Nomad Codes

Egypt to enjoy it themselves.” As Henry Jenkins points out in Textual Poachers , his solid study of media fandom, de Certeau’s model lends itself to TV readers as well. “Within the cultural economy,” Jenkins points out, “fans are peasants, not proprietors.” Everything they touch is copyrighted, and even their best-loved products can be canceled.
    Fan fiction writers weave their stories from the threads Hollywood leaves dangling, creating both an overarching consistency to their favorite shows and a body of off-kilter, contradictory tales of parallel universes, time slips, and love affairs the series writers would never dare suggest. Going far beyond the parameters of the original series, this labor of love transforms the passivity of watching TV into a creative, and sometimes critical, practice. Cultural studies folks have begun to pay attention to media fandom, which involves shows as diverse as Starsky & Hutch , The Avengers and Beauty and the Beast, as well as Star Trek (which draws both media and sci-fi fans). For obvious reasons, these scholars are particularly drawn to fan stories which depict Kirk and Spock (and other buddy teams) getting it on with each other—though the focus of such “slash” fiction, written almost exclusively by straight women, says as much about the academia as it does about fandom.
    For these stories, like other products of fandom, become meaningful only in the context of community. Fan writing, with its sampling, genre conventions, and relative lack of emphasis on individual authorship, produces not so much definitive stories as a shifting collective body of lore. Beefy zines like the Klingon Agonizer contain not only fiction but also recipes, sewing instructions, technical specs, poems, con reports, and filksongs, like the “The Earthly Klinbillies,” with melodies cribbed from TV shows. Only one of many tactics fans use, lore helps carve out a distinctly popular space within the bowels of the culture industry. Perhaps the best demonstration of this peasant logic is the con itself—a seasonal festival of play and excess that would fascinate Bakhtin. The term filk describes this logic perfectly—fandom is filched folk culture.
    Perhaps the intense vitality of some Klingon groups—though they represent a small portion of Trek fandom—arises from the fact that they already imagine themselves to be pillaging nomads. Comparing the Karizans to KLAW and Federation clubs, Lenny Greene almost scoffs. “You’ve got some groups who will only adhere to what has been canonized by Paramount. Or they use FASA as their Bible (FASA is a role-playing game company that issued a plentiful book on Klingons). That’s good for people who like their conformity, and the Feds are very conformist. They don’t like us because we are so different. We take the ball and run with it.”
    Appropriately, the religious imaginations of the Karizan folks are in step with the folk bricolage of fandom. Greene defines himself as an “eclectic solitary”—meaning he is not in a “traditional” Wiccan coven. He uses bits of Asian, Amerindian, and Wiccan lore. “Lately there is a bit of Norse flavoring. I just mesh all this stuff together in my own mind to find what works. It’s a practical, common-sense approach.” Greene left KLAW not only because it was too conformist and hierarchical in style, but also because the founder was a hard-core Baptist. “We all know about the old days,” he says with a knowing grin.
    Noting that many Paramount folk attend conventions, Greene insists that the Karizan emphasis on Klingon ritual has influenced ST:TNG ’s portrayal of Klingon culture. “They’re sort of borrowing from us. Hollywood is not that creative; they steal most of their ideas. We don’t mind, because they give us kudos for this.” Greene’s proof, such as it is, is a mention Commander Sisko of Deep Space Nine made of “some girls down on Karizan” and the placement of a Karizan insignia on Galron’s seat in an episode of ST:TNG . “You can’t see it unless you have a crystal-clear copy,” Greene says. The truth of the debt doesn’t really matter. In the symbiotic world of fandom and culture industry, no one controls the meaning of the Klingons—though if push comes to shove, Paramount owns them. As Greene said, “There’s a feedback. Paramount feeds off fandom, fandom feeds off Paramount. It’s a wonderful cycle.”

    Decked out in boots, a golden sash, and Klingon bustier,