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Let’s Be Mad
Mad World
In recent years, the world seems to have gone mad. A sense of unreality is increasing, between the lies of our leaders, the misinformation, and the myriad forms of violence and nonsense that fill our daily lives. The landscape we observe on social media appears increasingly chaotic and anxiety-inducing. Gaza is the height of destructive madness: watching genocide unfold on our screens, while media propaganda denies its reality. But is it true madness we are facing? Is it truly unreal, absurd? Or are we not rather following a colonial, patriarchal agenda, pushed to its limits?
The reason of the unreasonable
To understand the madness we feel, we must return to the notion of “rationality.” The real problem is what has been presented to us as reasonable, and what we have learned to internalize as such. The idea of a “rationality” that has been imposed on us by our leaders is based on a set of data and standards, particularly scientific, that were (and continue to be) constructed by white, colonialist, racist, sexist men. These standards—criticized by different thinkers from Sylvia Wynter and Michel Foucault to Mona Chollet—have served to classify, exclude, and dominate rather than to liberate.
In recent decades, the notion of liberation has increasingly bowed to the anarchic convolutions of imperialist capitalism. Capitalism and modernity are imperialist “rationalities” that aim to maintain domination over Indigenous populations, the Global South, and minorities in general. This “rationality” has taught us to normalize violence and domination in the name of productivism. It has begun to trivialize the slow, silent violence produced by exploitation.
Faced with the acceleration of cataclysms due to capitalism, leaders have begun to resort to propaganda to invent an artificial truth that has increasingly distanced us from social reality. Little by little, the “rationalization” of the worst has taken hold—what journalist Adam Curtis calls “HyperNormalisation.” We live in an era in which we increasingly trivialize horror, the mass deaths in Gaza, the genocides, and the exploitation of individuals across the world, generated by a broken system.
The pathologization of the lucid
This “rationality” that leaders offer us is created in opposition to sensitivity, empathy, freedom, and social justice. All these essential qualities and states of being are presented as irrational. It goes further. Our system discredits, even criminalizes, deeply human behavior. It pathologizes minorities and dissident acts. As soon as an activist interrupts the dangerous matrix with a brave action, they are categorized as deviant or deranged. Human rights activists have long been pathologized.
Let’s look at history. Women who opposed the patriarchy in the late 19th and early 20th centuries were labeled as hysterical and were often forcibly confined to asylums and institutions. Just like the Black activists in Detroit, who in the 1960s during the Civil Rights Movement, were forcibly interned—diagnosed with schizophrenia or “Black psychosis”—in the Ionia State Hospital for the Criminally Insane in Ionia, Michigan (The Protest Psychosis: How Schizophrenia Became a Black Disease, by Jonathan M. Metzl). Let us also remember that acts of rebellion against slavery were seen as a result of a mental illness called “Drapetomania,” a pseudoscientific, racist theory. Today, it is “wokism” that is pathologized by our leaders.
In the fascinating essay “Racing Madness: The Terrorizing Madness of the Post-9/11 Terrorist Body,” from the book Disability Incarcerated: Imprisonment and Disability in the United States and Canada, edited by Liat Ben-Moshe, Chris Chapman, and Allison C. Carey, researcher Shaista Patel discusses how Orientalist and Islamophobic narratives have created the image of the “mad Muslim terrorist” who threatens the white social order,
“and therefore must be incarcerated or eliminated.” The “mad” Muslim was invented to stand in opposition to the supposed rational civility of the West, homeland of the “Age of Enlightenment.”
She analyzes how the supremacist West has set itself up in opposition to “the East” and to an “Orientalism,” so aptly deconstructed by Edward Said. The West characterizes all Muslim people as barbaric, driven by unstable passion, and therefore not credible. The “lunatics” would also be those who refuse integration imposed by white institutions, this refusal being a sign of irrationality, extremism, and incoherence, etc. This pathologization aims to disqualify acts of resistance to oppression.
Go beyond the frames
Let’s talk about the term “mental health.” The mental health advocated by governments only locks up and makes docile all those who would like to escape this “rationality.” The psychiatric complex is just another facet of the prison complex. Brilliant thinkers from the margins of society, like Frantz Fanon and Audre Lorde, explored mental health from a perspective of liberation and revolution. Mental health, as it is perceived today by our leaders, has nothing to do with liberation. It is an extension of social and neoliberal control. The most vulnerable individuals are psychologically mutilated, alienated, and traumatized, only to be imprisoned or offered pharmaceutical solutions when they are crushed. Everything is a chain of greed, which we must learn to break.
Personal development is simply an extension of this fascism. It has created an ultra-individualistic and capitalist “well- being” dedicated to posh people, linked to an idea of “disconnection” from the world, of a cocoon in which the other becomes a danger.
Never, during the genocide in Gaza, have we seen so many yoga and Pilates teachers calling for the extermination of innocent civilians in the name of their own serenity.
We are therefore not fighting against madness, but against a “reason” established for centuries, which is not the right one. Let us now overturn the narratives. To do this, we must break free from all the frameworks imposed as rational. We must break free from the supremacist, colonial, and capitalist framework, break free from the neoliberal and individualist framework of current care, knowing that all these frameworks form an asphyxiating jail which kills any prospect for the future.
Let us overflow.
Let us disorganize.
If we are considered mad, then let us embrace utopian madness in the face of destructive “rationality.”
More from: Claire Touzard
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"article":
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"title" : "Let’s Be Mad: Mad World",
"author" : "Claire Touzard",
"category" : "essays",
"url" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/readings/claire-touzard",
"date" : "2025-09-08 10:02:00 -0400",
"img" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/uploads/mad-world.jpg",
"excerpt" : "In recent years, the world seems to have gone mad. A sense of unreality is increasing, between the lies of our leaders, the misinformation, and the myriad forms of violence and nonsense that fill our daily lives. The landscape we observe on social media appears increasingly chaotic and anxiety-inducing. Gaza is the height of destructive madness: watching genocide unfold on our screens, while media propaganda denies its reality. But is it true madness we are facing? Is it truly unreal, absurd? Or are we not rather following a colonial, patriarchal agenda, pushed to its limits?",
"content" : "In recent years, the world seems to have gone mad. A sense of unreality is increasing, between the lies of our leaders, the misinformation, and the myriad forms of violence and nonsense that fill our daily lives. The landscape we observe on social media appears increasingly chaotic and anxiety-inducing. Gaza is the height of destructive madness: watching genocide unfold on our screens, while media propaganda denies its reality. But is it true madness we are facing? Is it truly unreal, absurd? Or are we not rather following a colonial, patriarchal agenda, pushed to its limits?The reason of the unreasonableTo understand the madness we feel, we must return to the notion of “rationality.” The real problem is what has been presented to us as reasonable, and what we have learned to internalize as such. The idea of a “rationality” that has been imposed on us by our leaders is based on a set of data and standards, particularly scientific, that were (and continue to be) constructed by white, colonialist, racist, sexist men. These standards—criticized by different thinkers from Sylvia Wynter and Michel Foucault to Mona Chollet—have served to classify, exclude, and dominate rather than to liberate.In recent decades, the notion of liberation has increasingly bowed to the anarchic convolutions of imperialist capitalism. Capitalism and modernity are imperialist “rationalities” that aim to maintain domination over Indigenous populations, the Global South, and minorities in general. This “rationality” has taught us to normalize violence and domination in the name of productivism. It has begun to trivialize the slow, silent violence produced by exploitation.Faced with the acceleration of cataclysms due to capitalism, leaders have begun to resort to propaganda to invent an artificial truth that has increasingly distanced us from social reality. Little by little, the “rationalization” of the worst has taken hold—what journalist Adam Curtis calls “HyperNormalisation.” We live in an era in which we increasingly trivialize horror, the mass deaths in Gaza, the genocides, and the exploitation of individuals across the world, generated by a broken system.The pathologization of the lucidThis “rationality” that leaders offer us is created in opposition to sensitivity, empathy, freedom, and social justice. All these essential qualities and states of being are presented as irrational. It goes further. Our system discredits, even criminalizes, deeply human behavior. It pathologizes minorities and dissident acts. As soon as an activist interrupts the dangerous matrix with a brave action, they are categorized as deviant or deranged. Human rights activists have long been pathologized.Let’s look at history. Women who opposed the patriarchy in the late 19th and early 20th centuries were labeled as hysterical and were often forcibly confined to asylums and institutions. Just like the Black activists in Detroit, who in the 1960s during the Civil Rights Movement, were forcibly interned—diagnosed with schizophrenia or “Black psychosis”—in the Ionia State Hospital for the Criminally Insane in Ionia, Michigan (The Protest Psychosis: How Schizophrenia Became a Black Disease, by Jonathan M. Metzl). Let us also remember that acts of rebellion against slavery were seen as a result of a mental illness called “Drapetomania,” a pseudoscientific, racist theory. Today, it is “wokism” that is pathologized by our leaders.In the fascinating essay “Racing Madness: The Terrorizing Madness of the Post-9/11 Terrorist Body,” from the book Disability Incarcerated: Imprisonment and Disability in the United States and Canada, edited by Liat Ben-Moshe, Chris Chapman, and Allison C. Carey, researcher Shaista Patel discusses how Orientalist and Islamophobic narratives have created the image of the “mad Muslim terrorist” who threatens the white social order,“and therefore must be incarcerated or eliminated.” The “mad” Muslim was invented to stand in opposition to the supposed rational civility of the West, homeland of the “Age of Enlightenment.”She analyzes how the supremacist West has set itself up in opposition to “the East” and to an “Orientalism,” so aptly deconstructed by Edward Said. The West characterizes all Muslim people as barbaric, driven by unstable passion, and therefore not credible. The “lunatics” would also be those who refuse integration imposed by white institutions, this refusal being a sign of irrationality, extremism, and incoherence, etc. This pathologization aims to disqualify acts of resistance to oppression.Go beyond the framesLet’s talk about the term “mental health.” The mental health advocated by governments only locks up and makes docile all those who would like to escape this “rationality.” The psychiatric complex is just another facet of the prison complex. Brilliant thinkers from the margins of society, like Frantz Fanon and Audre Lorde, explored mental health from a perspective of liberation and revolution. Mental health, as it is perceived today by our leaders, has nothing to do with liberation. It is an extension of social and neoliberal control. The most vulnerable individuals are psychologically mutilated, alienated, and traumatized, only to be imprisoned or offered pharmaceutical solutions when they are crushed. Everything is a chain of greed, which we must learn to break.Personal development is simply an extension of this fascism. It has created an ultra-individualistic and capitalist “well- being” dedicated to posh people, linked to an idea of “disconnection” from the world, of a cocoon in which the other becomes a danger. Never, during the genocide in Gaza, have we seen so many yoga and Pilates teachers calling for the extermination of innocent civilians in the name of their own serenity.We are therefore not fighting against madness, but against a “reason” established for centuries, which is not the right one. Let us now overturn the narratives. To do this, we must break free from all the frameworks imposed as rational. We must break free from the supremacist, colonial, and capitalist framework, break free from the neoliberal and individualist framework of current care, knowing that all these frameworks form an asphyxiating jail which kills any prospect for the future.Let us overflow.Let us disorganize.If we are considered mad, then let us embrace utopian madness in the face of destructive “rationality.”"
}
,
"relatedposts": [
{
"title" : "Dignity Before Stadiums:: Morocco’s Digital Uprising",
"author" : "Cheb Gado",
"category" : "",
"url" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/readings/dignity-before-stadiums",
"date" : "2025-10-02 09:08:00 -0400",
"img" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/uploads/EIP_Cover_Morocco_GenZ.jpg",
"excerpt" : "No one expected a generation raised on smartphones and TikTok clips to ignite a spark of protest shaking Morocco’s streets. But Gen Z, the children of the internet and speed, have stepped forward to write a new chapter in the history of uprisings, in their own style.The wave of anger began with everyday struggles that cut deep into young people’s lives: soaring prices, lack of social justice, and the silencing of their voices in politics. They didn’t need traditional leaders or party manifestos; the movement was born out of a single hashtag that spread like wildfire, transforming individual frustration into collective momentum.",
"content" : "No one expected a generation raised on smartphones and TikTok clips to ignite a spark of protest shaking Morocco’s streets. But Gen Z, the children of the internet and speed, have stepped forward to write a new chapter in the history of uprisings, in their own style.The wave of anger began with everyday struggles that cut deep into young people’s lives: soaring prices, lack of social justice, and the silencing of their voices in politics. They didn’t need traditional leaders or party manifestos; the movement was born out of a single hashtag that spread like wildfire, transforming individual frustration into collective momentum.One of the sharpest contradictions fueling the protests was the billions poured into World Cup-related preparations, while ordinary citizens remained marginalized when it came to healthcare and education.This awareness quickly turned into chants and slogans echoing through the streets: “Dignity begins with schools and hospitals, not with putting on a show for the world.”What set this movement apart was not only its presence on the streets, but also the way it reinvented protest itself:Live filming: Phone cameras revealed events moment by moment, exposing abuses instantly.Memes and satire: A powerful weapon to dismantle authority’s aura, turning complex political discourse into viral, shareable content.Decentralized networks: No leader, no party, just small, fast-moving groups connected online, able to appear and disappear with agility.This generation doesn’t believe in grand speeches or delayed promises. They demand change here and now. Moving seamlessly between the physical and digital realms, they turn the street into a stage of revolt, and Instagram Live into an alternative media outlet.What’s happening in Morocco strongly recalls the Arab Spring of 2011, when young people flooded the streets with the same passion and spontaneity, armed only with belief in their power to spark change. But Gen Z added their own twist, digital tools, meme culture, and the pace of a hyper-connected world.Morocco’s Gen Z uprising is not just another protest, but a living experiment in how a digital generation can redefine politics itself. The spark may fade, but the mark it leaves on young people’s collective consciousness cannot be erased.Photo credits: Mosa’ab Elshamy, Zacaria Garcia, Abdel Majid Bizouat, Marouane Beslem"
}
,
{
"title" : "A Shutdown Exposes How Fragile U.S. Governance Really Is",
"author" : "EIP Editors",
"category" : "",
"url" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/readings/a-shutdown-exposes-how-fragile-us-governance-really-is",
"date" : "2025-10-01 22:13:00 -0400",
"img" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/uploads/EIP_Cover_Gov_ShutDown.jpg",
"excerpt" : "Each time the federal government shutters its doors, we hear the same reassurances: essential services will continue, Social Security checks will still arrive, planes won’t fall from the sky. This isn’t the first Governmental shutdown, they’ve happened 22 times since 1976, and their toll is real.",
"content" : "Each time the federal government shutters its doors, we hear the same reassurances: essential services will continue, Social Security checks will still arrive, planes won’t fall from the sky. This isn’t the first Governmental shutdown, they’ve happened 22 times since 1976, and their toll is real.Shutdowns don’t mean the government stops functioning. They mean millions of federal workers are asked to keep the system running without pay. Air traffic controllers, border patrol agents, food inspectors — people whose jobs underpin both public safety and economic life — are told their labor matters, but their livelihoods don’t. People have to pay the price of bad bureaucracy in the world’s most powerful country, if governance is stalled, workers must pay with their salaries and their groceries.In 1995 and 1996, clashes between President Bill Clinton and House Speaker Newt Gingrich triggered two shutdowns totaling 27 days. In 2013, a 16-day standoff over the Affordable Care Act furloughed 850,000 workers. And in 2018–2019, the longest shutdown in U.S. history stretched 35 days, as President Trump refused to reopen the government without funding for a border wall. That impasse left 800,000 federal employees without paychecks and cost the U.S. economy an estimated $11 billion — $3 billion of it permanently lost.More troubling is what happens when crises strike during shutdowns. The United States is living in an age of accelerating climate disasters: historic floods in Vermont, wildfire smoke choking New York, hurricanes pounding Florida. These emergencies do not pause while Congress fights over budgets. Yet a shutdown means furloughed NOAA meteorologists, suspended EPA enforcement, and delayed FEMA programs. In the most climate-vulnerable decade of our lifetimes, we are choosing paralysis over preparedness.This vulnerability didn’t emerge overnight. For decades, the American state has been hollowed out under the logic of austerity and privatization, while military spending has remained sacrosanct. That imbalance is why budgets collapse under the weight of endless resources for war abroad, too few for resilience at home.Shutdowns send a dangerous message. They normalize instability. They tell workers they are disposable. They make clear that in our system, climate resilience and public health aren’t pillars of our democracy but rather insignificant in the face of power and greed. And each time the government closes, it becomes easier to imagine a future where this isn’t the exception but the rule.The United States cannot afford to keep running on shutdown politics. The climate crisis, economic inequality, and the challenges of sustaining democracy itself demand continuity, not collapse. We need a politics that treats stability and resilience not as partisan victories, but as basic commitments to one another. Otherwise, the real shutdown isn’t just of the government — it’s of democracy itself."
}
,
{
"title" : "There Was, There Was Not: Cinema as Collective Memory",
"author" : "Emily Mkrtichian",
"category" : "",
"url" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/readings/this-essay-was-written-on-the-eve-of-the-five-year-anniversary-of-the-first-day-of-the-2020-artsakh-war",
"date" : "2025-10-01 16:06:00 -0400",
"img" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/uploads/EIP_Cover_10_1_There_Was_Film.jpg",
"excerpt" : "",
"content" : "Join us for the New York Screening:7:00pm: Screening Begins8:30-9:00pm: Q&A with Celine and Emily9:15-11:30: Party at DCTV with small bites and DJEIP members 20% OFF CODE: Get your tickets hereCinema holds a singular place in our imagination, opening a shared space of possibility in both our individual and collective consciousness. At first, this might seem less true for nonfiction cinema, yet over nearly a decade of making my first feature, I’ve come to believe it has the power to cast a spell on how we experience reality and remember the past.In making There Was, There Was Not, I lived through a historical moment that became a fundamental rupture and trauma for my people - and now I can’t help but think about the archive obsessively. Its multitude of shortcomings but also its infinite potential and pivotal importance. My grandmothers and aunts were my personal archive - they taught me about the history of my family, which was also the history of our people. When your past is defined by movement and displacement, your lineage becomes a cultural encyclopedia, an embodied record of larger geopolitical events. The personal is political in every way.When I began making the film in 2016 it was originally meant to be a celebration of women like my grandmothers and aunts. These women are the stubborn, tender keepers of history and makers of a better future that I met and became close with during my time in the Republic of Artsakh - an ethnically Armenian autonomous region that fell into dispute after the fall of the Soviet Union. Artsakh was functioning as a de facto state for nearly three decades, and for Armenians, it is a symbol of self-determination, resistance, and the need to hold onto lands that have been systematically taken from us through violent means for more than a century. The formation of the republic of Artsakh was full of tales of freedom fighters, heroes and martyrs (mostly men), who gave their life so that our connection to our lands would remain unbroken. I envied this tenuous yet determined connection to place. My grandparents fled their village in Turkey during the 1915 genocide, and relocated several times before settling in Iran. So as someone who had been disconnected from land and history for two generations, I wanted to document women’s connection to it and fight for it. For all these reasons, I started filming with four women who were all fighting in their own way - fighting for Artsakh to be the place they dreamed and believed it could be.I have so many vivid memories of my time in Artsakh. It’s hard to describe the beauty of that place, but let me try. I know that remembering the joy I experienced there is some kind of conjuring.In Artsakh, it felt as if you were always surrounded by mountains. Everywhere you turned, there were thousand-year-old stone churches, ice-cold rushing rivers, lush wet forests, and sharp cliff lines threatening to drop out a thousand feet onto a green valley floor. The people were completely unhinged in their love for their homeland and their absolute existence in the present. I’ve never made so many toasts, ate so much fresh tonir bread, sat in cars with unknown destinations awaiting me, and cracked as many walnut shells in my hands as when I was in Artsakh.As I describe this ethereal, joyous existence, I can feel myself becoming wary and anxious about the next part of my story. I felt this way for years while I was making the film. One of the of women, Sose, expressed it perfectly in 2021 when I asked her, “Do you remember the first day the war started?” and she responded, “Yeah, but let me stay in this life.” She meant the life before. The life that exists in her memory and in mine. The life that overflowed with joy, abundance and freedom – however precarious.On the morning of September 27th in 2020, in the middle of COVID and 4 years into making my film, Artsakh was attacked along its borders and in its civilian cities.This is the day I became aware that my body is an archive.Over the next 45 days, I lived mostly in a bomb shelter and held desperately onto a camera like it was a lifeline that could convince the world - out there, looming, ignoring us - that this injustice must end. As it turns out, a camera is not capable of this. Or, the world is not capable of being truly moved to collective action by way of images alone. What the camera did do, though, was tether my life to the lives of the four women in wildly intimate and unexpected ways. Together, we learned the names of all major long and short-range missiles, drones, and rockets - and the specific sounds they made. We did everything in our power to help the thousands of people around us who were suffering. We fled in fear and returned in desperate need of proximity to each other and this place. We were not safe but felt that together somehow we could summon the strength to remain on that land and stay alive for as long as possible.As I watched and filmed, I felt something in my own body wake up. It guided me via intuition and care, and forms of knowledge I have never been able to put into words. It was everything my great grandmothers and grandmothers witnessed in their lifetimes, imprinted in my DNA, becoming available to me as an archive in my own body. I drew on that knowledge and strength and intuitive force constantly, and I know that it kept me alive.And I captured every moment I could, holding it in frames to keep it from disappearing, to grant it power and authority.And we watched as a place we loved deeply began to disappear in front of our eyes.In 2023, after nine months of being blockaded and deprived of food, fuel, and freedom of movement, Artsakh was ethnically cleansed of its remaining 120,000 Armenian residents, marking the end of thousands of years of our presence on that land.That is where my film ends.But for me, and for the women I filmed, and for the people of Artsakh, the story did not.Our witnessing and our memories became an archive for future resistance. As women, we pass on this knowledge in intimate ways—by creating lives imprinted with our experiences and by caring for, teaching and being in service to those around us.Ultimately, this work became a collaborative archive of relationships between women and our connection to a place that we no longer have access to. The act of watching the film together allows us to summon this land and the life lived on it through our collective imagination and psyche. In this way, cinema becomes an extension of the archive our bodies hold as witnesses—transforming into a tool to conjure Artsakh, bringing it back into existence and, as Sose said, allowing us to stay in that life and let it live into the future.There Was, There Was Not, titled after the Armenian version of “Once Upon a Time,” – the phrase that opened the stories I was raised on—is my way of honoring this evolving understanding of the archive and of cinema’s power to open new imaginative possibilities on the present, past and future. It is also a beginning, a foundation for future projects like Cartographies of Memories, a somatic, multimedia archive of Artsakh that continues this work of remembrance.Every image I captured became a finite archive, and now my work is to add to it.Cinematic work can be a subversion of erasure, transforming the archival act into something living, relational, and generative. It does not only preserve but imagines, offering a way to resist forgetting and to dream into a future where what was lost can still be carried forward.Let cinema be an act of creative resistance."
}
]
}