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Whenever
the self that is lost gets signed again, it is lost again.
(EYAL AMIRAN)
In light of an election year, the 2004 Humanitarians Not Heroes project revisits the blight on democracy that was the tail end of the last presidential race.
As
many recall, a number of wayward elements led to the debacle, including "time-sensitive"
voting stations, ill-designed ballots, the purge of voter rolls, an antiquated
electoral college system, and, unforgivably, a bevy of judges and politicons
seemingly bent on starting their holidays on cue as opposed to insuring the
legitimacy of the voting process. It was a tragic misunderstanding that spoke
volumes about the maltruistic tendencies of the country's slanted politics.
In
this admirable but less-than-perfect democracy, there is genuine resistance
on the part of elected officials to change what is proven ineffectual and obsolete.
We know something is wrong, we recognize the problem, and we outright refuse
to remedy it. The much villainized Palm Beach County butterfly ballot and similar
Votomatic-type cards, for example, had been recommended for elimination as early
as 1988 by the National Institute of Standards and Technology, due to the singular
"chad" malfunction. More astounding is the fact that this exact problem
occurred in the same county during the 1996 elections, when 14,000 ballots had
to be thrown out. Where is the accountability? What happens when every vote
cast does not count? Democracy falters.
In
related business, Humanitarians Not Heroes skims the essence of these polemics
with the issue of its 2004 product, an affiliate HNH identification badge that
any person over the age of 18 may register for and receive. This i.d. looks
not unlike a driver's license or other government-issued cards that carry one's
basic information. The design at the bottom of the card references the butterfly
ballot, symbolic of a flawed system in need of fine tuning. Its color bars signal
Americana as much as criticize the current
administration's performance. Brightening up the marquee with names like "Homeland
Security" and "The Patriot Act," it is a lavish production that
draws in the crowd but masks an ill-conceived play. In
kin symbolism, the sunset or sunrise in the background hints at the double-edged
beauty of the Florida state -- its above and below, its romance, haplessness,
its mysterious waters, and light.
Of
course, there is a hidden bunny on the cover.
HNH cards carry an individual's black and white image, a sequentially issued number, and that person's "authorized signature" on the verso. The general absence of personal data is an intentional limit on basic information that reveals disproportionately less about one's identity than it withholds. Moreover, in a thwarting sleight-of-hand like the dubious presidency that came to be, each signature is in fact an authentic forgery produced by a company "official." In this coy detour back to the offices of art (for HNH first and foremost flies by the banner of the arts), the signature operates as a wallet-size drawing that pays homage to the 2000 election "trompe-l'oeil" if you will, and the "duping society" at large that we have numbed, accustomed ourselves to, and become.
The
signature is a vast, loaded idea. In this project, name inscription is definitively
linked to the discourses of attribution, authorship, validation, identity, and
appropriation. It is a corps of issues that analagously defines the 2000 elections
as well - what
constitutes a legitimate "chad," which
votes count, and who
is the "real" president?
The
card is membership into a Club Dumas secret society of sorts. It is not
uncommon to identify ourselves through some channel of privilege and exclusivity
that offers us camaraderie and unity, though sometimes at the expense of tolerance
if unchecked. There is little question of our fascination with cult-ures and
subcultures, rooted in common escapes like religion, gangs, alt-rock, the collegiate
Greek system, party affiliations, television shows, and celebrity worship. In
a real or fantasy world, it is what we relate, subscribe, and sign our names
to.
This 2004 Humanitarians Not Heroes project pays tribute to activists around the globe who continue to recognize the "other" as a viable and necessary alternative to the multiple status quos that are often disguised as "choices." Thus, when world leaders pronounce scenarios that pit us versus them, good versus evil, right versus wrong, one might question if it isn't all palaver in front of a mirror.
AFFILIATES