também construir uma nova mentali-
idade no trabalho. Os empregadores de-
vem entender as consequências de parar
na lista suja, e os trabalhadores devem co-
nhecer seus direitos para atuar com dig-
nidade”, explica Suzi Rodrigues, superin-
tendente do MTE em Pernambuco.
 
Em janeiro deste ano, em uma ação
conjunta do Tribunal Superior do Traba-
lho (TST) e do Conselho Nacional da Jus-
tiça do Trabalho, foi criado um GT com a
finalidade de combater a escravidão mo-
derna e o tráfico de pessoas. O grupo é for-
mado não apenas por magistrados, mas
também por procuradores do trabalho
e pesquisadores. “Não temos ainda uma
compilação daquilo que vamos apresentar
no relatório final, mas é possível cogitar
que uma atitude mais firme em proces-
sos que envolvam trabalho escravo, trá-
fico de pessoas e proteção a migrante te-
nha preferência em relação a outros feitos,
tendo em vista a absoluta gravidade des-
sa conduta, que implica aviltamento da
condição humana, o que é absolutamente
intolerável. Então, esses processos pre-
cisam ter prioridade mesmo”, explica o
coordenador do GT, o ministro do TST
Augusto César Leite de Carvalho.
 
O magistrado acrescenta que o grupo
deve propor também a formação para os
juízes trabalhistas que aborde esses te-
mas, além de apresentar projetos ao Le-
gislativo no sentido de erradicar o traba-
lho escravo, a partir de multas e repara-
ções mais contundentes. Enquanto isso,
os sucessivos flagrantes de trabalho es-
cravo mostram o que o Brasil ainda está
longe, muito longe de abolir a prática. Na
quarta-feira 10, uma operação resgatou
dez trabalhadores em condições análogas
à escravidão em uma fazenda de café no
Espírito Santo. Aliciados nos estados de
Sergipe e Alagoas com a promessa de sa-
lários vantajosos, só perceberam que fo-
ram enganados ao chegar no local de tra-
balho. Vivendo em condições insalubres,
eles recebiam 16 reais por saca de 60 qui-
los de café colhido, mas tinham descon-
tadas dívidas com o empregador. Um caso
clássico de servidão moderna. Mais um.
CARTA CAPITAL      

 
 

 

 

 

July 2, 2023

It’s Okay to Like Good Art by Bad People

 

 

by Judith Shulevitz

In 1895, the popular satirist and dandy Oscar Wilde was tried and sentenced to a prison term, with hard labor, for “gross indecency,” meaning sexual acts with men. The ordeal effectively ended his career, shortened his life, and made his name synonymous with depravity for at least a generation. The young Katherine Mansfield, struggling with her alarming attraction to women, wrote to a friend in 1909 that thinking about Wilde had led to “fits of madness” like those that drove him to “his ruin and his mental decay.”

More than a century later, Wilde is a canonical figure, the preeminent wit of Victorian literature and the beau ideal of the queer aesthetic—campy, ironic, a gender-boundary provocateur. To most of his contemporaries, Wilde wound up being a monster. To us, he’s an icon. But if he were held to today’s standards of appropriate sexual behavior, homosexual or heterosexual, he’d be a monster again. Wilde didn’t just sleep with men. He slept with “rent boys” (male prostitutes) and teenage boys picked up for brief trysts.

As far as I know, no one has demanded that high-school students stop putting on The Importance of Being Earnest. This unconcern is a little odd. Other artists—Woody Allen, Kevin Spacey, Plácido Domingo—have come under moral scrutiny and been declared beyond the pale or at least seriously suspect. Why is Wilde exempt? Because he’s dead? That can’t entirely explain it. After all, the painter Paul Gauguin, who had sex with the teenage girls he used as models during his time in Tahiti, has recently been the object of a major critical reassessment. Is Wilde exempt because his droll quips are still quite devastating, and still hit their targets? Anyone taking on Wilde would have to be willing to come off as one of the sanctimonious buffoons he made fun of. But above all, I think, he’s spared because he represents—indeed, was a martyr to—one of the great causes of our time, which is LGBTQ rights.

I bring up Wilde not to damage his reputation all over again—I love him too—but to suggest that punishment for wayward artists is being meted out erratically. No principles appear to guide who should be deemed unconscionable and penalized as such. “What ought we to do about great art made by bad men?” asks Claire Dederer, a critic and memoirist, in Monsters: A Fan’s Dilemma. The book, which grew out of an essay she published in The Paris Review in 2017, at the peak of the #MeToo movement, is the account of an art consumer (her) who would be virtuous without being philistine. It’s also the latest entry in a new meta-genre: the moral reckoning with the moral reckoning that is cancel culture. Other notable examples are the philosopher Erich Hatala Matthes’s encyclopedic Drawing the Line: What to Do With the Work of Immoral Artists From Museums to the Movies (2021) and the critic Laura Kipnis’s provocative, mournful 2020 essay, “Transgression, an Elegy,” in the journal Liberties.

Some readers may object to the phrase cancel culture. The progressive impulse is to deny that the phenomenon exists or to declare that, if it does, it’s not as dangerous as the right-wing, anti-“woke” version—and anyway, the canceled rarely stay canceled. Allen’s 50th film is currently in production. An exhibit of Gauguin’s portraits, critiquing his use of his Tahitian models, opened in 2019. J. K. Rowling, reviled for comments critical of transgender-rights policies, still sells books, and a new Harry Potter–related video game is doing very well. But to say that an artist hasn’t been canceled because she hasn’t been destroyed is to miss the point. To cancel is to do enduring reputational harm. Tarnished names and impugned works have a way of staying tarnished and impugned.

In Monsters, Dederer ventures into this minefield with a divided soul. On the one hand, she has no sympathy for the men being accused. “I have been a teenager predated by older men; I have been molested; I’ve been assaulted on the street,” she writes. “I don’t say this because it makes me special. I say it because it makes me non-special.” On the other hand, she believes in art. In a clever conceit that lets her avoid appearing to criticize anyone—quite a feat in a book on this topic—Dederer keeps the conversation inside her head: She pits Claire the critic, who doesn’t want to miss out on “the freedom and beauty and grandeur and strangeness of great art,” against Claire the woman, who would like to be a “demonstrably good feminist.” She asks the important questions. How do we weigh an artist’s accomplishment against his personal wickedness? “Do we believe genius gets special dispensation, a behavioral hall pass?” Should we draw clear distinctions between a transgressive work of art and behavioral transgressions, or would that be letting miscreants off too easy? To her credit, she skirts categorical answers.

No artist troubles Dederer as much as Roman Polanski, clearly her favorite auteur, who balances “the absoluteness of the monstrosity” in life and “the absoluteness of the genius” in his filmmaking:

Polanski made Chinatown, often called one of the greatest films of all time.

Polanski drugged and anally raped thirteen-year-old Samantha Gailey.

There the facts sit, unreconcilable.

How would I maintain myself between these contradictions?

Eventually, Dederer makes her way to the view that, in the case of Polanski, she’ll just have to learn to live in a state of cognitive dissonance: “Polanski’s work still called to me.” Like the good critic she is—her interpretation of Lolita as an attack on the seduction of young girls rather than a defense of it is subtle and adroit—she is drawn to paradox.

That Polanski’s movies don’t try to justify pedophilia surely helps Dederer accept his contradictions. Allen is another story. Dederer, a longtime fan, used to agree with the “dominant opinion” that Manhattan (1979) is Allen’s best film. Then she watched it again a few years ago. The movie features a romantic relationship between a middle-aged protagonist, Isaac (played by Allen), and a 17-year-old girl, Tracy (Mariel Hemingway). On this recent viewing, she can’t put Allen’s affair with 21-year-old Soon-Yi Previn, the adopted daughter of his then-partner, Mia Farrow, out of her mind, and she finds the movie creepy. How could she not have registered Isaac’s sinister nonchalance when he introduces Tracy to his friends at dinner, and their strange nonresponse?

She thinks that perhaps, as an up-and-coming film critic, she’d been too eager to be seen as sophisticated, as the cool girl, so she had suppressed her ambivalence: “I mistrusted and didn’t believe in the central relationship—it seemed to me that the whole film was built on a lie or a fantasy—but I didn’t have the words to say that.” She finds them now. Isaac is “fucking that high schooler with what my mother would call a hey-nonny-nonny,” she writes. Me, I’ve always wondered whether the apparent indifference to the age gap in that scene was meant as a joke (for one thing, Tracy seems more mature than Isaac), but Dederer construes it as an attempted “artistic grooming of the audience”—Allen trying to get us to agree that sleeping with much younger women is no big deal.

Dederer’s reinterpretation can’t be reduced to #MeToo-ism, even if it was prompted by the movement. It’s more interesting than that. She is giving a vivid description of a universal experience. We don’t come to the movies as blank slates; we bring ourselves and our history. And with the advent of social media, we can’t escape knowing about artists’ alleged misdeeds, however long ago they are said to have happened. Biography “falls on your head all day long,” Dederer observes. “We don’t know the real story” behind the allegations, which Allen denies, that he molested his 7-year-old adopted daughter, Dylan Farrow, she writes, “and we might never know.” She dwells, though, on “the fucking of Soon-Yi,” in her bitter phrase, because she herself grew up with her mother’s boyfriend and loves him like a parent. That such a man would come on to a young woman like the one she had been strikes Dederer as an unthinkable breach of trust. Giving herself permission to mix in this subjective and emotional reaction, as opposed to striving for a purely objective and rational one, is a liberation; after all, her response to Manhattan and Isaac and Tracy was always going to be personal. “I’m just acknowledging the realities of the situation,” Dederer writes.

The film Manhattan is disrupted by our knowledge of Soon-Yi; but it’s also myopic and limited in its own right; and it’s also got a lot of things about it that are pretty great … Simply being told that Allen’s history shouldn’t matter doesn’t achieve the objective of making it not matter.

Making it not matter is precisely what Dederer and I were both taught in college to do (I’m a few years older than she is). Don’t commit the biographical fallacy, her professors told her: “The work exists in an ideal state (ahistorical, alpine, snowy, pure).” I read the Russian formalists, whose subject was the workings of literary language, as well as Jacques Derrida and Roland Barthes. The author was dead; long live the text that stands on its own! The genius whose name was on the work might be louche, but who cared? He (and it was usually a he) had nothing to do with the free play of meaning.

Only after I graduated did deconstruction morph into new historicism and feminist postcolonialism, which sneaked the author back into the classroom by focusing on the particular circumstances in which the work was written. Morality returned too: Now you studied literature to decode the problematic social and sexual relations encrypted in the text. Dederer doesn’t mention these theorists by name, but she asks their question about a critical approach that failed to address itself to the operations of power: Cui bono? Who benefits from keeping biography and history away from art? And she echoes one of their answers: “The winners of history (men) (so far).”

I’m not quite as enthused as Dederer is about the politicization of interpretation. We’re at the point when we could use a little more of the art-for-art’s-sake spirit; could let ourselves luxuriate in sensuality, beauty, and form; should offer more resistance to the pressure to find and deliver socially useful messages. I look back with a certain chagrin at how, as a young critic, I delighted in bucking my high-minded education by hunting down traces of a writer’s mixed motives, bad faith, petty and not so petty obfuscations in his writing. I took hubristic pride in my gotcha criticism and my eagle eye. But what used to feel subversive now feels like an imperative: Either scan the text for signs of immorality or be suspected of reactionary tendencies. You were hoping for aesthetic transport? Back to the consciousness-raising session with you!

Dederer doesn’t want to be a killjoy, but she also doesn’t want to ignore the plights of vulnerable and abused people. There are many ways to signal your disapproval of a blameworthy artist. At a minimum, you can avoid his art; that way you don’t give him financial support, if he’s alive, and in any case don’t appear to your friends to sanction his wrongdoing. The maximalist course is to rally others to a general boycott. Dederer considers cancellation performative at best and dictatorial at worst. “Can I still listen to David Bowie?” is a plaintive query that she says she hears a lot when she speaks on college campuses. She feels the students’ pain: “I was a weird teenager; David Bowie was the patron saint of weird kids.” But when he died, the news spread that he had allegedly slept with a 15-year-old groupie, taking her virginity. And so the fans are bereft. They’ve been betrayed. “This is a book about broken hearts,” Dederer says. Had it been Led Zeppelin, Mötley Crüe, Aerosmith, they would have expected no better from them, Dederer says. “But not our guy.”

The thing is, no one wants to give up their guy. Dederer thinks the students were upset because they felt betrayed by Bowie’s misconduct. She doesn’t say this, exactly, but I think something in them was also balking at the presumption—automatic on their part—that they had to delete him from their playlists. When you have to punish the one you love, you just don’t want to. You could call that hypocrisy; I call it sanity, because maybe punishment isn’t the way to go.

When our guy is the target, what also becomes apparent is that the retributive process is ugly. If we must incorporate a prescriptive morality into our reception of art, at least let it rest on epistemological rigor—on doing our due diligence. Twitter hordes all too often demand that we repudiate our idols in an instant, without second thoughts, before the murk of rumor and uncertainty has been cleared up and contexts understood. Have we paused to examine the evidence? And even if guilt has been established, behavioral norms are changing fast. Maybe we should be less dogmatic about our operative definitions of right and wrong.

Given her visceral aversion to overreach, I find it surprising that Dederer often fails to question assumptions of culpability. She tells the story of a queer punk duo, PWR BTTM, whose passionate fans (many of them in the LGBTQ community) turned on the pair after one of the musicians was accused of sexual misconduct. Their anger “was rapid, bitter, and heartfelt,” Dederer writes. “How could they listen to this beloved music when they felt betrayed by its maker? The songs were soured, or stained.”

Dederer’s account of the incident is pretty cryptic, though, so I looked into it. On May 11, 2017, just as PWR BTTM’s second album was coming out, a person wrote a Facebook post accusing one band member of predatory behavior against others in the fan community; an anonymous first-person account in Jezebel followed, alleging that sexual encounters that had occurred the year before qualified, in retrospect, as sexual assault. By May 15, PWR BTTM’s record label had stopped distributing the new album; the duo’s management agency had dropped them; their upcoming tour had fallen apart; and their music had been removed from Amazon Music, Apple Music, and Spotify.

But did the band member do it? Dederer never says. She’s talking about the fans’ feelings, not about whether the feelings are based on fact. The accused musician apologized for any interactions with fans after shows that may have caused discomfort, and strongly contested the account in Jezebel, saying they understood those encounters to have been “fully consensual.” But the band broke up shortly afterward, so the complete backstory may never become public. Still, when disputed accusations by unnamed parties turn musicians from rising stars to personae non gratae in less than a week, you have to wonder who let PWR BTTM’s followers down, the accused or an industry in a panic.

Dederer takes a similar tack in describing J. K. Rowling’s vilification as a transphobe. You can see why she wouldn’t want to relitigate such an explosive indictment. But her focus on fan alienation, which entails adopting the progressive wisdom on trans issues, winds up seeming symptomatic of the problem: If artists’ political opinions are being deemed unacceptable, the grounds of that judgment surely deserve careful consideration; the verdict of the group shouldn’t simply hold sway.

An ethics that is casual about proof and doesn’t question the assumptions of the moment looks disturbingly like mob justice. Dederer grasps that the besmirching of an artist reflects the workings of a collective unconscious more than of enlightened opinion formation. The most resonant chapter in Monsters explores what she calls “the stain,” a thing that is “creeping, wine-dark, inevitable.” She borrows the term from the music critic Simon Reynolds, whom she messages to ask his opinion of Michael Jackson. How has his relationship with Jackson’s music changed in light of accusations that he sexually abused boys? He responds,

i am currently trying to do the aesthetico-moral calculus thing re. MJ’s music, like, is the Jackson 5 stuff okay? … does the stain work its way backwards through time?

Jackson was a child himself when he was in the Jackson 5, so presumably he wasn’t abusing any children then—in fact, Jackson later said he had been the victim of abuse by his harsh and domineering father. So why would we worry about listening to his early music? Dederer thinks we can’t help it. The spreading of the blotch “is not a choice,” she says. “It’s already too late. It touches everything. Our understanding of the work has taken on a new color, whether we like it or not.”

Dederer’s ultimate recommendation for dealing with immorality in artists is very sensible. We should engage with their art, not quash it, and work through our qualms at the same time. It’s a noble aspiration, but I suspect that the logic of the stain will defeat it. If hearsay about artists’ misdeeds or thought crimes is top of mind when we interact with their paintings, or prose, or poetry, or films, or music, that’s what we’ll look for and that’s what we’ll find traces of—or not, but that will have been our prism.

As it happens, Oscar Wilde isn’t just the rare genius whose questionable desires have somehow evaded contemporary censure. He was also a philosopher of art whose ideas may help us find a way out of our obsession with adjudicating artists’ conduct. Wilde was an aesthete, meaning not only that he responded deeply to art but also that he was a member of the late-19th-century Aesthetic movement—in fact, the most famous member of it. Aestheticist ideas about beauty emerged in vigorous opposition to the Victorian insistence that art be morally instructive. Aestheticism was a “battle-cry for artists and critics claiming freedom of artistic expression,” in the words of one historian. Art shouldn’t have to justify its existence. It is not required to be wholesome and uplifting. Nor should it be seen as expressing “the temper of its age, the spirit of its time, the moral and social conditions that surround it, and under whose influence it is produced,” Wilde wrote in his essay “The Decay of Lying.” Elsewhere, he wrote that art and ethics belong in “absolutely distinct and separate” spheres.

“All art is quite useless,” he declared in the preface to The Picture of Dorian Gray. And again, in a lecture: It “has no meaning but its beauty, no message but its joy.” Any critic today who evinced such a haughtily apolitical view of life and art would probably annoy their more virtue-oriented readers. And yes, Wilde had a personal interest in cautioning against the encroachment of ethics on creative pursuits. In the libel trial that led to two criminal trials and, ultimately, Wilde’s conviction, lawyers offered the risqué Dorian Gray as proof of Wilde’s vicious character. I don’t believe you can separate his aestheticism or his buoyant writing from his role as a sexual nonconformist, and I think we should heed his warning about the consequences of a triumph of morality over art: “Art will become sterile, and Beauty will pass away from the land.”

 THE ATLANTIC 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

July 1, 2023

Cormac McCarthy shaped a generation of writers like me — even when we didn’t admit it

 

 
 
By JOHN WRAY
Los Angeles Times
 

For the entirety of my writing life, Cormac McCarthy has been a mountain. Some of the novelists of my generation found the mountain beautiful; others found it oppressive. But virtually all of us, whatever our position or attitude, existed in its shade.

In spite of the enormity of his shadow, however, I’ve never before written about the author of so many novels I’ve studied and admired. In the two decades since my first book was published, I’ve fielded the boilerplate question about my influences no end of times, name-checking an almost absurdly ragtag crew: Shirley Hazzard, Denis Johnson, William S. Burroughs, Amos Tutuola, Lydia Davis, Toni Morrison, John Berger, Ursula K. Le Guin — even, just a few weeks ago, whoever ghost-wrote David Lee Roth’s memoir, “Crazy From the Heat.” But one name I’ve conspicuously avoided all these years has been that of McCarthy, who died last week at 89. Why on earth is that?

The omission wasn’t due to any lack of impact on my writing, that’s for certain. I might never have finished a book if not for “All the Pretty Horses” — and I don’t mean this in some vague or sentimental sense. When McCarthy’s sixth novel swept into my life, I was 24 years old and living in a tent I’d pitched in the basement of a warehouse under the Manhattan Bridge. I’d recently lost both my job and my apartment, and a friend thought a book about cowboys might distract me from my woes. What neither of us imagined was that the glossy trade paperback with its attractively minimalist black-and-white cover would act as the catalyst for my entire professional life.

From the first paragraph — from the first sentence — “All the Pretty Horses” reconfigured my understanding of novelistic language so radically that months would pass before I felt able to read anyone else. All these years later, its opening still hits me with the force of incantation: The candleflame and the image of the candleflame caught in the pierglass twisted and righted when he entered the hall and again when he shut the door.


That line has lost none of its mystery, its austerity, its elegant foreboding. Part of what makes it so memorable, of course, is its odd, self-consciously archaic cadence — the oft-cited ‘biblical’ loftiness of McCarthy’s prose, which may be one reason few writers of my generation care to cite him as an influence. But although I registered the novel’s considerable stylistic debts both to Hemingway and Faulkner — not to mention “A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man” — I was so intoxicated by its music that the point seemed academic. It didn’t matter that McCarthy’s literary models were obvious, because he wrote as well as they did and occasionally better. For a would-be novelist struggling under my own debilitating anxiety of influence, no more valuable lesson existed. I received it as a physical sensation. I could breathe.

But something even more powerful was at work as I read, something harder to make sense of, let alone characterize: At the time I thought of it — always in italics — as the sound. Intuitively, on the margins of my consciousness, I came to understand: The sound was the thing. It set the mood, it lit the world, it kept everything in motion. This second lesson was, if possible, even more pivotal than the first: Never mind your plot outline, your carefully thought-out themes, your take on human nature. Forget your own name if you have to. It may take years, it may be agony — but find the sound. That’s all you need. The rest of it will follow.

The news of McCarthy’s death — somehow surprising, even startling, in spite of his age — is the reason, of course, for this belated mea culpa. I can’t help but think, looking back, that certain younger writers, myself included, resisted acknowledging McCarthy’s influence not because of what he was, necessarily, but because of what he represented — and whatever our conception of him now, he has also, with his passing, come to represent the past.

But this was true, curiously enough, even during the long years of McCarthy’s prime. Vital as his best work always was to me as a point of reference, the man himself, and how he (purportedly) lived — his Olympian detachment, his monkish day-to-day existence, his refusal to give interviews or readings or to besmirch himself in any of the myriad ways demanded of working writers nowadays — always seemed an impossible act to follow.

Until the runaway success of “Horses,” when McCarthy was 59, none of his novels had sold more than a few thousand copies, and he gave every impression of finding obscurity pleasant. At times his very existence, out there somewhere, banging contentedly away on his Olivetti Lettera, could feel ... daunting, I suppose. He regularly refused lucrative speaking engagements, teaching positions, and — needless to say — any social media presence whatsoever. What young writer could get away with that today? Perhaps more to the point, would any of them want to?

For this reason and others, McCarthy’s passing feels to me — as I’m sure it does to many — like the closing of a long and momentous chapter in American letters. He was, de facto, the last of the great Harold Bloom-anointed White Cisgender Male Authors, and no small number of critics and academics, I suspect, are now quietly wishing that era Godspeed.

White cisgender male though I am, far be it from me to disagree: I’ve never felt the awe and adoration for Bellow and Mailer and Irving that seemed mandatory among well-read middle-class readers of my parents’ generation, and I’ve always been slightly nauseated by Updike’s randiness and verbal exhibitionism. McCarthy, however, though he was born in the same year as Philip Roth, was never a member of that particular gentlemen’s club. I imagine he must have struck a writer like Updike as a walking anachronism, a coelacanth-like living fossil from the high modernist age. And in fact — occasionally for the worse, but very, very often for the better — that’s exactly what he was.

None of which is to say that McCarthy’s body of work, or even his worldview, has subsided into irrelevance with his death — just the opposite. I was recently asked by a music magazine to write a list of “novels for metalheads,” and my thoughts went instantly to “Blood Meridian,” his end-of-days magnum opus of the American West. The conjunction of metal and McCarthy isn’t as far-fetched as it might seem; in its pitch-black reckoning with humanity’s most self-annihilating urges, the novel could easily be read as an allegory for the Anthropocene. The apocalyptic orange skies that recently darkened the East Coast might have been conjured directly from its dread-filled pages.

I had a dog-eared copy of “Blood Meridian” beside me when I wrote the following passage in my most recent novel, in which a teenage boy hears heavy music for the first time: “He was being offered the same purifying fear, the same catharsis, the same revelation midnight slasher movies gave: that everything wasn’t going to be all right. Not now and not ever. And that made perfect sense to him.”

Wray is a novelist and the author, most recently, of “Gone to the Wolves.”

 LOS ANGELES TIMES