Atmospheres of Violence: Structuring Antagonism and the Trans/Queer Ungovernable by Eric Stanley

Introduction by
Natalie Oswin
Published
November 20, 2023
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Writing with care and fierce determination, and drawing on an archive of suicide notes, AIDS activist histories, surveillance tapes, and prison interviews as well as a wide array of anti-racist, anti-colonial, queer and trans scholarship, Stanley precisely and compellingly analyses the ways in which advances in LGBTQ rights in the US have perpetuated rather than ameliorated an ‘atmosphere of violence.’

T

he dedication to Eric Stanley’s (2021) Atmospheres of Violence: Structuring Antagonism and the Trans/Queer Ungovernable reads simply, “For those lost to the world and all who remain as its antagonism.” From these opening lines through all its pages, this staggering text maintains a project of both honouring and hailing; honouring the lives and memories of trans, queer and/ or gender non-conforming people of color lost to racialized and gendered violence in the United States, and hailing “all who remain” to become ungovernable in the face of structural antagonizing violence. Writing with care and fierce determination, and drawing on an archive of suicide notes, AIDS activist histories, surveillance tapes, and prison interviews as well as a wide array of anti-racist, anti-colonial, queer and trans scholarship, Stanley precisely and compellingly analyses the ways in which advances in LGBTQ rights in the US have perpetuated rather than ameliorated an ‘atmosphere of violence.’ Turning away from a politics of inclusion and recognition, they push us toward abolitionist futures that will yield livable lives.

This forum includes four responses to Atmospheres of Violence and a reply from its author. Ren-yo Hwang powerfully highlights Stanley’s “focus on the testimonies at ‘the end of the world’” and its mandate for readers “to not turn away from the terror and beauty that is the breaking away and breaking free from the slow infliction of a deathworld characterized by fear and the abuse of power.” K’eguro Macharia writes movingly of the ways in which reading Stanley’s text was difficult for “how it maps the banal ways trans* and queer name vulnerability to killability,” while also praising the care that Stanley takes in narrating these “archives of disposability.” Mel Y. Chen dwells on Stanley’s investments in abolitionism and ungovernability, and how the book, even as it rejects ‘proper feeling,’ is alive with love in the face of the law’s “ever more explicit terror.” SA Smythe discusses Stanley’s anarchic approach to the project of “rememory,” noting its sustained attention on insurgencies “in part by holding forth a litany of immeasurable loss that does not reduce those lives to yet another record or another rote counting.” In addition to their essay, Smythe beautifully offers a graphic poem titled “Requiem for an Ending Where Nobodies Never Die.” Finally, Stanley offers thoughts on “hope and nonhope,” noting that the “archive of destruction” with which AOV grapples has only intensified since the book’s publication, and concluding that “if anti-trans-queer violence is atmospheric, so too must be our resistance.”

 

Natalie Oswin is an associate professor of human geography at the University of Toronto Scarorough, and managing editor of Environment and Planning D: Society and Space and the Society and Space Magazine.

essays in this forum

Prison as the Crucible of Humanism: Exiling Forces in the Nonplace and Trans Insurgent Sociality

Atmospheres demands we recognize that a way out of shitholes of the here, now and forever require attention to the breaks and clefts where collective possibility of being together, unconfined, rageful, might give us a kind of shape of impossibility-- one where we might better carve out a life-giving world in the cinders of a colonial humanity.

By

Ren-yo Hwang

Interruption

How to sit with these archives of disposability? And, having sat with them, how to renarrate them as a practice of care toward imagining a different world where such narration would not be needed because the arbitrary, quotidian violence that occasions it no longer exists?

By

K’eguro Macharia

Requiem for the Death Droppers: Notes for Eric A. Stanley’s Atmospheres of Violence

Atmospheres of Violence is a work that further attends to what Toni Morrison recognized as “rememory”—that lingering, hauntological sedimentation of unprocessed echoes, those insurgent unremembered memories that cascade unexpectedly from the depths of one’s unconscious.

By

SA Smythe

Review of Atmospheres of Violence by Mel Y Chen

I am humbled by – or rather, humble before (because knowing their previous work, I certainly didn’t enter it with selfproud expectation, rather an interest in learning with) – Stanley’s clear-eyed determination to not only reevaluate the queer/trans station within/for and without the immanently violent social, but to aver “our” – as I join, with an intake of breath and a slow exhale, transsectionally into their rightly demanding “we” – call to “figure the ease of living now.”

By

Mel Y. Chen

Hope and Nonhope

Hope and nonhope come at once as we continue to sharpen the contradictions and our knives. Even without the clarity of a map, this does not mean there is no way though---so we keep digging.

By

Eric A Stanley

Atmospheres of Violence: Structuring Antagonism and the Trans/Queer Ungovernable by Eric Stanley

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S

cholars and practitioners of urban planning need to rethink the field’s futures at this important historical juncture: some might call it a moment of truth when there is little left to hide. The COVID-19 pandemic exposed many cracks, contradictions, and inequalities that have always existed but are now more visible. This also includes the global vaccine apartheid that is ongoing as I write these words. Moreover, this is a time when the violence through which U.S. imperialism has exercised power worldwide is increasingly exposed. Protests in the summer of 2020, which spread all over the United States like fire through a long-dried haystack, showed Americans and the whole world that racialized violence and police brutality are real. They also revealed that such brutality is spatially facilitated in American apartheid—a condition that planning has been far from innocent in creating and maintaining. I think this reckoning is particularly important in the United States, the belly of the beast, where there might have been more of an illusion about planning innocence.

What’s a Rich Text element?

Moreover, this is a time when the violence through which U.S. imperialism has exercised power worldwide is increasingly exposed. Protests in the summer of 2020, which spread all over the United States like fire through a long-dried haystack, showed Americans and the whole world that racialized violence and police brutality are real. They also revealed that such brutality is spatially facilitated in American apartheid—a condition that planning has been far from innocent in creating and maintaining. I think this reckoning is particularly important in the United States, the belly of the beast, where there might have been more of an illusion about planning innocence.

  • Moreover, this is a time when the violence through which U.S. imperialism has exercised power worldwide is increasingly exposed.
  • Protests in the summer of 2020, which spread all over the United States like fire through a long-dried haystack, showed Americans and the whole world that racialized violence and police brutality are real.
  • They also revealed that such brutality is spatially facilitated in American apartheid—a condition that planning has been far from innocent in creating and maintaining.
  • I think this reckoning is particularly important in the United States, the belly of the beast, where there might have been more of an illusion about planning innocence.

What’s a Rich Text element?

Moreover, this is a time when the violence through which U.S. imperialism has exercised power worldwide is increasingly exposed. Protests in the summer of 2020, which spread all over the United States like fire through a long-dried haystack, showed Americans and the whole world that racialized violence and police brutality are real. They also revealed that such brutality is spatially facilitated in American apartheid—a condition that planning has been far from innocent in creating and maintaining. I think this reckoning is particularly important in the United States, the belly of the beast, where there might have been more of an illusion about planning innocence.

  1. Moreover, this is a time when the violence through which U.S. imperialism has exercised power worldwide is increasingly exposed.
  2. Protests in the summer of 2020, which spread all over the United States like fire through a long-dried haystack, showed Americans and the whole world that racialized violence and police brutality are real.
  3. They also revealed that such brutality is spatially facilitated in American apartheid—a condition that planning has been far from innocent in creating and maintaining. I think this reckoning is particularly important in the United States, the belly of the beast, where there might have been more of an illusion about planning innocence.

What’s a Rich Text element?

Moreover, this is a time when the violence through which U.S. imperialism has exercised power worldwide is increasingly exposed. Protests in the summer of 2020, which spread all over the United States like fire through a long-dried haystack, showed Americans and the whole world that racialized violence and police brutality are real. They also revealed that such brutality is spatially facilitated in American apartheid—a condition that planning has been far from innocent in creating and maintaining. I think this reckoning is particularly important in the United States, the belly of the beast, where there might have been more of an illusion about planning innocence.

What’s a Rich Text element?

Moreover, this is a time when the violence through which U.S. imperialism has exercised power worldwide is increasingly exposed. Protests in the summer of 2020, which spread all over the United States like fire through a long-dried haystack, showed Americans and the whole world that racialized violence and police brutality are real. They also revealed that such brutality is spatially facilitated in American apartheid—a condition that planning has been far from innocent in creating and maintaining. I think this reckoning is particularly important in the United States, the belly of the beast, where there might have been more of an illusion about planning innocence.

What’s a Rich Text element?

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T

he dedication to Eric Stanley’s (2021) Atmospheres of Violence: Structuring Antagonism and the Trans/Queer Ungovernable reads simply, “For those lost to the world and all who remain as its antagonism.” From these opening lines through all its pages, this staggering text maintains a project of both honouring and hailing; honouring the lives and memories of trans, queer and/ or gender non-conforming people of color lost to racialized and gendered violence in the United States, and hailing “all who remain” to become ungovernable in the face of structural antagonizing violence. Writing with care and fierce determination, and drawing on an archive of suicide notes, AIDS activist histories, surveillance tapes, and prison interviews as well as a wide array of anti-racist, anti-colonial, queer and trans scholarship, Stanley precisely and compellingly analyses the ways in which advances in LGBTQ rights in the US have perpetuated rather than ameliorated an ‘atmosphere of violence.’ Turning away from a politics of inclusion and recognition, they push us toward abolitionist futures that will yield livable lives.

This forum includes four responses to Atmospheres of Violence and a reply from its author. Ren-yo Hwang powerfully highlights Stanley’s “focus on the testimonies at ‘the end of the world’” and its mandate for readers “to not turn away from the terror and beauty that is the breaking away and breaking free from the slow infliction of a deathworld characterized by fear and the abuse of power.” K’eguro Macharia writes movingly of the ways in which reading Stanley’s text was difficult for “how it maps the banal ways trans* and queer name vulnerability to killability,” while also praising the care that Stanley takes in narrating these “archives of disposability.” Mel Y. Chen dwells on Stanley’s investments in abolitionism and ungovernability, and how the book, even as it rejects ‘proper feeling,’ is alive with love in the face of the law’s “ever more explicit terror.” SA Smythe discusses Stanley’s anarchic approach to the project of “rememory,” noting its sustained attention on insurgencies “in part by holding forth a litany of immeasurable loss that does not reduce those lives to yet another record or another rote counting.” In addition to their essay, Smythe beautifully offers a graphic poem titled “Requiem for an Ending Where Nobodies Never Die.” Finally, Stanley offers thoughts on “hope and nonhope,” noting that the “archive of destruction” with which AOV grapples has only intensified since the book’s publication, and concluding that “if anti-trans-queer violence is atmospheric, so too must be our resistance.”

 

Natalie Oswin is an associate professor of human geography at the University of Toronto Scarorough, and managing editor of Environment and Planning D: Society and Space and the Society and Space Magazine.