For some time now I have been aware of emerging discourses, especially those analyzing the border culture intersecting the United States and Mexico, which formulate a new Narco-Capitalism. Cartels have taken on an enhanced centrality in the daily life, institutional politics, and baseline economics of Mexico, just as they have in other Latin American Narco-States, such as Bolivia and Columbia. I was also aware that the discourses currently circulating have had a tendency to couple Narco-Capitalism with Necro-Capitalism, as the emergence of black or gray markets in large part dominated by implicitly-licensed criminal enterprises has brought into the spotlight forms of violence that are used to ensure governability and general compliance, while also propagating new forms of spectacle such that encoded violence—facilitated by news media outlets, self-promotion, and popular culture—becomes branded by disparate criminal organizations and rogue agents. Chechen criminal organizations have their own "brand" of violence, as do the individual Latin American cartels, as does Islamic State. Very real violence used instrumentally and as a matter of course outside the bounds of official validation has become a central part of how criminal enterprises go about ensuring profitability. It has also transformed the image culture. All of this occurs at a time when we have become somewhat accustomed to the ongoing decentralization of statecraft and to a condition of perpetual global civil war (to which earlier “dirty wars” in Latin America to a certain extent retrospectively seem to have looked forward). It is not for nothing that individuals within the United States military apparatus refer to their entrenchment in the Middle East (Afghanistan, Iraq, Syria, et cetera) as the “forever wars.” The so-called War on Drugs has to likewise be understood as existing in a condition of provisional permanence, even if no halfway reasonable person would ever imagine that there is a projectable “forever” in which human beings and their civilizational systems could be considered to constitute an ineradicable fixture. When I saw the mainstream film SICARIO: DAY OF THE SOLDADO upon its release last year, I was already consciously aware that it was dealing with decentralized statecraft and the fog of permanent war within the context of Narco-Capitalism/Necro-Capitalism. I was extremely fascinated by the film and would even have said that I thought it was genuinely good. I certainly thought it vastly superior to the original SICARIO which, though it had a very good cinematographer and a more than capable director, was bogged-down in inane psychologizing hogwash. DAY OF THE SOLDADO was much colder, an impersonal systems movie, in which the human subjects were to a large extent very much nodes within a network, divested of much in the way of interiority, explicitly traversing broken systems and drawing attention to an extreme condition of pervasive vulnerability exacerbated by an overarching mood of epistemological indeterminacy. The epistemological indeterminacy, characteristic of our post-truth times, led subsequently to a choice bit of farce in the news cycle; at one point, Donald J. Trump, the president of the United States of America and, to my mind at least, a man of the upmost inscrutability, a profoundly unreadable and thoroughly abject human being—though often very clearly the central attraction of a new Carnival of Chaos—tweeted about recent events at the border, something to do with Islamic prayer mats presumably left by sinister border-jumpers, only for a few keen-eyed folks to note that Trump was quite clearly not referencing an event that occurred in actual reality, but rather a scene from DAY OF THE SOLDADO, which the president had presumably recently seen. O tempora o mores, am I right or am I right? There are sinister enterprises everywhere, Narco-Business is Global-Business, but the U.S./Mexican border does represent a highly unique, extremely distinct interregnum, rife with its own contextual specificities. That being said, this border situation is clearly connected to global trends. If we can see that shadow of Narco-Capitalism everywhere, with Necro-Capitalism it is only all the more so. If I have been passingly familiar, as I have said, with the existence of discourse pertaining to these theoretical categories, Sayak Valencia’s GORE CAPITALISM is the first extended work of theory I have read to that end, and I can only conclude that it is an exemplary place to start. Valencia begins the book by making her position extremely clear, to the extent that some may find it all a bit noxiously polemical. Valencia speaks throughout as “we,” which is characteristic of a viewpoint which sees itself as inherently molecular, avowedly plural (Guattari will later be cited) but one which also frames itself as activist, thus active, seeking out fertile interactions, radical praxis, and mutable, evolving solidarities across a wide spectrum. Valencia calls herself (or herselves) both transfeminist and, a resident of Tijuana, citizen of a Third World Narco-State. “Third World” is a discursive construct born of economic realities, but what in large part characterizes the First World’s discourse around the Third World is in fact little more than a kind of imposed invisibility. As for “transfeminist,” there is an endnote from our English translator, John Pluecker, in which he makes clear that this term has slightly different connotations in the Anglophone world from those it carries in Spain and Latin America, where the term is “transfeminismo.” Pluecker concludes his lengthy explanation by saying that “the trans- prefix not only signals the inclusion of trans* people as political subjects within feminism but also performs the lexical operation of attaching to, dynamizing, and transforming an existing entity, pulling it in new directions, bringing it in to new relation with other entities.” One might be inclined to note the syntactic parallel between “transfeminism” and “transnational corporation” or what Misha Glenny calls “transnational organized crime.” This does not undermine Valencia’s arguments in the terms she presents them. She sees modalities of necroempowerment as extremely lamentable and as a byproduct of post-Fordist neoliberal global capitalism, but, as we shall see, what she advocates for is radical intervention within existing information, communication, and interactional structures, rather than comprehensive overhaul of systems and structures. She believes that both the basic capitalist model and a mindset of global locality (key to the trans- prefix) are far too entrenched to be merely tossed. There is a pragmatism at play here, though it is not short on ardency of rhetoric nor on insurrectionary zeal. One reviewer on this site has taken exception to the rhetorical feint with which the book more or less opens. The cavil is essentially that Valencia makes a point of speaking for an under-or-not-at-all-represented Third World subject-position (in the plural) but then goes on to cite and reference the predictable coterie of avuncular First World scholars (Butler, Jameson, Foucault et al.) This too strikes me as being par for the course as pertains to the trans- prefix. There is an emphasis on subaltern regions and new visibility theretofore, yes, just as in Gayatri Spivak or bell hooks, but the methodology is heterogeneous and intersectional, the book richly sourced, drawing from here and there. The theory is itself g-local (to borrow Valencia’s preferred abbreviation for locally-global). This is theory read, processed, and made use of on the ground, in Tijuana. Border cultures are, according to Mike Davis, “national sacrifice zones,” Valencia avers that they “become transactional spaces of negotiation, re-appropriation, and limit-testing” that are each characterized by their distinct specificities but tied to global market trends. Necropower and necropolitcs are the subject more broadly, it is gore practices that become central in terms of the consideration of specificities, the active consolidation and maintenance of necropower. To understand these phenomena, Valencia makes it clear that we need to understand the ways in which post-Fordist neoliberal capitalism is broken. Neoliberalism, governmentality, the dispossessed and the masculanist self-made man in confrontation with the potential emasculation of enforced dispossession: all will figure. Globalization. Deregulation “along with the maximum weakening of all political mediation for the exclusive benefit of the logic of the market.” The key accelerants: “price liberalization; market deregulation; declining support for the agricultural sector; the dismantling and inefficiency of state functions; deficiencies in the enforcement of the most basic guarantees of human rights; spectralization of the market; advertising and information overload; constant frustration; and imposed workplace precarity.” This has led to the preponderance of “dystopias produced through an unconsidered adherence to pacts with (masculinist) neoliberalism and its objectives.” The inflexible logic of markets implicitly devalues human life. It also nullifies any worthwhile future or possible sense of such a future. It is precisely meaning/belonging that have to be re-established and along with them some kind of futurity. Our age is one of hyperconsumerism. It excludes many despite its mandate to universally include. This produces frustration, resentment, and a tendency to resort to illicit models of capital-generation. Gilles Lipovetsky: in the hyperconsumerist society, precarity and inequality produce a “feedback loop of negativity.” Also Lipovetsky: the frustrations of advertising and “the breach that separates the demand to consume from its real costs.” The unfeeling bottom-line mandate of the official marketplace finds its dark double in black or gray markets, which share the official market's basic Weltanschauung and which proceed to become institutionally entangled with it. Just as violence is necessary for the maintenance of State power, it comes to take on not only a central but also a profit-generating role in criminal enterprises which become embedded within our societies and which subtend them. Somali high seas piracy, for example, was generating so much revenue at one point that children aspired to join the pirate ranks and the whole society became actively complicit, hoping to reap some of the financial rewards, its being the only game in town. Corruptibility at the State level comes to perform a key enabling function. Valencia sees the emergence of a new kind of subject by way of the rise of necropower. She calls these subjects “endriago subjects,” the term “endriago” taken from the medieval chivalric romance AMADIS OF GAUL, belonging therein to a monster who resides in a borderland and who the sanctioned hero is compelled to battle. These endriagos are political-economic entrepreneurs and “violence specialists” who resort to gore practices as a desperate means to achieve agency and social mobility, “valid” fields being closed to them. They constitute desperate masculanist recourse, and in Mexico are informed by the legacy of machismo, characterized, in the words of Carlos Monsiváis, by “indifference when faced with death, contempt for feminine virtues and the affirmation of authority at all levels.” Key to any tansfeminism that would seek to curb the propagation of endriago subjects would be practices that provide men space to critically confront their own presuppositions and conditioning. It has to be about communication and discourse, inclusion and dialogue. Gore practices are business practices but they are tied to spectacle. "Gore," a terminology borrowed from cinema, “has retained the grotesque and the parodic element of the spilling of blood and guts, which as it is so absurd and unjustified, would appear to be unreal, gimmicky and artificial, a shade below full fatality, a work-in-progress on the way to becoming snuff, that still leaves open the possibility of being curbed.” Valencia comments on how gore capitalism to an extent parallels Paul B. Preciad’s concept of “pharmacopornographic” capitalism, in which drugs, pornography, and bleak cityscapes striated with grim architecture can come to possess a certain dystopian punk caché, a counterintuitive sexiness for certain subjects. (Subjects in Valencia’s text—endriago, pharmacopornographic, or otherwise—are not autonomous agents, they are already trans, she quotes Guattari on the subject as a terminal within a network.) Part of what Valencia has told us is broken in capitalism is accounted for by the “spectralization of the market.” There is a certain amount of spectralization as well to the president of the United States tweeting about scenes in movies as though they were reality and a whole post-truth landscape of indeterminacy, epistemological confusion, and mediated invisibility. Gore practices (especially in the Third World) have both their spectralized and their spectacularized dimensions. Valencia addresses “derealization,” a term with origins in warfare, the impetus to dehumanize the Other, to make horrific violence something less than real. This is where biopolitics enters. It is not simply the “body” that becomes the commodity, but rather the “body count,” profit-generative, consumable as spectacle, and made to appear abstract. But the body sacrificed to the gore practices of necroempowerment is a real body subject to real anguish, and the way to most immediately demystify campaigns of “derealization” is to relate to other bodies from the standpoint of your own embodied and interdependent condition of vulnerability. The way beyond thanatophilia and necropower has to start with critical challenges first articulated at the level of the self and the community. For Valencia this means a “becoming-queer” in which worthy non-normative practices begin to populate the existing field by way of “performative actions within both discourse and resistance.” A huge part of how the neoliberal capitalist model works is by atomizing populations, reducing us to embattled individuals suspended in existential isolation. Any meaningful resistance would have to be consonant with the basic transfeminist suppositional model. The need is for embodied connections and interactional relating. Subalterns of the Third World, and those residing in the increasingly abandoned margins of the First, are perhaps in a unique position to reorient “the political management of the state’s governability.” Negri and Cocco: “the insurrection in the French banlieues or the Brazilian favelas, the flight from the countryside, are already sketching radically open and new horizons: these insurrections show us that the inhabitants of the countryside are the raw material, the flesh of the multitude from which the globalized world is made.”