Watch a Gripping 10-Minute Animation About the Hunt for Nazi War Criminal Adolf Eichmann

In Feb­ru­ary 2018, the Con­fer­ence on Jew­ish Mate­r­i­al Claims Against Ger­many con­duct­ed inter­views with 1,350 Amer­i­can adults, aged 18 and up.

Their find­ings, pub­lished as the Holo­caust Knowl­edge and Aware­ness Study, reveal a sharp decline in Amer­i­cans’ aware­ness of the state-spon­sored exter­mi­na­tion of six mil­lion Jew­ish men, women, and chil­dren by Nazi Ger­many and its col­lab­o­ra­tors.

This knowl­edge gap was par­tic­u­lar­ly pro­nounced among the mil­len­ni­al respon­dents. Six­ty-six per­cent had not heard of Auschwitz — the largest of the Ger­man Nazi con­cen­tra­tion camps and exter­mi­na­tion cen­ters, where over a mil­lion per­ished. Twen­ty-two per­cent of them had not heard of (or were unsure if they had heard of) the Holo­caust.

This is shock­ing to those of us who grew up read­ing The Diary of Anne Frank and attend­ing assem­blies where Holo­caust sur­vivors — often the old­er rel­a­tive of a class­mate — spoke of their expe­ri­ences, rolling up their sleeves to show us the ser­i­al num­bers that had been tat­tooed on their arms upon arrival at Auschwitz.

The study did make the heart­en­ing dis­cov­ery that near­ly all of the respon­dents — 93% — believed that the Holo­caust should be a top­ic of study in the schools, many cit­ing their belief that such an edu­ca­tion will pre­vent a calami­ty of that mag­ni­tude from hap­pen­ing again.

(In defense of mil­len­ni­als, it’s worth not­ing that in the decades since 1977, when more than half of the coun­try tuned in to watch the minis­eries Roots, the Civ­il War and the hor­rors of slav­ery had all but dis­ap­peared from Amer­i­can cur­ricu­lums, a direc­tion the Black Lives Mat­ter move­ment is fight­ing to redress.)

The Holo­caust is such a huge sub­ject that there is a ques­tion of how to intro­duce it, ide­al­ly, in such a way that young peo­ple’s inter­est is sparked toward con­tin­u­ing their edu­ca­tion.

The Dri­ver is Red, Ran­dall Christo­pher’s ani­mat­ed short, above, could make an excel­lent, if some­what unusu­al, start­ing place.

The film’s text is drawn from Israeli Mossad Spe­cial Agent Zvi Aha­roni’s first per­son account of the suc­cess­ful man­hunt that tracked Adolf Eich­mann, a mem­ber of Hein­rich Himm­ler’s inner cir­cle and archi­tect of the Nazi’s “final solu­tion,” to Argenti­na.

This event tran­spired in 1960, fif­teen years after Sovi­et troops lib­er­at­ed Auschwitz.

Aha­roni, voiced by actor Mark Pin­ter, recalls receiv­ing the tip that Eich­mann was liv­ing in Argenti­na under an assumed name, and locat­ing him in a mod­est dwelling on the out­skirts of Buenos Aires.

Film­mak­er Christo­pher builds the ten­sion dur­ing the ensu­ing stake­out with effec­tive, noir-ish, pen­cil sketch­es that take shape before our eyes, map­ping sur­veil­lance points, a cou­ple of hap­py acci­dents, and one har­row­ing moment where Aha­roni feared his for­eign accent might give him away.

There’s more to the sto­ry than can be packed in a four­teen minute film, but those four­teen min­utes are as grip­ping as any tight­ly plot­ted spy movie.

Christo­pher is less inter­est­ed in direct­ing the next James Bond flick than putting Holo­caust edu­ca­tion back on the table for all Amer­i­cans.

2016 New York Times arti­cle about the hand­writ­ten let­ter Eich­mann sent Israeli Pres­i­dent Yitzhak Ben-Zvi, beg­ging for clemen­cy, paved the way for the film by moti­vat­ing Christo­pher to fill in some gaps in his edu­ca­tion with regard to the Holo­caust.

As the then-46-year-old told Leo­rah Gavi­dor of The San Diego Read­er in 2018:

I (felt) so dumb, so igno­rant, being an adult in Amer­i­ca and not know­ing the his­to­ry of it.

My friends, peo­ple I told this sto­ry to, they were fas­ci­nat­ed. They would start lis­ten­ing very care­ful­ly when I start­ed to talk about this Nazi from Ger­many that was found 15 years after the war, halfway around the world. They didn’t know any­thing about it. That’s how I knew I was on to some­thing.

Before the film was com­plet­ed, Christo­pher staged a live read­ing of the script at San Diego’s Ver­ba­tim Books, then passed the mic to Holo­caust sur­vivor Rose Schindler, who told the audi­ence about sur­viv­ing Auschwitz.

As Christo­pher recalled:

Peo­ple were trip­ping. There’s three lines about Tre­blin­ka in the film, and this Nazi war crim­i­nal, and then they see some­one there, with the tat­too on her arm, in front of them, who expe­ri­enced this first­hand.

Mrs. Schindler became a Holo­caust edu­ca­tor in 1972, when her son’s teacher invit­ed her to share her sto­ry with his mid­dle school class­mates.

She is now 91.

via The Atlantic

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Holo­caust in Film and Lit­er­a­ture: A Free Online Course from UCLA 

Holo­caust Sur­vivor Vik­tor Fran­kl Explains Why If We Have True Mean­ing in Our Lives, We Can Make It Through the Dark­est of Times

96-Year-Old Holo­caust Sur­vivor Fronts a Death Met­al Band

100-Year-Old Holo­caust Sur­vivor Helen Fagin Reads Her Let­ter About How Books Save Lives

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, the­ater mak­er and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine.  Fol­low her @AyunHalliday

Masterclass Is Running a “Buy One, Share One Free” Deal Giving You Access to 100+ Courses (Available Until September 29)

Heads up: Mas­ter­class is run­ning a Buy One, Share One Free until Sept 29 at 11:59pm PST.

Here’s the gist: If you buy an All-Access pass to their 100+ cours­es, you will receive anoth­er All-Access Pass to give to some­one else at no addi­tion­al charge. An All-Access pass starts at $180 (or $15 per month), and lasts one year. For that fee, you–and a fam­i­ly mem­ber or friend–can watch cours­es cre­at­ed by Annie Lei­bovitz, Neil Gaiman, Mal­colm Glad­well, Wern­er Her­zog, Mar­tin Scors­ese, David Mamet, Jane Goodall, Mar­garet Atwood, Helen Mir­ren, Her­bie Han­cock, Alice Waters, Bil­ly Collins and so many more. The deal is avail­able now.

Note: If you sign up for a Mas­ter­Class course by click­ing on the links in this post, Open Cul­ture will receive a small fee that helps sup­port our oper­a­tion.

A Gigantic Violin Floats Down Venice’s Grand Canal with a String Quartet on Top

It looks like some­thing out of a Felli­ni movie: a string quar­tet float­ing down the canals of Venice on a gigan­tic vio­lin. Not a boat mas­querad­ing as a vio­lin, like when you dress up your pet for Hal­loween and just slap some fun­ny ears and coat on it, but an actu­al 39-foot long vio­lin, made of sev­er­al kinds of wood and met­al by mas­ter boatbuilder/wood sculp­tor Liv­io De Marchi.

“Noah’s Vio­lin,” as it is called, did have a tiny motor inside to pro­pel it, and its trip down the Grand Canal was intend­ed as a por­tent of a post-COVID world. De Marchi told the New York Times that the vio­lin was a “sign of Venice restart­ing,” and like Noah’s Ark, would bring hope after the del­uge.

Musi­cians on board played works by Vival­di, who was also an inspi­ra­tion to the woodworker/boatmaker, and who was like­wise born in Venice. The sur­prise is not so much that a string quar­tet is play­ing on top of the vio­lin, but that it all seems so stur­dy and safe. There are no hand rails or life jack­ets to be seen. (Accord­ing to the Times, wind blew some of the score into the canal, where it was quick­ly res­cued).

De Marchi has made sev­er­al sur­re­al boats, start­ing with a large wood­en repli­ca of a paper ship, a float­ing origa­mi crane, a large high-heeled shoe, and recent­ly an all-wood recre­ation of a Fer­rari that put­tered up and and down the canal.

The vio­lin boat was fol­lowed by crowds in gon­do­las and oth­er tourist boats, float­ed about for an hour, and then was docked, where it was blessed by a priest. A muse­um in Chi­na and an Ital­ian com­pa­ny expressed inter­est in find­ing the vio­lin-boat a home.

Who knows what might hap­pen to it, but why not strap some power­boat motors on it, hire Apoc­a­lyp­ti­ca and let ‘er rip?

Relat­ed Con­tent:

How Venice Works: 124 Islands, 183 Canals & 438 Bridges

A Relax­ing 3‑Hour Tour of Venice’s Canals

The Authen­tic Vivaldi’s The Four Sea­sons: Watch a Per­for­mance Based on Orig­i­nal Man­u­scripts & Played with 18th-Cen­tu­ry Instru­ments

Ted Mills is a free­lance writer on the arts who cur­rent­ly hosts the Notes from the Shed pod­cast and is the pro­duc­er of KCR­W’s Curi­ous Coast. You can also fol­low him on Twit­ter at @tedmills, and/or watch his films here.

View 103 Discovered Drawings by Famed Japanese Woodcut Artist Katsushika Hokusai

When west­ern­ers first dis­cov­ered the work of Japan­ese wood­cut artist Kat­sushi­ka Hoku­sai, it was pri­mar­i­ly through his late-career print The Great Wave off Kana­gawa and the series from which it came, Thir­ty-Six Views of Mount Fuji, after the open­ing of Japan to inter­na­tion­al trade and the mass con­sump­tion of Japan­ese art in the late 19th cen­tu­ry. Impres­sion­ists like Claude Mon­et and Vin­cent van Gogh went wild for Japan­ese prints; Claude Debussy com­posed La mer; artists, arti­sans, and archi­tects on both sides of the Atlantic fell for all things Japon­isme.

Hoku­sai died in 1849 and did not live to see this new­found inter­na­tion­al admi­ra­tion. When he com­plet­ed The Great Wave, he was in his sev­en­ties — a mas­ter of his craft who had him­self absorbed sig­nif­i­cant influ­ence from west­ern painters.

Dur­ing his “for­ma­tive expe­ri­ence of Euro­pean art,” John-Paul Stonard writes at The Guardian, Hoku­sai “learnt from Euro­pean prints brought into Japan by Dutch traders.” He took these lessons in direc­tions all his own, how­ev­er. His Mount Fuji prints “could not have been fur­ther from any­thing being made in Europe at the time.”

Hoku­sai’s Euro­pean and Amer­i­can enthu­si­asts saw only the barest glimpse of his body of work, which we can now ful­ly appre­ci­ate in exhi­bi­tions in per­son and online. And we can now appre­ci­ate a series of draw­ings that have been hid­den away for over sev­en­ty years and were hard­ly seen at all in the 200 years since their cre­ation. Made for an unpub­lished ency­clo­pe­dia titled Ban­mot­su eon dais­es zu (The Great Pic­ture Book of Every­thing), “The draw­ings were long thought for­got­ten,” Valenti­na Di Lis­cia writes at Hyper­al­ler­gic, “last record­ed at an auc­tion in Paris in 1948 before they resur­faced in 2019.”

Made some­time between 1820 and the 1840s, “the metic­u­lous, post­card-sized works are known as hanshita‑e, a term for the final draw­ings used to carve the key blocks in Japan­ese wood­block print­ing.” These are usu­al­ly destroyed in the process, but since the prints were nev­er made, for rea­sons unknown, “the del­i­cate illus­tra­tions remained intact, mount­ed on cards and stored in a cus­tom-made wood­en box.” The draw­ings depict every­thing from “the typ­i­cal inhab­i­tants of lands in East, South­east, and Cen­tral Asian and beyond” to one of the 33 man­i­fes­ta­tions of the bod­hisatt­va Aval­okiteś­vara, “Drag­on head Kan­non.”

At the top, cura­tor Alfred Haft walks us through his favorite draw­ings from the set, and you can see all 103 of the diminu­tive illus­tra­tions online at the British Muse­um. For­mer­ly owned by the col­lec­tor and Art Nou­veau jew­el­er Hen­ri Vev­er, the prints could have inspired many a west­ern artist, but it seems they were hid­den away and have been seen by very few eyes. Dis­cov­er them your­self for the first time here.

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

The Great Wave Off Kana­gawa by Hoku­sai: An Intro­duc­tion to the Icon­ic Japan­ese Wood­block Print in 17 Min­utes

Thir­ty-Six Views of Mount Fuji: A Deluxe New Art Book Presents Hokusai’s Mas­ter­piece, Includ­ing “The Great Wave Off Kana­gawa”

The Evo­lu­tion of The Great Wave off Kana­gawa: See Four Ver­sions That Hoku­sai Paint­ed Over Near­ly 40 Years

Hokusai’s Icon­ic Print, “The Great Wave off Kana­gawa,” Recre­at­ed with 50,000 LEGO Bricks

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

A Rare, Early Version of the King Arthur Legend Found & Translated


The sto­ries of King Arthur and his court took shape over a peri­od of a few hun­dred years; like most ancient leg­ends, they evolved through many iter­a­tions — not a lit­tle like the sto­ries in mod­ern-day com­ic books. “The medieval Arthuri­an leg­ends were a bit like the Mar­vel Uni­verse,” explains Lau­ra Camp­bell, a medieval lan­guage schol­ar at Durham Uni­ver­si­ty. “They con­sti­tut­ed a coher­ent fic­tion­al world that had cer­tain rules and a set of well-known char­ac­ters who appeared and inter­act­ed with each oth­er in mul­ti­ple dif­fer­ent sto­ries.”

The first account of Arthur comes from a text in Latin called the His­to­ria Brit­ton­um, a com­pi­la­tion of sources assem­bled some­time in 829 or 830. Here, Arthur is men­tioned as a his­tor­i­cal fig­ure, “var­i­ous­ly described,” notes the British Library, “as a war lord (dux bel­lo­rum), as a Chris­t­ian sol­dier who car­ries either an image of the vir­gin or Christ’s cross, and as a leg­endary fig­ure asso­ci­at­ed with mirac­u­lous events.”

Mer­lin the magi­cian — the fig­ure we most asso­ciate with mirac­u­lous events in the Arthuri­an leg­ends — doesn’t show up for anoth­er two hun­dred years or so, in Geof­frey of Monmouth’s His­to­ry of the Kings of Britain. “After Geof­frey,” writes Kathryn Wal­ton at Medievalists.net, “Mer­lin becomes a fix­ture of the Arthuri­an leg­end and appears in all kinds of dif­fer­ent ver­sions of the sto­ry across the Mid­dle Ages.” One Mer­lin sto­ry that appears in many ver­sions involves a fig­ure called Nimue, Viviane, and oth­er names in French, Eng­lish, and Welsh. (She is some­times iden­ti­fied with the Lady of the Lake).

The Mer­lin and Vivien sto­ries have “sur­vived through­out the ages in a way that not many oth­er sto­ries have,” the Uni­ver­si­ty of Rochester’s Robyn Pol­lack writes, “because writ­ers have found remark­able ways to trans­form the char­ac­ters and the nar­ra­tive over the cen­turies.” Now, schol­ars at the Uni­ver­si­ty of Bris­tol have announced, two years after its dis­cov­ery, the authen­ti­ca­tion of a frag­ment con­tain­ing yet anoth­er ver­sion of the sto­ry.

Found glued into the bind­ing of a late 15th cen­tu­ry book at the Bris­tol pub­lic library (one of the world’s old­est libraries), the sev­en frag­ments in Old French, dat­ed between 1250 and 1275, con­tain the “most chaste ver­sion” of the Mer­lin and Viviane leg­end, says Leah Teth­er, co-author of the new Eng­lish trans­la­tion and com­men­tary, The Bris­tol Mer­lin: Reveal­ing the Secrets of a Medieval Frag­ment. “The most sig­nif­i­cant dif­fer­ence to be found in this par­tic­u­lar set of frag­ments is where Viviane, the enchantress, casts a spell.”

In oth­er ver­sions, her mag­ic inscribes three names on her groin, a spell that keeps Mer­lin away from the same area. In the re-dis­cov­ered frag­ment, which shows evi­dence of two scrib­al hands, Viviane engraves the three names on a ring, there­by pre­vent­ing Mer­lin from speak­ing to her. “With medieval texts there was no such thing as copy­right,” says Camp­bell, one of the pro­jec­t’s trans­la­tors and authors. “So, if you were a scribe copy­ing a man­u­script, there was noth­ing to stop you from just chang­ing things a bit.”

Part of a col­lec­tion of Arthuri­an sto­ries known as the Vul­gate Cycle, the frag­ment pro­vides fur­ther evi­dence of the Mer­lin char­ac­ter’s evo­lu­tion, and con­sid­er­able soft­en­ing, over time. At his first intro­duc­tion, Mer­lin was the lit­er­al son of Satan, a kind of antichrist sent to earth to wreak hav­oc. Over the cen­turies, he became much less sin­is­ter, trans­form­ing into the wise advi­sor of the ide­al Eng­lish king, Arthur, a char­ac­ter who did a fair bit of trans­form­ing him­self as his leg­end grew and changed.

via Atlas Obscu­ra

Relat­ed Con­tent:

King Arthur in Film: Our Most Endur­ing Pop­u­lar Enter­tain­ment Fran­chise? Pret­ty Much Pop: A Cul­ture Pod­cast #104

160,000 Pages of Glo­ri­ous Medieval Man­u­scripts Dig­i­tized: Vis­it the Bib­lio­the­ca Philadel­phien­sis

Medieval Scribes Dis­cour­aged Theft of Man­u­scripts by Adding Curs­es Threat­en­ing Death & Damna­tion to Their Pages

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

Behold the Newly-Discovered Sketch by Vincent van Gogh Sketch, “Study for Worn Out” (1882)

Hav­ing been dead for more than 130 years now, Vin­cent van Gogh sel­dom comes up with a new piece of work. But when he does, you can be sure it will draw the art world’s atten­tion as few works by liv­ing artists could. Such has been the case with the new­ly dis­cov­ered Study for Worn Out, an 1882 sketch that recent­ly came into pos­ses­sion of the Van Gogh Muse­um, accord­ing to Margheri­ta Cole at My Mod­ern Met, “when a Dutch fam­i­ly request­ed that spe­cial­ists take a look at their unsigned draw­ing.” The fig­ure in the draw­ing strong­ly resem­bles the one in van Gogh’s 1890 paint­ing At Eter­ni­ty’s Gate. But it took the experts at the muse­um to deter­mine that the artist was none oth­er than van Gogh him­self.

“Today and yes­ter­day I drew two fig­ures of an old man with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands,” wrote the 29-year-old van Gogh to his broth­er in a let­ter from 1882. “What a fine sight an old work­ing man makes, in his patched bom­bazine suit with his bald head.” The imme­di­ate fruit of these labors was the pen­cil draw­ing Worn Out, for which “the artist employed one of his favorite mod­els, an elder­ly man named Adri­anus Jacobus Zuy­der­land who boast­ed dis­tinc­tive side­burns (and who appears in at least 40 of van Gogh’s sketch­es from this peri­od).” So writes Smithsonian.com’s Nora McGreevy, who adds that van Gogh revis­it­ed the work to adapt it as a paint­ing “just two months before his death” in an asy­lum near Saint-Rémy-de-Provence.

“In draw­ings like these,”  says the Van Gogh Muse­um, “the artist not only dis­played his sym­pa­thy for the social­ly dis­ad­van­taged — no way infe­ri­or in his eyes to the well-to-do bour­geoisie — he active­ly called atten­tion to them too.” Anoth­er aim with Worn Out, adds McGreevy, was “to seek employ­ment at a British pub­li­ca­tion, but he either failed to fol­low through on this idea or had his work reject­ed.” This would have count­ed as just anoth­er seem­ing instance of fail­ure, the likes of which char­ac­ter­ized the painter’s short life. Lit­tle could he, his cor­re­spon­dents, or his mod­els have imag­ined that his works would one day become some of the most famous in the world — and cer­tain­ly not that one of his sketch­es would go on to be enshrined well over a cen­tu­ry lat­er, as it has been since last Fri­day at the muse­um that bears his name.

via My Mod­ern Met

Relat­ed Con­tent:

1,000+ Art­works by Vin­cent Van Gogh Dig­i­tized & Put Online by Dutch Muse­ums: Enter Van Gogh World­wide

Down­load Hun­dreds of Van Gogh Paint­ings, Sketch­es & Let­ters in High Res­o­lu­tion

Rare Vin­cent van Gogh Paint­ing Goes on Pub­lic Dis­play for the First Time: Explore the 1887 Paint­ing Online

Expe­ri­ence the Van Gogh Muse­um in 4K Res­o­lu­tion: A Video Tour in Sev­en Parts

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities, the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Hear the Brazilian Metal Band Singing in–and Trying to Save–Their Native Language of Tupi-Guarani

The indige­nous lan­guages spo­ken in Brazil num­ber around 170, a tes­ta­ment to the sur­vival of trib­al com­mu­ni­ties near­ly wiped out by colo­nial­ism and com­merce. Yet 40 of those lan­guages have few­er than 100 speak­ers, and many more are declin­ing rapid­ly. For lin­guists, “it’s a fight against time,” Luisi Destri writes at Pesquisa. Researchers esti­mate most, if not all, of these lan­guages could dis­ap­pear with­in 50 to 100 years, and some believe 30 per­cent might fade in the next 15 years.

“Knowl­edge is passed down from gen­er­a­tion to gen­er­a­tion,” says Luciano Stor­to, pro­fes­sor of lin­guis­tics at the Uni­ver­si­ty of São Paulo, “main­ly through nar­ra­tives told by the old­est and most expe­ri­enced to the community’s youngest mem­bers.” What hap­pens when those younger gen­er­a­tions are uproot­ed and leave home. When their elders die with­out pass­ing on their knowl­edge? (What hap­pens to lan­guage in gen­er­al as the lin­guis­tic gene pool shrinks?) These ques­tions weighed on Zhân­dio Aquino in 2004 when he found­ed Brazil­ian met­al band Aran­du Arakuaa.

Aquino has a degree in ped­a­gogy and his band has been invit­ed to play in schools and lec­ture at uni­ver­si­ties. But they do not use indige­nous instru­men­ta­tion and sing in an indige­nous Tupi-Guarani lan­guage as a pure­ly aca­d­e­m­ic exer­cise. Raised in the north­ern state of Tocan­tins and descend­ed from a Guarani-speak­ing tribe, the gui­tarist and singer says, “I [had] very close con­tact with indige­nous cul­ture because of my grand­moth­er and class­mates. When I [began] play­ing in bands, it just felt nat­ur­al to put my back­ground on it.”

When he moved to Brasil­ia in 2004, Aquino searched for like-mind­ed musi­cians and formed what may be the country’s first folk met­al band. While folk met­al as a cat­e­go­ry is hard­ly new (met­al has always incor­po­rat­ed ele­ments of folk music, from its ear­li­est incar­na­tions in Black Sab­bath and Led Zep­pelin to the bleak­est of Scan­di­na­vian black met­al bands), most folk met­al has been Euro­pean (and Pagan or Viking or Pirate), and some of it has allied, sad­ly, with the same fas­cist move­ments that threat­en indige­nous exis­tence.

While Aran­du Arakuaa — the name trans­lates to “cos­mos knowl­edge” — may be one of the first folk met­al bands in Brazil, it isn’t the only one. Along with bands like Aclla, Armah­da, and Tamuya Thrash Tribe, the band is part of a move­ment called the Lev­ante do Met­al Nati­vo, or Native Met­al Upris­ing, a col­lec­tion of musi­cians using native instru­ments, themes, and lan­guages — or all three in the case of Aran­du Arakuaa, who incor­po­rate mara­cas and the gui­tar-like vio­la caipi­ra.

How do acoustic indige­nous folk and the elec­tric crunch and growl of met­al come togeth­er? Hear for your­self in the videos here. Aquino knows Aran­du Arakuaa does­n’t win every­one over at first. “Peo­ple are not indif­fer­ent to our music,” he says. “They will love it or hate it. Most peo­ple think it’s strange at first and then we have to prove that we are good.”

While intel­li­gi­ble lyrics are hard­ly nec­es­sary in met­al, the lan­guage bar­ri­er may turn some lis­ten­ers away. But sub­ti­tled videos help. Aran­du Arakuaa might seem to have a dif­fer­ent focus than most met­al bands, but in songs like “Red Peo­ple,” we hear the rage and the resis­tance to war and depre­da­tion that bands like Black Sab­bath, Iron Maid­en, and Metal­li­ca — all influ­ences on the Brazil­ian band –have chan­neled in their music:

Some of us ran away, we hide in the for­est
We still fight
The red peo­ple still resist­ing, while there is land, while there is for­est
Every­thing became dif­fer­ent
Our spir­its are called demons
Each day less trees, less ani­mals, less his­to­ries, less songs…

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

Native Lands: An Inter­ac­tive Map Reveals the Indige­nous Lands on Which Mod­ern Nations Were Built

The Hu, a New Break­through Band from Mon­go­lia, Plays Heavy Met­al with Tra­di­tion­al Folk Instru­ments and Throat Singing

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

Hobbes, Locke & Rousseau: An Animated Introduction to Their Political Theories

The phrase “state of nature” doesn’t get much use in phi­los­o­phy these days, but every polit­i­cal philoso­pher must grap­ple with the his­to­ry of the idea — a foun­da­tion­al con­ceit of mod­ern Euro-Amer­i­can thought in the work of Thomas Hobbes, John Locke, and Jean-Jacques Rousseau. These three “con­trac­tu­al­ist” philoso­phers, often grouped togeth­er in syl­labi and select­ed intro­duc­to­ry texts, relied on the notion that humans once exist­ed in an anar­chic state pre­dat­ing civ­il soci­ety, and that this state might be re-dis­cov­er­able in indige­nous ways of life in the Amer­i­c­as. In the three School of Life videos here, you can learn the basics about each of these philoso­phers and their polit­i­cal the­o­ries.

Unlike the Bib­li­cal gar­den of Eden, the state of nature was hard­ly per­fect, at least for Hobbes and Locke, who saw gov­ern­ment as a nec­es­sary medi­a­tor for com­pet­ing self-inter­ests. The kinds of gov­ern­ments they the­o­rized were vast­ly dif­fer­ent from each oth­er — one an absolute monar­chy and the oth­er a cap­i­tal­ist repub­lic. But in each theorist’s pseu­do-pre­his­to­ry, ear­ly humans gave up their inde­pen­dence by mak­ing social con­tracts for pro­tec­tion and mutu­al inter­est. These “con­tracts,” claimed both Hobbes and Locke, were the ori­gin of gov­ern­ments.

Hobbes was the first major thinker to elab­o­rate a ver­sion of this sto­ry, and his descrip­tion of life before gov­ern­ment is well-known: “soli­tary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short.” Because of their painful exis­tence, humans would have sought out a pow­er­ful ruler to pro­tect them. They were right to do so, Hobbes believed, because only a king, as he argued in Leviathan, could pro­vide the pro­tec­tion peo­ple need. It was per­haps no coin­ci­dence that Hobbes worked for a king, his for­mer stu­dent, Charles II, restored to the throne after the Eng­lish Civ­il War that drove Hobbes to his author­i­tar­i­an views, sup­pos­ed­ly.

Despite his defense of divine pow­er, Hobbes stood accused of athe­ism and blas­phe­my for, among oth­er things, writ­ing a sec­u­lar jus­ti­fi­ca­tion for monar­chy that was not based on rev­e­la­tion or the divine right of kings. Like­wise, the first part of John Locke’s Two Trea­tis­es on Gov­ern­ment was a force­ful refu­ta­tion of divine right. But Locke’s ideas of tol­er­a­tion were far more threat­en­ing to the state, which is why he pub­lished anony­mous­ly. In his Sec­ond Trea­tise, he laid out his ver­sion of the state of nature and the social con­tract — ideas drawn in part from trav­el­ogues writ­ten by ear­ly colo­nial adven­tur­ers.

Locke’s the­o­ry of gov­ern­ment is also a the­o­ry of pri­vate prop­er­ty — the right­ful source of polit­i­cal pow­er, he believed — and who should own it. Decades lat­er, Jean-Jacques Rousseau wrote his most salient works, includ­ing a book titled The Social Con­tract, in oppo­si­tion to the inequal­i­ty of Hobbe­sian and Lock­ean states. Rousseau believed in human per­fectibil­i­ty and claimed that gov­ern­ments imposed a “gen­er­al will” on indi­vid­u­als, repress­ing an essen­tial­ly benev­o­lent state of nature in which resources were shared.

Rousseau’s rejoin­der to the myth of vicious sav­agery gave rise to anoth­er: that of the noble sav­age, an appeal­ing image for the rev­o­lu­tion­ar­ies of late-18th cen­tu­ry France and lat­er utopi­an social­ists tasked with the dif­fi­cult project of imag­in­ing an alter­na­tive to polit­i­cal hier­ar­chy. In social con­tract the­o­ry, the imag­ined way for­ward derives from an imag­ined pre­colo­nial past, more “moral fic­tion” than “his­tor­i­cal fact,” as schol­ar Richard Ashcraft argues. Learn more about the myth­i­cal state of nature and the pri­ma­ry the­o­rists of the social con­tract above.

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

Leo Strauss: 15 Polit­i­cal Phi­los­o­phy Cours­es Online

Social and Polit­i­cal Phi­los­o­phy: A Free Online Course 

Intro­duc­tion to Polit­i­cal Phi­los­o­phy: A Free Online Course from Yale Uni­ver­si­ty 

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

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