It is in the nature of manifestos to be hopeful, forward-looking, and somewhat provocative. As the name suggests, manifestos strive to be open, to make evident what might otherwise be obscure. Ever since Marx and Engels irreversibly reconfigured the genre's authoritative, sovereign form in the mid-nineteenth century, manifestos have been both rhetorical and practical, diagnostic as well as reformative: they discern problems and offer sometimes utopian solutions. They generally try to rise above perceived divisions to mobilize a community or conjure one where it had not existed before. Because they are not meant to sustain the status quo but rather to imagine new possibilities, they are generally exhortatory in tone.1 Often short, punchy, and direct, such manifestations can be unsettling. Any manifesto worth its salt will likely invigorate many readers only at the cost of disturbing others. That has not deterred revolutionaries or artists from writing manifestos; when the time is ripe, even historians have been known to produce them.2
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