Low riders cruise in California (Myung J. Chun / Los Angeles Times via Getty Images)

I have always felt a white-hot hatred for those Harley clowns, in their clown costumes, who gratuitously rev their stone-age V-twin engines as you sit outdoors trying to have a conversation. The only proper response, I believe, would be for some good Samaritan with a baseball bat to walk up and test the efficacy of those little Nazi hats they call helmets.
The new thing is modern V8 muscle cars (Chargers, Challengers, Mustangs and Camaros) with exhaust cut-outs. They are deafening, and they are everywhere where I live in San Jose (which is not one of the genteel areas). They are also illegal, of course, but we no longer enforce laws in California. Nor, apparently, in New York. For those not satisfied with inflicting low-level hearing loss, a special Platinum Asshole feature is available on the aftermarket. It alters the engine’s spark and fuel map to deliberately induce explosive backfires that sound like a 12-gauge shotgun at close range.
Julie Aitken Schermer, a professor of psychology at Western University in Ontario, Canada, conducted a study of people who modify their cars to make them louder, using a standard inventory of psychological traits. She was expecting to find narcissism, but instead she found “links between folks with a penchant for loud exhausts and folks with psychopathic and sadistic tendencies”. “The personality profile I found with our loud mufflers are also the same personality profiles of people who illegally commit arson,” she told a reporter. These are people who have a hard time with “higher-order moral reasoning with a focus on basic rights for people”.
The New York Times has taken notice of this trend. It seems one Miles Hudson, a 20-year-old man-child, has been terrorising downtown Seattle in the wee hours, making it his special mission to disturb sleep with his Dodge Hellcat. “Entire neighbourhoods are angry and sleep deprived,” a resident wrote to their local council member. One woman claimed that she lived with PTSD and woke up in fear because the backfiring vehicle sounded like gunshots outside her building. “This is the first time in 13 years that I’ve started seriously considering moving out of downtown,” she wrote. Another wrote in after 6am, saying the tiger-striped Hellcat had been revving up and down streets for two hours. “What will it take for this to end?” the man wrote.
Mr Hudson told a reporter at The Seattle Times in March that the city needed to focus its attention on other problems. “There are way bigger issues than a black man with a nice car who makes noise occasionally,” he said. His car is indeed nice, if by nice you mean expensive. It lists from $97,000-111,000. “No disrespect, but I feel like I’m doing my thing,” he told the officer who stopped him and recorded the interaction on his body cam.
The city has been super understanding of Mr Hudson’s need to do his thing. To watch the bodycam footage of the cop who pulled him over is to get a window onto Blue America, 2024. It is like watching a Hindu farmer trying to coax a sacred cow out of a rice paddy, without laying hands on it, speaking harshly to it, or otherwise running afoul of the Brahmins who insist on the cow’s protected status. The cop is real chummy. “Remember the last time I pulled you over?” He tries to ingratiate himself with the entitled twat by informing him that he is an ASE certified master mechanic, as well as a policeman. It appears to be an attempt to establish common ground: I can appreciate your car. Essentially he offers a change of jurisdiction, from that of the public authority to that of a shared subculture.
But this gesture is lost on our sacred cow, who can only repeat that he has 700,000 Instagram followers for his exploits. The cop tries to cajole him into perhaps taking his car to a race track. “I’m just saying… Just consider it, bro,” the policeman says. The cop’s deference is nauseating. At no point does he rise to the occasion and speak with authority on behalf of the common good. It turns out you don’t need to defund the police, you just need to delegitimise the idea of law itself, if by “law” you mean rules of civilised behaviour that apply to all.
The French writer Renaud Camus, known for his controversial “Great Replacement” theory, also coined the term nocence to capture what is going on here. Removing the negative “in-” from “innocence”, he left a word that meant nuisance or harm. He went so far as to form an “anti-nuisance” political party called In-nocence, making explicit what we all know: that the fabric of the world is torn by the small acts of cruelty and unconcern that make everyone else retreat from public space. This can have an unfortunate resemblance to conquest.
Camus’s concept of nocence responds to the French experience of mass immigration, crime and intimidation. He draws attention to the emotional labour required of the French in urban life: essentially that of not-noticing. In the cosmopolitan cities of the West, the field of petty harms is allowed to expand due to a code of propriety that requires suppressing one’s awareness of patterned behaviour, as well as a good-natured readiness to surrender one’s own claim to public space. Such readiness is a point of moral virtue for liberals, but it creates a vacuum into which more aggressive energies rush. This process of displacement is ultimately a spatial phenomenon, so it is perhaps not surprising that a geographer should be the one to spell it out.
Christophe Guilluy, whose analysis based on his understanding of how housing markets interact with larger social and economic developments enabled him to predict the rise of the Gilets Jaunes has been brought to the attention of English-language readers by Christopher Caldwell. Caldwell informs us that the vast stock of public housing, around five million units, built after the war, “is now used primarily for billeting… immigrants and their descendants, millions of whom arrived from North Africa starting in the 1960s. In the rough northern suburb of Aubervilliers, for instance, three-quarters of the young people are of immigrant background.” As a new bourgeoisie has taken over the private housing stock, poor foreigners have taken over the public, serving the metropolitan rich as a kind of taxpayer-subsidised servants’ quarters. Public-housing inhabitants are almost never ethnically French; the prevailing culture there nowadays is often heavily Muslim.
Guilluy, who has spent years in and out of buildings in northern Paris (his sisters live in public housing), is sensitive to the way this works in France. Public housing is an economic resource that, more and more, is getting fought over tribally. Guilluy speaks of a “battle of the eyes” fought in the lobbies of apartment buildings across France — who will drop his gaze to the floor first?
But what could such face-to-face moments of ethnic tension have to do with ambient nuisance, such as noise, that is not directed at anyone in particular? Camus writes that “Nocence, of course, is pollution in the ecological sense of the term”.
One might suppose that the coincidence of such ecological harms with demographic upheaval is a function of transience and diversity. Where there is no common culture, there is little sense of a common good. On this view, the same people who act anti-socially while living in a place they do not regard as their own would likely not do so in the communities they came from. English tourists are notorious for public drunkenness, for example.
But also, norms of behaviour differ across cultures, and one can transgress without meaning to. When the “ugly American” goes abroad and shows that he is culturally obtuse, we rightly censure him. To apply this same censure, however, to foreigners on our own shores — indeed merely to use the word “foreigner” — is to risk scandalising liberals. To be a good liberal requires interrupting the natural symmetries of hospitality.
The problem is that such unilateral hospitality tends to inspire contempt in peoples that don’t share the West’s preference for out-groups. And this introduces something new. Quite apart from being obtuse or not caring about local norms, making a nuisance of oneself may feel good as an expression of both personal and cultural aggression.
San Jose, 60 years ago, was 96.7% white. In the 2023 census, 23.9% are designated “White alone”. What follows is likely to be controversial, so I feel it necessary to engage in some pre-emptive throat-clearing on the topic of immigration.
My neighbourhood is mixed and largely Hispanic. I am on good terms with my neighbours. I let the little dog who lives next door shit on my Astroturf lawn because there is nowhere else for it to go (their yard is paved). I live across the street from a tire and suspension shop. The owner, Javier, speaks just enough English that, combined with my paltry Spanish, we can conduct basic transactions. But the guys working for him don’t speak a word of English. This has not been an impediment to good relations. Several of them have done me small favours and expressed their regard for my own automotive projects, which tend to spill out onto the street. I have been known to do the occasional mini-burnout in front of their shop in my hotrod VW. It is probably amusing to them, compared to 30-yard patches of rubber they lay down with their deafening V8s.
The challenges of immigration in the US are quite different from those in France, where a thousand-year-old clash of civilisations has been revived. It is often said that immigrants from Catholic Latin America are culturally on the same page as the West — not long ago you would hear people on the Right express hope that Latin American immigrants would be a force for cultural conservatism. There is something to this. Most immigrant parents seem morally healthy, relative to the decadent “luxury beliefs” of white progressives in the Bay Area.
But also (and don’t blame me for noticing), extremely loud muscle cars are popular here primarily with Hispanics. It is clearly a macho thing, out of step with the retiring character of progressive white masculinity.
There is certainly an Anglo (or rather, Scots-Irish) version of vehicular nocence, as exemplified by diesel pickup trucks “rolling coal” (that is, deliberately belching clouds of black soot) such as you encounter in the South, where I lived for many years. This is a political gesture. I take such trucks to express a simmering hatred, perhaps tied to fantasies of a Confederate reconquista against the “rich men north of Richmond” and their Prius-driving janissaries. That is, against those viewed as colonisers who prevailed in the War of Northern Aggression (as the American Civil War is sometimes referred to in the South). Like Mr Hudson with his Hellcat, they are applauded by their followers on social media.
But in the South Bay where I live, the cacophony of unmuffled V8s has its own context and meaning. Around Cinco de Mayo (but not only then), you see big Mexican flags flown from vehicles, reminding me of the Confederate flags I would sometimes see flown from trucks in Virginia. You also see a lot of billboards for Modelo beer, which have a consistent theme — they are for the “fighting spirit”. The role model for Anheuser-Busch, on the other hand, is the transgender influencer Dylan Mulvaney . Unsurprisingly, Modelo has replaced the American brands as the number one selling beer.
In La Dépossession, Camus writes about “testosterone” encompassing traits that are both biological and spiritual. These traits are unevenly distributed — there are “differences of virility” — and introduce inequalities that “very frequently belie or attenuate, when they do not simply overturn, social and political inequalities”. Camus proceeds: in France “there is a pronounced and very obvious testosterone inequality between the groups in question.” Likewise, the non-Hispanic whites, upper-caste Indians and wealthy Chinese, who populate the upper tier of the South Bay’s feudal tech economy, have largely washed their hands of any involvement in the maintenance and repair of their own homes or the shared infrastructure, handing it over to Hispanics. The material “challenges of existence” that Camus refers to — the challenges that make men hard — are almost exclusively the preserve of guest workers of uncertain legal status. In keeping with his point about rival inequalities, these poor men do not seem to view the wealthy and soft-handed as superior. Quite the opposite. Their earned hardness is admirable, but it also introduces certain asymmetries, and with these come opportunities for a kind of conquest.
In July 2020, the French establishment was in a fuss after interior minister Gérald Darmanin used the term ensauvagement to describe how public space in France was becoming less civilised. Louis Betty, an American scholar of contemporary French thought, explains that the term was coined by writer Laurent Obertone some years earlier. The cause of ensavagement, according to Obertone, is “the domestication of the French public, especially of its elite”, writes Betty. To be domesticated is to be over-socialised. And, conversely, agressive nuisance is, “in Obertone’s telling… a phenomenon of under-socialisation” wherein the “under-socialised”, who are “incapable of controlling their aggressive impulses”, are “abetted by an over-socialised overclass” for whom violence is just “an abstraction”. In fact, the over-socialised class “compete with each other to show who can be the most lenient toward the under-socialised”. This “moral competition”, responsible for the judicial system’s unwillingness to punish criminals, is “a cause of further ensavagement”.
This dynamic seems to describe Seattle’s halting ambivalence about holding Mr Hudson to account for keeping dozens or hundreds of people awake at night. Obertone’s use of the term “under-socialised” also jibes well with Camus’s idea that the default condition of human beings is one of mutual nocence. Civilisation rests on a social compact of non-nocence whereby “[e]veryone commits to being a little less himself”, in Camus’s words, in exchange for the benefits of ordered liberty. We might say that the over-socialised have committed to a competitive ethic of being as little oneself as possible, a sort of ethical potlatch in which one suppresses those natural responses to insult that are typical of a healthy animal with a defined territory it intends to keep.
The correlation of loud exhausts with sadistic tendencies can take on a collective meaning, if competition in sonic harm becomes a status game within a group. But aren’t the members of this same group annoyed by the assholes among them, just as I am? I like to think so. There may, however, be a cultural difference in sensitivity to noise. It is said that Mexico is a very noisy place. And conversely, as someone engaged in intellectual exertions, I am perhaps especially sensitive to disturbance. But I don’t think I am alone in this. Indeed, if we view such exertions collectively as well, we can note that art and science have been developed to a high level only in societies that have achieved reciprocity in non-nocence. This is an achievement it is possible to lose.
On a Saturday night I lay awake in the wee hours, unable to escape the noise. In such a state, one’s mind turns in various directions, including towards guerrilla actions on the propaganda front. I believe I have hit upon one that would be effective. Picture a billboard with two attractive Latinas. In the background is a guy with a Dodge Challenger. One girl whispers in the other’s ear. They are laughing. The speech bubble reads, in Spanish, “The louder the car, the smaller the dick.”
I believe this would put a stop to the noise overnight. How much would it cost to rent a dozen billboards?
This is an edited version of an article that first appeared on the Substack Archedelia.
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SubscribeI am keeping it simple, just rooting for Valerie.
I fully sympathise with letting go of the bike. I started taking my son to swimming lessons when he was a baby – his mom is a bit of a hydrophobe when it comes to submerging herself, and we wanted him to be used to water from the off to avoid any chance of “inheriting” it.
I was the *absolute worst* in the class of 20 or so at letting go of him in the water. The instructor used to yell at me over it.
Now in his teens, I’m working hard on getting him ready for the “real world” – teaching him basic DIY, household finances, extra tuition for his studies and such, so I think I must be past whatever it was. Maybe living with a teenager has altered my thinking!
Can’t comment on Sylvanian Families, I guess I’m old enough to have missed them coming out, and i thought it was some sort of vampire thing (Hotel Transylvania style)…
You sounds like a great dad! You didn’t miss anything with the Sylvanian Families, they were freaky things.
Good for you. I mean teaching him the real and really useful things I bet they still don’t teach at school. Basic DIY. How to manage money at household level. You’re setting your son on the path of a successful life
Well done in letting go of the bike. I hope you are successful in letting go psychologically to allow your daughter to become a fully independent adult. So many parents never achieve this.
Re: pets as ersatz-children. I have observed (and thought) this recently.
My circle of acquaintances includes a couple who are empty-nesters. Their son is in his early 20s, he was mainly raised by his mother who stayed at home while dad worked. This set-up seemed to work quite harmoniously, but I always felt that the wife’s compromises in life had included accepting (or having to accept) that her husband was not a giver of emotional support or nourishment; he was focused on work, always doing his own thing and probably never thought too much about his wife’s emotional needs. Buy her nice clothes, nice Christmas presents, the occasional nice holiday – job done.
Anyways, as soon as the child flew the nest, the wife got a dog. The husband’s life continued as before (work, work, work, travel, travel, travel) but a huge void had clearly opened up in her life when her child grew up and her role as mother retreated (I assume that it never “stops”) and the dog was the perfect way of filling it. And it was, I suppose, also a way of keeping the marriage ticking along as it had done before. The wife’s mothering instincts shift onto the pet, which is dependent as a child and gives a kind of emotional sustenance. The husband can keep the distance he obviously needs to be happy in the marriage. Everyone’s a winner.
Re: adults using kids’ toys. I scoffed at this for a long time – until The Other Half (a Lego lover from early on) persuaded me to do a Lego project. I said OK, go on then. Being as lovely and generous as he is, he bought me a beautiful girly set: an autumnal flower arrangement.
I loved it! I wasn’t just impressed and delighted at how well these things are made and thought out, it was intensely soothing to lose myself in a manual project after spending all day in the digital sphere.
It’s now an annual ritual: he gets a project and I get a project and we sit down and do them together. This year, I had a kingfisher, he did Notre Dame cathedral.
Who cares if we’re the typical, overgrown millennial kids? We can afford it and it’s something to do together that doesn’t involve screens or politics.
What a good idea, and your acquaintance’s also.
Makes me think ultimately the human spirit will triumph, despite all the nonsense.
I think there are far more worrying things than doting on pets to fulfill one’s own emotional needs. As long as the pet doesn’t suffer from the lashings of love and care, everyone’s a winner.
Almost agree. They, and society, are not winners if they have pets rather than children. Unless they are loony progressive woke types of course.
Im sure she would feel much more included in society and relevant if she got a job as an early morning cleaner at IKEA and got up at 3am to catch the 5.30am bus across town. She’d get a surprise if she did. A whole secret society of people who have dropped out,but still need to pay bills. Are super intelligent but choose to keep it to themselves rather than sell it to The Man. So much nicer to spend most of your precious time in the company of shitty people you don’t like and who you carefully curate OUT of your friend group. For money. Your husband has to. You don’t . So dont.
Owning a pet is a strange business. You deprive it of a natural adult life and take total responsibility for it. Parents do not own children, their role is to nuture them whilst they mature into an adult and wean them, so they can be an adult. It should be an enjoyable experience on both sides. Ownership is not part of it and they shouldn’t be a surrogate pet.
I think that Mary is experiencing the loss of innocence the second time around, the first being her own, the second her child’s. As a mother, she can create an innocent being, but not prevent its loss of innocence any more than she could prevent her own. That’s what I experienced, but didn’t fully realize it until reading this article. And that’s yet another reason why Mary is worth reading.
Fine observation. I hadn’t put her thoughts in the context of loss of her own innocence, but i think you’re right.
Plus, it’s probably a lot more important than many of us might care to acknowledge, as we rush towards independence. The surest sign of success as a parent is an independent child, a fully-fledged adult.
Becoming independent in a more complex world than my youth seems to be more ‘scary’ and the recent trans phenomenon is likely a reflection of that. Maybe those adults who promote it are suffering from their own issues over loss of innocence. That’s not to exonerate them; not at all. It’s simply to reflect on something deep within the human psyche.
Point of order. Mary did not create her daughter. Lack of understanding of biology with perhaps a touch of misandry MJ
The subject here isn’t biology, but growing up and becoming a person. The idea of ‘creation’ in this is not misplaced.
Co-created then. I understand the biology of procreation. If she had mentioned her husband sharing the same feeling, I might have used that word instead. And no, I don’t hate men, neither myself nor you.
Loss of ignorance not innocence. I’ve known old ladies of 80+ who’ve had several children and know what’s what but they keep that quality till they die. You lose Ignorance. Usually from experience despite “sex education”. And then you realize that most of what you’ve learned was never worth knowing in the first place.
You don’t need to lose innocence as you become older.
I’m sure you’ll love your little girl even when she’s a big girl and bossing you about. That’s a film I’d watch “I claimed Freedom ,woof woof”. I wonder how many rare endangered Australian native creatures Valerie has killed and eaten so far! But maybe she is filling a niche that we had emptied. When I was ten I had to,with my younger siblings go to stay with my grandparents on their remote Dartmoor farm. It was for two months while my Mum was in hospital. Another ten year old girl lived up the lane. She was more like a granddaughter to the family than we were. Well,they knew her she was there all the time. She had a very special relationship with my uncle,my Dad’s youngest brother,at that time a good looking and vigorous 25 year old young man. I.so remember the cuddly huggy closeness of Uncle Stuart and his cute little doll like friend. I mean we all know now that children born of us are void of sexuality until the magic day they hit 18,or is it 21,or maybe 30. I guess it depends on how rich the one you want to sue is.
Eh?
I am “triggered” by any mention of Sylvanian Families. My younger son had a brief, all-pocket-money-spending, pash on them. The most revolting items I’ve ever seen. I even preferred the later Panini stickers and WWE figures pashes.
Anyway, I must be heartless, because I never felt any pangs. Oops.
Interesting conflation of ideas. Made for a good read but communicated intrinsically what we already knew.
Who would want to pour filth onto the world of the Sylvanians? Undoubtedly there would be radicals of some persuasion or other who would, just as they did with that other reflection of childhood innocence, Rupert the Bear.
If you want to stay your hand and not do this, it would be out of pity. The individual creatures cannot fight back, even the predatory ones. You would have some sense that you must not transgress a sacred boundary over which the other exists in a way that you do not.
The Edwardians would have called these toys ‘dressed animals’. They appear in such novels as Wind in the Willows; essentially a story for adults. The Victorians had a fad for stuffing small animals, dressing them and posing them in human settings. A strange mixing of their sometimes ghoulish treatment of death with innocence.
How would the Sylvanian infants benefit from being taught sex, swearing, and smoking? Would they be ‘liberated’ from the ‘darkness’ of ignorance?
If they were taught to feel despondency and gloom over the state of maritime pollution, as clearly the schoolchildren of Eastbourne have, to judge from their poems that decorate the 1930s seafront bandstand, would they be freed from their bourgeois ‘isolation’?
There is a scene in the film Titanic where the rebellious female hero sees an upper middle class mother and her dutiful daughter at table in the restaurant. The heroine looks at them with contempt, even hatred, and then goes carousing and out-drinking the men. From frilly lace respectability to frowzy ‘authenticity’.
There is what may be called a law of sin in Christian theology. Once sin has mastered a person they feel a craving to drag others down into the pit. Such was Potiphar’s wife in the Genesis story.
Her target is a young man who had been abominably treated and who might have been expected as a consequence to have developed a bitterness of spirit that would give opportunity to receive this invitation to rebellion.
But the young man, Joseph, responds, “How can I do this great wickedness and sin against God.” How could anyone pour filth on the Sylvanian infants? How could anyone teach the Sylvanian primary school children ‘bum sex’ and not know exactly what they were doing, both to each individual and also to their family structure?
In the Gospels, Jesus of Nazareth holds up infant children as exemplars of the kingdom of heaven. Small children copy their parents exactly and trust them implicitly. When engaged in a task, they have a formidable single-mindedness. All these characteristics are those ascribed to Jesus of Nazareth in his following of his Father in Heaven.
In the setting that the Sylvanian parents and children are posed in by those who play with them, there is a recreation of Eden: a spiritual reminder of our fall.
Sorry if I keep repeating myself but, yet again, the whole pet thing is another leisure pursuit (and lucrative industry) due to our relative wealth in the last 40 odd years. Before that cats and dogs usually worked for their living helping with the hunt, or keeping vermin down.
The aristocrats and gentry were the only ones who could afford to have toy or ‘lap’ dogs, or occasionally little monkeys. It is that self indulgence that has filtered down to almost anyone in the latter half of the 20th century, and up until today in the 21st.
Maybe it’s just that humans like to have something to lavish affection on if possible, especially when the creature can be so devoted – dogs, or sensuous – cats.
Of course ‘helping with the hunt or keeping vermin down’ or watching the kids and home, etc. are part of a more naturally fulfilled life for our pets. It’s really the best way to keep them happy.
P.S. The hunt doesn’t have to end in anything’s death. The chase is the important part. My father had a small dog who couldn’t get enough of chasing the deer. Eventually the deer started coming around to tease her and off they would go, playing harts and hounds all around the adjacent woods, until she came home happy and ready for a long nap.
There might be some good advice here in re: raising children. But, alas, I’m not in a position to say.
It was ever thus,
https://verse.press/poem/in-reference-to-her-children-23-june-1659-10831
Lovely poem which I hadn’t come across before. Thank you.
Point of Order: Kangaroo Island is off the coast of South Australia, not Western Australia.
You beat me to it. I wondered what the dachshund lived on or if it was decimating all the boring little grey marsupials but it appears there are mice and rats (introduced) there which is just what it was designed to hunt.
The breed was actually designed to flush badgers out of their sets, I believe, hence the name.
Home of the wonderful Echidna!
You’re thinking of Echidna Island.
Not in my case as Kangaroo Island is the only place I have spotted the ‘beast’, and that includes extensive yet futile searches in Tasmania!
Stealthy beast, the echidna. The platypus even more so.
Plenty around where I grew up in the Otway foothills. My Scottish friend was delighted to spot a spiny anteater on his visit and tried to think of the usual name but … ‘echidna.
I’ll get my coat.
When I read ‘Sylvanian’ I just assumed K.I. was off the coast of Noeline Donaher.
Have a look at forest_fr1ends on X if you want some Sylvanian smut.