You really had to be there. Epithets about the beats risk a sort of Forrest
Gump revision of history. There's no doubt about the overt male chauvinism
of some beats. What that speaks to, IMHO, is the ambivalence that beats had
toward the dominant patriarchal culture and the difficulty of "being
different" in the face of an oppressive conformism.

The beats can be condemned for not living up to their own as yet
inarticulate, tentative and sometimes contradictory yearnings for sexual
liberation and -- by implication -- sexual equality. Beatniks were women,
too and it's no accident that much of sixties feminism emerged from a
bohemian/left milieu.

I suspect the diminutive "beatnik" says much about the fascination and
unease the beats inspired in late Eisenhower Amurica. Sputnik was launched
in October 1957, just as the first major post-war recession was shaking
Amuricans' confidence in an era of perpetual prosperity. Forty years later,
the traumatic impact of the news of the Sputnik launch is hard to imagine.
One way of dispelling some of the anxiety was to appropriate the suffix
'nik' and apply it as a term of derision/endearment to just about anything.
Beatnik was one neologism that stuck.

Beats were ambivalent about Amurican culture and squares were ambivalent
about beats. On the one hand, beat was a harmless, ridiculously goatee'd
satellite of the dominant culture. On the other hand, beat signaled the
propulsive possibility that could carry a deadly payload into the insular
heart of conformist, consumer culture.

Today's "lifestyle" marketing could be mapped as a kind of Strategic Defense
Initiative against the explosive possibility of an un-commodified cultural
resistance. The practice is to sniff out whatever inchoate pockets of
"subversive deviance" erupt and build an industry around it -- hip hop,
pomo, world beat, queer, whatever -- it's disarmed as soon as you can build
a boutique.

I remember where I was when I first heard about the beats, camping near the
Russian River in northern California. I can't remember the year, it must
have been 1960 or 1961. It could have been at a place called Camp Cazadero,
a sort of tent-cabin resort run by the City of Berkeley. The beats, civil
rights sit-ins, blues and folk music, and protests against the House
Un-Amurican Activities Committee fuse in my memory as a glimmer of something
other than the sheer all-consuming boredom of tv re-runs, commercials and
back-to-school sales.


Regards, 

Tom Walker
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