Complete first issue of Viewpoint Magazine, an autonomist Marxist influenced online publication.
Issue 1: Occupy Everything
Originally posted: October 17, 2011 at Viewpoint Magazine
Everybody talks about the weather
Asad Haider and Salar Mohandesi analyze the Occupy movement and the conditions that created it.
“Everybody talks about the weather. We don’t.” This 1968 poster was a response by the German Socialist Student Union to an ad campaign for weatherproof trains. The students were suggesting that like the figures pictured above, they had more important concerns than everyday things like the weather. The next year, journalist and future Red Army Faction terrorist Ulrike Meinhof would use the slogan to argue that radicals should talk about everyday life, since “the personal is political.”
For us, it just means that we should talk about the weather. It’s going to start snowing on the occupations, and the authorities want to use the weather as a weapon. They’re hoping that winter will kill the movement off, and it’s hard to deny that camping out in the middle of January would be a poor tactic.
But the weather represents a much bigger question: what will it take to make this movement last? There is great potential in what has been achieved, but there are also significant obstacles, which present themselves both inside and outside the movement. With an eye towards advancing this struggle, let’s start by trying to understand what’s happening: who is protesting, and what does it mean?
In a reflection on the riots in London this past summer, “The Prince and the Pauper,” we argued that the composition of the rioters reflected the blurred boundaries between a precarious and hyperexploited “lumpenproletariat” and the mainstream working class. What was important above all was that the spontaneous violence of the riots took place at the same time as a strike by Verizon workers across the pond, within the very industry that provided the rioters with means of communication. And though struggles were communicating with each other across the world, these two political compositions – one reflecting a disorganized population usually subjected to the worst state repression, the other reflecting the classical mode of trade-union politics – did not encounter one another.
The Occupy Wall Street crowd seems to be an in-between element, both technically and politically. Much of the energy behind it comes from the activist milieu that characterized the Seattle “anti-globalization” protests, but it also clearly draws from a wide base of working people who are now seeing the disintegration of classical forms of work alongside the social fabric that once supported them. So the Occupy movement is simultaneously the space where encounters can take place, as well as a form of struggle with the implicit objective of creating conditions in which these encounters can take hold. But who exactly is in this space?
The best information we have now is about Occupy Wall Street; though other occupations may have unique elements, this serves as a useful starting point. The composition of Occupy Wall Street is unsurprisingly heterogeneous. Age, wealth, and experience vary widely; some participants are veterans from former struggles, others are joining in for the first time; there’s a large concentration of youth, but more than 28% are over 40. You’ll find the homeless, doctoral students, and professionals of various stripes all camping out together. Despite these sharp differences, however, some common characteristics stand out. First, the vast majority is highly educated: a study by CUNY sociologist Hector R. Cordéro-Guzmán observed that over 90% reported “some college, a college degree, or a graduate degree.” Second, the great majority does not support either of the political parties. Third, and perhaps most important, the movement as a whole is overwhelmingly composed of the unemployed, underemployed, or precariously employed.
In many important ways, it’s no coincidence that this particular technical composition would choose the Occupy movement as its form of struggle. By firing workers, putting them on furlough, demanding that they work part-time, or simply forcing them to accept an early retirement, the capitalists gave them all free time. Instead of sitting at home, these workers are using this imposed free time against those capitalists who forced it upon them in the first place. The Occupy movement demonstrates how workers can creatively turn their situation against their bosses, how they can transform an imposed form of production into a weapon. It’s not so much a kind of prolonged march as it is a transformed strike, work stoppage, or collective slowdown. It’s a form of struggle that has emerged directly from the particular economic situation that capital has led us into. But not only is it a form of struggle, it’s a bridge between a multiplicity of forms, where already existing movements can cross-pollinate and new ones can be tested for the first time.
This bridging is international in character. Inspired by the Arab Spring, the struggles in Greece, and the Spanish indignados, Occupy Wall Street first emerged as yet another moment in this broader cycle of struggle. It’s significant, however, that after becoming a real movement by spreading itself across America, this form of struggle then found its way back into the hands of those who had inspired it in the first place. There is no greater illustration of the circulation of struggles today: from Puerta del Sol square in May, to the occupation of Zuccotti Park, and back to Madrid in October. But it’s not as though the same coin has passed through thousands of new hands just to return to its owner unchanged. The circulation of this struggle has added something; it returns with more experiences, a sharper perspective, a more radical edge.
But we’re not dealing with the same struggle. There’s a plurality of almost bewilderingly diverse forms of contestation. Before Occupy Wall Street, there were literally thousands of distinct struggles from Greece to the Middle East to China. What the Occupy movement has done is strategically subsume many of these preexisting struggles into a shared discursive space – providing them with a common language. In China, demonstrators have held up banners reading: “Resolutely support the American people’s mighty Wall Street Revolution!”
On October 15, protests erupted in 900 cities across the globe. Though many had already witnessed their fair share of disturbances over the past few years, it was the bold synchronicity of it all that was so unprecedented. This could have only been accomplished through a recoding of each particular struggle into a more general vernacular. Of course, all of these struggles were already implicitly – and in some cases explicitly – in touch with one another. But now, they speak the same language. Slogans reappear, symbols are shared, and practices are recycled on different continents. Struggles all over the world are beginning to recode themselves in this idiom.
The dilemma is that while unions have expressed their support, organizations like Occupy the Hood are attempting to prioritize the sectors of the working class that are racially marginalized, and international struggles are taking up occupations as their banners, no concrete and institutional connection has been made. It could very well be that the durability and radicalization of this movement will rely on its potential as a mediating element between the the various segments of the class, their particular interests, and their traditional forms of struggle. Achieving this means going beyond a spontaneous reflection of changes in our working lives. It has to start by understanding the system underlying them.
We Are the Wage Relation
We all know how the protest represents itself. “We are the 99%,” said Occupy Wall Street, and this single slogan has spread like a prairie fire.
Only a philistine would dismiss the movement based on objections to this slogan. A quick glance at the now-famous website wearethe99percent.tumblr.com shows what it has achieved. In a society that is supposed to be hopelessly atomized, made up of alienated zombies staring at individual TV screens, ordinary people are showing solidarity with each other. The problems people describe on this website might once have been thought of as personal issues, of no concern to anyone but your spouse and your landlord. Occupy Wall Street has given us the language to understand our personal problems as a collective political struggle against the 1% who got rich from our misfortune.
At the same time, the slogan advances no analysis about how things got this way. Social inequality is shameful, to be sure, and it’s been growing steadily. But does this happen because there are bad eggs at the top? Because the good guys in government aren’t strong enough? Or is it because there’s an underlying relationship in our society that produces this inequality and ensures that it constantly increases?
It would be no improvement to quibble about percentages. (“We are the 87.3%! Down with the 5.2% and their 7.5% running dogs!”) The figures which actually demonstrate the fundamental changes in our economy leading to today’s discontentment are shown in the following graph, covering the period from 1947 to 2010, from the Bureau of Labor Statistics:
The top line represents worker productivity, measured by output per hour. The line lagging behind is their hourly compensation, which means wages plus benefits, adjusted for inflation. The growing “wage gap” between the two lines essentially measures the change in the rate of exploitation, and it shows that exploitation has been steadily increasing. This doesn’t mean there wasn’t exploitation before the 1970s, it just means that social inequality wasn’t growing; now bigger and bigger portions of wealth are being transferred from labor to capital.
In 1865, Karl Marx engaged in a debate in the First International Working Men’s Association against a utopian socialist named John Weston. Weston argued that the wave of strikes across Europe demanding higher wages was dangerous, since if wages were increased, capitalists would simply raise commodity prices to compensate and make life more expensive for workers. Marx argued in his speeches, later published as Value, Price and Profit, that this position was based on a totally incorrect understanding of the wage. Capitalists pay a wage that ensures the worker will show up to work the next day, equivalent to the socially average collection of necessities (food, housing, entertainment) required to reproduce labor-power, or the ability to work. They don’t pay for each individual commodity the worker produces, because the central fact of capitalism is that workers produce more than the value of their daily necessities. The difference between their wages and the value of the commodities they produce is the “surplus value” that belongs to the capitalist. No other input of the production process generates more value than it costs; the exploitation of labor is the source of profit.
What Marx pointed out is that if there is an increase in the productivity of labor, but wages stay the same, struggles for higher wages have to be understood as “reactions of labour against the previous action of capital.” If capital can’t pay workers less, or work them longer hours, it has to increase the productivity of labor by disciplining workers and introducing technological innovations. This has two dramatic effects. First of all, it reduces the demand for labor, which means unemployment. Second, it means capitalists are investing more in expensive machinery than in their source of profit.
If productivity has dramatically increased, and industries across the board produce many more commodities, they need people to buy them – but that’s difficult to pull off when wages have been so low for so long. The result of rising social inequality is that capitalists are sitting on vast amounts of money, or channeling it into a luxury economy, and banks are running out of profitable investment opportunities. Workers, on the other hand, need money just to live. The solution to these problems is well known. The widespread reliance on consumer credit – a risky investment for the banks and potentially lifelong debt for the consumer – increases purchasing power beyond the wage.
Alongside the use of home equity loans and credit cards to shore up consumption is the massive student loan industry, which lends future workers the resources to develop their productive powers. In theory, these debts would be paid off by future income, assuming some kind of imminent recovery. The problem is that people graduating with enormous and unreasonable loans are not getting jobs, and as we’ve already noted, capitalism is tending towards unemployment. With the classical system of exploitation by the wage undermining itself, capital is forced to find ways to use debts to extract wealth. Ever paid an overdraft fee?
There’s also a dramatic political effect of debt: it prevents people from deserting the sinking ship of the wage system. In spite of the fact that nobody expects a job to become a lifelong career anymore, which used to be work’s way of justifying itself, they’re still forced to accept precarious work – rushing between multiple part-time jobs unrelated to their education, if they have jobs at all, and cutting every possible expense to pay off their loans.
This is just an extension of the brutal strategy of expropriation already imposed on the poorest sectors of the working class, the predatory lending that specifically targeted black and Latino women. Just as student debt established a supplementary form of exploitation, by compelling people to pay for the rest of their lives to acquire a competence they may be unable to cash in on the job, subprime mortgages practiced exploitation at the site of reproduction. Low-income workers who needed an address, a place to maintain their abilities to work and to institutionalize their social existence, found themselves struggling to pay an unmanageable debt until the bank simply took the house back to sell it again, pocketing the already-extracted payments.
It should be clear that these very visible actions by finance can’t be reduced to the greed of individual criminals. They are the violent and reckless attempts by capitalists to defend and radicalize the exploitation that took place in the wage system, in spite of the growing contradictions of that system. So we have to decouple our rhetoric from notions of corporate power and lawless bankers. It’s a relationship we’re fighting, not a bunch of guys in expensive suits.
What the 99% slogan moves us towards is a concept of class. It’s the ladder that we’re using to climb up to a class analysis. But to really develop that analysis, we’ll have to leave the ladder behind. “We are the wage relation” is not a very good slogan. It’s a shift in perspective that indicates the need for new slogans.
The 99% is a coalition built upon many different tendencies, interests, and projects. While it helps us unify our separate struggles, discover the social in the personal, and forge our different demands into a common discourse, it ultimately conceals more than it reveals. The danger is most apparent when we consider that some of the tendencies within the Occupy Movement hope to use the momentum of the struggle to enter into a profitable alliance with finance. The “professional-managerial sector,” or what has been commonly though erroneously labeled “the middle class,” is certainly part of this 99%. But it’s a peculiar part of this percentage: although it is exploited by capital like everyone else, it nevertheless occasionally profits from its own exploitation. As that layer which embodies the interests of both labor and capital, the “middle class” stands as a variable and potentially dangerous element within the movement as a whole.
The “middle class” is, in its own way, tormented by wage labor – we think of what Riccardo Bellofiore and Massimiliano Tomba describe as “the lack of social life, the endless cigarettes, the psychic disturbances and the hemorrhoids of our ultra-modern knowledge workers.” But this layer also has a tendency to look for a way out – not by abolishing exploitation in general, but by taking a cut of the exploitation of lower-income workers. The professional-managerial liberals want to make finance work for them; their gamble is to co-opt the more exploited sectors of the proletariat, to claim to speak for the whole working class, to use reform as a means of stabilizing the wage relation rather than putting it into question.
In many ways, it’s an old strategy that goes at least as far back as the French Revolution. The Third Estate united its heterogeneous components by reconstituting itself as the nation. Everyone else – the upper clergy and the nobility – was regarded as a mere parasite idly leeching off the labors of the overwhelming majority. The dominant figures of the Third Estate – the businessmen, lawyers, and aspiring politicians – at first hoped to use the strength of the movement to advance their own distinct interests rather than those of the masses. Even some aristocrats threw in their lot with the masses in the hopes that they too could domesticate it. This was all in 1789.
But now we’re in the twenty-first century – we don’t need another French Revolution. So we have to question the strange resurgence of the language of parasitism. It’s a convenient way to reduce the objectives of the movement to nothing other than casting off the parasites in order to preserve the body. And the rhetoric of the 99% helps dissemble the very real contradictions slowly tearing apart that purportedly coherent body. The danger is all the more severe when we remember that this body is not so much American as it is international.
Beyond the divisions within the American “99%” there are global divisions. Inequality of wealth extends to the inequality between nations and suggests that the situation of the working class varies with national boundaries. In many nations workers are caught between the increasing impoverishment of agriculture and an unstable slum life structured around contingent or informal work. Farmer suicides in India are echoed by iPhone factory worker suicides in China.
The American inflection of the slogans now circulating globally is significant. It signals the decisive reentry of the United States into this international cycle of struggle; the dominant pole of capitalist accumulation can no longer distance itself from the struggles rending the rest of the world. But there is a danger that the growing significance of the American struggle will begin to blind us to the distinct character of other struggles and the specific historical form of the wage relation in which they have found themselves. The Israelis began with a housing crisis, the Chileans attacked education, the Greeks aimed at austerity, and the Filipinos united against American imperialism. Movements in the countries of the “Third World” will have to take on a distinct set of interests and strategies precisely because their composition is already so different. So while the Occupy movement has allowed these dialects to translate, it will have to avoid the risk of obliterating its particularities. The contradiction is not between a homogeneous international majority against an equally homogeneous international minority, but between the different poles of a global wage relation that necessarily assumes different forms in different places.
Enemy of the State?
The media like to suggest that the Occupy movement is the Tea Party of the left. And maybe there are some similarities: both are socially hetereogenous, both have brought together individuals from across the country, and both have several decentralized grievances, some of which may even be the same. Where they differ most strongly, however, is their relationship to the state. While the Tea Party has strategically insinuated itself with the Republican Party in the hopes of reorienting the state itself, the Occupy movement has consistently refused to do the same with the Democratic Party. The Democrats are too politically impotent to effectively co-opt the movement, and even the unofficial demands of the occupation are well beyond anything the Democrats will ever be willing to get behind. Most significantly, the movement rejects the entire party system. The Cordéro-Guzmán survey discovered that the vast majority of those involved in Occupy Wall Street – some 70% of the respondents – identify as politically independent.
This signals a major shift in the political culture. While just a few years ago the Democrats were able to rebrand themselves as a party of opposition, change, and new hopes, they’re now widely regarded as opportunists with nothing to offer. This legitimation crisis forced open a wide vacuum on the left of the political spectrum that has been filled by the Occupy movement. But while the movement has clearly abandoned the Democratic Party, it has not yet definitively abandoned the state.
There are two tendencies that fetishize the state. The first is the typical liberal call for financial regulation – if it was the unregulated avarice of the corporations that got us into this mess, then we can resolve it by pressuring the state into regulating them more tightly. The second, paradoxically, is the opposite end of the spectrum, the “End the Fed” Ron Paul fanatics who believe that fiat currency is the root of all evil. The shared ideological assumption of both these tendencies is that the state and the market are somehow totally distinct actors with contrary interests.
So the comparison with the Tea Party should lead us to an unexpectedly important question: why is the only anti-government rhetoric to be found on the right? The paranoid notion that “big government” seeks to take away the private property of individuals is a mystified understanding of the reality that wealth really has been transferred away from middle-income Americans, and it accurately intuits that this process has been overseen by the state. We don’t have to spend a lot of time emphasizing the fact that the state not only represents the interests of the wealthy, it’s actually composed of them. Everybody knows this.
Add to this that all these processes of financialization have been administrated by the state. The bail-out was no aberration; it just confirmed who the state is here to support. Consider the telling example of student loans. Since 1965 the government has underwritten private lenders who facilitate an increasingly expensive college education, as part of the Federal Family Education Loan Program. What this means is that the ability of universities, including for-profit colleges, to radically increase tuition, and of private lenders to prey on more students, has been enabled by the government. The policy was ended in 2010, but not before making it absolutely clear in 2005 that the government was not interested in extending any support to the borrowers: student loans have become nondischargeable, leaving a generation of unemployed graduates without the option of declaring bankruptcy. The only winners are the financial corporations, which have been packaging student loans into lucrative financial products called student loan asset-backed securities. Even the most recent measures announced by the White House only make it easier for people to get into debt; they do nothing to counteract the 8.3% increase in tuition at public colleges.
In spite of the government’s visible defense of the capitalist class, the tendency on the left is to imagine that we can somehow just negotiate with the state. It’s not the first time this has been attempted. A militant labor movement confronted capital on the shop-floor during the 1920s and 1930s. Capital and the state were forced to find a way to subsume and control this threat; that strategy was called the New Deal. Under the pressure of World War II, the Communist Party entered into an alliance with the Democrats and threw in its lot with the New Deal, suppressing rank-and-file activity in the name of the “no-strike pledge.” The situation established had serious consequences after the war. The labor bureaucracy set the stage for its coming decline; they strengthened capital and paved the way not only for the Smith and Taft-Hartley Acts, the legal foundations for the purging of communists from the unions, but also for the devastating separation of the working class from the labor movement.
Recognizing that the state is an adversary, however, doesn’t mean moralistically ignoring it. It won’t wither away if we just refuse to engage with it out of principle. The lesson from our labor history is not only that alliance with political parties is treacherous, but also that meaningful reforms were won by the labor movement as a result of militant and antagonistic strategies, extending from the 1919 Seattle general strike to the 1934 San Francisco general strike. It would be the worst sectarianism to reject reforms; they alleviate suffering and advance the position of the working class. But the question is whether meaningful reforms can be achieved within the political limits of capitalism. If the political apparatus is controlled by the capitalist class, this means that those limits are not external limits that can be overcome by a stronger program. Instead, they are internal to the strategy of reform. The only way to force the capitalist class to concede reforms is to confront it with an antagonistic agent, a unified working class. Let’s not delude ourselves into thinking we can convince them with our better ideas.
Today the immediate tactical questions of the movement also pose the question of the state. In a telling international exchange between the various occupations across the world, a New Yorker questioned occupiers in Frankfurt about their decision to request a permit from the police. Noting that Liberty Plaza was occupied without a permit, she asked why the Germans had asked for one, wondering if such collaboration with class enemies could have been the result of a “cultural difference.” But why not be flexible, on the lookout for openings that can be strategically exploited? Some compromises may advance the class position, allowing a movement to confront the state on a different plane. If the state is willing to give us a permit, let them make that decision and live to regret it.
The question of police permits touches more generally on the police force itself. Are they, as some protesters have chanted, part of the 99%? From the start there has been a clear tension with the police. They have made arrests, have begun infiltrating the various occupations, and will certainly be called in, as they have been in Berlin and Oakland, to violently crush the movement.
But the challenge of the police is that they genuinely are workers, and their work is to repress proletarian antagonism. This paradox is not to be taken lightly. Neither blindly defending them as fellow workers nor blindly attacking them as hated pigs will help us now. Any failure to understand their specific function is either a reformist danger or an adventurist error.
The real problem was posed in 1968 by Pier Paolo Pasolini, after the Battle of Valle Giulia, in which police and student radicals clashed violently. Pasolini, the communist filmmaker, would later write a poem declaring solidarity with the police:
At Valle Giulia, yesterday, there was a fragment
of class struggle: you, my friends, (although
in the right) were the rich,
and the policemen (although in the wrong)
were the poor…
The important point in Pasolini’s poem is not his romanticization of the police’s purported proletarian identity, but instead the question of the composition of the revolutionaries. The problem this poses is that the repressive state apparatus has greater contact with many more layers of the proletariat than the political movement. In many spectacular street confrontations the police have seemed to be the only representatives of the “traditional” working class, including people of color, allowing the reactionary media to represent the protesters as entitled college students. And there can be no doubt that the police force recruits from the underclass; it offers one of the last careers available. Though in the abstract it is possible to bring the police over to our side – the protesters in Wisconsin successfully won the support of the police – this strategy can’t be assumed as some kind of utopian reflex. The Oakland Police Department gave us a crucial reminder of the instability of Pasolini’s perspective, when the vicious and obscene violence used for years against the black community was brought down upon Occupy Oakland. The real goal of the movement should be to move past the fetishization of the police, and to forge deeper connections with excluded segments of the proletariat, surrounding the police with their neighbors alongside college students.
Whatever the composition of the police, they remain an index of the state’s experience of protest. Remember the wise words of William S. Burroughs: “a functioning police state needs no police.” The Wall Street occupation was taken far more seriously when the pepper spray came out; even more when 700 were arrested on the Brooklyn Bridge. The acts of violence perpetrated by police have served as indication that the protest is a threat to the state’s functioning. Determining the next steps will require careful consideration, and leadership by people of color, who have the most experience dealing with police violence.
The Roof is on Fire
Some squeamish left-liberals complain that the Occupy movement lacks organization. This is obviously ridiculous. How can the simple occupation of a park spontaneously ignite similar occupations in well over 50 American cities, incite a global protest in nearly 900 cities across the globe, and successfully link together a series of heterogeneous struggles without any form of organization? The Occupy movement is perhaps one of the most organized movements in history.
An accompanying complaint is that the occupations have not put forth demands. But it’s not at all clear that demands are a sufficient condition for social transformation. To a certain extent, as we wrote about the London riots, the refusal to make demands is a protest against the idea that the existing order could make our lives better, a refusal to speak in capital’s language. At the same time, the absence of “official,” institutional demands coexists with an incredible multiplicity of demands made by individual protesters, as the list of grievances in the first official statement indicates.
The important question is whether this organization is durable, and whether the movement’s demands put the social structure into question. No spontaneous collectivity could come together without at least an abstract set of common demands, and it would be unable reproduce itself without some kind of organizational form. But can these forms radicalize the demands so that they are oriented towards the transformation of the social reality outside of them?
The meaning and political effect of demands will depend ultimately on the organizational structure that makes them. It’s possible, for example, that even a highly desirable demand, like free healthcare, could be posed by a faction of the protestors who will make it possible to dissolve the movement into the Democratic Party. But this dynamic could just as easily work in the other direction. Take, for example, this poster produced by the Italian revolutionary group Potere Operaio (Workers’ Power).
The text reads, “Reforms don’t protect wages from rising prices, from the robbery of deductions. Comrades, let’s take the offensive for our objectives. Transportation, rent, school, meals – free. No taxes.” The police figure wields the scale like a baton, showing how the deductions outweigh the wage. The base of the figure is labelled: “parties – bosses – unions.”
The analysis offered by these demands is clear. Like debt today, the prices of daily necessities is a deduction from the wage, a wage which already represents exploitation. But the American reader will find two things very strange about this poster. The first is the idea of communist parties and bosses in alliance with unions; while Italy in the 1960s and 1970s had large and powerful bureaucratic unions and a reformist communist party, we have no influential left parties and our unions have barely any social power. Where it says “parties – bosses – unions,” we should write “liberals.”
The other puzzle is the final demand: “no taxes.” Isn’t this the core platform of the right, of free-market extremists? It is, of course, but this demand is a platform of the right because it is embedded in class, in the organized structure of the ruling class. No taxes for whom? The capitalist class tries to escape from taxes, to continue to redistribute wealth towards the top, and to give the state an excuse to dismantle the social gains made by labor. But if the capitalist class was subjected to a tax that even began to approach the percentage it expropriates from workers, this would render taxes on workers obsolete.
Since the tax is experienced by workers as yet another deduction from the wage, while the public programs that benefit them are on the chopping block, it seems unnecessary to allow the right to monopolize the attack on taxes. If an anti-tax platform is put forward by workers as a class, it represents a program of eliminating one deduction from the wage while charging capitalists for the maintenance of the state. The demand to tax the rich is, of course, accepted by many left-liberals. While it’s definitely a good idea to charge the capitalists, taxing the rich as the maximum program sets us up for social development by the state. The occupation movement gives us the potential to independently develop the class.
Other demands may be more appropriate for our situation. But they will have to be put forward by an organizational structure that represents a unitary class power. And the construction of such a form of organization will have to emerge from strategies of action that produce class solidarity.
A concrete example of this kind of strategy took place in La Puente, California. Rose Gudiel, who was about to be evicted from her foreclosed home, discussed her situation at Occupy LA. Her seemingly personal story turned out to be a social one; others there had suffered a similar fate. Many of the occupiers followed her back to her home in support. A few days later over two hundred joined her as she protested in front of the mansion of OneWest’s CEO; the next day they staged a sit-in at the Pasadena branch of Fannie Mae. Faced with such widespread opposition the bank gave in and decided to modify her loan.
This was a strategy, however spontaneous, that united participants in the movement who were hit by foreclosures. It provided a conceptual language in which individuals began to recognize that their own problems are closely related to other seemingly distinct problems. Not everyone who supported Gudiel was facing eviction; they joined her in part because they recognized that their own difficulties – unemployment, debt, rising cost of living – were connected to hers. The woman who loses her home is not so different from the neighbor that lost his job. The power of this strategy emerged from a unique kind of solidarity. For the banks to fight Guidel, they had to fight the whole movement.
A foreclosed home is an interesting site for an occupation. Among the many differences between a house and Zuccotti Park is the fact that a house has a roof. And this brings us back to the weather. Everybody’s talking about it; everybody knows that winter will force the movement to rethink its tactics. This is the politics of weather: it’s not some neutral phenomenon, but a weapon like any other. We will have to use it to our advantage before capital enlists it to crush our movement.
This won’t be the first time weather has figured prominently in a struggle. A reform banquet was scheduled by the moderate opposition to take place in Paris on February 22, 1848. Fearing an escalation of the already existing conflict, hoping to break the solidarity of the opposition, and knowing full well that the district where the meeting was to be held was a real hotbed of revolutionary activity, the forces of order cancelled the banquet the night before, undoubtedly hoping that the week’s horrible weather would work to keep the demonstrators away.
But despite the heavy clouds, cold wind, and biting rain, the protesters took to the streets anyway, enraged by this provocation, and quickly set about building barricades, looting gun shops, and throwing stones at the National Guard. While order was restored in some of the more public places, the demonstrators strategically regrouped in their labyrinthine neighborhoods. Already a challenge for the army, the winding streets, tortuous alleyways, and bewildering terrain became even more dangerous to outsiders now that it was pouring rain. So the forces of order hoped to use the weather to dissuade protesters from coming out; the protesters ended up strategically using the weather to bolster their primary points of resistance and escalate the struggle. So began the revolution of 1848 in France.
We can also use the weather to our advantage. The forces of order are hoping that winter will kill off the movement by forcing us to retreat back to our homes. We should do just that. We should strategically regroup by reoccupying foreclosed homes, squatting abandoned apartments, occupying various other buildings, transforming each and every one of these into the cells of an escalating movement. From the occupation of a public park we can shift towards reoccupying those spaces from which we have been forcibly ejected by mounting debt, unemployment, austerity measures, and cuts to social services. We can take back the public libraries, schools, lost homes, community centers, and more. The point is to constantly think of creative ways to use the weapons of our enemies against them. Let’s start with the barometers.
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Who threw the can of green paint?: the first two weeks of Occupy Philadelphia
An article by Ben Webster on the contradictions and potential of the Occupy movement in Philadelphia during Fall 2011.
On the morning of October 14, one week into Occupy Philadelphia’s encampment beside City Hall, someone emptied the contents of a paint can on the building’s southwestern entrance. The unknown painter fled the scene, leaving behind a decidedly unsymbolic smear. Not of angry black or bloody red, but a smear of bland mint green. Police cordoned off the entrance, dismissing eager Occupy volunteers offering their assistance. A pressure cleaner quickly removed all traces of the deed.
This bizarre incident suggests much about Philadelphia’s iteration of the Occupy phenomenon. Like other occupations, its porous boundaries integrate the protest site with the flows of the city. Participants, passers-by, police, and provocateurs move freely throughout, with the possibility of enriching or destabilizing the action; was our painter a police provocateur or a well-intentioned but strategically challenged participant? Both were considered in the aftermath.
This incident also suggests the ambiguity and contradiction in the political imagination of Occupy Philadelphia (OP). What constitutes meaningful action – a spectacular act of vandalism, the peaceful occupation of public property, or direct action on the horizon more confrontational and radical? There has been no shortage of activity – daily marches strike out to the usual targets – but as of yet no dramatic confrontations like those of Occupy Wall Street have occurred. This is the real significance of the green paint incident. That such a blatant act of vandalism against the seat of municipal power was shrugged off so quickly by occupiers and police alike indicates both the power and impotence of OP. On the one hand, there was no police advance under the pretext of this or any other number of small provocations – surely an index of our power. On the other hand, the incident is an index of the limited threat to capital’s power that OP poses, which is, as of yet, not enough to move the heavy hand of the state, a hand whose ruthless power has been amply shown in recent Philadelphia history, from the 1985 bombing of the MOVE house to the repression of protests against the 2000 Republican National Convention.
To use two familiar political concepts, Occupy Philadelphia is at once animated by both the spirit of the commons and of the strike. I do not wish to argue for the primacy of either approach or assert their incompatibility, but rather to frame the young history of OP as a state of tension between these two poles. As a participant in the occupation, I hope to describe from both experience and analysis the distinct character of the Occupy X movement in post-industrial, working-class Philadelphia, and its significance for the contemporary class struggle.
Fighting City Hall
Occupy Philadelphia feels like a march, a strike, a commune, and a carnival. This variety of forms derives from the peculiarity of the tactic. One can participate in OP just by moving ordinary human activities – like sleeping, eating, socializing – to the occupation site. But “extraordinary” human activities – demonstrations, assemblies, teach-ins, movie screenings – have taken place there as well, creating a charged but uneven topography. The personal and the political do not yet coincide here, but they rub shoulders. A reading group on Mariarosa Dalla Costa and Selma James’s The Power of Women and the Subversion of Community next to campers drying their soggy socks on a clothes line; a college dude testing out pickup lines in earshot of the people of color caucus.
Philly’s unique Occupy identity has developed in large part due to a détente with the city and its police. Over 1,000 people attended a raucous planning meeting two days before the occupation’s inauguration, a sizable show of force well covered by the local press. Of the two options available to the Philadelphia police – massive and very public repression or tacit cooperation – they opted for the latter. At 9 AM on October 6, hundreds assembled on the west side of City Hall and began constructing an encampment with relatively little interference. Although police are stationed visibly around the occupation and conduct walk-throughs both uniformed and plain-clothed, so far they’ve acted with restraint.
Activity in violation of city codes, including the construction of pallet structures for the homeless, has been permitted, emboldening some occupiers but creating an acrimonious internal debate. The hands-off approach thus far by the police confirms the liberal naiveté of some who, using the movement’s vocabulary, identify the police and city brass as part of “the 99%,” and therefore our allies. Indeed, Mayor Michael Nutter and Chief of Police Charles Ramsey made very public, very genial appearances at OP in its first days. Others, from political acumen or personal experience, view the city’s overtures with skepticism or overt antagonism. This debate came to a head with the early question posed to the general assembly of acquiring a permit, and has persisted to current discussions on how to respond to the city’s evolving position. The GA voted for a permit after much discussion. Although unprecedented in modern Philadelphia history for the liberties and exemptions it grants to the occupation, the permit does bind OP in a legalistic stasis – official, even granted a welcome by the powers that be, but neutered of antagonism. To the outlaw, relations of power are crystal clear.
This Philly compromise distinguishes OP from its Occupy Wall Street (OWS) template. Freed from both the glare of the international media and the menace of overt police activity, OP turns inward. Freedom from repression in a far larger physical space than OWS offers opportunities to strengthen our position but also deepens the contradictions latent within the Occupy movement. And although the police aren’t yet using pepper-spray and batons as they have against our New York comrades, this doesn’t indicate a lack of police tactics to crush OP. Two strategies must be anticipated from our enemies in City Hall. One, the strategy of patience, in which the police bide their time and wait for either winter weather or the “tragedy of the commons” to disperse OP. Two, the exploitation of incidents of non-passivity at OP-associated direct actions to crack down on the encampment. Both approaches can be anticipated, and, with proper foresight, made to backfire as the attempts at repression in New York have.
Strike and Commons
Philadelphia City Hall is monumental, the symbolic and geographical center of a battered but tenacious city. It is the second-tallest masonry building in the world, and in its heyday was a wonder of architectural achievement. The city’s two subway lines intersect underneath it, sending continuous rumblings up to its cold stone plazas. Along its west side is Dilworth Plaza, a two block long concrete plaza cast in the austere style of 60s urban renewal. It is the habitual dwelling of a large homeless population, and is scheduled to be handed over shortly to a private development group for the building of a cafe, skating rink, and conceptual fountains. In autumn, the plaza is perpetually in the shadow of City Hall and the surrounding office buildings, and whipped by intense winds.
OP has adapted many organizational features of the Occupy movement. The general assembly, which meets daily at 7 PM, is the primary forum for communication and decision-making. Working groups assure the daily reproduction of the occupation (food, medic, education, safety, facilitation, etc.) and its strategic thrust (direct action, media, messaging, etc.). Over 300 tents have been erected across Dilworth Plaza, populated by various “tribes” of the political and non-political (“do you go to the general assembly?”), young and old, white and black, counter-cultural and normies. Things are typically quiet before noon, and afterwards through the evening swell with part-time participants who sleep at home, curiosity-seekers, representatives of various political organizations, cops, passers-by, and the media. OP benefits greatly from its location literally on top of the city’s busiest transit hub. High school students and commuters contribute to its open vitality; there is strength in numbers, even if they are anonymous and temporary. Despite its proximity to Philadelphia’s central business district, OP does not have the belly-of-the-beast feel of OWS; this is not a global city, and a proletarian mien contaminates even those quarters fashioned in the mold of neoliberal finance capital.
OP, like its peers, strives for horizontal organization – ideally all participants have an equal right to determine the course of the occupation. The space created at OP for experimentation in egalitarian decision-making should be applauded; the proliferation of such spaces is essential for the project of proletarian autonomy. However, since thus far participation in decision-making and execution is encouraged but not compulsory, I would suggest that in practice, power at OP is functioning along the lines of a kind of primitive syndicalism. Proposals submitted for approval at the general assembly must first pass through a daily co-committee meeting (“co-co”), composed of representatives of the various working groups. In effect, access to power at OP is streamlined by participation in a working group: in the micro-society of OP, the workers in the working groups that constitute its infrastructure constitute its sovereign power. Is this a positive model to acknowledge and propagate, or a model that will tend to produce a division among occupiers between more active participants and those who participate by simply showing up and remaining in the encampment? It should be noted that groups such as caucuses of anarchists and people of color, by dint of their organizational capacity or moral power, readily move to the center of OP’s sovereign power at parity with the working groups. The ambiguity of the situation lies in the question of access to power: should this be determined by capacity for organization or objective position within existing social hierarchies? How can the reproduction of these hierarchies be actively combated within the occupations?
Confusion, overlap, and frustration are tolerated out of necessity at OP by the proliferating working groups. Good faith and movement momentum – for the time – paper over the considerable challenges of constituting a micro-society from a milieu of strangers with varying experiences and backgrounds, excepting the occasional raised voices and scuffles.
How long can the momentum last? OP has passed through three overlapping stages: spectacle, organization, and critique/action. In the early days in which spectacle dominated, everyone seemed to be filming everyone else with cellphone cameras, and the media swarmed over it all. When people gathered on the morning of October 6, they seemed uncertain what to do, which protest rituals to follow – who do I show my sign to? Is this a rally, a sit-in, or what? Who’ll be the first to set up their tent, and where? The proliferation of image production coincided with a nervous amorphous mass, only vaguely aware of its commonality and power.
In the second stage, organization, the encampment’s infrastructure was established. With the formation of working groups and procedures for communication and decision-making, the potential of the mass was harnessed. Dilworth Plaza was spatially delineated and mapped. Sub-groups such as the people of color caucus and the wheelchair-dependent self-organized to identify and correct patterns of exclusion. Brief struggles for control of media and outreach efforts finally expelled a narcissistic individual who treated OP’s Facebook page as a personal fiefdom. Internal organization is an ongoing process involving considerable experimentation, but the day to day reproduction of OP is secured for now, clearing the way for a deepening focus on critique and action.
In this current stage of critique and action, the conceptual parameters of commons and strike assume their power. Two questions, of demands and of acceptable direct action, predominate. It is widely accepted that OP can only maintain its momentum with a constant schedule of marches, teach-ins, and speakers. In this laboratory of praxis, in which the tactic of maintaining the occupation and the proliferation of collective critique are mutually reinforcing, the only thing lacking is a catalyst of true resistance. Marches have set out from OP to harass banks, visit predatory student loan sharks, tour shitty hospitals, and, arguably most successfully, chase Eric Cantor from a speaking engagement at the University of Pennsylvania. Philadelphia PD dutifully block off intersections and escort the marchers to their target and back to the occupation. OP now ironically possesses the power to march unobstructed anywhere in the city it chooses, but seems to be running out of symbolically potent destinations. All dressed up with nowhere to go, obscure political differences take on a new importance. What if the police are our enemies precisely by acting like our most obliging friends? If the “1%” can so easily neutralize our efforts, why will they bother listening to our demands?
OP recasts Dilworth Plaza as a commons, shifting it from a nominally public space to an actively common one, collectively owned by those who rule to the extent that they actively participate. It is a space striving towards decommodification, where human relationships have more value than the exchange of money. Yet it also bears a resemblance to a strike, a collective suspension of normal activity leading to a confrontational moment of decision. As the weather turns, the quotidian quality of OP tends towards the grim resolve of a picket line in the dead of winter. The two forms are not mutually exclusive; every commons must be defended, and every strike relies on a shared territory of experience, spatial or otherwise. The tendencies towards commons or strike do not neatly coincide with reformist or revolutionary perspectives. Yet the intersection of the forms makes for an unhappy tension, unable to develop with confidence in either direction. To expand and deepen the commons would be to hit too deeply and radically at the relations of private property and social reproduction for some participants. To adopt the antagonistic solidarity of the strike would be to abandon all pretenses of cooperation with the state and its agents, unacceptable for some. The project of OP, and the Occupy movement more broadly, is to synthesize the commons and the strike in a form appropriate to current relations of power and production.
Recomposition
Proletarian combativeness in Philadelphia, the site of many proud clashes in the history of American class struggle, still exists, evidenced by a variety of expressions ranging from the victorious PASNAP strike at Temple Hospital in 2010 to the auto-reduction action organized by teens at a local Sears store this past summer. OP is potentially a site of encounter and recomposition for a metropolitan working class changed by decades of deindustrialization, a swelling population of recent immigrants, and the combative youth subcultures of the flash mob and debt-ridden college grad variety. Although the process remains vague and preliminary, the occupation movement in Philly is a promising indicator of the working class’s political recomposition.
Two of the largest populations in the OP encampment are the long-term homeless and the college student milieu. That they sleep willingly side by side for weeks at a time speaks to the novelty of the Occupy movement. The close, extended contact of occupiers tends to cut through prejudice and ideological mystification, even though the egalitarian ideal of the movement remains distant. Individuals and groups who may never have otherwise encountered each other in the huge city now find themselves sharing both an economic critique and a tent. Should a major work stoppage occur in the city soon – both the Verizon negotiations and a number of public sector contract negotiations remain unsettled – encounter on a far larger scale is possible. The city’s major unions have issued statements of support for the occupation, but a material mingling has the potential to change the constitution of both movements for the better and expand momentum beyond the focal encampment. OP, however, may in the long run be a better producer of subjectivities then of concrete demands, and this would not be a fault.
An important subjectivity crystallizing in the Occupy movement is similar to the driving force behind the global originators of the occupation concept in Spain, Egypt, and Tunisia: young, educated, and downwardly mobile workers. Many recent graduates or dropouts of local universities like Temple and the University of Pennsylvania provide a motive force behind OP’s working groups, experiencing a mode of collective struggle quite different from managed, predictable campus “activism.” As comrades in California noted during the university occupations there in fall 2009, the practice of occupying tends to dissolve outdated distinctions like that between “workers” and “students.” A tantalizing possibility begging more research is the connection between OP’s site above a transit hub, and the highly mobile nature of this sector, moving around the city at odd hours between multiple part-time jobs, casual work, and classes. Earlier cycles of struggles in Philly, from the post-New Left Movement for a New Society in the 1970s to the clashes at the 2000 RNC, bequeathed long-lasting infrastructures of radical institutions and experience. Will OP be the coming-out party for a new cycle or just a flash in the pan?
Think Locally?
OP clearly owes its inspiration to Occupy Wall Street, encamped just two hours up the New Jersey Turnpike. The proximity of the two cities allowed many Philly organizers to visit OWS before launching OP, taking note of its organizational model and learning from its miscues. As one of the largest occupations in the country as of yet spared overt police repression, OP is both a significant model for the national movement and something of an aberration. Among occupiers, the relationship of OP to the movement remains uncertain, bespeaking a larger ambiguity towards the global, national, and local contexts of the crisis. Material efforts have been made to share resources with OWS, and solidarity actions with comrades attacked by police in Oakland and Atlanta are under discussion.
The political imaginary of OP remains largely stuck at the national level. Rhetoric of the 99%, Wall Street, and corporate taxes implicitly locates the current social and economic crises within national borders. Yet these crises have international causes and implications, and resistance in the form of occupations has likewise been a global phenomenon. As the calls for unified Occupy X demands increases, a real danger exists both in ignoring the global character of capital and our struggles, and in failing to connect Occupy’s critiques with local conditions and local grievances.
A faction within OP seized an early opportunity to advance long-standing local grievances and make demands of the city. After receiving a letter from the city government which made several demands of OP (dismantle fire hazards, control open urination, etc.), they refused a paternalistic relationship and in turn advanced several demands at the GA that OP should make in response. One of these included a repeal of Philadelphia’s racist youth curfew law. Conveniently up for a vote of extension steps away in City Hall, the law was initially passed to kill off the flash mobs that once rocked the city. Fighting a law that intentionally seeks to fracture, discipline, and manage specific layers of the working class would go a long way to reconnecting with those sectors that are still underrepresented at OP.
This general effort was accompanied by distribution of an excellent summary of recent local struggles, entitled “The Mayor and Police Are not Our Friends!” Spearheaded largely by anarchists (who have been the convenient targets of an ongoing red-baiting campaign), this effort has brilliantly changed the inflection of OP, focusing attention on local communities already in struggle. A predictable backlash followed, with many claiming that linking the occupation with struggles around the curfew and police brutality diluted our message and weakened public support.
This backlash escalated when 15 occupiers were arrested in front of Philadelphia PD headquarters on the national October 22 day of protest against police brutality. Although the efficacy of their non-violent civil disobedience tactics is debatable (all blocked a street overnight, refusing repeated police orders to disperse), the reality of police brutality in Philly is not. The first arrests of OP were denounced by many who sought to distance the activities at City Hall from those which, pushed outward by the occupation’s momentum, occurred elsewhere in the city. Should this failure of solidarity and centrifugal political imagination continue, OP will likely die a wintry death shivering in the shadows of Center City.
The October 22 arrests and the emergence of a new ultimatum from the city throw the future of OP into question. After granting an open-ended permit to the occupation, with no stated end date, the city announced November 15 as the first day of the renovation of Dilworth Plaza. This renovation includes the total reconstruction of the plaza by a private company bearing a 30-year lease, which will install an ice-skating rink and chic cafe, obviously inspired by Manhattan tourist geographies. Of course, the renovation will entail fencing off the plaza, expelling not only the occupation, but also the homeless who use it as a long-term home. So the date has been set for confrontation. Whether the city backs down, OP relocates, or is forcibly expelled, is uncertain. How OP decides to act against this threat will be a major indicator of the movement’s resolve and potential.
A far larger challenge, however, is the winter weather. The last two Philadelphia winters have been among the harshest on record. Simply put, OP cannot withstand a northeastern winter at its current size, and should not try to. Discouraged dispersion when the temperature dips is the worst possible outcome, and providing a spectacle of personal suffering to the media through it all is a terrible tactic. Occupations have captured the imagination of the world, but fetishizing the tactic is a strategic blunder. The only limit to continuing and growing this nascent movement is our imagination. Our conversations and GAs must move, and quickly, to the discussion of new tactics – occupying abandoned buildings (of no short supply in Philly), subversive organizing in our schools and workplaces, strengthening of the local struggles our anarchist comrades have drawn attention to – action, education, and theorizing without a central encampment if need be. GAs can continue indoors, marches and direct action can expand throughout the city, and of course hardcore occupiers can continue outside if they wish. This strategic retreat is actually an advance across the entirety of the social terrain – but one that will require defying the logic of media representation and the spectacle of contemporary politics.
In one form or the other, we can be optimistic that Occupy Philadelphia will inspire a winter of discontent in the City of Brotherly Love. Come spring, we can reoccupy not only Dilworth Plaza, but Rittenhouse Square, Love Park, Franklin Parkway, and – why not – Independence Hall and the Liberty Bell, too.
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From Egypt to Wall Street
Wendell Hassan Marsh on the links between the Wisconsin protests, the Egyptian Revolution and the Occupy movement.
Former Egyptian president Hosni Mubarak had already stepped down, following a popular movement that established a micro-republic, the Gumhuriyyah el-Tahrir (Republic of Liberty), which contradicted the pervading logic of the international economic system. And now protesters in Wisconsin were occupying the state house to prevent the passing of legislation that would effectively suspend bargaining rights for public workers. Sitting in a Washington newsroom, we needed a headline. I very quickly suggested something along these lines: “Middle East unrest spreads to the Midwest.” I got a side eye. After all, how could a free and open society, the democratic society, be taking its cues from, of all places, Egypt, an antique land with backward ways, Islamic fundamentalists, and Arab dictators? The editors went with a more modest title.
However, for many in the Arab world, the connection was not lost for a minute. They saw in the occupation of the Wisconsin State Capitol the same spirit that was present in Mohamed Bouazizi’s self-immolation: the refusal to accept the financial order’s demand to obliterate decades of progressive struggle and negotiation.
Maybe my own time in Cairo made me see the easy connection that my editors missed. I lived there for a almost a year and a half on the largess of the American government. The conditions of my presence were a reminder of the structural inequalities of the global system. Any old American can arrive to the airport without a visa, little training in any useful domain and quickly find gainful employment and a life of comfort. An Egyptian, however, even with years of education, has to struggle to make a living.
As many set out today to occupy everything, let us take a moment to remember the real origins of this global movement and allow it to guide our ongoing politics.
Deep in the land of Hannibal the Carthaginian, who once challenged the power of another global empire, Bouazizi was born to a construction worker, living his entire life in Sidi Bouzid, an agrarian town. The 26-year-old scraped together an existence for himself and a large family by selling fruit. Relatively speaking, he did well to have even that hustle, as the New York Times reported that unemployment reaches as high as 30% in his area. There was a nearby factory, but that only pays around $50 a month. Even the college educated were heading to the coast, where they too struggled with underemployment.
A veteran fruit vendor, Bouazizi was used to the authorities that policed the fruit stands. Sometimes he paid a fine, other times a bribe. But on the morning of December 17, Bouazizi refused to do either. He also refused an attempted confiscation of his fruit, commodities that are often bought on credit by the para-legal vendors. The representative of the state eventually won the first battle. Beaten and humiliated, Bouazizi quickly tried redressing his grievances at the governor’s office, requesting that, at the least, his scale be returned. Ignored at the governor’s, he was reported to ask, “how do you expect me to make a living?” He set himself ablaze and ignited a global movement.
Protests started hours after the incident. Bouazizi’s family and friends threw coins at the governor’s gate. “Here is your bribe,” they yelled. As the unrest grew, police started to beat protesters, firing tear gas and eventually bullets. But the spirit wouldn’t be stifled. Organized labor joined in the struggle, identifying the central problem as economic. After all, it was global capital that had denied Bouazizi and his supporters their dignity; it extracted surplus value from human objects down to the last drop of blood.
Former colonial power France offered to lend a hand with its security savoir-faire. Or maybe they would have just hired a private firm to handle the contract. Later acknowledging the misstep, Sarkozy tried to justify his government’s support of the authoritarian regime with revealing, if trite, arguments. “Behind the emancipation of women, the drive for education and training, the economic dynamism, the emergence of a middle class, there was a despair, a suffering, a sense of suffocation. We have to recognise that we underestimated it,” Sarkozy said in a press conference.
Sarkozy underestimated the effect that the “economic dynamism” of the ruling elite had on the majority of the country. He underestimated the diminished economic prospects that resulted from Tunisia’s decreased agricultural and manufacturing exports to Europe. He underestimated the Tunisian people’s reaction in the face of potential annihilation by economic violence.
The movement quickly spread to nearby Egypt, where conditions have been even worse, the socio-economic divide between the top 1% and the rest even more dramatic. Several self-immolations occurred throughout the country, prompting the Cheikh of al Azhar, the most respected institution in the Sunni Islamic world, to issue a fatwa against the practice. Youth with degrees but without jobs started to occupy Tahrir Square, to call for the dignity that global neoliberal policies had denied them. They took the recent tactics of Egypt’s young but growing labor movement and added others.
When Mubarak, whose 30-year reign had been marked by the opening of the country to Western business interests, started to crack down on the protesters as the empire’s strong man, the people said he had to go. The public began to protest against dictatorship, but only insofar as they were protesting the global economic empire.
Somehow a popular narrative has emerged in our media that the Arab spring protested against dictatorship, against murderous regimes. These popular struggles have been reduced to rebellions against the villainies of a Qaddafi, an Assad, a Saleh.
But the Arab Spring started as a protest against global finance and its henchmen. Almost across the board, protesters claiming public space were demanding mostly economic reforms. It was only after Arab dictators, whose decennial rules offered up their countries to the jaws of the global market, started to repress this popular struggle with violence, that dictatorship became the target of regime change.
Occupy Wall Street and the subsequent Occupy movement were initiated in the same spirit of economic justice. Zuccotti Park, ironically taken and renamed Liberty Plaza by its occupiers, is a micro-republic where the logic of empire doesn’t work. People take pride in discomfort, in being arrested and working for free. Altruism has become normative and hierarchy repugnant. To be sure, there is inner dissent and struggle within the body politic of the micro-republic. Nevertheless, the audacity to live a utopian practice has become liberating in itself.
Yet this movement can’t content itself with granting young people the right to take on more debt to live the lives the world can’t sustain, or reforming the way candidates fund their campaigns. The despotism that western powers decry in the name of human rights is a symptom of a wider system of economic exploitation, which at home manifests itself in the attack on the American working and middle class. They are connected.
The repressive measures states use against their own populations has also been imported from the Middle East. A recent post by Max Blumenthal connects the dots behind recent alarming examples of social control and police militarization:
The police repression on display in Oakland reminded me of tactics I witnessed the Israeli army employ against Palestinian popular struggle demonstrations in occupied West Bank villages like Nabi Saleh, Ni’lin and Bilin. So I was not surprised when I learned that the same company that supplies the Israeli army with teargas rounds and other weapons of mass suppression is selling its dangerous wares to the Oakland police. The company is Defense Technology, a Casper, Wyoming based arms firm that claims to “specialize in less lethal technology” and other “crowd management products.” Defense Tech sells everything from rubber coated teargas rounds that bounce in order to maximize gas dispersal to 40 millimeter “direct impact” sponge rounds to “specialty impact” 12 gauge rubber bullets.
One veteran of the war in Iraq knows the effects of the police-sponsored violence firsthand. After being hit by a tear gas canister launched by the Oakland Police Department, Scott Olsen suffered a fractured skull and a swollen brain. As though that were not enough, video footage shows a police officer throwing a flash bang grenade next to the bloodied man to disperse the crowd of people coming to his aid. But such police brutality is nothing new in Oakland, home of a radical black politics that has struggled against structural economic and physical violence against the working class, the poor, and minorities.
We should remember that the politics forged by the Black Panther Party in the late 1960s and 1970s made deep ties with the anti-imperial projects of North Africa, the hotbed of today’s vanguard movement. Algeria made the Panther headquarters in Oakland their embassy, providing a sort of diplomatic shield against police surveillance. When Eldridge Cleaver went into exile, Algeria hosted him and the international section of the party. A chapter was also created in Cairo, then, a nerve center for the world wide freedom struggle.
Much is riding on the direction of the Occupy movement in America. While visiting the Wall Street occupiers, two of Tahrir’s leading activists emphasized the importance of the Occupy movement for the renewal of the Arab Spring. To Americans who asked how they could help the ongoing Egyptian struggle, Asmaa Mahfouz replied, “get your revolution done. That’s the biggest help you can give us.” What Mahfouz was counting on was the possibility that struggles in the United States could pressure the government to cut off the $1.3 billion yearly payments that sustain Egypt’s military.
Long-time activist Ahmad Maher reminded the crowd of the immense task the Arab Spring confronted, and which activists around the world still confront. An American asked him the most fundamental question: “how do you overthrow a system?” Speaking as a grassroots political organizer who has been on the Egyptian street for years, Maher replied, “It’s easier to overthrow a dictator than an entire system.”
There is a reason that the Occupy movement does not have a singular message, tied to one political body; its success or failure will lie in the degree to which it changes everything.
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Insurrection, Oakland style: a history
An article by Matthew Edwards on the roots of Occupy Oakland, which includes the movement and riots that happened in response to the police murder of Oscar Grant in January of 2009.
This is an unfinished work – a snapshot of history as it occurred, experienced by me, reported on social media, or retold by trusted comrades. It will lack the finality of hindsight. Contained within is my account of the Oakland Insurrection, as it has unfolded over the past days and weeks. Both the insurrection and this essay are works of hope. I hope that we push forward on the streets of Oakland, the Bay Area, and everywhere else, to the limit of what is possible – beyond occupation and the proposed general strike to “total freedom” for us all.1
#OccupyOakland
Inspired by the uprisings across the world and fueled by the increasingly precarious economic conditions across the United States, a callout was made for an occupation of Wall Street. On September 17, 1000 people occupied the financial hub of the United States and arguably global capitalism. Within days, dozens of towns and cities had their own version of the #Occupy movement – with varying degrees of encampment, protest, and organizing space; within weeks, hundreds of cities were occupied; within a month, over a thousand worldwide.
Oakland’s Frank Ogawa Plaza, renamed Oscar Grant Plaza by many Bay Area residents, was occupied on October 10. Logistical planning started a week before the occupation date, with #OccupyOakland fielding a fully functional canteen, childcare, medic, sound, and general assembly area on day one, with person of color (POC), gender, and queer safe spaces soon to follow. #OccupyOakland had the same populist rhetoric regarding the problematic “homogeneous” nature of “#Occupy…”, but pushed the “99%” critique in a decidedly anti-capitalist direction. Coupled with this was a distinctly anti-police and anti-state tone that also translated into anti-oppression organizational forms.
On October 21 the city of Oakland presented the general assembly, the official organizing body of #OccupyOakland, with a letter of eviction, citing “public safety.” The words of OaklandCommune, posted October 19 on the Bay of Rage website, beautifully foreshadow what transpired on October 25 and 26when the police made good on their threats:
Social rebels from around Oakland have descended upon Oscar Grant Plaza and have created a genuine, autonomous space free of police and unwelcoming to politicians. Whereas other occupations have invited the police and politicians, or have negotiated with them, Occupy Oakland has carved a line in the cement. That line of demarcation says: if you pass this, if you try and break up or over shadow this autonomous space, you are well aware, as observed over the last couple of years, what we are capable of.
History
The Bay Area’s history of social resistance is well documented, and it’s important to remember the context behind the militancy seen around #OccupyOakland. The general events these social rebels are referring to are the uprisings and demonstrations that have occurred over the past three years in the Bay Area, responding to police violence and “austerity.”2
To understand the events of the past week, one must understand the atmosphere in which these actions took place. The most relevant of these demonstrations revolve around three sets of riots that followed the murder of Oscar Grant III on January 1, 2009.3
One week after Oscar’s murder by police, January 7, 2009, a rally at the Fruitvale BART station transitioned into a march that eventually evolved into a riot, with running street fights against police. The action resulted in 100 arrests and hundreds of thousands in policing costs and property destruction. Johannes Mehserle, the officer who killed Grant, was arrested one week later – a day before thousands marched through Oakland, serving notice to the police that their actions had consequences.
A series of low and mid-intensity direct actions and marches occurred over the next 18 months until the verdict day, July 8, 2010, when Mehserle was ostensibly acquitted for murder and found guilty of involuntary manslaughter for shooting an unarmed and prone Oscar Grant in the back. Police preparations, dubbed “Operation Verdict,” were one of the largest local buildups of state and federal police forces in recent history.4 The buildup actually seemed to intensify popular opinion against the police. Operation Verdict not only failed to stop another riot, where hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of property was destroyed, but also failed to arrest as many demonstrators as the riots of a year before. Sentencing day, November 5. 2010, saw an evolution of police tactics that stopped the march before it morphed into something greater. The march was kettled and everyone was arrested in mass, all later to be released without charges.
Oscar Grant’s Legacy
I would like to recognize that Oscar Grant was a real person; with a daughter, family, and friends. I would like to recognize this because the human element can get lost when we make martyrs out of casualties. The actions around his death were living laboratories for many Bay Area residents, specifically youth and political radicals – anarchists, anti-authoritarians, and anti-capitalists. For some, this was the first time they had tasted tear gas or felt the sting of a rubber bullet. The January 7 riot was a hurried affair, with people quickly learning how to stay together, erect makeshift barricades, or set fires to necessitate getaways.
July 8 saw the forces of the state prepared and still unable to stop scores of “crews” smashing shop windows.5 Communication and coordination appeared to improve between the various demonstration participants. Masks were worn and code names used. It was apparent that even just a few “battle hours” dramatically increased a collectivity’s “street” effectiveness, i.e. the ability to create social unrest and get away with it. Through these events, it was revealed that street demonstrations, with riots in particular, did have an effect on, if not public policy, then at least civic discourse.
There were failures as well. Media and state forces conspired to create the concept of the “outside agitator” – the anarchist from afar whose only purpose was to smash. The actions of property destruction seemed to overshadow the context in which they were used. The tactic itself was the perfect expression of the powerlessness that people felt in demanding, from an unjust state, some sort of “justice.” It was an action of tantrum, saying, “in this protest zone, in this space of social rupture, I only have the ability to destroy.” A statement like that, while unifying for the participants within that instant of “social rupture,” has little to no organizing potential. And so the movement went from active conflict to history. Its steam and momentum were lost. However, with its passing came a time of tactical and strategic reflection, the results of which were practiced on the streets of Oakland under the banner of #Occupy only a week ago.
Anarchists
The efforts and effects of the anarchist tradition in the Bay Area cannot be ignored, neither in the case of Oscar Grant nor #OccupyOakland. There are hundreds of anarchists active in “street level” actions; hundreds more working in various corporate, non-profit, alternative, and other industries that bring money, logistical support, and experience when needed; and hundreds still who are engaged in their own projects, communities, and building families.
The presence of such a high concentration of anarchists at radical or potentially explosive demonstrations has influenced how people protest. To be sure, not every person at a demo is an anarchist, far from it, but many have adopted anarchist practice. Masking up, wearing black, and working in teams has created a safer and more disciplined force. The attendance of anarchist street medics, propagandists, and experienced street fighters adds a level of infrastructural and logistical support that makes actions on the streets feel supported and emboldened. Traditionally organizing on egalitarian and non-hierarchical planes, as well as a familiarity with consensus process, have facilitated the creation of a strong general assembly. The creation of solidarity groups for those arrested at actions, and access to the legal network that years of Bay Area activism created has been key in movement progress. In both social movements the anarchist presence has been an important, though by far not the only, element to any success.
This is not to say that an anarchist presence in the Bay Area has not had its troubles in recent years. The attempt by the state to brand anarchists as “outsiders” failed in the buildup of Operation Verdict, but did highlight racial and class issues that people are still confronting. Furthermore there was a successful attempt to brand anarchists has violent, although this was just one more step in a process dating back hundreds of years to redefine “anarchism” in the negative. Still, the only contact that many people have had with anarchists is the images presented by the media of “black-clad hooligans destroying things.” The insurrectionary anarchist current that is alive within the Bay has showed itself as a trend of attack, security culture, and tightknit networks. In the past it was inward focusing and only surfaced in times of action, although the presence of many insurrectionists at the general assemblies and their use of violence in a form different from that of property destruction does give credence to the idea that this trend is maturing.
Insurrection and Strike
Throughout the week, preparations were made within the #OccupyOakland space for arrival of police enforcing the eviction notices. The plan was to construct and defend barricades to keep the Oakland Police Department (OPD) out for as long as possible. Over the past two weeks, the police made only a handful of incursions into the autonomous space. The response by those camped was always forceful yet disciplined, with the distilled message being: “get out!” As a result there was little worry about the question of “when” “they” would come. “They will come when they do,” one camper told me with a shrug the night before the eviction. On Tuesday October 25, at 4:30 AM, hundreds of riot police from over a dozen different agencies descended upon the camp. After calling a dispersal order, police waited for five minutes before throwing concussion grenades, launching tear gas, firing pepper and rubber bullets, and hitting people with batons. The night concluded with around 80 arrests and some serious injuries.
A call out was made for 4 PM the same day to meet at the Oakland Library for a march to Oscar Grant (OG) Plaza. A diverse crowd of over 1500 people arrived. They marched around Oakland, swelling in numbers as people came into the streets. The police attacked with gas, less-than-lethal rounds, and batons. Demonstrators responded with bottles and paint balloons. Police snatch squads grabbed and beat protestors in full view of the crowd, with a handful having to be taken to the emergency room.6 The march continued to OG Plaza where lines of riot police stood behind metal barricades blocking all possible entrances. A standoff ensued.
At roughly 8:30 PM a crowd of 500 assembled at 14 and Broadway. After repeated warnings the police attacked. The gas attack was the worst of the day. Injured protesters littered the intersection, including Scott Olson, two-tour Marine veteran, who took a teargas canister to the head. Others were blinded and choking on the gas. Numerous burn victims from the gas canisters ran for cover; at least one of them needed plastic surgery on her foot. The crowd recomposed within minutes, playing cat and mouse with the police, rallying and taking the streets outside the barricades, fleeing from police attacks only to form again.
The chatter of excitement and anger was easy to understand. Groups of people were swapping stories from the days events. The gas was loosing its fear effect; these crowds were not dispersing. Teenagers were laughing at each other’s snot and tear-soaked faces. Older people were talking about the 1960s; “gas nowadays seems more potent,” they said. Anarchist and other radical medics were helping gas victims. By about 10 PM it was obvious that even though the group had failed to retake the plaza, they had in fact won two important victories. #OccupyOakland was effectively in control of all of downtown Oakland save OG Plaza. Or, to put it differently, the police had lost the initiative: they had lost their mobility and the ability to dictate terms outside the range of their weapons. By controlling the plaza they abdicated control of the rest of downtown Oakland to the occupiers. Declaring victory on the ground, the hundreds of occupiers began to disperse to ready themselves for the next day.
The second victory was not seen until the next day, when media outlets had no choice but to broadcast images of the night’s insurrection. Grabbing the media’s attention as well was the grievous injury to Scott Olson. Surviving two tours in Iraq to come home and be shot by OPD sealed the police’s fate in the realm of public opinion. Not only had #OccupyOakland succeeded in controlling the streets, they had also won over hearts and minds. As of this writing it looks as though Scott will recover and not become a martyr for any cause, just another victim of police brutality.
A general assembly was called for 6 PM on October 26. The police were nowhere in sight, but some reported that they were massing at a nearby parking garage. They were never to mobilize in any show of force. Bike patrols were passing back information, and a general feeling of safety permeated the camp. The metal fence that had been set up by the city was taken down, and once again the plaza was in the hands of #OccupyOakland. A proposal was submitted for a general strike in Oakland on November 2. The proposal passed by 96.9%; 1484 votes for to 77 against, with 47 abstentions, more than enough in Oakland’s modified consensus of 90% for the proposal to pass.
After the vote, 2000 people attempted to march for the downtown Oakland BART station to travel to San Francisco, where it was reported that the SF occupation was to be attacked by SFPD. The station was closed by BART officials, so the 2000-strong group marched through Oakland, stopping once at the OPD headquarters to yell at the police, once at the Oakland jail chanting in support of those incarcerated, and once under a freeway overpass, to discuss whether the group should cross the Oakland/Bay bridge to support #OccupySF. The march decided to retake OG Plaza instead.
A truly startling realization emerged among many of the anarchists present at the general assembly. As thousands of people discussed the general strike proposal, others were circulating and intermingling, talking about the victory of the night before. A major theme of the discussion was the fact that so much had been gained without resorting to property destruction. A tacit understanding developed amongst many of the radicals that no one was going to physically stop any of the “wrecking crews” from smashing windows, but people understood that much of the previous night’s victory could be attributed to the images of police violence against protestors and the counter-violence of protestors against the police. If there is an insurrectionary imperative to attack the state, that idea seemed to gain support, at least among those in the general public who watched the live stream. The march on October 25 showed how the protestors had done due diligence in their attempt to remain “peaceful”; they responded to police violence with defensive force, instead of the less understood (and less direct) tactic of attacking property. A violence of low-intensity self-defense actually gained #OccupyOakland international support.
Lessons Learned
In the OG Plaza riots, the impotent violence that resulted in Mehserle’s arrest also doomed the movement to remain marginal. People have many unresolved issues with property destruction. It is my presumption that those in command of the police forces on the night of the October 25 expected to see protester-initiated property destruction. Broken windows have the power to retroactively rationalize the use of police violence. The destruction of the camp and the attack on the march would suddenly seem understandable once the nightly news flashed images of broken glass. Unfortunately for police command, the radical and urban #OccupyOaklanders did not fall into their trap. There was no need; confronting OPD and Alameda Sheriff’s Department was enough.
There was a very real feeling that if the OPD had changed its tactics on the night of October 25, and – instead of holding positions and gassing protestors – went in for arrests, the police might have started a fight that they were not prepared to win. There were roughly equal number of police and #OccupyOaklanders, around 500 each, but the police were spread out, covering the perimeter of OG Plaza, while the demonstrators were able to focus all their numbers in one location. Even more impressive is that on the night of October 26, with the police lacking the authority to act in response to #OccupyOakland’s retaking of OG Plaza, the occupiers were able to push the police out of their autonomous zone and defend it. This cohesion and the strength of will it produced is a direct result of the reflections, lessons, and tactical considerations that grew from the OG riots. Those initiating confrontations with police did so with discipline, and, dare I say it, style.
There has been a lot of talk about a lack of demands as a weakness of the #Occupy movements. I hear their demands loud and clear. The critique of capitalism, opposition to state power, clear revulsion towards the police, redefinition of social and power relations, independent organization, cooperation, and the attempt to reconfigure our existing world into one that is healthy for all; these are demands that are being made by those occupying. The idea from the beginning was to create. In acts of creation power is returned. We have held our ground, defended a space that is our own. Now we are organizing not just for ourselves but also for others. A general strike will occur. The next question is clear: what other cities will follow?
See you in the streets.
Matthew Edwards is a graduate student at UC-Santa Cruz, and an organizer in the Bay Area. A native Californian, he has been involved in radical politics since refusing deployment to Iraq and Afghanistan in 2002. Comments can be sent to anewhope AT riseup.net
- 1This phrase appeared on a massive banner by a contingent of Greek anarchists at the 2009 G-20 in Germany. While not explicitly Insurrectionist, the Greek anarchist tendency of spectacular street battles has become synonymous with the Insurrectionary Anarchist milieu that has dominated North American discourse in recent years.
- 2For an amazing collection of news stories dating back over 10 years, see indybay.org.
- 3The first murder of 2009 was committed by a police officer against an unarmed person of color.
- 4It is also important to note that the National Guard was mobilized.
- 5One could also use the term “affinity group,” but an affinity group is an expressly political form of self organization that may not necessarily apply to all those who ran together that night.
- 6It is important to point out that the police were not the only perpetrators of violence that evening. One arrestee was punched, elbowed and pushed to the ground by an Oakland fire department member who also made derogatory sexual and racial comments towards him. Later in sheriff custody at the county jail he was beaten by at least four correctional officers.
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The Italianization of Puerto Rico: a reflection on social struggles against university policies in the world's oldest colony
A former University of Puerto Rico professor briefly describes the imposition of austerity on the UPR, the struggle in response and the similarities to the Italian experience.
Dismantling a public education system in a country with strong background of political struggles requires a mitigated form of neoliberal strategy. Shutting down a whole language department, which is happening at SUNY Albany, is something you can do in certain areas of the United States. But it is a whole different story in a hot and participatory place like Italy. In a situation where active unions and a strong popular movement still have a say in public policies, one cannot launch a blitzkreig. What is needed is a longer and murky war of position. Thus various center-right governments, with the complicity of the center-left, embarked since the 1990s in a long-term project that aimed at progressively cutting off key resources from public education (while financing the private Catholic sector) so that the whole edifice would eventually crumble under the weight of its own (apparent) contradictions. At that point, they simply need to suggest that the public system is inefficient and ultimately unproductive and voilà! Who could deny the crude reality of the fact?
If the Italian peninsula displays the last stage of this drama, a similar – yet perhaps more rapid – operation has been carried out in Puerto Rico in the last three years. Between 2009 and 2010, I observed this operation as a new professor at the University of Puerto Rico. The new right-wing governor, Luis Fortuño, initiated the process I had already seen completed in Italy by frontally attacking the lower classes, the true source of his opposition. This happened through the infamous Ley 7 that fired about twenty thousand public employees in a matter of a few months. In 2010, the time was ripe to begin grinding down the public university system, one of the largest public sectors on the island and the last stronghold of a once fertile tradition of pro-independence and socialist thought. With the drastic reduction of state support for the university budget, the true revenue for higher education in Puerto Rico, the newly appointed bureaucrats (all political nominees) enforced draconian measures that crippled the institution. Tenure-track promotions were frozen, funds for research eliminated, contributions from the employer to pension funds were slashed away. After the technocrats sampled the weak response of their opponents – the professors – they hit the toughest contingents: the university maintenance workers, and students.
Employees of the university responded with a series of limited mobilizations. In the spring of 2010, students instead opted for an indefinite strike.1 The most controversial point, a matter that unified students in their fight, was a proposal to levy an additional yearly tax of eight hundred dollars for enrollment (the so-called cuota). The measure was presented by the president as the essential step to save the university from bankruptcy, but while the budget kept on shrinking in the following academic year, the university also refused to open its books and show how and where it was using the remaining funds graciously made available by the state. The reactions to these unfair and discriminatory actions were immediate. The strength of the response was especially noticed in a traditionally conservative campus like Mayagüez – the technological pole of the University of Puerto Rico. Ignoring the most politicized wing of the student body, who boycotted the referendum in fear of manipulations by the administration, the majority of students cast their ballot in favor of the strike three consecutive times.2 A felicitous case of popular outflanking of one’s own political avant-garde, the one-month-long occupation of the Mayagüez campus left a permanent memory in those who participated in it. Pickets were organized so that ongoing activities were taking place at all time during the hot days of the protest. Participants caught a glimpse the true meaning of a general strike, the moment when social norms and masked forms of oppression break down, making room for new modes of conviviality, where a gratuitous kind of social unity proliferates.
And yet, in the best Italian tradition, during that summer the university administration staged a treacherous coup de théâtre: it accepted the conditions of the Student National Negotiation Committee, declaring the rejection of its increase in tuition, only to enforce it a few weeks later when students had returned to the classroom.3 It was a perfect maneuver, which used trickery to spread a sense of impotence among the movement. Only in the main campus of San Juan did students deploy a vigorous and continuous opposition. But as the university – notwithstanding the opposition of the president, José Ramón de la Torre, who on this account later resigned – militarized the campus the movement lost that widespread mobilization that affected the whole island only few months before.4
Meanwhile, the ones who could have replaced the students, keeping alive the hope for an opposition against the destruction of higher education in Puerto Rico – the professors – remained silent. During the occupation, a minority of professors with ties to the union (APPU) actively supported the student movement. But as students were defeated, they had gained no consensus among the rest of the faculty. And yet the latter had every reason to protest, for beyond the serious impact these policies had on instruction, the faculty could also notice how former colleagues were rapidly disappearing while classrooms began to overflow. Those who had a market fled the island, but others, mostly holding temporary positions, vanished as the 2010-2011 academic year began. In the following months, the next most vulnerable component of the teachers’ workforce, international professors, was targeted as the usual procedures for working permits became almost impossible to complete. Here the most astonishing confirmation of the power of ideology took place. Although the large majority of the teachers, independently from their political affiliation, were affected in one way or the other, they kept silent and went about their business as usual.
The background of the teaching body at the University of Puerto Rico is significant. We could divide up faculty in three large sets. The first one is composed of Puerto Rican nationals, as well as Latin Americans and Europeans, who obtained a PhD. in the United States. Here is where the students enjoyed the strongest support. A consistent number of these intellectuals infused the body of theoretical knowledge accumulated in the best North American institutions with the praxis of the decades of struggle at home. Obviously, not all of them were so devoted to the cause. A consistent part of this group was also either cynically refusing any form of alliance with the students on account of some higher and more intellectual superiority, or was implicitly supporting the government. Among these individuals the new cadres of the university bureaucracy were selected; they zealously followed the prescriptions of the administration, opting out of what was left alive in the university.
The second ensemble groups US professors who were catapulted into an unfamiliar reality that remained foreign to them – although they usually operated in it quite effectively, at least from an educational point of view. Though the majority felt like they were living in another country, they usually denied that this territory is in fact a colony with specific tensions and responses in and to social fights. Moreover, accustomed as they were to the costs of education at home, these professors saw no problem in the imposition of the cuota. Overlooking at the disparity in incomes between Puerto Rico and the US, they at best adopted a classic defensive corporatist position tacitly supporting increases in tuition in the interest of the institution. This form of ideological preclusion prevented them from reading the complexity of the issues at stake, which also affected them as part of that community. They channeled their discontent into the usual reproach of Puerto Rico as just another Latin country, where corruption, bureaucracy and protest culture jam the whole social system and make it inefficient and chaotic. Only a few of them, those who knew their history and possibly lived through similar colonial dynamics in the US, avoided this ideological blockage and joined forces with the student movement.
The last group is formed by personnel trained in the former motherland: Spain. Although the Puerto Rican political elite holds the precious fruits of the Spanish academia in high regard, it recently had to realize that Spanish universities no longer produce the highly conformist generations of graduates they used to hurl out under Franco. Support came also from this new and energetic guard of professors, but it was not strong and pervasive enough to win a majority among the faculty.
To be sure, the rigid university hierarchy is very resistant to change, and has so far neutralized any reactions to the current situation. Divided by national differences and stubborn ideological occlusions, the majority of the teaching faculty is unlikely to take any collective step to protect their institution. As the administration rapidly saws away at the branch they are sitting on, along with any future safety net – the employees’ retirement plan recently came under government’s attention as well – they passively wait for a new election. Little do they know that freedom is something you gain, and that you have to defend day by day. It will not be an illuminated sovereign who will reestablishes peace and prosperity. It will be up to the students, instead, to rise again, and, if not defeat the government neo-liberal agenda, at least establish firm conditions for the new government (whatever it will be) to preserve the common good of their university.
Andrea Righi is the author of Biopolitics and Social Change in Italy: From Gramsci to Pasolini to Negri (Palgrave, 2011). He is assistant professor of Italian at Colorado College. Between 2009 and 2011 he taught at the University of Puerto Rico, Mayagüez.
Originally posted at Viewpoint Magazine
- 1The strike was supported by the Professor’s Association (APPU), the so-called Hermandad (university maintenance workers) and other unions such as Puerto Rico Federal Affairs Administration and the independent union of the authority of public buildings (UIAEP).
- 2Following the no-confrontation policy that is enforced in the university system after the bloody confrontations of the 1970s and 1980s, the University of Puerto Rico grants that if one of the major three branches (the faculty, the student body or the employees) calls for a strike, campuses shut down and classes resume only at the end of the strike.
- 3See Leysa Caro González, “Reafirman que la cuota va en enero próximo,” Primera Hora, December 14, 2010. http://www.primerahora.com/reafirmanquelacuotavaeneneroproximo-452820.html
- 4See Cynthia López Cabán, “De la Torre exorciza sus demonios,” El Nuevo Día, May 25, 2011. http://www.elnuevodia.com/delatorreexorcizasusdemonios-974789.html
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The underground history of occupation
Julie McIntyre argues that the Occupy movement, in order to sustain and increase its momentum, should put issues such as housing and the cost of utilities at the forefront and look towards the long history of ephemeral occupations by dancing collectivities for inspiration.
In the early twentieth century, hundreds of thousands of African-Americans migrated from the Deep South to Harlem. Racist white residents fled to the outer boroughs and the suburbs, and landlords began to double and triple Harlem rents, capitalizing on the limited geographic options presented to new black New Yorkers. Families crammed into single rooms, but when the first of the month neared, they still had to search for supplementary sources of income to make their rent payments. Inspired by the tradition of Southern Saturday night fish fries and “breakdowns,” Harlemites began to roll up their rugs, push the furniture aside, and print tickets to promote their “Parlor Socials,” or “Too Terrible Parties.” Hosts invited dueling pianists such as Fats Waller to turn on the heat with “cutting contests,” which sparked unrestrained dancing and revelry, the likes of which working-class blacks could never access in exclusive neighborhood joints that denied admission to black people, such as Harlem’s famed Cotton Club. The party hosts charged admission, typically a quarter, and made extra rent money from the sale of bathtub gin, corn whiskey, and soul food. The rent party scene served as an incubator for several notable jazz pianists, and it began to play a vital economic and social role in the life of Harlem’s working-class community.
Though some recent media accounts depict rent parties as a novel practice of the alternative white twenty-somethings who gentrify black communities, they began as a dynamic and autonomous response to exploitation, and warrant careful study as a traditional practice of occupation. Although the concept was not widely addressed in mainstream U.S. media prior to the seizing of Zuccotti Park and various other public and private spaces in American cities, the act of occupying has a rich and complex history. Critical participants have emphasized that the United States is occupied land, and have called for the movement to use the word with acknowledgement of its destructive history for indigenous populations. Those with a global perspective have pointed to the occupation of Tahrir Square, and similar popular movements throughout the world over the past many years. For those anchored in labor history, the term brings to mind the tradition of worker occupations of factories – as a strike technique used to prevent lockouts, and in some cases, to “recover” the factories under worker control. Finally, those who have inhabited abandoned buildings, by choice or necessity, clearly draw links between their life’s work and the habitation of major cities’ parks and plazas over the past several months.
But in spite of this attention to occupation, some vibrant and essential forms of the practice have been overlooked. It is these forms to which we should be looking as the winter months near and the movement begins to realize the need to diversify its tactics.
Throughout the summer of 2011, Philadelphia’s mayor, Michael Nutter, Police Commissioner Charles Ramsey, and the local media whipped up a frenzy, threading together a diverse array of gatherings of black teenagers in predominantly white, affluent areas of the city over the past three years under the umbrella of “flash mobs,” “teen mob attacks,” and even “riots.” A closer look at the eleven incidents identified as flash mob attacks and used as a justification for the enactment of a racist curfew law, which the Philadelphia City Council recently extended across the city for the next two years, reveals that these events have little in common other than the presence of black youth transgressing the boundaries of their neighborhoods to occupy the city’s white economic center.
Several of the incidents can be completely discounted, according to the widely accepted definition of a flash mob, “a public gathering of complete strangers, organized via the Internet or mobile phone, who perform a pointless act and then disperse.” Six friends punching a man in the head on the way home from summer school hardly seems to constitute a mob of strangers engaging in a premeditated, pointless act, and anyone who has spent a day in a dysfunctional Philadelphia public school or one of its equally deranged charter counterparts could easily sympathize with the students’ sense of outrage and misdirected aggression.
Even if we set aside incidents in which a small group of people attack an individual, the collection of events identified as flash mobs is complex and ranges from exercises in auto-reduction to what many Philly teens would just describe as “breakin’ it down.” The news and gossip site Gawker investigated the conspiratorial social media exchanges that led up to a March 20, 2011 flash mob on South Street in Philadelphia and discovered links to Team Nike, a neighborhood dance crew that promotes their weekend parties through public dance performances. But while Gawker snidely concludes that Philly flash mobs and party crews such as Team Nike “might be nothing more sinister and revolutionary than a few street performances that got out of hand,” the Occupy movement can learn a lot from young people’s libidinal disruptions of the street.
While Philadelphia’s white elite spent their summer cowering indoors, bracing themselves for “roving gangs” of black teenagers who might “terrorize” their neighborhoods, the rest of the city embraced the heat and the streets, hosting outdoor parties on every block. Like the flash mob, the block party has much to teach today’s occupiers about taking back colonized spaces, and infusing them with a sense of joyful resistance. Black and Latino teenagers living in the Bronx in the early 1970s began organizing parties, inspired by Jamaican yard dances and sound system culture. They were looking for alternatives to the gang culture that had resulted in the deaths of their friends and brothers, and they were pushing back against the crushing force of “urban renewal,” a state-sponsored movement to destroy communities of people of color in major American cities. Young people organized block parties to make money for school clothes, to push their sound systems to the limits, and to demonstrate their vernacular dance expertise. They stacked up speakers in the parks and siphoned power from street lights, and they danced until daybreak.
The youthful founders of hip-hop, who literally rose from the ashes of their burnt, abandoned communities, followed in the footsteps of the Civil Rights activists who came a half generation before them by dancing in the street; but at the same time, they created a new form of occupation and defined new relationships with each other and their city by breaking away from the limited political paths presented. They created what hip-hop historian Jeff Chang describes as a celebratory “space of possibility,” and the tradition lives on in many communities of color each summer.
Party crews, groups of teens who have been loosely linked with flash mobs and described as “junior varsity street gangs,” have appropriated rent parties and block parties and applied them to the temporary occupation of vacant homes and commercial buildings. Coverage of party crew activities has been centered in Arizona and the Los Angeles metropolitan area, where swathes of vacant or foreclosed tract homes stand empty, inviting teenagers to claim the spaces as their own. The activities of young party crews echo the West Coast rave scene of the 1990s. Although many electronic music events are widely promoted and generously funded today, this widespread acceptance bloomed from a culture in which warehouses, malls, and large fields were secretly taken over, essential party infrastructure was put in place, and participants followed a trail of breadcrumbs and map clues to various locations before reaching the actual event. Once there, ravers had the chance to reinvent the spaces of everyday life, to encounter new bodies and sounds, and create strange new forms of community. In the morning, the occupation would end, the space would return to its mundane state of disuse, and the participants would begin planning their next intervention.
Dancing, in its many forms and contexts, from rent parties and block parties to raves and riots, often involves the active and intentional occupation of spaces that are highly regulated and controlled, and not intended for popping, locking, or any similar kind of social relation. Young people from marginalized communities have long politicized this everyday practice simply by insisting on doing it wherever they want, whenever they want. As the frigid weather sets in, the Occupy movement must look beyond its own borders and consult the annals of history to develop a broader repertoire of effective techniques, and the ephemeral occupation of city spaces by dancing collectivities might be just what this movement needs to increase its momentum.
As the movement consults this history, it must also recognize that there are communities who continue to occupy urban American spaces out of necessity and resilience, and that their tactical knowledge should put them in positions of leadership. I work with 18 to 21-year-old youth who have dropped out or been pushed out of traditional public schools. One of my students, a 20-year-old intermittently homeless black mother who is working towards obtaining her high school diploma and securing a job as a home health care aide, issued a demand to me after presenting her research on homelessness. “Y’all need to do something about this,” she explained. “There are so many houses in North Philly with nobody in ‘em, and then there are so many homeless people with no houses. Y’all need to fix that.” But it’s clear that we’ll only be able to fix it by organizing together.
“Turn on the heat.” The phrase refers to the heat generated by bodies dancing in spaces that we have temporarily reclaimed, but it also refers to the concrete concern of paying for heating as winter approaches. While the occupiers at City Hall in Philadelphia and around the Northeast confront cold weather this winter, many families struggle to stay warm every year because they can’t pay the heating bill. The participants of the contemporary Occupy movement need people of color, poor people, and young people to lead us into new forms of struggle. In order to sustain and expand the movement, their issues must be at the forefront; we have to understand that the cost of utilities is a major political issue. But let’s not think of people from marginalized communities as helpless victims. Instead, let’s learn from their history of resistance in everyday life.
Julie McIntyre is an educator who has worked with children and youth in schools, libraries, art organizations, and residential detention centers. She lives and works in Philadelphia, PA.
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Occupy the workplace: organized labor and the occupations movement
The Occupy Wall Street phenomenon has achieved a stature and longevity unrivaled by recent demonstrations in the United States, and has understandably struck a chord with a wide range of people dismayed by the barbaric level of inequality that is the defining feature of contemporary American society. As the small encampment in lower Manhattan has swelled and spread to cities across the country, the rallying cry of the “99%” has at least momentarily introduced the mainstream discourse to a conception of class, which is usually missing from the political theater showcased on corporate news outlets. The risks posed by an over-reliance on mass media coverage notwithstanding, the organizers’ ability to attract the public eye has been impressive and is an encouraging reminder that most people are yearning for a political vision that resonates with the material anxieties they feel. As the most brutal economic crisis in over a generation grinds on for the third consecutive year, perhaps most surprising is that it has taken so long for such an upsurge to occur.
However, while an inner-core of participants may remain for months, with time the size of the direct occupations will likely wane and media attention will slowly gravitate to more profitable ventures. The travesty that unfolded in Wisconsin over the past ten months should serve as a painful reminder of that inevitability. And though the moment’s political salience may briefly persist, it will be fleeting unless anchored in something more durable than a demonstration, throwing into sharp relief the need for a level of organization that can sustain and expand upon the Occupy energy. The slogan of the “99%” may have tremendous rhetorical currency, but history shows that there is no shortcut to the long-term, painstaking task of generating a real movement: meeting people where they are, building trust and struggling with them over the issues they’re worried about, connecting those anxieties to a coherent political program, and consolidating those efforts into a force to be reckoned with. While many of the Occupy working groups may be beginning this project, most of the millions who constitute the “99%” have been unable or unwilling to participate and need to be reached by some other means. OWS can be an opportunity to start this process, but it is not a spark that will spread on its own.
Here the civil rights movement, which is often invoked in relation to OWS, is instructive. Unmentioned in most grade school lore on the subject, the struggle for racial justice grew out of a deeply rooted organizational apparatus that had been constructed through decades of diligent labor and community organizing. Rosa Parks was a seasoned activist who had been trained at the legendary leftist organizing academy, the Highlander Folk School, and Martin Luther King Jr. owes his beginnings to veteran trade unionists who recruited him. No miracles initiated this historic fight; it was planned and executed by individuals and their organizations who through years of struggle in pursuit of concrete demands had cultivated powerful bases of support in specific communities.
Only through following this long-term organizing approach can OWS begin to harness the anger and energy it has made visible and translate it in into a dynamic, class-conscious movement. And only the labor movement has the experience and organizational capacity to take on the challenge. Weakened though they may be, and with all the limitations of their sedentary bureaucracies, unions are still the most democratic membership organizations in the United States, with established activists and infrastructures in cities across the country that possess the practical skills and resources necessary to carry on the fight, particularly when it becomes less visibly exciting. Though union density has precipitously declined in recent decades, still today millions of people have experienced real improvements in their lives through workplace struggles led by existing labor unions, a much larger and more representative cross-section of the population than is likely to turn out at any “Occupy” event.
It’s important to remember that historically, organized labor has been the most effective vehicle for challenging economic inequality; it is an empirical reality that when unions are weak wealth concentrates in the hands of the few, and when they’re strong it is at least a bit more evenly distributed. A recent study demonstrated that between 1973 and 2007 private sector unionization decreased by over 75% and inequality increased by 40%. In this spirit, OWS might best be considered as an opportunity to push the mainstream labor movement toward a more aggressive organizing strategy and, hopefully, an alternative political vision. Rank-and-file militants in a variety of unions have engaged in this grueling project for decades, with some successes and many setbacks, and perhaps the most encouraging feature of OWS is the space it might create for more work of this sort. However, an opportunity is only as valuable as the concrete steps taken to capitalize on it, and unless the strategic thinking needed to orient and initiate that process begins in earnest, this wave of activism will likely join the recent anti-globalization and immigrants’ rights demonstrations in the annals of modern left history while neoliberalism continues its plunder unscathed.
A number of unions have taken up the OWS mantle and some inspiring labor-community partnerships have grown out of it. The New York City Transport Workers Union (TWU) Local 100 was an early supporter, and even went to court to prevent police from ordering union drivers to bus arrested demonstrators to jail. The National Nurses United (NNU), one of the most progressive and militant unions, has been present at occupations around the country administering flu shots and providing basic medical assistance. And the courageous art handlers of Teamsters Local 814 who have been locked-out of Sotheby’s auction house – a quintessential symbol of the “1%” – have cultivated a remarkable level of solidarity with the New York occupation, turning out bus loads to their rallies and gaining international attention in the process. These three examples represent elements of the most dynamic and forward-looking wing of an otherwise rather glacial labor establishment that always seems to be on the defensive. The best chance OWS has to become the kind of force necessary to win a more just society lies in following their lead.
Samir Sonti is a graduate student at UC Santa Barbara. He has worked for SEIU.
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Deviations, part 1: the Castoriadis-Pannekoek exchange
Asad Haider and Salar Mohandesi's introduction to a series of letters between Anton Pannekoek and Cornelius Castoriadis.
In early 1953 Cajo Brendel, a Dutch council communist affiliated with a group known as Spartacus, visited the members of Socialisme ou Barbarie (Socialism or Barbarism) in Paris. As members of a militant organization harshly marginalized by the most blistering winters of the cold war, Cornelius Castoriadis, Claude Lefort, and their comrades understandably hoped to make contact with other communist tendencies critical of the official currents. Delighted to discover that Anton Pannekoek, that veteran communist whose dissenting tracts had drawn the ire of none other than Lenin himself, was quite close to Spartacus, the group decided to supply Brendel with a copy of every issue of the journal, eleven in all, to pass along to the revered theorist. Pannekoek, who read them with excitement, wrote later to Brendel the French group showed much promise despite its questionable position on the party question. On November 8, 1953, he wrote a letter to Castoriadis, which was later published, along with a response, in number 14 (April-June 1954) of the journal.
Spanning an entire generation, a linguistic divide, and a geographical shift, the epistolary encounter between Pannekoek and Castoriadis in many ways marks the internal transformation of the ultra-left. But the ultra-left, far from a historical relic, is making headlines again. The appearance of a mysterious little book called The Coming Insurrection on bookshelves across the country in 2009 piqued an already growing interest. Not only did Michael Moore name the “leftist call-to-arms manifesto” as his most recent read in an interview with the Hollywood Reporter, the tract even climbed to the top of Amazon bestseller list after Glenn Beck told Fox News viewers it was “the most evil book I’ve read in a long, long time.” But this pamphlet was only, if we may lapse into pop sociology, the tipping point for a resurgence of forgotten tendencies, obscure journals, and previously unheard of milieus, which are suddenly being discussed everywhere from academic conferences to national broadcasting channels. It’s likely that the “Invisible Committee” that wrote The Coming Insurrection grew out of Tiqqun, a French group that officially disbanded in 2001 after releasing two issues of its eponymous journal. Tiqqun itself has been rediscovered after the infamous Tarnac affair in 2008, when former members of the group were arrested for sabotaging train lines.
The appearance of new works and translations by groups like Tiqqun, including Troploin, Théorie Communiste, Aufheben, and Echanges et Mouvement, reflect the close engagement of the ultra-left with the tendencies and sensibilities of contemporary activist movements. An article in The Chronicle of Higher Education traced the “intellectual roots” of Occupy Wall Street to the anarchist David Graeber, who invoked the language of the ultra-left in his description of the political importance of the general assembly: “One of the things that revolutionaries have learned over the course of the 20th century is that the idea of the ends justifying the means is deeply problematic… You can’t create a just society through violence, or freedom through a tight revolutionary cadre. You can’t establish a big state and hope it will go away. The means and ends have to be the same.“1
But this paradigm, though it is thoroughly grounded in the present, nevertheless has deep roots in the past. All of the journals circulating today would deny such a strong link to their own ancestors; they admit the influence of the ultra-left, but none describe themselves as ultra-leftists. Most believe they have made a clean break with this history, and usually only employ the term as an epithet for those still thought to be trapped in antiquated politics. They are on poor terms with each other, and almost certainly would not consider themselves to be part of the same constellation of theories.
Although they have their disagreements, this dissension only conceals a shared unity that unsurprisingly originates from the common heritage they all seem intent on repressing. Many of the defining principles of the historical ultra-left persist, and their peculiar combination of blindness and insight bears the marks of their progenitors. Their shared emphasis on proletarian self-activity, their willingness to deliberately conflate means and ends, their tendency to elide the moment of strategy, their demand for the abolition of a transition period, and their tendency towards fatalism, are all age-old historical debates. And just as before, the ultra-left tendencies of contemporary movements have provoked a backlash from those who call for a return to the fundamentals of political organization, usually represented by the figure of “the party.”
What is now commonly called the ultra-left emerged as an oppositional tendency within the international communist movement in the early nineteen-twenties. Though critical of the right, personified by Eduard Bernstein, the center, represented by Karl Kautsky, and even the left, dominated by Lenin, its members never organized themselves into a coherent current: its theorists were spread across several countries, disagreed sharply with one another, and were only grouped together when Lenin criticized them all in his infamous pamphlet, Left-Wing Communism: An Infantile Disorder. Some, like Amadeo Bordiga, fetishized the vanguard party; others, like Otto Rühle, saw workers’ councils as the only organ of the revolutionary process; still others like Paul Mattick turned to crisis theory. But whatever their differences, their shared refusal to participate in parliamentary elections, work with trade unions, or make any compromises with any kind of reformism, unexpectedly brought them all together. It was this underlying stubbornness that allowed Lenin to transform them into a single tendency.
It should be remembered, however, that the ultra-left, despite what it would later become, was actually not a minority tendency in its heyday. Its spokesmen were all major figures in the history of European communism: Bordiga was the first general secretary of the Italian Communist Party (PCI), Sylvia Pankhurst was one of the most respected communists in England, and Pannekoek was cautiously praised in Lenin’s State and Revolution as a bulwark against reformism. Even more importantly, the ultra-leftists had such a significant following in the early twenties that they could rightfully claim to be the dominant communist tendency of the time. When the PCI was finally formed in January 1921, it was Bordiga who commanded the majority. And when the German Communist Party (KPD) split in 1920, the vast majority followed the ultra-leftists in forming the Communist Workers’ Party of Germany (KAPD). The Communist Party, initially led by Rosa Luxemburg and Karl Liebknecht, had itself broken from reformist groups like the Social Democratic Party (SPD) at the end of December 1918. But the KPD, despite its revolutionary stance, was pulled in several directions. Disagreements over the unions, parliament, and compromise in general, ultimately led to another break. It’s been suggested, however, that the new party, the KAPD, “embraced almost the entire membership of the former KPD.”2 The marginalization of the ultra-left – Bordiga, for example, officially lost control of his party to Gramsci in 1926 – only set in after the defeat of the revolutions to which they were almost organically connected.
With their revolutions crushed, and now harassed by capital on the one side and Comintern on the other, the tendency itself began to eat itself apart from within as ultra-leftists fought each other over the most trivial matters, and by the thirties this once vibrant milieu was reduced to a jumble of sequestered groups. The onset of the Cold War proved to be an especially decisive time for the ultra-left: marginalized more than ever, journals lost much of their already limited readership, organizations disintegrated, and isolated groups ossified into myopic sects. It was in this inhospitable context that two of the most prominent theorists of the tendency made contact.
Castoriadis Meets Pannekoek
The intersection of two lives represents the collision of two worlds. First and foremost, there is the generational divide: Anton Pannekoek was born in 1873, after the defeat of the Paris Commune, and Cornelius Castoriadis in 1922, just as the German Revolution, in which Pannekoek had played a part, was painfully coming to accept its own defeat. Then there is the implicit geographic shift: Pannekoek, born in the Netherlands, played a constitutive role in the development of central European communism, while Castoriadis, Greek by birth, made perhaps the most significant contribution to the emerging French scene that was made famous in May 1968. Their exchange shows the center of gravity of the communist movement moving from Germany back to France, while French theory made increasing reference to German history.
And last, the peculiar convergence of two distinct forms of ultra-leftism: one that defined itself against Lenin and another that actually made a constitutive detour through him. Though always aware of his great achievements, most of the historical ultra-left, from Sylvia Pankhurst to Herman Gorter, eventually grew quite critical of the Bolshevik leader’s theoretical doctrines. Pannekoek stands as perhaps the greatest example of a tendency that criticized all that Lenin represented, from his philosophical positions to his political practice. Shortly after the Russian Revolution, Pannekoek devoted much of his writing to refuting the universal applicability of Bolshevik tactics. His famous book Workers’ Councils sought to definitively discredit the theory of the vanguard party by demonstrating the historical significance of the councils as the only real form of proletarian emancipation. Against both reformists and Leninists, he claimed that “the new orientation of socialism is self-direction of production, self-direction of the class-struggle, by means of workers’ councils.”3
Castoriadis, in contrast to Pannekoek, had fought in the Greek resistance as a Communist, later joining the Trotskyists in France. Beyond the many positive references to Lenin in his writings of the time, it’s quite clear from his theoretical works and his practical positions that Lenin had left an indelible stamp on him. His ultra-leftism is an unusual case: he entered it through Trotskyism, but broke with that tradition when he argued that “the content of socialism” went beyond the abolition of private property to “workers’ management of society,” down to the organization of work on the shop floor – a historical task whose terms were established by the expansion and integration of managerial labor in postwar capitalism.4 He spent a good decade furiously producing a body of work so important that it would effectively define the far left in France, leading Daniel Cohn-Bendit, the European Green parliamentarian who was the most visible student revolutionary of May 1968, to frankly admit in Obsolete Communism: The Left-Wing Alternative that he had plagiarized Castoriadis’s work. But then Castoriadis turned his pen against Marxism himself; having already grounded self-management in the critique of alienation in the young Marx, he concluded that the late Marx of Capital had capitulated completely to bourgeois scientism, and brazenly declared that the only way to remain revolutionary was to break from Marxism.
The letters of these figures not only give us a glimpse into the history of the ultra-left, they also speak to our own time. True, our conjuncture is radically different: we no longer face the realities of the Cold War, the role of the Soviet Union, the influence of the Communist Parties, or the uncertainties of decolonization. But there are nevertheless ways in which the present resembles the conjuncture in which these letters were written. We are beginning to glimpse the end of a long period of proletarian defeat, just as Castoriadis and Pannekoek were. They had the courage and insight to discuss the possibilities of revolution, reaffirm the value of autonomous activity, and emphasize the role of the proletariat at a time when intellectuals of the left and right were loudly declaring the integration of the working class, the definitive stabilization of capital, and the impossibility of revolutionary rupture.
But Pannekoek and Castoriadis were vindicated a few years after their exchange. Hungary and Poland erupted in revolution. Councils dotted the social terrain, autonomous activity was the order of the day, and suddenly capital did not seem so secure. If their mode of thought was in alignment with the potential and the limits of these nascent struggles, it seems that today’s ultra-left has a similar alignment with the eruptions of Greece, Spain, France, and England.
Reading through these letters makes it clear that whatever their agreements – and there were many – Pannekoek and Castoriadis differed on the very two questions that had defined the historical ultra-left from the beginning: the nature of the Russian Revolution and the party form. Though both clearly parted ways with the official communist movement, their differences were nevertheless irreconcilable.
Although the exchange circulated around what may appear to be a pedantic rehashing of these two seemingly irrelevant topics, both were using them to think through the key concepts of political practice. Beneath Pannekoek’s questioning of the Russian Revolution or Castoriadis’s consideration of the possible degeneration of the party lies a shared attempt to ascertain the content of the communism of their time. With sufficient historical distance from everything that transpired between the storming of the Winter Palace and the fall of the Berlin Wall, we have begun to ask how the content of communism can be reimagined beyond sectarian cliches. For our moment, these letters are remarkably contemporary. To grasp their relevance, we will have to trace the genealogy of these two major questions.
The Russian Revolution
Every communist current that sought to pose an alternative to the practices, policies, and programs of the Soviet Union first had to explain what kind of society it really was – an attempt to understand the meaning of communism as well as capitalism. The dominant explanations in the West for the nature of the USSR were variants of the Trotskyist analysis. However, Lenin had acknowledged, before Stalin’s ascent, that the revolutionary government was not only a proletarian dictatorship, but either a “workers’ and peasants’ state” or a “workers’ state with bureaucratic distortions.”5 During the years of “War Communism,” from 1918 to 1921, when requisition of peasant land and nationalization of industry proceeded alongside the introduction of Taylorism and one-man management in factories, it was actually Trotsky who had called for extension of militarization to the total control of trade unions by the state, as an apparatus of industrial management. Lenin insisted that more independent participation would train workers to ultimately take on the task of management themselves, arguing against Trotsky that the “sum and substance of his policy is bureaucratic harassment of the trade unions.“6
Beginning in 1921 with the “New Economic Policy” (NEP), Lenin argued for the replacement of the state’s “surplus-grain appropriation” with a moderate “tax in kind,” which would permit peasant producers to sell the remainder of their surplus in order to obtain manufactured goods at a more equitable rate. In spite of the reintroduction of market relations this represented, it was a transition to “regular socialist exchange of products,” and indeed an anti-bureaucratic measure, intended to avoid further development of the state bureaucracy that had grown in compensation for “the atomised and scattered state of the small producer with his poverty, illiteracy, lack of culture, the absence of roads and exchange between agriculture and industry.” If NEP represented a movement towards the free market and capitalist relations, this was a necessary step, since it permitted the peasantry to develop social power instead of subjugating it to the interests of the urban and industrial proletariat.7
Lenin had already argued as early as 1918, in a polemic against Russian left communists, that “state capitalism would be a step forward,” even “a sure guarantee that within a year socialism will have gained a permanently firm hold.” Since the transition period contained elements of different economic categories, the direction of large enterprises by the state would be a “proletarian weapon,” since “it is not state capitalism that is at war with socialism, but the petty bourgeoisie plus private capitalism fighting together against both state capitalism and socialism.”8 Now, three years later, he reiterated that the fact that the proletariat, represented by the party, held power in the state, was the primary defense against the “restoration of capitalism.”9 Recalling his earlier intervention on behalf of independent trade unions, Lenin emphasized that in a socialist transition there would still be classes, and therefore “the class struggle is inevitable” – the proletariat would have to use unions to combat bureaucracy and “survivals of the old capitalist system” in the government.10 The combination of an anti-bureaucratic attitude and the continued belief in shared workers’ and peasants’ power coexisted with the somewhat contradictory project of industrializing agriculture, to develop the productive forces to the level of the capitalist mode of production, and NEP manifested these contradictions.
After Lenin’s death, the continuation of NEP was advocated by both Joseph Stalin and Nikolai Bukharin, who were part of a hegemonic bloc within the Communist Party. Bukharin, in spite of his earlier leftist enthusiasm for immediate nationalization and industrialization, came to believe in the gradual enrichment of the peasants, which would lead to their identification with the communist project. This found support in Stalin’s insistence on continuing Lenin’s line on the “workers’ and peasants’ government,” defending “the worker-peasant alliance as a cardinal means of achieving the socialist class objectives of the proletarian dictatorship in our peasant country.“11
However, the enthusiasm for NEP was by no means universal; the Left Opposition, which included Trotsky and Bukharin’s former leftist coauthor Yvgeni Preobrazhensky, had warned that agricultural market relations would permit the development of a nascent capitalist class in the countryside. Their fears were confirmed in the rise of the kulaks, the landholding peasants who hired waged laborers and hoarded grain to counteract the drop in agricultural prices. In the 1927 platform of the left, Trotsky described a growing “class differentiation among the peasants,” the slave-like exploitation of farmhands, and a gap between industrial and agricultural prices that threatened to sever the “alliance between town and country.”12
The next year Stalin went to Siberia, to address party members who he accused not only of cooperating with the kulaks, but also living in their homes. He contrasted “socialist construction in the countryside, in agriculture” with the danger of capitalist restoration.13 Later that year, after returning to Moscow, he would rage in party plenums against the “Right deviation” which made restoration possible, since in spite of the dictatorship of the proletariat, the roots of capitalism, of capital and capitalists, were still embedded “in commodity production, in small production in the towns and, especially, the countryside.”14 The threat of regenerating capitalism resulted from the contradiction between two foundations of production in the USSR: “the foundation of the most large-scale and united socialist industry and the foundation of the most scattered and backward, small commodity economy of the peasants.” To succeed, socialist construction would have to place “agriculture on a new technical basis, the basis of large-scale production, and bring it up to the level of socialist industry.”15 With the end of NEP and the elaboration of the first Five Year Plan, Stalin put into place an economic program based on the collectivization of peasant land, aiming at the rapid industrialization of the countryside.
Writing in The Revolution Betrayed, Trotsky stepped into the middle of these “zig-zags” in policy by painting a picture of the USSR as a “degenerated workers’ state.” The workers had taken state power, but it had been usurped by the Stalinist bureaucracy. The difficulty of this view is that the history of the bureaucracy in the USSR could by no means be limited to Stalin – Trotsky had himself contributed to bureaucratization. Furthermore, Lenin had already described a close relationship between bureaucratization and economic development. “Socialism has demonstrated its right to victory,” Trotsky famously wrote in a celebration of Russia’s productive forces, “in the language of steel, cement and electricity”; and he made a point of noting that the blame for Stalin’s terror “lies not upon collectivization, but upon the blind, violent, gambling methods with which it was carried through.”16 But next to Lenin’s acknowledgement that the reorganization of peasant agriculture by industrial state capitalism forced a complex bureaucratic structure, the compatibility of these two positions seems unclear.
An unorthodox Trotskyist shoe salesman named Bruno Rizzi began to circulate an analysis, culminating in 1939’s The Bureaucratization of the World, which claimed that if the bureaucracy had indeed usurped state power, it was impossible to retain the idea of a “workers’ state,” degenerated or otherwise. The original, somewhat ultra-left concept he advanced was “bureaucratic collectivism,” which led Trotsky to conclude that Rizzi had “obviously lost his balance.”17 According to this theory, the managerial bureaucracy was a ruling class that extracted a surplus for its own enrichment, and orchestrated through a totalitarian state a highly developed monopoly capitalism indistinguishable from fascism and the New Deal.
Castoriadis may have had Rizzi’s account in mind when he underscored the primary importance of the bureaucracy as ruling class, but he rejected the earlier emphasis on collectivism. After all, far from a term of Marxist theory, “collectivism” is a quasi-ethical term of sociological description – it says nothing about the political economy of the USSR. For Castoriadis, capitalism as a system was defined by exploitation – the extraction of a surplus from labor by a non-producing class who dominated the production process – and not by market relations, which were essentially epiphenomena. The fact that the ruling class of the USSR operated collectively, rather than competitively, was irrelevant – the society could only be described as bureaucratic capitalism.
When Pannekoek first wrote to Castoriadis, he reminded his younger comrade that the theory of a non-socialist mode of production in the Soviet Union was by no means a development internal to Trotskyism. In fact, the left communists had made the case, arguably even before the Russian Revolution, that the policies of Lenin and Trotsky were not consistent with the struggle for a workers’ state and its accompanying socialist mode of production. This was a theory of “state capitalism,” distinctly different from the later Trotskyist version made famous by Tony Cliff. It held that the displacement of the “soviets” or “workers’ councils” that defined the explosions of 1905 and 1917 by the rule of the party represented the defeat of socialism. In this regard they anticipated the critique of Socialisme ou Barbarie.
However, there was a primary difference. Convinced of the capitalist nature of the Soviet Union, Pannekoek went on to denounce root and branch the very revolution that brought it into being. He called the Russian Revolution “the last bourgeois revolution, though carried out by the working class,” in the tradition of the English Revolution of 1647 and the French Revolution in 1789. By “bourgeois revolution,” he meant specifically “a revolution that destroys feudalism and opens the way to industrialization.” He pointed out that even the historic bourgeois revolutions had been enabled by the revolt of “the artisans, the peasants and the workers,” but since “working class was not yet mature enough to govern itself,” a “minority of functionaries and politicians” emerged as the dominant class. This was inevitable in Russia, “the laboring class being a small minority among the peasant population.”
The paradoxical element of this ultra-left theory, ultimately shared by Rühle and Gorter, was that it swung back around to the paradigm of reformism. Karl Kautsky vehemently denounced the Bolsheviks, before Stalin’s dominance and in opposition to Trotsky, for their notion that a socialist revolution was possible in a Russia that had not yet passed through the capitalist stage of history. As early as 1919, Kautsky wrote that the objective conditions in Russia “were not ripe for the abolition of capitalism,” and that the “immaturity of the existing relations” led the Bolshevik revolution to produce “the most oppressive of all forms of despotism that Russia has ever had.”18
Castoriadis’s response was twofold. He first called attention to the logical problem behind Pannekoek’s purism: the ultimate fate of the Russian Revolution does not alter the fact that within it, the proletariat struggled for its own interests, even instituting workers’ self-management in the factories, rather than subsuming its struggle into the program of the bourgeoisie. The fact that these independent demands were articulated by workers in Russia “made the Russian Revolution forever a proletarian revolution.” His second point was that the concept of the bourgeois revolution ignored a fundamental development in the mode of production of the 20th century: it was the bureaucracy, rather than the bourgeoisie, which ruled in Russia, and it was this same new class that was emerging as a dominating force throughout the world, including the capitalist world.
Throughout the whole ultra-left, these concepts of “bourgeois revolution” and the “bourgeois-democratic tasks” were never put into question. In spite of Pannekoek’s knowledge that Russia was predominantly peasant, that pre-capitalist conditions altered the subjective development of the working class, and that his own theory was developed within the specific conditions of political strikes in urban Europe, he never met the challenge posed by the Bolsheviks of theorizing communist revolution in a peasant society. And though Trotsky did accept the Bolshevik challenge in 1917, the approach to industrial development and “permanent revolution” that would predominate among Trotskyists took as its starting premise the subordination of peasant demands to the industrial proletariat.
But it was precisely the peasant problem that was central to the theories of economic development within the USSR. Just before Pannekoek and Castoriadis’s exchange, in 1951, Stalin wrote a final reflection called Economic Problems of Socialism in the USSR. There he preempted the entire discussion of state or bureaucratic capitalism in Russia by frankly acknowledging, even after the collectivization and industrialization advocated in his earlier speeches, that the law of value “does exist and does operate,” alongside commodity production, in the Russian economy. While the goods produced by state-owned industry were distributed publicly by the state, agricultural production, even in the form of the kolkhoz, the collective farm, “will not recognize any other economic relation with the town except the commodity relation – exchange through purchase and sale.”19
It is overall an unsettling collision of terms, which recalls Lenin’s argument against the left communists. The attributes ascribed by the left to state capitalism were simply the contradictions of the socialist transition, the persistence of elements of different modes of production within the same economy – including the survivals of capitalist relations. These contradictions within the USSR became clear when, after denouncing Stalin in the 20th Party Congress and calling for peaceful coexistence with the capitalist world, Nikita Khrushchev organized the sale of the state-owned “Machine and Tractor Stations” to the collective farms – which, Stalin had warned in Economic Problems, meant that the agricultural enterprises would privately own their means of production, a step backwards away from communism.
Only one ultra-leftist seriously engaged with this mode of analysis. Bordiga argued consistently that the central dynamic of the Soviet economy was the “agrarian revolution” – the condition of possibility for capitalism. Bordiga had supported the Bolshevik revolution as proletarian, which he reiterated in a 1926 letter to Korsch, who had taken the state capitalist line; but the same year he personally butted heads with Stalin when he called for the Soviet Union to be governed by the international communist parties that made up the Comintern. While Bordiga supported Trotsky and the Left Opposition in the 1920s, by 1945 he began to argue for an analysis of the Soviet Union that brought him far closer to Bukharin and the right.
The year before Castoriadis and Pannekoek’s exchange, Bordiga wrote a response to Stalin’s Economic Problems called Dialogue with Stalin. His assessment of the Soviet economy was broadly similar, but with an added historical dimension. Not only did the law of value operate in the USSR, so did all the laws of capitalism, since it was impossible to develop the productive forces “without proletarianizing people.” This meant a repetition of the “ferocious” process of primitive accumulation that Marx described in Capital:
It is the kolkhozians who find themselves deprived of their cow, the nomadic shepherds of Asia torn away from the contemplation of the beautiful stars of the Great Bear, or the feudal serfs of Mongolia, uprooted from their soil of a thousand years. It is certain that the orders demand more goods for production, more workers, a longer labor time with a greater intensity of effort, which is to say, an accumulation and expanded reproduction of capital to the rhythm of hell.20
The agrarian revolution, carried out in the process of primitive accumulation, was the violent refashioning of peasants into landless proletarians, the same process that occurred in 17th century England. Unsurprisingly, this returns to Preobrazhensky’s description of the coexistence of planning and the law of value in “socialist primitive accumulation.” While Preobrazhensky had called for a gentle process of accumulation based in progressive taxes, he had ultimately supported Stalin’s leftward turn.
The next step for Bordiga was to describe the economic characteristics of capitalism in Russia. For him, the accumulation of profit was epiphenomenal. What counted instead was the existence of enterprises that engaged in accounting on the basis of a general equivalent, the law of value, and maintained the existence of property. Even though production in Russia was centrally planned by the state, it was carried out by individual enterprises, which meant that property was not social and collective, but restricted to private bodies. The ruling class in Russia were not bureaucrats, but entrepreneurs – consistent with a theory of communism that opposed “human community,” grounded in the human essence described by the young Marx, to commerce, rather than proletariat to capital. For this reason the existence of soviets or councils was essentially irrelevant to Bordiga; if the workers managed enterprises, they were simply managing the capital relation.
So Stalin and Bordiga differed mainly in definitions. Stalin viewed socialism as a contradictory process of construction, while Bordiga argued for a total conception of communism incompatible with survivals from the old regime. But the trick is that Bordiga’s historical analysis, while it led him to condemn the capitalist nature of the USSR, also constrained him to see it as progressive, as he wrote in his Dialogue:
The homage which, in spite of a band of suckers, we render to “Great Stalin” responds precisely to this process of initial capitalist accumulation. If this really reaches the provinces of immense China, mysterious Tibet, and that fabulous Central Asia that the European stock came from, that will be a revolutionary fact, a fact that will move forward the wheel of history, but which, far from being socialist, will be on the contrary a capitalist fact. The elevation of the level of the productive forces in this immense part of the globe is necessary: but Stalin is right when he says that the credit will not go to him, but to the economic laws which have imposed this policy upon him. His whole enterprise consists in a falsification of labels which makes the capitalist commodity pass under the name of socialism and which is, itself, a classic expedient of the agents of primitive accumulation.
In other words, the whole of the ultra-left returned to Kautsky and his stages, which is why Bordiga described Russia as undergoing the transition to capitalism. Indeed, with only entrepreneurs managing production, it had not yet produced a properly capitalist class.
Though Pannekoek and Castoriadis did not directly address these issues, their exchange offers theoretical advances that put the problem of stages in new contexts. On the one hand, the skilled industrial working class who could organize councils on Pannekoek’s model were a such a minority in Russia that is very difficult to understand how this model of organization could lead the nation on a mass scale – and it gives no way of determining how the members of these councils will be fed.
On the other hand, Pannekoek’s theory of a “bourgeois revolution,” though it did not address Bordiga’s agrarian question, did step away from Kautskyan commitment to the fixed progression of stages. While Rühle and Korsch ultimately concluded along with Kautsky that Russia was too backwards, Pannekoek emphasized the subjective development of the class, rather than the objective development of the productive forces. He argued that if state capitalism led to revolution, this “would not be the result of economic crises but of the class struggle” – a political rather than economic change.21 The Russian workers, he wrote in the third letter, were “not yet capable of taking production into their own hands”; and when the party bureaucracy assumed this role in place of the proletariat, it became, ipso facto, the bourgeoisie.
But Pannekoek’s analysis had no way of determining whether the class was ready, particularly if it was spread into distinct forms of production. Castoriadis’s work had focused with greater attention on this problem. He had described the situation of the peasantry as “feudal exploitation” by the bureaucracy, and disputed the classic Bolshevik claim that the “small producer” would serve as the basis of capitalist restoration, instead arguing that only the bureaucracy could play such a role.22 Though he still assumed peasant production should be submitted to urban proletarian leadership, he went on to call for a form of peasant autonomy in “rural communes” analogous to the workers’ council.23 But because in Russia there was no automatic progression towards revolution, and no automatic way to unify the class, Castoriadis continued to insist on the form of the party – our next theme.
The Party
The historical ultra-left was always somewhat divided about the party form. Some, led by Bordiga, defended the notion of a disciplined party even more fervently than Lenin himself. Combining the intransigence of the German left communists with Lenin’s central focus on the party led Bordiga to produce a peculiar breed of vanguardist sectarianism. He soon went from reducing the class to the party to reducing communism itself to little more than the realization of an allegedly coherent, pure, and forever invariant program that was said to stretch back unchanged to the founders themselves. Others, like Karl Korsch, remained ambiguous. Although a member of the KPD, Communist Minister of Justice in the regional Thuringian government, and even a Riechstag deputy until 1928, he eventually broke entirely with the official communist movement and drew very close to Pannekoek, Rühle, and Mattick’s criticisms of the party, ultimately becoming something of an anarchist.
It was the German and Dutch left communists, however, who were the most uncompromising critics of the party form. They effectively offered three distinct, though interrelated, criticisms. The first, which was often shared by the anarchists, was a kind of moral denunciation of the authoritarian, undemocratic, and hierarchical character of parties in general. The second argued that the party, especially in its vanguardist configuration, was largely inapplicable to Western Europe, since its material conditions differed so vastly from those that engendered it in Russia. The third claimed that the proletariat had to prefigure the very world it was trying to create by inventing its own forms of struggle, rather than mirroring those that were firmly entrenched in the old world. Pannekoek summarized this sentiment in his second letter to Castoriadis, describing the need to oppose the established communist parties: “we cannot beat them by following their methods. That is only possible by practicing our own methods.” In terms of actual practice, this translated to a refusal of all bourgeois forms, from the trade unions to parliaments. Otto Rühle captured this sentiment in an essay audaciously titled “The Revolution is Not a Party Affair.”
Even when they did preserve the party as a form of struggle, the leftists severely restricted its role. Indeed, Lenin would at one point exclaim that they had essentially reduced the party of the class to a circle of intellectuals. According to Pannekoek, the party could only play the ancillary role of clarifying, through discussion, debate, and exchange, what the proletariat was already doing. As “organs of self-clarification,” such parties – and Pannekoek always imagined that there would be many – would have to content themselves with doing little more than offering suggestions to the workers, circulating information, and calmly debating their differing points of view.24 They would serve as the investigative subcommittees of a council, from which their destiny would ultimately be indistinguishable.
For both Castoriadis and Pannekoek, there was a primary logical consequence of the Marxist premise that the emancipation of the proletariat could only be the task of the proletariat itself: the council would be the principal organ of proletarian emancipation. By regarding the council as both that which would destroy the old and create the new, both were echoing a characteristic trait of the ultra-left: the deliberate conflation of means and ends.
But in contrast to the seasoned councilist, Castoriadis refused to accept that council would be the only organ of emancipation. He believed that the party could constitute a separate form of struggle, subordinated to, but ultimately distinct from the council: “the party is an organ whose form and substance are unique.”25 Its tasks could not be predetermined, as Pannekoek implied, but would have to vary depending on the particularities of the struggle at hand. If the revolution did indeed lead to the emergence of a network of decentralized councils in which unobstructed discussion could unfold, as Pannekoek suggested in his first letter, then Castoriadis agreed that the party would limit its role. But, Castoriadis quickly added, since the councils would likely become the very sites of class struggle rather than peaceful oases standing outside of it, the party, as something other than the council, could not limit itself to “appearing like the owl of Minerva at nightfall” but would have to set the stage for this struggle:
To be revolutionary signifies both to think that only the masses in struggle can resolve the problem of socialism and not to fold one’s arms for all that; it means to think that the essential content of the revolution will be given by the masses’ creative, original, and unforeseeable activity, and to act oneself, beginning with a rational analysis of the present with a perspective that anticipates the future.26
Experienced as he was with the dirty politics of workplace struggles in an environment dominated by Stalinists on the one hand and reformists on the other, Castoriadis poured some cold water on his friend’s naive faith in rational discussion. He insisted that the party would have to actively prevent counter-revolutionaries from co-opting the struggle, and therefore began to force a disjuncture between means and ends. Unlike the council, the party would not be an end in itself, but could only be a means. The destruction of the old world would have to be something related to but ultimately other than the constitution of a new one. Indeed, sometimes revolutionaries would have to resort to certain unsightly means in order to bring about certain desired ends. This could even mean a militant, even undemocratic, intervention on behalf the councils.
Pannekoek’s subsequent response was enviably simple: sometimes the class is just not ready to make a revolution. No amount of party intervention, no matter how militant, organized, or disciplined can force that class to mature – and in fact, such intervention would actually undermine the struggles of the class, by forcing it into a situation which it did not itself willingly create. The result, whatever the intentions of the revolutionaries, would have to be a new form of oppression.
A famous struggle just after these letters serves as an example. From December 1960 to January 1961 Belgium was rocked by an unexpectedly militant strike wave that ultimately involved some one million workers. Castoriadis called it the most important event, after the uprisngs of 1956, of the entire postwar period; Maurice Brinton, the guiding spirit of Solidarity, took part in them; and Guy Debord arrived the following year as part of a team sent by Socialisme ou Barbarie to research the aftermath of the strikes. The peculiar thing about these strikes, however, was that despite their strength they completely failed to exhibit any autonomous political initiative. Castoriadis put it as follows:
We thus find ourselves faced with a striking contradiction between the combativity of the working class, its solidarity, its awareness of its opposition as a class to the capitalist class and to the capitalist State, its distrust of bureaucracy, on the one hand; and, on the other, the at-present insurmountable difficulty it encounters as it tries to free itself from this bureaucracy’s grasp, to take on in a positive way the direction of its own affairs, to create its own institutions, to formulate explicitly its own objectives.27
Castoriadis’s solution was a revolutionary organization. But imagine, Pannekoek seemed to say, if this organization, which claimed to represent the proletariat, had hastily intervened by seizing the state, appropriating certain points of production, and dispatching red guards out into the streets to fight the Belgian police. Even if their intervention had somehow produced a revolution, the consequences would have been disastrous. Neither the proletariat, nor those other class formations which it would have to lead down the road of revolution, were prepared for such a situation. Rather than emancipating themselves, they would only enter a different kind of class society.
Castoriadis never wrote a direct reply. But he had already elaborated the basic premises of his position. Just as we can never really know if our actions will turn us into bureaucrats, we can also never know whether the proletariat is mature or not; there is simply no way to scientifically measure whether a class is ripe for power. In some cases, as with the Belgian strikes, there is some clarity. But in others, such as the Russian revolution of 1905, it is simply impossible to tell. When the first workers went on strike, no one expected the whole country to explode in insurrection. Even the revolutionaries who had studied the contours of the class struggle for decades were caught off guard, and had to determine what to do in this new situation. As it turns out, revolutionaries chose to intervene and the class was defeated – but we can only imagine the outcome if, after a sober assessment of the situation, the professional revolutionaries had decided not to intervene because the class was not ripe for power. What would have been the result if the party had chosen to fold its arms, take a step backward, and sit on the sidelines? Who is to say that it was not the very intervention of these revolutionaries, their very attempt to escalate a struggle possibly doomed to defeat, that later prepared the material conditions for victory less than a decade later?
The messiness of history demonstrates the difficulty of translating Pannekoek’s thoughts on class immaturity into concrete practice. But as we have already seen, this ambiguous position also contains an original answer to an old question: what are the necessary objective conditions for a successful revolution? For Pannekoek, immature objective conditions are not the result of underdeveloped industrial production. In fact, objective conditions are really nothing other than the general level of the class struggle itself. Because capital is an antagonistic relationship between two classes, its maturity or immaturity can only be understood with reference to the conflict between these classes. So when Pannekoek speaks of unripe objective conditions, he is actually referring to the underdeveloped subjective conditions of the class struggle itself. Claiming that Russia was unripe for revolution did not mean it was economically backward, only that the proletariat was not developed enough to take power on its own.
But here, as Castoriadis intimates, Pannekoek ultimately reveals his failure to understand the specific class dynamics of Russia on the eve of the revolution. For him, it is enough to claim that the class was not ready to take power simply because, at the end of the day, the party had to step in. His logic is consistent only if one assumes that communism will adopt the same form at all times: the gradual spread of councils over the totality of the social fabric. If this fails to happen, then the revolution was bourgeois; if it does, which, one might add, it never has, then it was communist. It is this static conception of communism, this refusal to accept that communism may appear differently in different historical conditions, that it may have to be produced by a diversity of means, that led him to misread the particularities of the Russian struggle.
Now the two questions, the nature of the Soviet Union on the one hand and the role of the party on the other, intersect dramatically. If Pannekoek had paid serious attention to the history of class relations in Russia, he would have seen that the characteristics of the proletariat at that historical moment – its technical makeup, its political forms, its relationship to the other classes – made it impossible for the class to take power without party intervention. Because Russia was so riven by class divisions, a revolution with any chance of success would have to find some way to forge an alliance between proletarian vanguards and peasant masses in a way that could transcend these separations. Pannekeok would have seen that the class was, at that conjuncture, actually quite ready. It just had to assume a different political form, one distinct from the soviets, in order to make the revolution.
This gap goes a long way in explaining Pannekoek’s somewhat confusing belief that the party can never actually be a part of the class itself. In his letters, he seems to argue that any enlarged conception of the party would necessarily transform it into a special forces team, which would be called in to bash heads when the class runs into trouble. He refused to entertain the possibility that the party, as was the case in Russia, may itself be a necessary element of the class. Unlike Castoriadis, who tried to capture the significance of the French Communist Party by studying its possible social bases, its particular history, and its broader relationship to the class struggle itself, Pannekoek contented himself with simply arguing that it was on the side of capital. For Castoriadis, this was not good enough; the task was to meticulously analyze the peculiar, and rather unprecedented, composition of a reformist party working in the service of a foreign country, to “explain patiently the complete workings and material roots of Stalinism’s betrayal” in order to definitively outflank it.28
Pannekoek deliberately ignored these kinds of questions – questions, he would say, that have been posed in “an entirely practical way” – because his vision of revolution, despite its numerous merits, was still largely informed by a kind of fatalism. Proletarians will naturally figure everything out based on their immediate experiences, as though they possess some kind of innate knowledge organically driving them to a specified goal, like an acorn growing into an oak tree. They will spontaneously become political subjects, like the logical result of an equation, and make their revolution on their own. If they run into any setbacks, it’s only because they still don’t have enough experience; if they suffer a defeat, it’s only because they weren’t ready. For the Pannekoek of these letters, there is no gap between immediate needs and the emancipation of the class through revolution. The two seamlessly blend into one another in such a way as to entirely cover up the moment of strategy.
But in order to explore these themes further we have to take a step backward. Though many of the problems above – the conflation of means and ends, the elision of strategy, the suppression of class heterogeneity, and the reversion to fatalism – persist within today’s ultra-left, the best way to understand and eventually supersede them is to go back to their genesis. This means returning to another famous encounter, that between the ultra-left and Lenin himself. It was Lenin, after all, who united a set of radically distinct groups under the umbrella of the “ultra-left.” Our forthcoming investigation, therefore, will move backwards to Lenin and his adversaries.
Until then, we present the letters. The first entry in this exchange, from Pannekoek to Castoriadis, has been available on the internet, and we reproduce that version here. Pannekoek indicates that he wrote the letter in English, but it was ultimately translated into French for publication in Socialisme ou Barbarie. It is not clear whether this version is a translation or the original English text. Castoriadis’s response, written under the pen name Pierre Chaulieu, and a final response by Pannekoek, have only been available in French. The versions available here are our translations from the originals reprinted at mondialisme.org.
- 1Dan Berrett, “Intellectual Roots of Wall St. Protest Lie in Academe,” The Chronicle of Higher Education, October 16, 2011.
- 2Denis Authier and Jean Barrot (Gilles Dauvé), La gauche communiste en Allemagne. 1918-1921 (Paris: Payot, 1976), p. 159; English version at marxists.org.
- 3Anton Pannekoek, Workers’ Councils (Edinburgh: AK Press, 2003), p. 206.
- 4Cornelius Castoriadis, “On the Content of Socialism, I” in Political and Social Writings, Volume 1, 1946-1955: From the Critique of Bureaucracy to the Positive Content of Socialism (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1988), 298.
- 5VI Lenin, “The Party Crisis” in Collected Works, vol. 32 (Moscow: Progress Publishers, 1965), p. 48.
- 6Lenin, “The Trade Unions and Trotsky’s Mistakes” in
, p. 42. - 7Lenin, “The Tax in Kind” in Collected Works, vol. 32, pp. 342, 351.
- 8Lenin, “Left-Wing Childishness and the Petty-Bourgeois Mentality” in Collected Works, vol. 27, pp. 335, 349, 336.
- 9Lenin, “The New Economic Policy and the Tasks of the Political Education Departments” in Collected Works, vol. 33, p. 66.
- 10Lenin, “The Role and Functions of the Trade Unions Under the New Economic Policy” in Collected Works, vol. 33, p. 186-7.
- 11JV Stalin, “Concerning the Question of a Workers’ and Peasants’ Government” in Works, vol. 9 (Moscow: Foreign Languages Publishing House, 1954), p. 189.
- 12Leon Trotsky, Platform of the Joint Opposition, chs. 1 and 3, reprinted at marxists.org.
- 13Stalin, “Grain Procurements and the Prospects for the Development of Agriculture” in Works, vol. 11, p. 8.
- 14Stalin, “The Right Danger in the CPSU(B)” in Works, vol. 11, p. 313.
- 15Stalin, “Industrialization of the Country and the Right Deviation in the CPSU(B)” in Works, vol. 11, p. 263.
- 16Trotsky, The Revolution Betrayed (Minneola: Dover Publications, 2004), pp. 7, 31.
- 17Trotsky, “The USSR in War” in In Defense of Marxism (New York: Pathfinder Press, 1995), p. 55.
- 18Karl Kautsky, Terrorism and Communism, ch. 8, reprinted at marxists.org.
- 19Stalin, Economic Problems of Socialism in the USSR (Peking: Foreign Languages Press, 1972), pp. 10, 15.
- 20Amadeo Bordiga, Dialogue avec Staline, “Deuxième journée,” reprinted at sinistra.net. All quotations are our translations from French.
- 21Pannekoek, “State Capitalism and Dictatorship,” reprinted at marxists.org.
- 22Castoriadis, “The Peasantry Under Bureaucratic Capitalism” in
1, pp. 162. - 23Castoriadis, “On the Content of Socialism, II” in Political and Social Writings, Volume 2, 1955-1960: From the Workers’ Struggle Against Bureaucracy to Revolution in the Age of Modern Capitalism(Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1988), pp. 134, 149.
- 24Pannekoek, “Party and Working Class,” 1936, reprinted at marxists.org.
- 25Castoriadis, “Proletarian Leadership” in PASW 1, p. 203.
- 26Castoriadis, “On the Content of Socialism, I” in PASW 1, p. 298.
- 27Castoriadis, “The Signification of the Belgian Strikes” in Political and Social Writings, Volume 3, 1961-1979: Recommencing the Revolution: From Socialism to the Autonomous Society (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1993), p. 4.
- 28Castoriadis, “Stalinism in France” in PASW 1, p. 65.
Comments
An interesting and useful pulling together of various earlier and more recent 'ultra-left' tendencies and I'm curious to see how the author moves on to his (I suspect) defence of Lenin. For us today it seems we can find a better theoretical understanding of modern global capitalism only by weaving together some of the better elements of these past contributions. I think maybe the conclusions in this text regarding the need to recognise that communism might come through a diversity of means and political forms, whilst being a seemingly sensible observation given the changing nature of global capitalism, is drawn here from the same narrow focus of revolution as essentially limited within a national framework which even in the time of the Russian revolution was misplaced.
Reply to Pannekoek - Castoriadis
A reply to Pannekoek's letter to Socialisme ou Barbarie, translated by Asad Haider and Salar Mohandesi for Viewpoint Magzine.
Your letter has provided a great satisfaction to all the comrades of the group; satisfaction of seeing our work appreciated by a comrade honored as you are and who has devoted an entire life to the proletariat and to socialism; satisfaction of seeing confirmed our idea of a profound agreement between you and us on the fundamental points; satisfaction finally of being able to discuss with you and of enriching our review with this discussion.
Before discussing the two points to which your letter is devoted (nature of the Russian Revolution, conception and role of the party), I would like to underline the points on which we agree: autonomy of the working class as both means and end of its historical action, total power of the proletariat at the economic and political level as the sole concrete content of socialism. I would furthermore like on this point to to clear up a misunderstanding. It is not correct that we restrict “the activity of these organisms to the organization of labor in factories after the taking of social power.” We think that the activity of these soviet – or workers’ council – organisms after the taking of power extends itself to the total organization of social life, which is to say that as long as there is need for an organism of power, its role will be fulfilled by the workers’ councils. Neither is it correct that we would only think of such a role for the councils in the period following the “taking of power.” At the same time, historical experience and reflection show that the councils could not be the organisms truly expressing the class if they were created to thus decree the future of a victorious revolution, that they will be nothing unless they are created spontaneously by a profound movement of the class, therefore before the “taking of power”; and if it is thus, it is evident that they will play a primordial role during the entire revolutionary period, whose beginning is precisely marked (as I said in my text on the party in number 10) by the constitution of the autonomous organisms of the masses.
Where in contrast there is, in fact, a real difference of opinion between us, is on the question of knowing if, during this revolutionary period, these councils will be the sole organism which plays an effective role in conducting the revolution, and, to a lesser extent, what the role and task is of the revolutionary militants in the meantime. That is, the “question of the party.”
You say “in the conquest of power we have no interest in a ‘revolutionary party’ that will take the leadership of the proletarian revolution.” And even further, after having quite rightly recalled that there are, beside us, a half-dozen other parties or groups that claim to represent the working class, you add: “in order for them (the masses in their councils) to decide in the best way possible they must be enlightened by well-considered advice coming from the greatest number of people possible.” I fear that this view of things has no correspondence with both the most glaring and the most hidden traits of the current and prospective situation of the working class. Since these other parties and groups of which you speak do not simply represent different opinions on the best way to make revolution, and the sessions of the councils will not be calm gatherings of reflection where, according the opinions of these diverse counselors (the representatives of the groups and parties), the working class will decide to follow one path rather than another. From the very moment that these organisms of the working class have been constituted, the class struggle will have been transposed to the very heart of these organisms; it will be transposed there by the representatives of the majority of these “groups or parties” which claim to represent the working class but who, in the majority of cases, represent the interests and the ideology of the classes hostile to the proletariat, like the reformists and the Stalinists. Even if they don’t exist there in their current form, they will exist in another, let us be sure. In all likelihood, they will start with a predominant position. And the whole experience of the last twenty years – of the Spanish war, the occupation, and up to and including the experience of any current union meeting – we learn that the militants who have our opinion must conquer by struggle even the right to speak within these organisms.
The intensification of the class struggle during the revolutionary period will inevitably take the form of the intensification of the struggle of diverse factions within the mass organisms. In these conditions, to say that a vanguard revolutionary organization will limit itself to “enlightening with well-considered advice” is, I believe, what in English is called an “understatement.” After all, if the councils of the revolutionary period prove to be this assembly of wise men where nobody comes to disturb the calm necessary for a well-considered reflection, we will be the first to congratulate ourselves; we feel sure, in fact, that our advice would prevail if things happened this way. But it is only in this case that the “party or group” could limit itself to the tasks that you assign it. And this case is by far the most improbable. The working class which will form the councils will not be a different class from the one that exists today; it will have made an enormous step forwards, but, to use a famous expression, it will still be stamped with the birthmarks of the old society from whose womb it emerges. It will be at the surface dominated by profoundly hostile influences, to which it can initially oppose only its still-confused revolutionary will and a minority vanguard. This will be by all means compatible with our fundamental idea of the autonomy of the working class extending and deepening its influence on the councils, winning the majority to its program. It may even have to act before; what can it do if, representing 45% of the councils, it learns that some neo-Stalinist party prepares to take power for the future? Will it not have to try to seize power immediately?
I do not think that you will disagree with all that; I believe that what you aim for above all in your criticisms is the idea of the revolutionary leadership of the party. I have however tried to explain that the party cannot be the leadership of the class, neither before, nor after the revolution; not before, because the class does not follow it and it would only know how to lead at most a minority (and again, “lead” it in a totally relative sense: influence it with its ideas and its exemplary action); not after, since proletarian power cannot be the power of the party, but the power of the class in its autonomous mass organisms. The only moment when the party can approach the role of effective leadership, of the corps which can try to impose its revolutionary will with violence, may be a certain phase of the revolutionary period immediately preceding its conclusion; important practical decisions may need to be taken outside the councils if the representatives of actually counter-revolutionary organizations participate, the party may, under the pressure of circumstances, commit itself to a decisive action even if it is not, in votes, followed by the majority of the class. The fact that in acting thus, the party will not act as a bureaucratic body aiming to impose its will on the class, but as the historical expression of the class itself, depends on a series of factors, which we can discuss in the abstract today, but which will only be appreciated at this moment: what proportion of the class is in agreement with the program of the party, what is the ideological state of the rest of the class, where is the struggle against the counterrevolutionary tendencies within the councils, what are the ulterior perspectives, etc. To draw up, as of now, a series of rules of conduct for the various possible cases would doubtless be puerile; one can be sure that the only cases that will present themselves will be the unforeseen cases.
There are comrades who say: to trace this perspective is to leave the path open to a possible degeneration of the party in the bureaucratic sense. The response is: not tracing it means accepting the defeat of the revolution or the bureaucratic degeneration of the councils from the very start, and this not as a possibility, but as a certitude. Ultimately, to refuse to act in fear that one will transform into a bureaucrat, seems to me as absurd as refusing to think in fear of being wrong. Just as the only “guarantee” against error consists in the exercise of thought itself, the only “guarantee” against bureaucratization consists in permanent action in an anti-bureaucratic direction, in struggling against the bureaucracy and in practically showing that a non-bureaucratic organization of the vanguard is possible, and that it can organize non-bureaucratic relations with the class. Since the bureaucracy is not born of false ideas, but of necessities proper to worker action at a certain stage, and in action it is about showing that the proletariat can do without the bureaucracy. Ultimately, to remain above all preoccupied with the fear of bureaucratization is to forget that in current conditions an organization would only know how to acquire a noteworthy influence with the masses on the condition of expressing and realizing their anti-bureaucratic aspirations; it is to forget that a vanguard group will only be able to reach a real existence by perpetually modeling itself on these aspirations of the masses; it is to forget that there is no longer room for the appearance of a new bureaucratic organization. The permanent failure of Trotskyist attempts to purely and simply recreate a “Bolshevik” organization finds its deepest cause there.
To close these reflections, I do not think either that one could say that in the current period (and hence the revolution) the task of a vanguard group would be a “theoretical” task. I believe that this task is also and above all the task of struggle and organization. For the class struggle is permanent, through its highs and lows, and the ideological maturation of the working class makes itself through this struggle. But the proletariat and its struggles are currently dominated by bureaucratic organizations (unions and parties), which has the result of rendering struggle impossible, of deviating them from the class goal or conducting them to defeat. A vanguard organization cannot indifferently attend this show, neither can it content itself with appearing as the owl of Minerva at dusk, letting the sound of its beak fall with tracts explaining to the workers the reasons for their defeat. It must be capable of intervening in these struggles, combating the influence of bureaucratic organizations, proposing forms of action and organization to the workers; it must even at times be capable of imposing them. Fifteen resolute vanguard workers can, in certain cases, put a factory of 5,000 into strike, if they are willing to knock out some Stalinist bureaucrats, which is neither theoretical, nor even democratic, these bureaucrats having always been elected in comfortable majorities by the workers themselves.
I would like, before ending this response, to say a couple things about our second divergence, which at first glance has only a theoretical character: that of the nature of the Russian Revolution. We think that characterizing the Russian Revolution as a bourgeois revolution does violence to the facts, to ideas, and to language. That in the Russian Revolution there were several elements of a bourgeois revolution – in particular, the “realization of the bourgeois-democratic tasks” – has always been recognized, and, long before the revolution itself, Lenin and Trotsky had made it the base of their strategy and tactics. But these tasks, in the given stage of historical development and the configuration of social forces in Russia, could not be dealt with by the working class who, in the same blow, could not pose itself essentially socialist tasks.
You say: the participation of workers does not suffice. Of course; as soon as a battle becomes a mass battle the workers are there, since they are the masses. But the criterion is not that: it is to know if the workers find themselves the pure and simple infantry of the bourgeoisie or if they fight for their own goals. In a revolution in which the workers battle for “Liberty, Equality, Fraternity” – whatever meaning they subjectively give to these watchwords – they are the infantry of the bourgeoisie. When they fight for “All power to the soviets,” they fight for socialism. What makes the Russian Revolution a proletarian revolution is that the proletariat intervened in it as a dominant force with its own flag, its face, its demands, its means of struggle, its own forms of organization; it is not only that it constituted mass organisms aiming to appropriate all power but that this itself went past the expropriation of the capitalists and began to realize workers’ management of the factories. All this made the Russian Revolution forever a proletarian revolution, whatever its subsequent fate – just as neither the weakness, nor the confusions, nor the final defeat of the Paris Commune prevents it from having been a proletarian revolution.
This divergence may appear at first glance to be theoretical: I think however that it has a practical important insofar as it translates par excellence a methodological difference into a contemporary problem: the problem of the bureaucracy. The fact that the degeneration of the Russian Revolution has not given way to the restoration of the bourgeoisie but to the the formation of a new exploitative layer, the bureaucracy; that the regime that carries this layer, despite its profound identity with capitalism (as the domination of dead labor over living labor), differs in many aspects that cannot be neglected without refusing to understand anything; that this same layer, since 1945, is in the process of extending its domination over the world; that it is represented in the countries of Western Europe by parties deeply rooted in the working class – all this makes us think that contenting ourselves with saying that the Russian Revolution was a bourgeois revolution is equivalent to voluntarily closing our eyes to the most important aspects of the global situation today.
I hope that this discussion can be pursued and deepened, and I believe it is not necessary to repeat to you that we welcome with joy in Socialisme ou Barbarie all that you would like to send us.
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Reply to Castoriadis - Pannekoek
Pannekoek's final response to Castoriadis's letter in Socialisme ou Barbarie, translated by Asad Haider and Salar Mohandesi for Viewpoint Magazine.
I noticed with great pleasure that you have published in your review Socialisme ou Barbarie a translation of my letter annotated with critical remarks in such a way that involves your readers in a discussion on fundamental questions. Since you express the desire to continue the discussion, I am sending you several remarks on your response. Naturally, there are still differences of opinion that could appear in the discussion with a greater clarity. Such differences are normally the result of a different assessment of what one considers as the most important points, which in turn is related to our practical experiences or the milieu in which we find ourselves. For me, this was the study of the political strikes in Belgium (1893), in Russia (1905 and 1917), and in Germany (1918 to 1919), a study by which I attempted to reach a clear understanding of the fundamental character of these actions. Your group lives and works among the turmoil of the working class of a great industrial city; consequently, your attention is completely concentrated on a practical problem: how could the methods of effective struggle develop beyond the inefficient struggle of parties and partial strikes of today?
Naturally, I do not claim that the revolutionary actions of the working class will all unfold in an atmosphere of peaceful discussion. What I claim is that the result of the struggle, often violent, is not determined by accidental circumstances, but by what is alive in the thoughts of the workers, as the basis of a solid consciousness acquired by experience, study, or their discussions. If the personnel of a factory must decide whether or not to go on strike, the decision is not taken by smashing fists on the table, but normally by discussions.
You pose the problem in an entirely practical way: what would the party do if it had 45% of the members of the councils behind it and if it expected another party (neo-Stalinists that strive to conquer the regime) to attempt a seizure of power by force? Your response is: we would have to preempt it by doing that which we fear it will do. What will be the definitive result of such an action? Look at what happened in Russia. There existed a party, with good revolutionary principles, influenced by Marxism; and assured, moreover, of the support of the councils already formed by the workers; however, it was obliged to seize power, and the result was totalitarian Stalinism (if I say “it was obliged” that means that the circumstances were not ripe enough for a real proletarian revolution. In the western world in which capitalism is more developed, the conditions certainly are more ripe; the measure of it is given by the development of the class struggle). Thus, one must pose the question: could the struggle of the party that you propose save the proletarian revolution? It seems to me that it would be instead one step towards a new oppression.
Certainly, there will always be difficulties. If the French, or global, situation required a mass struggle of the workers, the communist parties would try immediately to transform the action into a pro-Russian demonstration within the boundaries of the party. We must lead an energetic struggle against these parties. But we cannot beat them by following their methods. That is only possible by practicing our own methods. The true form of action of a class in struggle is the force of arguments, based on the fundamental principle of the autonomy of decisions! The workers can only prevent the communist party’s repression by the development and reinforcement of their own class power; that means their unanimous will to take the means of production under their control and manage them.
The principal condition for the conquest of freedom for the working class is that the conception of self-government and self-management of the apparatuses of production is rooted in the consciousness of the masses. That agrees, to a certain degree, with what Jaurès wrote on the Constituent Assembly, in his Socialist History of the French Revolution:
“This assembly, brand new, discussing political subjects, knew, barely convened, to thwart all the maneuvers of the Court. Why? Because it held several grand abstract ideas, seriously and lengthily ripened and which gave them a clear view of the situation.”
Of course, the two cases are not identical. Instead of the grand political ideas of the French Revolution, it is a question of the grand socialist ideas of the workers, which is to say: the management of production by organized cooperation. Instead of 500 deputies armed with their abstract ideas acquired through study, the workers will be millions guided by the experience of an entire life of exploitation in a productive job. This is why I see these things in the following way:
The most noble and useful task of a revolutionary party is, by its propaganda in thousands of small journals, brochures, etc., to enrich the knowledge of the masses in the process of a consciousness always more clear and more vast.
Now, several words on the character of the Russian revolution. Translating the English word “middle class revolution” into “révolution bourgeoise” does not exactly express its meaning. When in England the so-called middle classes seized power, they were composed of a large party of small capitalists, or businessmen, owners of the industrial apparatuses of production. The struggle of the masses was necessary to drive the aristocracy from power; but in spite of this fact, this mass was itself not yet capable of seizing the instruments of production; the workers could only achieve the spiritual, moral, and organizational capacity to do that by means of class struggle in a sufficiently developed capitalism. In Russia, there did not exist a bourgeoisie of certain importance; the consequence was that the vanguard of the revolution gave birth to a new “middle class” as ruling class of productive work, managing the apparatus of production, and not as an ensemble of individual owners each possessing a certain part of the apparatus of production, but as collective owners of the apparatus of production in its totality.
In general, we could say: if the laboring masses (because they are the product of pre-capitalist conditions) are not yet capable of taking production into their own hands, inevitably that will lead to new leading class becoming master of production. It is this concordance that makes me say that the Russian revolution (in its essential and permanent character) was a bourgeois revolution. Certainly the mass power of the proletariat was necessary to destroy the former system (and it was in this a lesson for the workers of the entire world). But a social revolution can obtain nothing more than what corresponds to the character of the revolutionary classes, and if the greatest radicalism possible was necessary to conquer all resistances, later on, it would have to fall behind.
This appears to be general rule of all revolutions up to the present day: up to 1793, the French Revolution became more and more radical, until the peasants definitively became the free masters of the soil, and until the foreign armies were pushed back; at that moment, the Jacobins were massacred and capitalism made its entrance as the new master. When one sees things this way, the course of the Russian revolution would be the same as those preceding revolutions that all conquered power, in England, in France, in Germany. The Russian revolution was not at all a premature proletarian revolution. The proletarian revolution belongs to the future.
I hope that this explanation, even though it does not contain any new arguments, will help to clarify several divergences in our points of view.
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