Unrepresentable Enemies: On the Legacy of Guy Debord and the Situationist International Author(s): Tom McDonough Reviewed work(s): Source: Afterall: A Journal of Art, Context, and Enquiry, Issue 28 (Autumn/Winter 2011), pp. 42-55 Published by: The University of Chicago Press on behalf of Central Saint Martins College of Art and Design, University of the Arts London Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/10.1086/662970 . Accessed: 09/01/2013 17:16 Your use of the JSTOR archive indicates your acceptance of the Terms & Conditions of Use, available at . http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp . JSTOR is a not-for-profit service that helps scholars, researchers, and students discover, use, and build upon a wide range of content in a trusted digital archive. We use information technology and tools to increase productivity and facilitate new forms of scholarship. For more information about JSTOR, please contact [email protected]. The University of Chicago Press and Central Saint Martins College of Art and Design, University of the Arts London are collaborating with JSTOR to digitize, preserve and extend access to Afterall: A Journal of Art, Context, and Enquiry. http://www.jstor.org This content downloaded on Wed, 9 Jan 2013 17:16:27 PM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions 42 | Afterall This content downloaded on Wed, 9 Jan 2013 17:16:27 PM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions Claire Fontaine, La Société du Spectacle Unrepresentable Enemies: brickbat, 2006, brick, Epson Durabrite On the Legacy of Guy Debord print on archive paper, 100 × 50 × and the Situationist International 33mm. Courtesy the artist and Reena — Tom McDonough Spaulings Fine Art, New York On 1 November 1996, a short missive appeared in the letters section of the French newspaper of record, Le Monde. Signed by Alice Becker-Ho, Guy Debord’s widow, and Patrick Mosconi, who had been charged with establishing his literary estate, it took up the question of the legacy of the founder of the Situationist International and read, in part: Debord’s legacy poses no problem. Only Debord himself poses a problem. […] There’s nothing to build on, or rehabilitate, or embellish, or falsify. There is, finally, only Debord, his art and his time as he has revealed them, and that is obviously much more than all these people can support. […] There are no heirs. Debord must inherit Debord. 1 This statement of Debord’s absolute singularity was, on the one hand, a central element of the estate’s conflict with his publisher since the early 1990s, the venerable house of Gallimard. The ‘legacy’ in question concerned, quite specifically, the rights to his work, and only two months later Becker-Ho and Mosconi would announce their break with the publishers over offense taken at the fictional representation of Debord in a mystery novel they released.2 On the other hand, however, the issue was broader than this particular dispute. The vision of legacy Drawing on late Guy Debord and his detailed here was profoundly curtailed: Debord, having devoted himself by the reception in the 1980s, Tom McDonough late 1980s to the aestheticisation of his life traces the legacy of the Situationist — to conceiving of his life as an artwork International in the practices of the — would have no inheritors, just as he had refused all inheritances, whether familial Tiqqun collective and Claire Fontaine. or cultural. This was the myth of Debord that became dominant in the years following his suicide in late 1994, at least among a group of influential critics and historians: foremost among them Philippe Sollers, who wrote a series of important articles on Debord for the French literary press beginning in the late 1980s and even produced a television documentary on him in 2000 with Emmanuel Descombes, and Vincent Kaufmann, who in 2001 published a biography of Debord with the estate’s blessing.3 Both concurred in seeing their subject as a great author-essayist, memoirist and moralist in a long line of classical French writers, and one who, in Kaufmann’s words, ‘conceived his books and films so that there is literally nothing to repeat. He has produced an oeuvre that wants to be irrefutable, an oeuvre whose deepest meaning is to refute and at the same time to challenge those who approach it’.4 Such a writer, it seems hardly necessary to repeat, leaves no legacy. Yet there is another possible answer to this question of inheritance, one that is not ordered by patrilineal filiation and its refusal, one that is not about the claiming of Debord’s mantle, but which takes his work as a point of departure for reading — and struggling — in the present. This answer necessitates a return to the late 1980s, to the conjunction of two events: first, the publication of Debord’s Comments on the Society of the Spectacle in 1 ‘Au courier du “Monde”: Autour de l’héritage de Guy Debord’, Le Monde, 1 November 1996, p.8. Translation of this and the other French quotations the author's. 2 See, for example, ‘Les ayants droit de Guy Debord rompent avec Gallimard’, Le Monde, 9 January 1997, p.9. The novel in question was Bertrand Delcourt’s Locus Blocus (Paris: Éditions Gallimard, 1996), which featured the murder of the author of The Society of the Spectacle, here called Guy Bordeux. 3 See Philippe Sollers and Emmanuel Descombes, ‘Guy Debord, une étrange guerre’ (2000), which was made for the France 3 series Un siècle d’écrivains; and Vincent Kaufmann, Guy Debord: Revolution in the Service of Poetry (trans. Robert Bononno), Minneapolis and London: University of Minnesota Press, 2006. 4 V. Kaufmann, ‘L’Irréfutable’, Le Monde, 15 October 1999, ‘Le Monde des livres’, p.viii. Contexts: The Legacy of Guy Debord| 43 This content downloaded on Wed, 9 Jan 2013 17:16:27 PM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions October 1988, a book that was generally regarded derisively as evidence of the senescence of its author and his model of critical thought; and second, the travelling exhibition ‘on the Passage of a few people through a rather brief moment in time — The Situationist International, 1957—1972’ that debuted at the Centre Pompidou a few months later and was the first to display the history of the group to a large public, and which reconstructed the SI as a precursor to the appropriation practices of North American art of the 1980s. These are two moments that — at the time — appeared to have nothing to say to one another, that failed to see each other; more than twenty years later, however, we can recognise that their curious non-dialogue would open out onto the panorama of Situationist-inspired practices that have flourished over the past decade, from the writings of the so-called Imaginary Party to the artwork of Claire Fontaine. A slim volume, Comments on the Society of the Spectacle analysed the evolution of contemporary society in the decades following the publication of Debord’s 1967 work of Situationist theory. It laid out the development of a new form of domination, the ‘integrated spectacle’, which he argued had replaced the two preceding regimes of spectacle-culture: the ‘diffuse’, belonging to so-called ‘free’ societies, and the ‘concentrated’, identified with totalitarian regimes. Now we are confronted with an altogether more sophisticated type of subjection: ‘For the final sense of the integrated spectacle is this — that it has integrated itself into reality to the same extent as it was describing it, and that it was reconstructing it as it was describing it. […] The spectacle has spread itself to the point where it now permeates all reality.’5 Or, as philosopher Roger-Pol Droit put it in his review of the book, ‘the world has been falsified: the spectacle has taken the place of the real, entirely rebuilding it to its liking in the course of discoursing on it’.6 The integrated spectacle also entailed the apparent disappearance of the historical role of negation, or radical contestation; described in some circles as the end of ideology, Debord spoke of this loss as the abolition of ‘that disturbing conception, which was dominant for over two hundred years, in which a society was open to criticism or transformation, reform or revolution’, for his was an era that ‘has had enough of being blamed’, and that had attempted to persuade the generation born since the upheavals of the late 1960s to accept this sanitised form of society.7 This falsified world was also one of generalised secrecy: despite all the talk of transparency, it had become less and less clear who ran what, who was manipulating whom and for what purpose — some of the most trenchant pages of Comments address the symbiotic workings of state, economy and mafia — and those who claimed to be the best informed were generally the most deceived. ‘We live and die at the confluence of innumerable mysteries,’ Debord concluded.8 His critics found precisely this emphasis on secrecy most irritating, and most damning; as Droit wrote: ‘By dint of seeing spies everywhere, has Debord — rather than disassembling the Kafkaesque machine that is grinding up humanity between its wheels — finally sunk into a John Le Carré-esque fog? It seems so.’ 9 The publication ofComments was in fact the occasion of a generalised attack on Debord and his spectacle-thesis, launched most ambitiously in the pages of Critique by literary scholar Laurent Jenny. Jenny likened the foundational dichotomy of Debord’s thought — the opposition between spectacular appearances and lived experience — to that which animated Jean-Jacques Rousseau’s eighteenth-century critique of theatre, which had insisted on the primacy of communal presence over the morally corrupting qualities of mediating representations.