Thursday, 08 July 2004 | The Corporation

[written 7/7/04]

I've seen three documentaries in theaters during the past month—Supersize Me, Fahrenheit 9/11, and The Corporation, which I saw tonight. None of them are easy to watch, really. In the latter two I had to fight to keep from crying several times, and I left the theater with something of a renewed sense of responsibility, even if it wasn't readily clear what I was(/am) supposed to do. Since crying is no fun, and lack of responsibility is infinitely easier, why go see these movies? I guess it's because I don't want to be part of the problem, or maybe because I wouldn't respect myself if I paid no attention.

The Corporation was the worst in my opinion, and by the worst, I mean the most intense, and perhaps the most disturbing. I think it was the hardest for me because I am more directly a part of the corporate machine than I am of the industry that produces fast food (which I don't eat) or the America that gives power to the current administration (which I don't support).

(Yes.) I work at a non-profit; I'm careful about what I buy, eat, and consume; I watch very little TV (which I suppose means I'm exposed to less advertising, bad journalism, and reality TV, which—corporate or not—is a good thing, right?); and I tend to be fairly well-informed and self-aware.

(But, to name a few.) I'm wearing brand-name clothing produced in a third-world country (I cut the tag out, but that doesn't change anything); the bills I pay are written to corporate giants; like anyone else, I fall victim to suave marketing; and I consume products on a daily basis that are made by companies that exploit and pollute and own governments and deceive and abuse. In fact, I'm typing these words on a computer made by a company famous for outsourcing.

I'm caught between helpless frustration (thinking the only escape is to live on a commune, which is not an attractive option) and motivation to—at the very least—try to do my part, whatever that is.

What's okay to buy? What's not? I'm lucky to be in a city not yet stripped of its small businesses, but of course even those aren't islands.

...

There are people I wish I could force to watch the movie: the ones unfamiliar with these issues, and the ones who acknowledge the issues but refuse to look at them out of discomfort (the "I know it's bad but I don't want to know how bad" people). I kept thinking of a certain family member while I watched the film. Half-composed thoughts such as, if I bought it on DVD and gave it to him as a present, would he watch it? (And would that be ironic, for me to buy it on DVD?)

...

Lately I've been looking for things I can completely trust, something pure that hasn't been manufactured with my wallet in mind, something not meant to manipulate me. There isn't much anymore that I'm not wary of; at first something will look fully wholesome, but when I peek behind the curtain, I learn there aren't that many virgins left after all. I'm pretty sure my cat isn't out to screw me over, so there's one.

...

I can tell my frustration has already softened from when I was sitting in the theater, sick to my stomach from information, and I can tell my sadness has dimmed since I took the train home sitting among the working poor on the JMZ.

When I read these words next week, tomorrow, in an hour—I'm only going to be able to faintly recall the feeling that once drunkenly overwhelmed me, without knowing how to fully ignite it again. (The ever-wise Scott P suggested that I don't really want to live in that overwhelmed state anyway, because I would surely have a coronary.) I'm certainly not able to adequately communicate the feeling; it's like trying to explain what being drunk feels like.

I worry about coming across as anti-capitalist, which I'm not, and about presenting my global and generic reactions to a film you may not have seen. (I don't want to seem like an overreactor.) I'm probably going to be embarrassed of my passion, which is really quite sad.

I imagine that tomorrow, when I wake up, I'll still be thinking about the film and how it relates to the society I'm part of, but it will be even hazier and more dreamlike. As if someone had read me a bedtime story by Orwell, and that now it's time to move on and return to "reality."