Create a Mass Party!

Cliff Connolly critiques CounterPower’s vision of the “party of autonomy” and offers an alternative vision of the mass party. 

In Praise of Communism by Ronald Paris, sourced from here.

The US left is at a critical juncture where the structure and focus of our organizations will soon be decided. On the one hand, we positively have ongoing processes of cohesion in play with DSA chapters collaborating on writing a national platform and far-flung sects coming together under the banner of Marxist Center. On the other hand, we have many comrades across ideological lines who still echo opposition to the idea of a tightly structured national organization. Central to this contradiction is the question of the party: should socialists strive to build an independent political party, and if so, what should that look like? CounterPower has put forth one possible answer in their article Create Two, Three, Many Parties of Autonomy! They are dedicated organizers and we should all be glad to have them in our midst. However, their strategy of eschewing the mass party model and encouraging the spontaneous formation of multiple “parties of autonomy”, and counting on these disparate groups to unite into an “area of the party”, is unworkable in the long term.

Their argument for the many parties strategy rests on a number of errorshistorical misrepresentation (no, CPUSA was not a party of autonomy), uncritical acceptance of failed models (Autonomia Operaia gives us more negative lessons than positive ones), an over-reliance on spontaneity (movements have to be built intentionally), an aversion to leadership (no, it doesn’t automatically create unaccountable bureaucracy), and a confusion of terms (putting anarchist and Marxist vocab words together does not solve the contradictions between them). We will explore each of these points in greater detail. There is also an implicit assumption of false dichotomies built into the many parties lineeither we build parties of autonomy or slip into sectarianism, either parties of autonomy or dogmatism, either parties of autonomy or top-down bureaucracy. There is a kernel of truth present here; we certainly don’t want a dictatorship of paid staffers. However, parties of autonomy are not a solution to this problem in some ways, they would exacerbate the problem.

This was initially written in response to CounterPower’s original essay in 2019, but has since been amended to include dialogue with the updated version published in 2020. The differences between the two are significant and raise new concerns about the many parties model. The most interesting addition in the update concerns the role of cadre highly trained organizers dedicated full-time to party activity. While we agree wholeheartedly on the necessity of these professional revolutionaries, there is a difference of emphasis that merits debate. This issue will be explored in greater detail below.

That CounterPower started this conversation on the party question is a gift to the whole of the US leftit must be addressed for our organizations to move forward. While many of us vehemently disagree with their conclusions, we should be grateful for their company. After examining each piece of their argument for the many parties model and taking note of its shortcomings, we will investigate a viable alternativea mass party of organizers built on the principles of struggle, pluralism, and democratic discipline. 

Historical Clarification

There are a number of historical errors throughout CounterPower’s article. By this we are not referring to a difference of opinion about a certain historical figure’s thought process or the motivations behind a particular decision, but rather factual inaccuracies. This in itself does not mean the thesis of the article is automatically false, but it does betray a dependency on unfounded assumptions. First, there is the assertion that the Russian soviets arose organically without being built by socialists, at which point the Bolsheviks joined them and worked harmoniously with other autonomous parties in this “area of the party” to link the soviets to other sites of struggle. Second, there is the quotation from Mao Zedong’s 1957 Hundred Flowers speech, which CounterPower uses to bolster their argument for parties of autonomy. Finally, we are led to believe that both the FAI and the Alabama chapter of the Communist Party USA are exemplars of the many parties model. 

We will begin with the relationship between the Bolsheviks and the soviets. Here is CounterPower’s characterization:

“The organized interventions of a revolutionary party thus take place ‘in the middle,’ as mediations between the micropolitical and macropolitical. This has been a distinguishing feature of successful revolutionary parties, as in the example of the Russian Revolution of 1917, when clusters of Bolshevik party activists concentrated in workplaces, recognizing that the participatory councils (soviets) emerging from grassroots proletarian struggles embodied the nucleus of an alternative social system. Thus the party’s organization at the point of production enabled revolutionaries first to link workplace struggles against exploitation with the struggle against imperialism, and then to link the emergent councils with the insurrectionary struggle to establish a system of territorial counterpower”.

On the contrary, it is of utmost importance to recognize that the soviets, factory committees, and militias that formed the backbone of the Russian revolution were built intentionally by socialists. While different factions in the Russian Social Democratic Workers’ Party eventually split into separate organizations as the Bolsheviks and Mensheviks, both groups were instrumental in the creation of these mass organizations. They did not emerge organically from economic struggles with bosses and feudal landlords like some of the trade unions and peasant associations, but instead were the product of a socialist intervention in economic struggles which emphasized the need for political organization. This strategy, commonly referred to as the “merger formula”, was theorized by Marx and Engels, popularized by the German socialist party leader Karl Kautsky, and accepted by Russian socialists of all stripes (most notably Lenin).1

The Bolsheviks did not merely help workers build their fighting organizations. They also competed with political rivals for leadership in them. Beyond their efforts that we would call “base-building” today, the Bolsheviks also invested significant resources into propaganda efforts and electoral contests. The struggle for elected majorities in the soviets in 1917 was pursued in tandem with a strategy of running campaigns for municipal offices and the Constituent Assembly (the bourgeois parliament of the Provisional Government), and it worked. The Bolshevik candidates for the assembly were able to publicly oppose the policies of the Provisional Government, while the elected deputies in the soviets were able to win over the working class to the task of seizing political power. These electoral efforts were instrumental in establishing a democratic mandate for the October Revolution.2 Consider these words from leading Bolshevik (and later leading opposition member purged by Stalin) Alexander Shliapnikov, in 1920:

The Russian Communist Party (RKP), as the history of the preceding years indicates, is the only revolutionary party of the Working Class, leading class war and civil war in the name of Communism. The R.K.P. unifying the more conscious and decisive part of the Proletariat around the Revolutionary Communist Program of action and drawing to the Communist banner the more leading elements of the rural poor, must concentrate all higher leadership of communist construction and the general direction of policy of the country.

Clearly, the Bolsheviks did not consider themselves a “party of autonomy” working side by side with the Menshevik reformists in a broad “area of the party”. Nor did they simply fuse with organic economic struggles in the trade unions. The reality couldn’t be further from CounterPower’s insinuations: the Bolsheviks were a party of political organizers who started as a minority and slowly won over sections of the working class through diligent mass work and bitter struggle with the other parties of the day. By engaging in this process, they eventually took on a mass character and became capable of leading social revolution. The lesson to learn from the Bolsheviks is this: we must win political hegemony in whatever independent organs of proletarian power that we help build, using every available means, including running opposition candidates in bourgeois elections to expose broader sections of the class to our ideas.

Now we will consider Mao’s echoing of the old Chinese proverb “Let a hundred flowers blossom, let a hundred schools of thought contend.” This line of poetry is used by CounterPower to demonstrate the need for dozens of independent communist grouplets to form and collaborate on the task of social revolution. They attribute the quote to Mao, but is this how he used it? The short answer is no. It comes from a speech he gave in March 1957 at the Chinese Communist Party’s National Conference on Propaganda Work. It is true that he called for a hundred schools of thought to contend, but this was in the context of winning unaligned intellectuals over to the party’s socialist ideals. He gave a thoughtful and nuanced analysis of how the party could accept criticism from the broader population without sacrificing their legitimacy as the ruling organization of the country:

Ours is a great Party, a glorious Party, a correct Party. This must be affirmed as a fact. But we still have shortcomings, and this, too, must be affirmed as a fact…Will it undermine our Party’s prestige if we criticize our own subjectivism, bureaucracy and sectarianism? I think not. On the contrary, it will serve to enhance the Party’s prestige. This was borne out by the rectification movement during the anti-Japanese war. It enhanced the prestige of our Party, of our Party comrades and our veteran cadres, and it also enabled the new cadres to make great progress. Which of the two was afraid of criticism, the Communist Party or the Kuomintang? The Kuomintang. It prohibited criticism, but that did not save it from final defeat. The Communist Party does not fear criticism because we are Marxists, the truth is on our side, and the basic masses, the workers and peasants, are on our side.

Clearly, in March 1957 Mao was concerned with building a mass party, not opening space for a loose collaboration between multiple parties aimed at building socialism. Unfortunately, the Chinese Communist Party was underprepared for the criticism they would soon face and reversed the Hundred Flowers Campaign. By July of that same year, the Anti-Rightist Campaign brought a series of purges underway, which got so out of control that Mao had to restrain his subordinates from excess killing. Perhaps Chinese conditions in 1957 were different enough from American conditions in 2020 that this was acceptable, or perhaps Mao the statesman should not be looked to for inspiration as much as Mao the general or Mao the revolutionary. It is beyond the purview of this article to answer that question. What is certain CounterPower draws the wrong lesson out of Mao’s 1957 speech.

Demonstration from the Hundred Flowers Movement

After quoting Mao, CounterPower moves on to claim that the Iberian Anarchist Federation (FAI) is in practice a party of autonomy working within the “area of the party” of Spain’s National Confederation of Labour (CNT). Although the idea of “parties of autonomy” was not formulated until forty years after FAI’s founding, there may be a kernel of truth to this claim. For example, if FAI formed a loose coalition with CNT organizers and worked with them on shared projects, this argument could make sense. The reality, however, is that FAI is essentially a hard-line anarchist faction within CNT that has consistently fought for political hegemony within the broader organization and even purged ideological rivals like Ángel Pestaña. Perhaps they were right to do so; it is outside the scope of this article to pass judgment on the internal political conflicts of the CNT. 

Despite CounterPower’s framing of the FAI as an independent anarcho-communist organization with an “organic link” to the CNT, they are an explicitly anarchist faction struggling to dominate the politics of the Spanish labor movement. They act as a pressure group within the confederation to make CNT adhere to what they perceive as purely anarchist theory and praxis without deviation. This is not a “symbiotic relationship”, it is realpolitik under a black flag. Roberto Bordiga’s window dressing cannot give us a clear understanding of Spanish labor politics; historians like José Peirats and Paul Preston would be better suited to aid this investigation. 

In the updated version of their essay, CounterPower cites the Alabama chapter of CPUSA as a historical example that serves to “elucidate the role and function of a party of autonomy”. This could not be further from the truth. Similar to the FAI, the party of autonomy model would not even be theorized until fifty years after the Alabama chapter’s founding. CPUSA was a mass party with local chapters all over the country for at least the first half of the twentieth century. The Alabama chapter in particular was the result of discussions on “the Negro question” at the Sixth World Congress of the Communist International, after which the Central Committee of CPUSA chose Birmingham as a headquarters for its foothold in the South.3 Its success in organizing rural and urban communities in the deep south of the 1920s is proof that the mass party model can be adapted to regional conditions and accountable to local rank and file members. Describing this centralized party model as a “party of autonomy” is categorically false.

Spontaneity vs. Base-Building

Now that the historical context of CounterPower’s narrative has been clarified, we should examine the contradiction between their ideological commitment to spontaneity theory on the one hand, and their practical commitment to base-building on the other. Does the working class organically form explicitly political fighting organizations, or is a socialist intervention required for this to occur? This is a never-ending debate between Marxists and anarchists, despite the pile of evidence pointing to the latter. Some would argue that this debate is pointless at the present moment, and these differences are best put aside until the workers’ movement has grown. We would reply: “First, comradely debate in no way hampers unity of action. We can continue base-building efforts while disagreeing on political questions, and it is only through debate that we might one day get on the same page. Second, simply by engaging in the act of base-building with us, you are agreeing with our point in practice while denying it in theory.” How is this possible?

Our comrades in CounterPower are the perfect example. They admit the masses will not come to accept communist ideas on their own:

From strike committees to workers’ councils, tenant unions to neighborhood assemblies, the disparate forms of organized autonomy that arise in the midst of a protracted revolutionary struggle will not automatically fuse with communist politics to create a cohesive system of counterpower.

Yet they don’t address where these councils and unions come from. The reader gets the sense that these organizations simply pop up during times of crisis, as workers get frustrated with bourgeois politics and independently come to the conclusion that they need to organize against their boss or landlord. This may be true in a minority of cases, but most proletarian fighting organizations come from the same source as the Russian soviets: dedicated socialist base-builders. Who built Amazonians United? Who built Autonomous Tenant Union Network? Who built UE, ILWU, and the original CIO? In every case, the answer is: workers and intellectuals who read Marx, became socialists, and decided to organize.

Our responsibilities go beyond just founding these mass organizations; we have to compete for hegemony within them as well. If we neglect this crucial aspect of organizing due to a fetishization of the autonomy of the masses, reformists and even reactionaries will gladly fill the gap. In the case of something like workers’ councils, we cannot have any illusions that they provide anything beyond a means of representation for political tendencies within the movement. This is precisely why the Bolsheviks competed so vigorously with the reformist Mensheviks and populist Social Revolutionaries for elected majorities in the soviets. In fact, the Bolsheviks only adopted their famous slogan “All Power to the Soviets” after they had secured elected majorities in them.4 We only need to look at the difference between the Soviet Republics established in Russia and the brutally crushed Soviet Republic of Bavaria to understand the limitations of the model. Without influence from committed revolutionaries, mass organizations can be rallied to the banner of class-collaboration (as the Russian soviets were before Bolshevik intervention) or adventurism (as in the case of Bavaria).5

CounterPower’s overestimation of proletarian spontaneity has practical consequences for its members. In his recent article In Defense of Revolution and the Insurrectionary Commune, Atlee McFellin analyzed the November 2020 election and drew parallels between it and the situation which produced the Paris Commune. Fearing that elections may never take place again, McFellin argued against any participation in electoral efforts (including, but not limited to the creation of a political party independent from the Democrats). What was proposed instead? “Self-defense forces, solidarity kitchens, and everything else that is required to repel fascist assaults”. In other words, anything but a class-independent party capable of coordinating the struggle for socialism across different political, economic, and social fronts. Rather than face the reality of the radical left’s current irrelevance in national politics and the labor movement, and chart a course to resolve this, comrade McFellin called for the construction of insurrectionary communes as a response to the consolidation of ruling class interests under Joe Biden. Whether the working class has the spontaneous energy necessary for this task remains to be seen;  if it does, we would be ill-advised to hold our breath in anticipation but should wince at the inevitable brutal consequences if such adventurism bears fruit.

While in theory, CounterPower glosses over the role of communists in building workers’ organizations, in practice they are engaged in precisely this work. Rather than relying on the spontaneous initiative of the masses, they actively build tenant and labor unions, political education circles, and other necessary vehicles of class struggle. In fact, they do it remarkably well. This is what makes the claim that communists must “fuse with grassroots organizations” after they appear rather than actively building them in the first place so bizarre. Ultimately, our task as communists is to build mass organizations of class struggle, and then rally the most active participants within them to a mass communist party. By uniting in one party, we can direct the efforts of thousands of organizers according to a commonly agreed upon plan, which is an absolute necessity for the workers’ movement to grow. 

The Role of Cadre

The discussion of cadre organizers is given new attention in CounterPower’s update to their original essay. It mostly focuses on the role these committed party members play in shaping revolutionary strategy and connecting it to active proletarian struggles. As seen in my Cosmonaut article Revolutionary Discipline and Sobriety, those of us who favor the mass party model are in complete agreement with CounterPower on the importance of cadre:

Any collective project, whether a revolutionary labor union or a church’s food pantry, will expect a higher degree of involvement from its core organizers than from its regular members. Not everyone has the time or the technical skills needed to bottom-line such endeavors, and those who do have a responsibility to step up to the plate. These small groups, or cadre, are the powerhouse of the class. Taking direction from the masses they live and labor with, cadre members should focus their lives on facilitating the self-emancipation of the proletariat.

CounterPower rightly points out that these dedicated full-timers are a prerequisite for the development of robust internal political education, external agitation, and consistent recruitment to mass work projects. Key to the every-day functioning of these cadre groups is the organizational center to which they are accountable (and preferably subject to democratic discipline by the whole membership of the organization). While the mass party shares the party of autonomy’s commitment to a common political platform and program, the main difference between the two models is one of scope. Whereas the “area of the party” is composed of diffuse autonomous organizations with separate and often contradictory programs, the local chapters of the mass party work together on a common, democratically agreed-upon plan. As the experience of the Alabama chapter of CPUSA shows, this does not mean the plan cannot be adapted to meet local concerns. 

CPUSA demo in the south

In fact, the mass party model historically proves more capable of achieving its aims than any other method of party organization, whether it is compared to the bourgeois fund-raising parties that dominate US politics or the Italian autonomist model revived by CounterPower. This will be elaborated below in our examination of the Autonomia Operaia movement. For now, suffice it to say that while we agree with our autonomist comrades on the importance of cadre, the mass party model is best suited to coordinate their efforts.

Precision of Terms

Further complicating the problems of CounterPower’s revolutionary strategy is an incoherent collection of opaque and often contradictory terms. Few throughout history have tried to synthesize the theories of the Bolsheviks, Rosa Luxemburg, Bordiga, and Malatesta, mostly because it makes no sense to do so. This blend of anarchist shibboleths (affinity groups, autonomy fetishism, Bookchin references) and communist vocabulary (party cadre, collective discipline, professional revolutionaries) is neither an oversight nor the product of genuine cross-ideological left unity. CounterPower is a Marxist organization with a niche ideology informed mainly by the experience of the Italian Autonomia Operaia movement. The fact that they mask this behind an appeal to every possible leftist tendency is frankly dishonest, and makes their writing difficult to follow. Since all these ideas have been presented to us as complementary and harmonious, we must investigate the contradictions between them in order to get a clearer picture. 

First, we should consider their framing of the ideas of Luxemburg:

In contrast to a bourgeois party, Rosa Luxemburg identified that a revolutionary party of autonomy ‘is not a party that wants to rise to power over the mass of workers or through them.’ Rather, it ‘is only the most conscious, purposeful part of the proletariat, which points the entire broad mass of the working class toward its historical tasks at every step”

The primary issue with this framing is that Rosa Luxemburg did not write or speak about “a revolutionary party of autonomy” at any point in her political career. She was a member of the Social Democratic Party of Germany (SPD) for most of her life before its left-wing split into the USPD and then Spartacist League (later renamed the Communist Party of Germany, or KPD). Both organizations were mass parties who explicitly intended to lead the working class to overthrow the existing political order and form a new proletarian government in Germany, headed by elected party officials. Her point about the party being an instrument that puts the working class in power was perfectly in line with the existing Marxist orthodoxy. Consider this quote from the SPD’s leading theorist Karl Kautsky for comparison:

The socialists no longer have the task of freely inventing a new society but rather uncovering its elements in existing society. No more do they have to bring salvation from its misery to the proletariat from above, but rather they have to support its class struggle through increasing its insight and promoting its economic and political organizations and in so doing bring about as quickly as possible the day when the proletariat will be able to save itself. The task of Social Democracy is to make the class struggle of the proletariat aware of its aim and capable of choosing the best means to attain this aim.6

Luxemburg and Kautsky both demonstrate the function of the mass party: cohering the most militant and forward-thinking section of the working class into one organization and giving it the tools to win political power. If the party is not “outside or above the revolutionary process”, as CounterPower puts it, then it is coming to power through class leadership. “Providing the boldest elements in decision-making organs” is just a milder way of phrasing “winning political hegemony in the movement.” While it is right to be skeptical of potential opportunists and wary of inadvertently creating an unaccountable bureaucracy, CounterPower overcorrects by trying to avoid the question of leadership altogether. No amount of out-of-context quotes from historical revolutionaries can paper over that deficiency. 

After painting an anarchist portrait of Rosa Luxemburg, CounterPower then calls upon the theoretical authority of actual anarchist Errico Malatesta:

We anarchists can all say that we are of the same party, if by the word ‘party’ we mean all who are on the same side, that is, who share the same general aspirations and who, in one way or another, struggle for the same ends against common adversaries and enemies. But this does not mean it is possibleor even desirablefor all of us to be gathered into one specific association. There are too many differences of environment and conditions of struggle; too many possible ways of action to choose among, and also too many differences of temperament and personal incompatibilities for a General Union, if taken seriously, not to become, instead of a means for coordinating and reviewing the efforts of all, an obstacle to individual activity and perhaps also a cause of more bitter internal strife.7

This is a markedly different approach to organization from the mass party model of Kautsky, Luxemburg, Lenin, et al. It is certainly more in line with the autonomists’ “area of the party” theory, but are the assumptions it is based on sound? The experience of the Bolshevik party securing state power and defending the proletariat from white terror, the Communist Party of Vietnam’s triumph over colonialism, the continued resistance to neoliberal imperialism in Cuba, and other achievements of the mass party model seem to indicate otherwise. Petty personal disputes and geographic distance are no excuse to abandon unified efforts to build socialism. If we take a scientific approach and compare the results of party-building trials throughout history to the results of those like Malatesta who deny the party’s role, the pattern is self-evident. 

Lessons of History

CounterPower’s essay does an excellent job of considering the experiences of a vast number of different historical communist groups. Unfortunately, they do so without an ounce of reflection or criticism. They ask us to look at rival groups with opposing political strategies and conclude that both were right, regardless of whether either group actually achieved its aims. They mention the experience of many parties and movementsthe KAPD in Germany, Autonomia Operaia in Italy, the MIR in Chile, the FMLN-FDR in El Salvador, the URNG in Guatemala, the HBDH in Turkey and Kurdistan, and more. We’re given the impression that each of these groups consciously agreed with the autonomists’ many parties model, and that each of these groups were successful enough to teach us mainly positive lessons to emulate. Upon closer inspection, it turns out this is not at all the case. For the sake of brevity, we will look at three examples.

Let us begin with the Communist Workers’ Party of Germany (KAPD). This party could be accurately described as a sect based on its low membership, extreme sectarianism, and history of splits. Its complicated lineage is as followsits members began in the SPD, then split into the ISD, which then joined the USPD, which then split into the KPD, and then finally split from there into the left-communist KAPD. It functionally existed for about two years before splitting again into separate factions. It was quite literally a split of a split of a split that ended up splitting. It had around 43,000 members at its height in 1921, which was minuscule compared to the hundreds of thousands of workers in the mass parties (and that number immediately declined after the factional split in 1922). 

The roots of the KAPD’s separation from the KPD lie in the events of the Ruhr Uprising. In 1920, a right-wing coalition of military officers and monarchists attempted to overthrow the bourgeois-democratic government of Germany. In response, the government called for a general strike, which the workers’ parties heeded. In the Ruhr valley, these parties took the strike a step further by forming Red Army units and engaging right-wing forces in open combat. However, these socialist militias were divided between three different parties and could not coordinate their efforts as well as their enemies who had the benefit of a clear leadership structure. The uprising was ultimately crushed when the bourgeois government made a deal with the right-wing putsch leaders and sent their forces to slaughter the workers of the Ruhr. 

What lessons did the left-communists learn from this? From their perspective, KPD leaders had given up on the struggle by agreeing to disband Red Army units after the fighting looked to be in the enemy’s favor. Because of this, a split was necessary so the workers could be led by the true communist militants that would see things through to the end. In other words, the already divided proletariat needed a fourth party to further complicate the coordination of future actions. Two years later, this fourth party would then split into two factions. Lenin had this to say about the KAPD:

Let the ‘Lefts’ put themselves to a practical test on a national and international scale. Let them try to prepare for (and then implement) the dictatorship of the proletariat, without a rigorously centralised party with iron discipline, without the ability to become masters of every sphere, every branch, and every variety of political and cultural work. Practical experience will soon teach them.8

Unfortunately, Lenin was overly optimistic. Rather than having time to learn from their mistakes, the divided forces of the working class were brutally crushed by the united forces of the right. The Nazis rose to power, and fascism reigned until the Soviets took Berlin in 1945. This does not mean there is nothing we can learn from the KAPDquite the opposite is true. There may be some diamonds in the rough, but most of the lessons we can learn from the left-communists of Germany are examples of what not to do. Fortunately, in the updated version of their essay, CounterPower scrubbed any mention of the KAPD. Whether this was due to a genuine reassessment of their example or simple editorial limitations, the new version is much stronger without the ill-fated German sectarians. 

Despite their positive appraisal of the KAPD, CounterPower is not a left-communist sect. They are autonomists, and in order to understand their answer to the party question we must take stock of their movement forebears. Autonomia Operaia was a workers’ movement in Italy during the period known as the “Years of Lead”. This period lasted from the late 1960s to the late 1980s, and was marked by violent clashes between right and left-wing paramilitary forces. It is worth noting that much of this violence was either planned, supplied, or encouraged by the CIA and its “Operation Gladio”, although that is not relevant to our discussion here. Autonomia Operaia was mainly active from ‘76 to ‘78, and was made up of many smaller socialist groups including Potere Operaio, Gruppo Gramsci, and Lotta Continua. Each group was strongly opposed to unifying into one party, preferring instead to maintain their autonomy and pursue different tactics to work towards their shared goal of social revolution. 

Autonomia Operaia demo

In the end, this worked out in much the same way as it did for the sectarians in Germany decades earlier. Thousands of militants were arrested, hundreds fled the country, many were killed, and most of those who remained dissolved into terrorist groups like the Red Brigades and parliamentary parties like Democrazia Proletaria. Neither the autonomist terrorists nor the autonomist politicians were able to move beyond the failures of the earlier autonomist movement. In retrospect, the autonomists ended up replicating the sect form (albeit with some anarchist-influenced language) and suffered the familiar consequences of this organizing technique. It is worth noting that after misappropriating numerous mass parties (the Alabama chapter of CPUSA, the Bolsheviks, Rosa Luxemburg’s KPD) as successful examples of the “parties of autonomy” model, CounterPower leaves out any mention of Autonomia Operaia in the updated version of its essay. This is somewhat understandable as the movement collapsed within two years and failed to achieve its aims, but it is still dishonest. If failures are glossed over rather than rigorously examined, we are doomed to walk blindly into past mistakes. In this regard, CounterPower’s update to their essay does more to obfuscate the party question than answer it.

That said, Autonomia Operaia activists had valid criticisms of the Communist Party of Italy and could have created an alternative to lead the proletariat to victory. This is the positive lesson we can learn from them: when the “official” communist party of the nation abandons its principles, it can sometimes be worthwhile to build an alternative organization. However, they chose instead to create a loose collective of semi-aligned communist clusters which failed to coordinate their actions and create meaningful change. Had they taken on the arduous task of debating long-term strategy and forging programmatic unity, things may have turned out differently. This is the primary lesson we should learn from the Italian autonomists: a proletarian victory requires structure, democratic discipline, and unity of action. 

Although not directly influenced by Autonomia’s answer to the party question, the FMLN-FDR of El Salvador could be theorized as an example of an “area of the party”. As CounterPower pointed out in their essay, this network was composed of five revolutionary parties and a number of mass organizations and civil society institutions who worked together in loose cooperation towards revolution. It ultimately failed, and CounterPower makes two interesting claims about its dissolution: that the failure was due primarily to the popular front reformism of the PCS (one of the five member parties) and that its downfall does not tarnish its status as a positive example of the area of the party in action. These claims do not fare well under the spotlight of historical scrutiny, particularly when shined on the brutal internecine violence that destroyed any semblance of unity within the movement by 1983. 

CounterPower’s assessment of the FMLN identifies the PCS (Communist Party of El Salvador) as the weakest link in the chain, and the FPL (Farabundo Martí Liberation People’s Forces) as the strongest. In many ways, this is true, as the popular front strategy of the official communist parties has consistently ended in disaster the world over and the FPL was the most powerful and trusted party in El Salvador for a time. However, this is not the whole picture. Genuine political disagreements were often buried or papered over to maintain an artificial unity, and the ensuing tension was bound to boil over. While our autonomist comrades say the FMLN established a harmonious “mechanism of communication, coordination, and cooperation among the various politico-military organizations”, the reality is far grimmer. In its disagreement with other parties advocating negotiations with the Salvadoran government, the FPL resorted to gruesome assassinations to enforce its will on the rest of the FMLN. In April of 1983, FPL cadre Rogelio Bazzaglia murdered pro-negotiation leader Ana Maria with an ice pick, stabbing her 83 times. Although there was an attempt to blame the CIA or another party within FMLN, when presented concrete evidence of Bazzaglia’s guilt, FPL leader Salvador Cayetano Carpio promptly wrote a suicide note and shot himself in the head. With its most trusted leaders either disgraced, dead, or both, the FMLN lost steam after many members left the network in disgust. Along with this exodus of valuable cadre went all the legitimacy of the anti-negotiation faction, and so by 1989 even successful military offensives could do nothing more than bring the Salvadoran government to the negotiation table.9 The revolutionary potential of the FMLN died with Ana Maria, and her murder demonstrates how the “area of the party” approach only ends up recreating the problems of the sect form.

The Marxist Center

The US communist movement is essentially home to three different camps regarding the party question. Those who wish to see the movement divided into bureaucratic sects (with the belief that their particular sect is the One True Party) are on the right. Those who wish to see the movement divided into loosely aligned autonomist sects (with the beliefs outlined in CounterPower’s writing) are on the left. Those of us in the center are advocating a qualitative break with the sect form: the foundation of a mass party of organizers. This idea is often associated with a number of inaccurate claimsfor instance, we are frequently lumped in with those who wish to replicate the worst aspects of the DSA model, where anyone can join the organization at any time for any reason without even committing to Marxist politics. We are also often accused of wanting to create a dogmatic bureaucracy of staunch Marxist-Leninists who will run the party as they see fit without input from membership. Neither of these claims are true.

In fact, what we desire is a party made and run by the masses themselves. Years of labor-intensive organizing will be necessary to make this happen, as the masses cannot be reached and welcomed into the socialist movement any other way. Tenant and workplace unions, unemployed councils, harm reduction efforts, solidarity networks, and other forms of “mass organizations” (in addition to independent electoral efforts) must be formed and rallied around a common political pole. In order for this pole to exist in the first place, the organizers engaged in mass work must debate and discuss until they articulate and agree on a comprehensive political program. In order for these debates and discussions to produce a clear program, the organizers have to see themselves as part of a common organization aimed at a shared goal. When each of these elements fall into place, something completely unique to the US left will be born: a mass party committed to praxis, programmatic unity, and democratic discipline.

By praxis, we understand a long-term commitment to building, growing, and maintaining the kinds of mass organizations detailed above. By programmatic unity, we mean collective acceptance of a comprehensive set of answers to long-term strategic questions, forged in an extended process of comradely debate and compromise. Ideally, this would take the form of a minimum-maximum program like those laid out and critiqued by Marx, Engels, and others in the first two Internationals.10 The minimum demands are structural reforms that communicate to the working class exactly how our efforts will improve their lives and empower them at the political level. Demands like guaranteed healthcare and housing, eliminating the Electoral College, Senate, and Supreme Court, disbanding the police and forming workers’ militias, ensuring union representation, and more would bring supporters into the fold and give us access to valuable comrades and organizers. They are chosen in such a way that when every demand is met, the proletariat has seized political power from the bourgeoisie and becomes the governing class of society. 

With this done, the new workers’ government can focus on fulfilling the maximum demands, epitomized as communism, which would eradicate the last vestiges of capitalism and transition to a socialist mode of production. Establishing unity on long-term questions of strategy is far superior to enforcing a “party-line” on day-to-day issues and theoretical minutiae. It allows us to collaborate and exert the greatest possible combined strength of the working class in its diverse struggles without splitting over short-term tactical disagreements like “should we partner with this NGO on this tenant organizing project?” or subcultural arguments like “who was in the wrong at Kronstadt?” It also does not require agreement on “tendency” labels (such as Marxist-Leninist, anarchist, left-communist, etc). As our organizations grow, the need for a commonly accepted program will only increase. Finally, by democratic discipline, we refer to the old axiom “diversity of opinion, unity of action”.

These three principles are absolutely essential for the functioning of an effective and battle-ready proletarian party. As we have seen, the organizational forms of sectarians and autonomists (like the KAPD and Autonomia Operaia respectively) crumble under pressure whereas mass parties regularly weather brutal repression. No better example of this can be found in US history than that of the Alabama chapter of the CPUSA:

The fact is, the CP and its auxiliaries in Alabama did have a considerable following, some of whom devoured Marxist literature and dreamed of a socialist world. But to be a Communist, an ILD member, or an SCU militant was to face the possibility of imprisonment, beatings, kidnapping, and even death. And yet the Party survived, and at times thrived, in this thoroughly racist, racially divided, and repressive social world.11

While other cases of this phenomenon (the Russian Communist Party, the Chinese Communist Party, and others) have been historically prone to corruption, preventative measures can be taken to ensure the party retains its mass character even after smashing the state and beginning socialist reconstruction. The most immediate step in this process is the collaborative drafting of and universal agreement on a party-wide Code of Conduct. This will facilitate the development of a comradely culture that balances rigorous critique and debate with an environment of pluralism and interpersonal care. In addition to understanding how to have a one-on-one organizing conversation, we should also strive to be well-versed in skills like listening, openly sharing feelings, assuming good faith in arguments, making sincere apologies, and offering support to comrades struggling with personal issues. None of these can be learned by accident in the alienated social spaces created by capitalism, so we must make a deliberate effort to establish these norms in our organization. 

Another would be taking seriously the moral dimensions of Fidelismo’s contribution to Marxism. In stark contrast with both Stalin’s iron fist and Allende’s naive pacifism, Fidel Castro’s leadership of the Cuban revolution combined violent insurrection against the state with peaceful political maneuvering in the revolutionary movement. Over the course of protracted struggle on both fronts, the July 26th Movement was able to defeat the state militarily and construct a democratic mandate for political hegemony. Because Fidel and his comrades took the ethical implications of revolutionary struggle seriously, they were able to achieve victory without recourse to war crimes against the enemy or lethal violence against political competitors within the movement.12 This commitment to moral conduct during violent struggle did not stop them from winning the war. In fact, it allowed them to win the peace. This strategy allowed Cuba to begin building socialism after national liberation without the deadly internecine conflicts that plagued other revolutionary movements (notably including the FMLN). It is crucial that we embrace this legacy by constructing an ethic of revolution for our time. More steps beyond these will of course be necessary, and their exact nature will become clear as we work towards the realization of a comradely culture together.

Perhaps the strongest indicator of the need for a mass party is the fact that the most advanced sections of the US labor movement are already calling for the establishment of a workers’ party. In its recent pamphlet Them and Us Unionism, United Electrical, Radio and Machine Workers of America (UE) wrote:

Throughout our history, UE has held that workers need our own political party. In the 1990s, UE worked with a number of other unions to found the Labor Party, under the slogan ‘The Bosses Have Two Parties, We Need One of Our Own.’ Although the Labor Party experiment was ultimately unsuccessful, UE members and locals have been active in numerous other efforts to promote independent, pro-worker alternatives to the two major parties.13

Other labor unions like ILWU and the Teamsters have produced leading organizers who share UE’s commitment to independent worker politics. People like Clarence Thomas, who helped organize the Juneteenth port shutdown on the West Coast earlier this year in solidarity with the George Floyd uprising, Chris Silvera, who chairs the National Black Caucus in the Teamsters, and many more can be found among them. These influential voices of the labor movement have united in Labor and Community for an Independent Party, stating:

We must build democratically run coalitions that bring together the stakeholders in labor and the communities of the oppressed, so that they have a decisive say in formulating their demands and mapping out a strategy. Most important, we need to put an end to the monopoly of political power by the Democrats and Republicans. The labor movement and the leaders of the Latino and Black struggles need to break with their reliance on the Democratic Party and build their own mass-based independent working-class political party.

While it is certainly possible that these efforts could lead to the establishment of a reformist labor party, it is precisely this possibility that behooves us to get involved. Any union that recognizes the need for independent proletarian political action outside the shop floor can be considered “advanced” compared to business unions aligned with the Democratic Party, and relationships with them should be built as part of a communist intervention in the labor movement. As Marxists, we have a duty not only to organize our class but to bring theoretical clarity to its most active champions. If we continue building strong proletarian fighting organizations and elaborate our vision in a comprehensive program, we will be positioned to guide labor and community leaders of all stripes to the creation of a truly communist political party.

Ultimately, the disparate sects within Marxist Center and the local chapters of the DSA must form tighter bonds and consider internal reforms that would allow us to build the party our class requires. In doing so, we should seek to unite as many far-flung collectives and mass work projects as we can in order to become a true threat to bourgeois hegemony. While staying divided in a loose federation may seem like a viable model to some, history shows that it is not. The autonomists and anarchists in our ranks are dedicated organizers doing valuable work, and we should be grateful for that. However, we would be doing ourselves and them a disservice if we did not offer a comradely critique of their organizational models. 

Communists will always find strength in unity.

Party and Subject: A Reply to Donald Parkinson

Taylor B continues the debate on political subjectivity, revolutionary strategy and the party-form, responding to Donald Parkinson’s Without a Party, We Have Nothing

The Civil Rights movement: a political sequence without the party.

When replying to criticism, I think it is best to put all of one’s cards on the table. In August of last year, millions were in the streets and two Marxist caucuses in DSA were discussing how to advance the emancipatory struggle. In my view, the problem with this discussion was the way in which something called a “worker’s party” was posed as an obvious answer to the “movementism” around the world that seems incapable of destroying the current order that can be broadly characterized by vicious capitalist exploitation, ecological destruction, and mass depoliticization. 

Far from this discussion producing any concrete proposal for a party, the most insightful contribution seemed to come from one Red Star comrade who expressed caution in approaching the party: that we should not confuse electoral proceduralism for how to organize in a way that helps bring working class people into confrontation with the capitalist class. Rather than focus on what the party should look like in the abstract, we should organize the base of the worker’s party and promote revolutionary political education. Out of this organizing, an actual party strategy would emerge.1

I could not help but ask questions that had not been posed. If the most sensible way to go about building a party is to break with liberal political conceptions and organize and educate others to build a form of organization that we cannot define in advance, then why insist on the idea for a party at all? When millions are pouring into the streets to protest police violence and defend Black lives, is the notion of a “worker’s” party–a term that seems completely foreign to what seems to have been the largest popular mobilization in history–adequate to the moment? Is what seems to be an orthodox Marxist position on the centrality of the party to the communist movement actually an obstacle to a clear assessment of our moment? Why is it that a real movement against the present state of things always seems to be located in the future? And why does insisting on the party, even when it seems to raise many more questions than answers, automatically appear as a concrete answer to the “movementism” that we all agree must be overcome?

So I wrote an essay that tried to grapple with some of these questions.2 I argued against imposing historical organizational forms on present movements, but more importantly, I attempted to think about politics in a way that could explain the complexity of the current movements by evaluating them on their own terms. This led to some adventurous and controversial statements: that in addition to the party-form creating problems for emancipatory movements, the resurgent “socialist” movement seems to be dominated by those who have no interest in abolishing the capitalist mode of production; that certain elements of a “spontaneous” anti-racist movement seem to have a better instinct for opposing the police and the state than those who are interested in Lenin. Ultimately, I suggested that the radical elements of these movements need to find ways to organize together: I pointed to an example of the Juneteenth demonstration in Oakland that was organized by two DSA chapters and the ILWU that seemed to show these movements already doing so. And I posed more questions to suggest more concrete organizing directions that we could take up going forward.

While I was able to have some helpful and clarifying discussions with comrades inside and outside of DSA–some seem to feel that I have not made a sufficient, concrete proposal for how to advance our movement without reference to the party–Donald Parkinson has so far presented the most impassioned criticisms.3 As he writes at the end of his reply: “One thing is for sure – without a party, we have nothing. Because without a party, there is no ‘we’.”

I think we must point out the contradiction in this line that makes it impossible for it to be a clear prescription. I do not think this is a simple error on Parkinson’s part, but a constitutive contradiction that is consistent with the current party discourse. In order to say that “we” have no “we,” Parkinson presupposes a “we.” In other words, to produce a collective subject, there must be a foundational subject that Parkinson does not, and would seem he cannot, account for.

Let’s read Parkinson’s claim more closely. I believe we are caught between two ways of interpreting it. First, taking this statement at its word, we are left with a claim that reduces all of the real organization of “assemblies, affinity groups, and even new nonprofits as initiatives from activists,” along with organizations like Cosmonaut, Red Star, and the whole of DSA, to the situation of powerless, atomized individuals. The lack of a party formed through an articulated common program puts us in a kind of solipsism. 

Second, if we strip away the rhetoric, we get a claim that without a party, there is no emancipatory subject. In other words, there is no collective agent that is capable of opposing and overturning the existing society. While this second interpretation does not reduce existing organizations to atomized individuals, it deems it insufficient for emancipatory politics. The various existing groups and organizations fail to constitute a real opposition to the existing order because–and this is where Parkinson advances a very particular notion of the party based on a particular reading of Marx, Katusky, and Lenin–only a party with a common, articulated program has that power. Thus, for Parkinson, the party is an invariant model of politics, rather than a historical one. Short of this particular version of the party that Parkinson advocates, all our various collective efforts amount to nothing.4

I think the second interpretation is the more productive starting point, though I find it difficult to completely ignore the first. I see both agreement and disagreement with Parkinson. We both seem to agree that the construction of a political subject – which is composed of individual militants and yet goes beyond them – is a requirement for emancipatory politics. We both seem to agree that communism is an emancipatory politics and that any politics that falls short of communism will always be inadequate. While Parkinson has not stated this himself, I believe we both agree that there is no universal organized referent for emancipatory politics currently in existence. The question, as always, is what must be done about this. 

While Parkinson seems to have aligned himself with Red Star against my position, I do not think Parkinson’s position on the party is necessarily one that Red Star and Emerge would automatically agree with. Why? Because while Red Star and Emerge were having an exploratory conversation, Parkinson seems to already have a set idea of the party being a “state within a state,” etc. I think this strengthens my argument that the party is a term that creates more problems than it solves: without a clear formulation, the party appears as an empty signifier. With a clear, articulated formulation, the party may produce more fragmentation than consolidation. This last point seems to be supported by the fact that an endless number of small groups of militants have not only proclaimed the need for, but also formed parties, and we have moved no closer to emancipation.

This brings us to the disagreement between Parkinson and myself. Parkinson believes the problem of the subject–the lack of a collective organization with the capacity to oppose and overturn the existing society–is resolved solely through the party-form. Meanwhile, I have argued that the party-form is an obstacle to the formation of the subject in our current moment. My position is ultimately untenable. Why? Because this position cannot effectively respond to all the different things people mean when talking about the party.5 So to reformulate my position, I reject Parkinson’s concept of the party as an invariant model of politics. I reject other suggestions that the Soviet or Chinese party-states are emancipatory models that we must reproduce or emulate. To those engaging in exploratory discussions of the party, I would simply question what utility a term like ‘the party’ has if you do not have a fixed idea in mind for what you are building. Doesn’t invoking the party and attempting to take inspiration from past organizations like CPUSA simply invite confusion that we then have to continually caution against, as one Red Star comrade pointed out? Doesn’t the party end up being a future idea for overturning capitalist society, rather than a concrete step in the current moment?

If we know there is all sorts of historical baggage that comes with discussing the party, is it actually controversial to try and think of an alternative to theorizing politics and its organization? It is certainly true that if something isn’t broken, you shouldn’t fix it. But isn’t it clear that something is wrong with the party as a concept, since, despite all of our agreement that we need a revolutionary organization of workers to overthrow the few who would kill us before ever allowing us to decide for ourselves how we should live, that there is no revolutionary party or masses anywhere to be found? And shouldn’t we have an answer to this question that does not depend on a few intellectuals making claims about the development of working people’s consciousness?

Now I will attempt to clarify certain aspects of my position, and also advance some new arguments based on the discussions around my original article. I will respond to Parkinson’s alleged refutation of Sylvain Lazarus, a theorist whose dense but crucial insights should be more widely read and formed a fundamental element of my argument. Finally, I will argue the recent emergence of the Partisan project, a joint publication between San Francisco’s Red Star, NYC’s Emerge, Portland’s Red Caucus, and the Communist Caucus, should be seen as an extremely encouraging step toward the formation of a consolidated Marxist bloc with DSA that can serve as an important site of discussion, study, and experimentation to advance the emancipatory struggle of communism.

Beginnings

According to Parkinson’s summary of my argument in the second and third paragraphs of his response, one of my fundamental claims is that the DSA and the George Floyd uprising are evidence that politics has been “born.” I believe this point indicates a certain misunderstanding: I did not use the terms “birth” or “born” a single time in my “Beginnings” piece. Meanwhile, the term I used 23 times if we include the very first word of my title–beginnings–does not occur at all in Parkinson’s response. Even the less specialized term “beginning”–which combined with “beginnings” occurs 48 times in my essay does not appear at all in Parkinson’s response.

I assume the swapping of these terms is not in reference to something I am unaware of that is important to Parkinsons’ argument, such as a particular dispute in Comintern history, a passage from Pannekoek’s diary, etc. I assume that if Parkinson found my notion of “beginnings” unhelpful or wrong, then he would have demonstrated this through a critique of the concept. But that did not happen. Instead, we have two occurrences of the phrase “birth of politics” in consecutive paragraphs in Parkinson’s reply. We have the claims that I was “heralding a new creative process that will break from all the old muck of the past and create new forms of organization” and insisting that we “declare our fidelity to the spontaneous energies of the event, to see where it goes and what it creates rather than trying to impose our own ideas upon it.” 

My point was just the opposite. As someone who is a member of DSA and participated in demonstrations, I attempted to combat idealism and pose questions from within these movements to pursue an emancipatory politics. If this was not apparent to Parkinson, I believe it is because he produces a binary of tailing spontaneity and applying a pre-existing model. This binary suggests that Parkinson, despite his insistence that Marxists should join DSA and sympathy with combatting racist police violence, does not necessarily see himself as part of these movements. Thus, his criticism comes from the outside, and so must my intervention. But this is not my position in regard to these movements, nor am I thinking from within the same binary. I am instead proposing that there is a need for organization and prescription that does not occur “spontaneously,” but also does not consist in the application of a pre-existing model. I am suggesting that members of DSA and those who took to the streets must take it upon ourselves to organize in a better way to oppose the existing, global capitalist order.

I called Occupy, Ferguson, DSA’s growth by way of the Sanders’ campaigns, and the George Floyd uprising “beginnings” because these are real formations that break the pattern of “depoliticized atomization,” to use Salar Mohandesi’s phrase, yet have not produced a political sequence.6 They are not nothing, but they fall short of politics. In contrast, the metaphor of birth and whatever its variations – stillborn, miscarraige, premature, etc. – has entirely different connotations. This gendered and strangely graphic kind of metaphoric language does not grasp the dynamism and lack of definitive origins of the formations I discussed. Even when I claimed that Sanders was in part responsible for setting off a beginning, I tried to show that what was key was not Sanders, but all the thinking that emerged in response to Sanders that disrupted depoliticized atomization.

The basis of my intervention was to say that if these beginnings are to produce political subjectivity, then they must overcome the internal and external forces that seek to neutralize them. I attempted to assess the real conditions of these movements–the balance of emancipatory potential and real neutralizing forces within and outside them–precisely to identify lines that we must fight and organize along so that effective ideas and practices can be produced from within, and thus transform, these formations. That is why I have criticized liberals who say we need to reform the police and run progressive politicians, along with the socialists who reduce riots to emotional outbursts and sometimes fall into a kind of idealist thinking that says we just have to do what the Bolsheviks did. If I did not distance myself from ultra-left positions that say sabotaging trains and looting Targets is the path to emancipation, it is only because I do not take these positions seriously and see very few people advancing them.

The language of beginnings, then, is distinct and fundamental to my approach. By suggesting that the DSA and the uprisings are beginnings, I intended to show that real breaks occurred in the thought of people. How else do we account for people suddenly going from a state of atomized depoliticization to spending an inordinate amount of time on Zoom calls discussing bylaws, or braving crowded streets in a pandemic to demand the end to police killings? Thus, a beginning must break with the neutralizing order. But on its own, this break is not sufficient to constitute an emancipatory sequence due to complex and varied forces of neutralization that maintain the current order. In other words, a foothold is necessary to free climb a mountain; but a foothold does not eliminate the problem of gravity.

So in the schema I produced in the “Beginnings” article, there are two breaks. There is the break from neutralization to beginnings, and the break from beginnings to politics. Since politics is rare and sequential, a new subjective invention that begins and ends, then my claim is that beginnings must be common and chaotic. Beginnings spark, die out, and spark again. Beginnings fundamentally have something to do with the ever-present potential for politics that occurs in the thought of people who are exploited and oppressed that sometimes leads them to organize themselves with others to fight those who dominate them. Unfortunately, it is the categorical limit of beginnings to almost always fail.

Beginning Again

While it seems true that beginnings can be neutralized in the ways I discussed in my article, it seems unlikely that I can maintain the position that neutralization precedes beginnings. The question of going from nothing to something is ultimately a metaphysical or theological question and does not interest me much. Clearly the world, short of emancipation and parties, is not nothing; I don’t believe anyone is claiming otherwise. But we still must be able to account for what occurs between emancipatory sequences. I have proposed beginnings. But then how do we account for beginnings?

To try and resolve the problem of beginnings, I will introduce an idea that I have derived from one of Alain Badiou’s incomparable diagrams. This is the notion of an ordering regime. The ordering regime is the something that precedes a beginning. And the ordering regime is what exists at the close of an emancipatory sequence. To maintain order, to keep everyone in their given places, it must engage in dynamic processes of neutralization. I think that is sufficient for now.

I believe there are four questions that must be addressed to continue clarifying this debate.

First, why is it necessary to talk about this conceptual dynamic between beginnings and neutralization, which appear to speak generically about politics in terms which aren’t contained in the Marxist canon? Why not just talk about class struggle? It is necessary because political sequences are rare, and they do not always have to do with class struggle. The rarity of emancipatory sequences, the rarity of politics, emerges in subjective thought. It is through an event that is irreducible to the present regime or order, or ordering regime, that the subjective thought of politics has the potential to erupt into thought. Sometimes this produces a sustained emancipatory sequence. Ordering regimes attempt to neutralize this movement; this sometimes forces a major re-ordering. The complicated dynamics of the ruling class, itself the condensation of many bourgeois interests, is one general historical example of an ordering regime. Fundamentally, politics is about people breaking from the places assigned to them by an ordering regime. It is in this sense that we can understand Badiou, when thinking in reference to the situation in 1968, he asks: 

What would a political practice that was not willing to keep everyone in their place look like?…What inspired us was the conviction that we had to do away with places. That is what is meant, in the most general sense, by the word ‘communism’: an egalitarian society which, acting under its own impetus, brings down walls and barriers; a polyvalent society, with variable trajectories, both at work and in our lives. But ‘communism’ also means forms of political organization that are not modelled on spatial hierarchies.7

Second, what is emancipatory politics? Emancipatory politics is the name of the rare, subjective thought in the minds of people that prescribes the correct forms of organization to destroy “the places” of a given ordering regime in a movement toward the absolutely free and egalitarian association of all people. The common name for universal emancipatory politics is communism: it is the real movement against the present state of things. We might say that emancipation is not a state of affairs to be realized, but a project without end predicated on subjective thought: it fundamentally has something to do with the power to decide.

Third, why are emancipatory sequences rare? Politics must begin in thought as a relation of real circumstances. I want to be explicit here: I am not talking about thought in idealist terms. I am thinking of thought in the same way Lenin uses theory in his famous statement that without revolutionary theory, there is no revolutionary movement. My point is to detach thought from theory. Theory is essentially a systematized way of thinking. Thought must be fundamental to the existence of theory, though without the supposed guarantees of a particular revolutionary theory. If we understand “emancipation” to have a broader meaning than particular Marxists theories of revolution–with emancipation serving as a common category to think sequences as different as the Hatian Revolution and the Great Proletarian Cultural Revolution–then “thought” is the broader common category that links Marxist theories with the different but still correct ideas of the Haitian Revolution. 

How can we support this claim? We can say that while Marxist theory has been proven correct time and again in guiding emancipatory movements, it is not the only thought to have done so. As I have indicated, thought does not come with the same guarantees as scientific socialism. Nevertheless, correct prescriptions–ideas that are confirmed correct through their material and practical consequences–begins in thought.

This brings us to the point about rarity. Real circumstances are always exceptional: each circumstance consists of an uneven balance of forces that are produced through an accumulation of historical contradictions. The formation of emancipatory politics is rare because it is incredibly difficult to produce the correct thoughts and unique forms of organization that are adequate to contest the present ordering regime in the exceptional, overdetermined moment. In other words, politics must begin in thought but can only be realized through correct prescriptions. In this sense, emancipatory politics both begins in thought and is fundamentally material. 

The reason why I have suggested that thought is central to politics is because thought is already something that is always happening in the minds of all people, regardless of their understanding of the world. Thought is a fundamental category of subjectivity and human agency. The question for those of us involved in the struggle for emancipation is which thought, and at which sites, does a lasting subjectivization emerge that can topple the given and exceptional ordering regime? The particular sites of politics–the places where thought occurs–are what must be discovered so we can alter our current forms of organization to produce the rare, emancipatory sequence.

Fourth, if politics is rare, are we to believe that history is a series of disconnected moments with no continuity between them? Is each beginning or emancipatory sequence always forced to start from scratch? I will admit that the question of history is made extremely complicated by the frameworks of Badiou and Lazarus which I have drawn on. But I will also say that history has always been a complicated question in Marxism, already evident in the longstanding debate about Marx’s relation to Hegel, Marx’s letters on Russia, the debate between the Bolsheviks and the Mensheviks, the question of “stagism,” the debate over the Stalinist “theory of the productive forces,” etc.

Instead of attempting to resolve the problem of history in Marxism, I will address the questions I have posed related to history with reference to an axiom of Marx and Engels: that history always progresses by its bad side. For Althusser, the bad side is the side from which people do not expect history to progress. I understand this to mean that the past does not transmit an accumulation of “lessons” that lead us to a final victory, but an accumulation of contradictions that form the exceptional circumstances of the present moment. This moment is managed by the given ordering regime. And it is also a condition of the real which, through an event, erupts within subjective thought in interiority.

From the framework of emancipatory sequences, what is continuous is the problem of the exceptional present, and thus, new ideas that can prescribe correct practices to overcome it. As Lazarus writes in a forthcoming translation of a 1981 text: “one must continue to find the rupture.”8

With a more limited understanding of continuity, we might say that different degrees of continuity between emancipatory sequences is possible at times. But greater continuity does not guarantee that solving the problem of the present will be any easier. For example, one might argue, as Parkinson does, that there was a continuity between Marx and Lenin via Kautsky and the SPD. But even with this degree of continuity, it was by no means obvious or guaranteed that Marxism could be adapted to the Russian context. It was the discontinuity and difference–that which was new in Lenin’s thought–that made Lenin’s contributions to Marxism possible and significant. We might go so far as to say that, for Lenin, Marxism itself was one dimension of the problem of the present.

Marx, Lenin, and the Party

Now Parkinson has vigorously contested my usage of Lazarus to argue that Marx and Lenin had differences on the question of the party. I will get to that. But to continue with my discussion of continuity and discontinuity, I must again assert that Lenin’s thought contains new ideas that cannot be found in Marx. We will bracket the question of whether or not Lenin invented these ideas: we will simply compare the ideas of Marx and Lenin. To avoid saying anything controversial, I will reassert the difference between Marx and Lenin with reference to Rossana Rossanda’s 1970 classic, “Class and Party.”

As Rossanda explains, “what separates Marx from Lenin (who, far from filling in Marx’s outlines, oriented himself in a different direction) is that the organization is never considered by Marx as anything but an essentially practical matter, a flexible and changing instrument, an expression of the real subject of the revolution, namely the proletariat.”9 

To fully appreciate the difference between Marx and Lenin, we need to focus on Marx for a moment. Marx sees a “direct” relationship between the proletariat and the party of the proletariat. In fact, “the terms are almost interchangeable. For between the class as such and its political being, there is only a practical difference, in the sense that the second is the contingent form of the first.”10

What is the mechanism that produces this organized, “practical difference”? For Rossanda, Marx sees the class struggle with its “material roots in the mechanism of the system itself.” We can refer back to Marx’s famous letter to Weydemyer to support Rossanda’s reading. Interestingly, when reviewing Marx’s letter we immediately see him address the question of originality.

And now as to myself, no credit is due to me for discovering the existence of classes in modern society or the struggle between them. Long before me bourgeois historians had described the historical development of this class struggle and bourgeois economists, the economic economy of the classes. 

First, I think we can immediately see the question of originality is more complicated than Parkinson makes it out to be. Marx plainly states that his discovery is not the historical development of the class struggle, but something more specific. Fortunately, Marx gives us a clear description:

What I did that was new was to prove: (1) that the existence of classes is only bound up with particular historical phases in the development of production (historische Entwicklungsphasen der Production), (2) that the class struggle necessarily leads to the dictatorship of the proletariat, (3) that this dictatorship itself only constitutes the transition to the abolition of all classes and to a classless society.11

In other words, what was new in Marx’s work was showing how the class struggle does not simply relate to historical development, but “historical phases in the development of production.” This discovery produces a particular emancipatory prescription. As Rossanda rightly says, for Marx, the category of revolution is thus the “process which is intended to transcend the system.” Revolution is “a social activity which creates, over time, the political forms which the class needs and which constitutes its organization–namely the party.” Despite the apparent interchability of the terms “party” and “proletariat,” we see that for Marx “this is only so in the sense that the former is the political form of the latter, and constitutes its transitory mode of being, with the historical imperfections of concrete political institutions; while the proletariat remains the permanent historical subject, rooted in the material conditions of the capitalist system.”12

To return to Lazarus, we should note that Rossanda employs Lenin’s periodization of Marxism as found in his “The Historical Destiny of the Doctrine of Karl Marx” essay. Lazarus, Rossanda, and Lenin all agree that 1848 to 1871 was a specific phase or sequence that centers on Marx’s thought. For Lazarus, this phase is called the “classist mode” of politics, with Marx being its main theorist. We should be clear that Lazarus is using the term “classist” in a particular way. Rather than referring to discrimination based on class, he is referring to the idea that there are historical laws which determine the existence of classes in society and the struggle between them – exactly what Marx said in the letter to Weydemeyer that he had inherited from the bourgeois historians. 

For Lazarus, a mode is “the relationship of a politics to its thought.”13 Rather than this mode beginning with the 1848 revolutions as Lenin claims, Lazarus expands this beginning to include the publication of the Communist Manifesto. Again, I believe both Lenin and Lazarus would agree that this period can be characterized as one in which “Marx’s doctrine by no means dominated. It was only one of the very numerous groups or trends of socialism.”14 While Marx’s thought proved to be a subjective, emancipatory thought that, to use Lenin’s words, “gained a complete victory and began to spread” after 1871, Lazarus argues that this is the moment when the sites of Marx’s thought lapsed and the whole classist mode became exhausted. Why? Because the Paris Commune revealed the limits of the thesis of Marx’s merger of “the prescriptive and the descriptive,” the merger of “history and politics” that takes the name “historical consciousness.”15 Nevertheless, it is clear that Marxism did continue to grow and spread as Lenin claimed.

Lenin and Lazarus’s periodization diverges in an interesting way. For Lenin, there is a second period from 1872-1904 that is characterized by the “absence of revolutions” and “the theoretical victory of Marxism” that “compelled its enemies to disguise themselves as Marxists. Liberalism, rotten within, tried to revive itself in the form of socialist opportunism.”16 Then there is a third period from 1905 to Lenin’s textual present of 1913 when “a new source of great world storms opened up in Asia. The Russian revolution was followed by revolutions in Turkey, Persia and China. It is in this era of storms and their ‘repercussions’ in Europe that we are now living.”17

I think it is striking that the dates of Lenin and Lazarus’ periodizations align so closely. While Lenin points to the Russian Revolution of 1905 as a second revolutionary era in Marxism, Lazarus argues that the Bolshevik mode begins in 1902 with Lenin’s publication of What Is to Be Done? (WITBD). Again, Parkinson has challenged this point and I will take it up later. 

The point I want to make is that the end of the “classist mode,” or first period of Marxism, seems to contain an insight into Marxism in general. Until 1871, Marxism was not a victorious doctrine: it was the thought of Marx. Famously, Marx never claimed to be a Marxist and it is a somewhat common view to see Engels as the real creator of Marxism. But then, as we know, Engels has been criticized heavily for some of his formulations. This is to say that the first Marxist is by no means a prophet, but begins a critical discussion of Marx’s work. In this sense, it would seem that it is impossible to view Marxism as a singular, cohesive set of ideas: Marxism is always contested. I would suggest that the “doctrine of Karl Marx” that became victorious is not so much Marxism, but the emergence of multiple Marxist tendencies: of Marxisms.

This would seem to be reflected in Lenin’s second and third periods. After 1871 we can see two tendencies develop, though not necessarily in a clean fork from Marx’s work. On the one hand, there was the mechanical tendency that came to be advanced by Kautsky and Bernstein in the Social Democratic Party of Germany. In this sense, we see that while Luxemburg was correct in her famous criticism of Bernstein, this mechanical tendency did have its roots in a particular understanding of politics that is unique to Marx: the merger of history and the politics. The problem ultimately was that Bernstein had failed to see that the realization of communism as a result of historical phases in the development of production had already been exhausted. On the other hand, due to the “backward” Russian situation, Lenin would be forced to find another way. 

To put things very simply, Lenin’s other way would take the name Leninism. And Leninism would correctly oppose other non-Marxist and Marxist tendencies, with the proof of its correctness culminating in October 1917. But the Lenin of 1913 could not have known he was to become a great thinker of emancipation or that his 1902 intervention–WITBD–could be seen as the basis of a distinct mode of politics. Yet it is telling that Lenin dates 1905 as a key moment for the second revolutionary period in Marxism with reference to the 1905 “dress rehearsal.” While the 1905 revolution was not successful, it produced a new, revolutionary form of organization: the soviet. Combined with the party, the soviet put the question of revolution back on the table: a new emancipatory sequence had begun. 

Let’s return to Marx so we can see more clearly what’s new in Lenin. According to Lazarus, a key thesis of the classist mode is: “where there are proletarians, there are Communists.” As Rossanda shows, for Marx, “the proletariat in struggle does not produce an institution distinct from its immediate being”: if “one does not find a theory of the party in Marx, the reason is that, in his theory of revolution, there is neither need nor room for it.”18 Thus, from Marx to Lenin we see a recasting of the dialectic “in which the subject is the proletariat and the object society produced by the relations of capitalist production, thus moves towards a dialectic between class and vanguard, in which the former has the capacity of an ‘objective quantity,’ while the latter, the party, being the subject, is the locus of ‘revolutionary initiative.’”19 I would like to emphasize what is at stake in this shift: a fundamentally different conception of the emancipatory subject. 

Why was Lenin’s break with Marx necessary? It is the same reason that for Lenin, Marxism was one dimension of the problem of the present. “Lenin’s horizon was delimited by two major facts: first of all, capitalism has entered in the imperialist phase, and its crisis reveals itself more complex than had been foreseen.”20 Beyond this, “Lenin, throughout his life, had to face the growing resistance of the system, and a capacity for action of the working class much inferior from 1848 to the Paris Commune.”21 Ultimately, “the capitalist and imperialism system was defeated in areas which, according to the Marxian schema, were not ‘ripe’ for communism.”22 In other words, for Lenin:

the confrontation must be prepared: the more society lacks ‘maturity,’ the more important it is that a vanguard should provoke the telescoping of objective conditions with the intolerability of exploitation and a revolutionary explosion, by giving the exploited and the oppressed the consciousness of their real condition, by wrenching them out of ignorance and resignation, by indicating to them a method, a strategy and the possibility or revolt–by making them revolutionaries.23

It would seem Rossanda is once again in agreement with Lazarus. For Lazarus, “the basis of Lenin’s thinking and of the Bolshevik mode of politics is the following statement: Proletarian politics is subject to condition…that it is subject to condition indicates that politics is expressive neither of social conditions nor…of history as Marx conceived of it.”24 Lazarus develops this point further, noting that “Lenin does not go so far as to abandon the connection between class and history but he makes it conditional on consciousness.”25 Lenin’s break nonetheless leads us to an inversion of a classically Marxian understanding of antagonism: 

one cannot argue that it is antagonism that constitutes consciousness–it appears instead to be one of its propositions, the end product of a process subject to condition. Therefore, it is not antagonism that produces consciousness but consciousness that declares it…Consciousness is not so much a historical space as a political and prescriptive space.26

Now that we have seen what is new in Lenin, we are in a position to conclude this section with a turn toward our own exceptional present with the question of continuity and discontinuity in mind. To put what I have said in a slightly different way: since the circumstances of the present are always exceptional, the question of emancipation must always begin with a new, unbalanced equation. A limited notion of continuity may supply us with some notion of a constant, but it is what’s discontinuous, the formation of the new answer to the new equation, that we must always solve ourselves. 

Let’s try to push this mathematical metaphor further. We might say beginnings are what occur on scratch paper until a solution is produced; it is the arrival at the answer that transforms what was a messy scrap into the site of an ingenious breakthrough. It is that site of the breakthrough that has the potential to support the lasting formation of the subject, which is composed by militants it at the same time exceeds. There are no guarantees, only a wager that can be made in correspondence with the upsurge of the masses, or to use Lenin’s term, stikhiinost.27

On what basis can we claim this site is necessarily the party? Even if we could say with certainty that the categories and sites of historical modes of politics will occur in the form of something called a party, then what are we left with if not another undefined variable? The matter is much more difficult than simply having an undefined variable, since this is precisely what we started with. Abstract reference to the party produces a figure that only gives the appearance of definition: what we are left with is a shadow cast on the whole situation that we confuse with the real. 

To put it another way: at best, the party discussion amounts to a confusing and overwrought insistence on organizing to produce an emancipatory subject and the sites that give it consistency. But it does not say any more than this. In this scenario, insistence on the party does not give us any clues about which subjective thoughts, at which particular sites, could produce correct prescriptions to advance the emancipatory struggle in our exceptional moment.  At its worst, the party discussion reduces the question of subjectivization to ideal organizational structures, procedures, and administration to build “states within states” and other unappealing creations. This amounts to a schematic application of blueprints from the past and, unsurprisingly, consistently fails to generate any support beyond the dozen people who were inspired by a particular episode in the history of the international communist movement. 

Beyond the best and worst scenarios, I think there are additional dangers. Since our current socialist movement has only the faintest understanding of what capitalism is and that it must be abolished, mechanical calls for things like “democratic centralism” could very well become the means to reelecting progressive Democrats to save and manage capitalism in a crumbling two-party system. Why? Because if the subjective, emancipatory character is not a question we are concerned with–if politics is not in command–then the vicious existing order of exploitation and exclusion stands and depoliticized proceduralism reigns. 

The Method of Saturation

We now have to make an abrupt turn to Sylvain Lazarus’s notion of “modes of politics.” Parkinson believes Lars Lih’s work on Lenin refutes Lazarus’s periodization of emancipatory sequences. Parkinson makes two claims: first, that Lazarus’s method provides no explanatory value because “the only thing that Lazarus’s narrative explains is why he thinks we need to abandon all the past concepts of Marxist politics and come up with something completely novel.” And second, that “the narrative Lazarus paints is simply not true. Lenin was not breaking with the political practice or conceptions of Marx and Engels in What Is To Be Done? and wasn’t making any kind of original argument.”

Let’s begin with the first claim: that Lazarus is simply projecting his pre-formed conclusions back onto history to discard all Marxist categories, and therefore his analysis has no value. As I have said, it was my intention to provoke a discussion by turning to Lazarus; I am glad to have the opportunity to discuss him further. While I do have reservations about his work, I think there is tremendous value in thinking through it.

It is telling that in Parkinson’s 336 word summary of Lazarus’s argument as found in “Lenin and the Party, 1902–November 1917,” the name of Lazarus’s method–saturation–is nowhere to be found. I believe Parkinson’s frustration with and suspicion of Lazarus’s analysis is symptomatic of the fact that he does not engage at all with Lazarus’s method. This is an obvious problem if you are going to refute an argument, but by no means do I think Parkinson is to blame. To be fair, the word “saturation” appears only once in Lazarus’s “Lenin and the Party” essay to which Parkinson refers. Had Parkinson read Lazarus’s “Can Politics be Thought in Interiority?,” often considered an introductory text, he may have run into similar troubles: the term only appears once in there too around the middle.28 Nevertheless, I am sure Parkinson pored over Lazarus’s “Lenin and the Party” text looking for its weakness and revised his summary of Lazarus’s argument extensively. Clearly, we need more opportunities for greater collective study to work through complicated issues, and in this regard Parkinson’s efforts are salutary. However, for efforts to be fruitful, they have to go beyond rejoinders to isolated points and actually engage with the underlying questions and categories of the text.

It is true that in his text on Lenin Lazarus dismisses “the category of revolution.” For Lazarus, “this dismissal is a complex business, for the closure by itself does not break historicism.”29 This point raises more questions than answers. What does Lazarus mean by “historicism”? Where is Lazarus’s argument ultimately taking us? Are we going to be forced to accept Lazarus’s dismissal of revolution?

Let’s work backward, taking the last question first. I do not think dismissing the category of revolution is necessary. It is sufficient to reject a static conception of revolution, and instead evaluate the concept in relation to the various circumstances in which it appears. Since Lazarus is attempting to make a very particular point about “the category of revolution,” I do not think engaging in a discussion of his method equates to full endorsement. In my opinion, the dismissal of the category of revolution is a highly controversial, though nonetheless interesting, idea to think through.

To give some idea of where Lazarus’s argument takes us, Lazarus will reject a purist framework that says we should reject the Bolshevik mode because it was intrinsically authoritarian and doomed to failure. For Lazarus:

the method of saturation consists in the re-examination, from within a closed mode, of the exact nature of protocols and processes of subjectivization that it proposed. We are then in a better position to identify what the statements of subjectivization were and the ever singular reason for their precariousness. The thesis of the cessation of a subjective category and that of the precariousness of politics (which goes hand in hand with the rarity of politics) are not supplanted by a thesis with regard to failure and a lack of subjectivization.30

Perhaps this passage gives us a sense of what Lazarus means by “closure.” Nevertheless, we can see clearly that the method of saturation has something to do with a “re-examination” to better understand the protocols, processes, prescriptions, and statements of subjectivization that compose a mode of politics. We see clearly that subjective categories are “precarious,” and that this precarity has something to do with its rarity. We see that the cessation of a subjective category does not authorize one to make the accusation of failure. 

We must ask what Lazarus means by “historicism.” After a discussion of the Bolshevik mode–which I gave an account of in my “Beginnings” piece–we are left with Lazarus’s claim that “the lapsing of the party form, in its political efficacy, was thus complete after November 1917,” and “from this moment on we enter a historicist problematic of politics in which the key word becomes revolution.” So we see that “historicism” is a problematic, or theoretical framework, of politics that comes after the closure of the Bolshevik mode. The Bolshevik mode was a real emancipatory sequence whose sites were the party and the soviet. The party “lapsed,” which is to say that it was no longer a site of emancipatory politics, after its fusion with the state in November 1917, thus subordinating the soviets to its directions.31 Following this lapse, the term “revolution” is symptomatic of, or indicates, the “historicist problematic of politics.” 

We have two questions now: why is the term revolution symptomatic of a historicist problematic of politics? And still, what is the historicist problematic of politics?

We have to pay close attention to what Lazarus means by revolution. “The term revolution is not a generic term denoting an insurrection against the established order, or a change in the structures of a state—and a state of things. It is on the contrary a singular term.” It is a “singular noun” that “constitutes the central category of acting consciousness” that belongs to what Lazarus calls the “revolutionary mode, the political sequence of the French Revolution.”32 

So we see the problem clearly. For Lazarus, “revolution” is a singular term that belongs to a particular sequence that occurred from 1792-94 that had its own main theorist (Saint-Just) and sites of politics (the Jacobin Convention, the sans culottes, and the revolutionary army).33

For Lazarus, the issue with retaining the term “revolution” is that it was exhausted in 1794 with the closure of the French Revolution, what he calls the “revolutionary” mode of politics. In order to understand the specificity of this emancipatory sequence and how it came to an end, he interprets “revolution” as a category that is located within it and cannot simply be generalized to any political situation. What is at stake here is that a “historicist problematic of politics” does not conceive of singular conceptions of subjectivity as a relation of the real circumstances in which they emerge. If “revolution” is understood as a singular category of political thinking, then it is because the term has to do with the moment in which revolution bears “political capacity.”34 Otherwise, the term has been “captured” at its most fundamental level by the “historicist” notion that “marks out the state as the sole and essential issue at stake in politics.”35 In other words, if the category of revolution is captured by historicism, then revolution cannot pertain to a subjective decision that is thought in thought. The category of revolution, removed from singular context, thus becomes a category of a de-subjectivized statism. In this case, the category of revolution is deprived of its emancipatory power.

Let’s try to put all this more simply. If we agree that emancipation is our goal, we have to then confront the question of the emancipatory political subject – that is, what allows us to identify a politics that cannot be reduced to the objective conditions of the existing reality. We have to engage in the difficult task of identifying particular subjective occurrences as a thought of politics that relates to its objective circumstances but can also go beyond them and put the ordering regime into question. Otherwise, our thinking is dominated by “circulating” political ideas – that is, categories that were formed within specific situations which are generalized and circulated to entirely different situations. These circulating notions prevent us from understanding how categories specific to a historical mode of politics have been exhausted and are no longer appropriate to the current moment. In effect, we remain “captured” by the present state of things and unable to advance the subjective thoughts of our circumstances that are required to struggle for universal emancipation.

Now that we have discussed and defined the “historicist problematic of politics,” I believe we are in a position to see why Parkinson’s claim that Lazarus’s method contains no value and that it seeks to do away with all Marxist categories indicates a serious misunderstanding. While Lazarus may be interpreted as “breaking” with Marxism, the larger point is that he breaks with all other formalized disciplines, including social science and history, to construct his theory of politics. This move is interesting because even though he speaks of “dismissal,” he by no means suggests we discard Marx, Lenin, or Mao. His argument is that disciplines like history and social science have already done this since becoming captured by the historicist problematic. In other words, Lazarus argues that social science and history have significantly contributed to the “destitution and criminalization of the ‘revolutions’ of the twentieth century.” This criminalization of the revolutionary thought and practice of Marx, Lenin, and Mao becomes the basis for the “contemporary parliamentary” regime. This regime consists of “competitive capitalism, commodities, and money presented as voluntary choices of our freedom,” leaving us with “the collapse of thought, reduced to microeconomics and the philosophy of John Rawls, or rendered coextensive with the political philosophy of the rights of man in a senile appropriation of Kant.”36 As Lazarus further explains:

The fall of the Soviet Union and socialism has fully confirmed the good historicist conscience of parliamentarianism in its rightful place and considerably reinforced its arrogance, its violence, and its legitimacy, allowing it to treat any reservation and criticism, worse still any other project, as crazy and criminal.37

So we see that for Lazarus, the dismissal of revolution is not an attack on Marxism or emancipation. Rather, the act of dismissal is the basis for Lazarus’ radical critique of the disciplines of social science and history that have foreclosed on the possibility of organizing human life in any way beyond the depravity of our existing society. In other words, Lazarus does not proclaim the end of history or revolution: his point is that social science and history have already done this. Rather than argue for a renewal of social science or history, he attempts to overturn them completely to think about the possibility of emancipatory politics.

Let’s return to the passage that I began with about the dismissal of the category of revolution, this time in full:

This dismissal is a complex business, for the closure by itself does not break historicism. What is involved is in no way closing a previous stage and moving on to the following one (which is the case with historicism), but rather maintaining that any closure requires the re-examination of the era whose closure is to be pronounced. This is what I call saturation, a method that traces the subjective spaces of the categories of the sequence to be closed.38

Here we see the lone occurrence of “saturation” in the Lazarus essay that Parkinson focused on. As Lazarus clearly indicates, this word represents his very method, and is clearly fundamental to his analysis in which there are historical modes of politics. 

As I have already suggested, saturation is defined as a method that attempts to understand the singular forms of subjectivity: “the exact nature of protocols and processes of subjectivization that is proposed.”39 To “prevent us from turning modes into subjective abstractions,” the subjective category is taken into account with its historical moment, thus giving us the historical modes of politics.40 The historical moment is essentially defined by Lazarus’s “category of historicity” which “renders the question of the state.”41 We see that the “closure” of these sequences, of identifying the moments in which the sites of this subjectivity breaks down, by no means gives us permission to “move on to the following one,” as this “moving on” is precisely what characterizes the historicist problematic which deprives the occurrence of subjectivity its power. In other words, Lazarus rejects a stagism that might put Marx, Lenin, and Mao into a particular kind of order, with one supplanting the next. For Lazarus, historical modes of thought have to be taken in their singularity.

Lazarus’s method of saturation means putting the instances of subjectivity in their correct place to be kept alive as relations of their moment so they can be “re-examined.” Thus, it is the method of saturation that, by way of this re-examining of “subjective spaces,” allows us to identify “the singularity of the politics at work” in a particular sequence. By putting the category of revolution in its correct place in the revolutionary mode and removing “from October the description of revolution,” Lenin and the Bolshevik mode are given back “its originality and its unprecedented political power—that of being the invention of modern politics.”42

So here we see that Lazarus’s method of saturation produces a schema of emancipatory sequences through careful study of singular subjectivity. This includes the re-examination of Marx, Lenin, and Mao within their particular spaces. Clearly, a re-examination of Marx, Lenin, and Mao cannot mean doing away with them. What is interesting to me is how this method opens the door to thinking about emancipatory formations that exist outside the historically contingent boundaries of the communist movement. It is in this sense that I agree very strongly with Mohandesi’s invocation of Althusser: that “it is not a matter of ‘expanding’ the existing politics, but of knowing how to listen to politics where it happens.”43 

This is why I think Asad Haider is correct to argue that the Civil Rights Movement was an emancipatory sequence.44 As Marxists, I believe we need a theory that can account for events like the Montgomery bus boycott and sequences like the Civil Rights Movement in their own terms. Rather than continue to evaluate the degree of development of people’s consciousness in relation to a particular emancipatory thought, I think we should consider Lazarus’ founding axiom: people think.

Take the Montgomery bus boycott as just one example. Segregation on busses was both a particular form of oppression that was essentially a universal experience for Black people living in Montgomery. While Rosa Parks’s refusal to give up her seat was an event of rupture, she was by no means the first to engage in this act of refusal. What was the result? Roughly 40% of a city boycotted a primary mode of transportation for nine months. Their boycott put significant pressure on municipal revenues. The refusal of public transit disrupted white households to such an extent that white women who were not sympathetic to the boycott would pick up the Black women who worked in their homes and lie to their husbands about doing so. Those with cars participated in the organizing of ride-sharing programs to help the boycotters get around.45 All of this incredible organization happened, yet the notion of a political party is nowhere to be found. But there were clearly thought and correct prescriptions. There was clearly something we might call discipline or fidelity, some kind of active principle that drove people to such incredible lengths to oppose the existing society. How do we begin to account for this? We say that people think.

Refuting Refutation

However, even if we bracket the question of method, we have to address an empirical objection. Parkinson goes further than stating that Lazarus’s overall approach has no value. He claims it is categorically false. With reference to Lars Lih’s Lenin Rediscovered, Parkinson maintains that Lenin “wasn’t making any kind of original argument” in WITBD. The text apparently shows “an impressive exercise in aggressive unoriginality.” 

Before we can address this criticism, we should first clarify that for Lazarus, WITBD marks the beginning of the Bolshevik mode: it is the beginning of a sequence that runs “from 1902 to October 1917. It was closed by the victory of the insurrection, the creation of the Soviet state, and the renaming of the Bolsheviks as the Communist Party in 1918.”46 By identifying the lapsing of the Bolshevik sites and seeing the successful insurrection as part of the closure of the Bolshevik mode, we separate the contradictions of socialist construction from the singular power of Lenin’s thought. For Lazarus, WITBD is the privileged text because “it bears on politics, its conditions and its thought”: “I think it is absolutely essential to separate radically the texts before the seizure of power from those of the period of the exercise of power.”47 If this is too radical a claim, then we can at least accept that despite the fact that we can find Lenin’s work in his Collected Works, this “by no way means that one can decide a priori that the theses in these thousands of texts are internally homogeneous and coherent. The existence of such a work does not mean continuity, homogeneity, unity.”48 In other words, if we understand the Bolshevik mode as a sequence that is guided by the subjective thought of Lenin over time, then we must see that Lenin’s thought must be heterogeneous. It would follow then that whatever relationship Lenin has to Marx and Kautsky – certainly two people that were significant influences on him – we cannot characterize this influence as static and unchanging.

Now to Parkinson’s criticism on the question of “originality.” If we take Parkinson literally–that Lenin “wasn’t making any kind of original argument”–then we have an extreme position that can be met with what might seem to be a counter-intuitive fact: that repetition is difference.

How can we illustrate this? We can say that even if the totality of Lenin’s political expression had been submitting quotations from the Collected Works of Marx and Engels in the original German to his opponents without any additional commentary–even if Lenin had randomly drawn pages of Marx’s actual manuscripts from a hat and nailed them to the doors of his rivals–this would still be in some sense “original,” though certainly bizarre and likely ineffective. Why? At the most immediate level, because simply selecting quotations from works which were frequently unfinished or abandoned to the “gnawing criticism of the mice,” which responded to changing historical circumstances and constantly went through developments and changes in their theoretical frameworks, would already represent a specific and contentious interpretation, and this interpretation would be an intervention into a scenario which was totally different from the one in which the works were originally written. But it is also because it is impossible to do the same thing twice.49 It is for this reason that we do not refer to the immortal science of Marxism-Marxism. But even if we did, the placement of the second Marxism would still indicate a difference through its repetition. Indeed, the name “Marxism-Leninism” obviously indicates that “Leninism” is something separate from “Marxism,” thus requiring a hyphen to connect them.

To be fair to Parkinson, we might ask what else his statement could mean beyond a literal interpretation. While I have already shown that Parkinson has neglected to engage with the questions that Lazarus’s method sets out to address, I believe we can read Parkinson’s statements symptomatically to understand what seems to be at stake. I recognize that to this point I have used the term “symptomatic” a few times and should clarify what I mean in the current context. Here I am referring to Althusser’s method of reading that “divulges the undivulged event in the text.”50 Thus, I will attempt to analyze what is happening beneath the text.

Let’s take this statement from Parkinson for example: “What Lazarus is doing is projecting a radical break into history so as to justify that another radical break is necessary.” It would seem Parkinson has been forced into a situation where he must deny discontinuity and difference between Marx and Lenin. This seems to be confirmed by the fact that while the term “continuity” appears five times in his reply, the term “discontinuity” does not appear at all. Instead, we get five uses of the term “novelty.” What is particularly interesting about Parkinson’s usage of “novelty” is that while it is used once to mean the opposite of continuity (his assertion that history is a “flux of novelty and continuity”), novelty is primarily used to accuse Lazarus, and my usage of him, as falling into the fallacy of an “appeal to novelty.” Beyond the suppression of the term discontinuity, the term “difference” does not appear at all in Parkinson’s piece and the term “different” appears once. It is worth noting that Parkinson’s essay is 4,393 words long.

So we see that a symptomatic reading shows that discontinuity and difference is suppressed in Parkinson’s text. Our symptomatic reading of Parkinson’s thesis that Lenin “wasn’t making any kind of original argument” in WITBD produces another tension. We might express this additional tension in the form of a question: to what degree can one person’s thought be continuous with another’s through the reality of difference – historical and geographical difference, and even simply the difference between political actors? To answer this question requires locating what is divergent between the two thoughts. In other words, what does one think that the other does not? While it is certainly possible that Lazarus and myself have posed this question in a Saint-Justian register (“In a time of innovation, anything that is not new is pernicious”), I do not think investigating this question is in any way fallacious. Certainly Lazarus’s reading is challenging to those who are set in their commitments. But then I do not know what the point of study and discussion is if we assume we already have the answer.

So let’s put Parkinson’s literal thesis aside and adopt the question that we have constructed from his text about continuity and difference. Rather than simply read Parkinson against himself, we’ll see if we can support Lazarus’s claims with the arguments Parkinson has made to refute him. 

Let’s begin with Lih. While Lih stresses that Lenin’s text is very much in-line with Erfurtian convention, he also clearly states that the fifth and final chapter of WITBD centers on Lenin’s original idea: that a unified Russian party can be constructed through “the nation-wide underground newspaper.” Lest I be accused of misinterpretation I will quote two passages from Lih’s Lenin Rediscovered in their entirety:

The newspaper plan was Lenin’s baby – his own original idea, one that he had laboured long and hard to bring to fruition. His ambitious dream that a nation-wide underground newspaper could galvanise Russian Social Democracy into effective and unified action is here supported with a great deal of ingenuity.51

As Liadov argues, the distinctive dilemma facing Russian Social Democracy was that separate underground organisations that had grown up locally with roots in the local worker milieu had to somehow come together to create central institutions. Lenin’s plan is an ingenious strategy for getting from A to B: from a series of independent local committees to a set of central institutions with enough legitimacy to provide genuine co-ordination (Lenin has this situation in mind when he talks about constructing the Party ‘from all directions’).52

While a national underground newspaper is less exciting than protracted people’s war in the countryside, it nevertheless proved effective and correct. I take this to be a clear indication of Lenin’s singular role in producing the party, which along with the soviet, the organizational form that was “discovered” starting from the 1905 revolution and was absolutely central for Lenin’s conception of politics in 1917, can be understood to be the sites of the Bolshevik mode of politics. By no means was the creation of the all-Russian newspaper an obvious strategy for building the party. This is precisely why Lenin poses the question as the heading of section B of this decisive chapter: “Can a newspaper be a collective organiser?” In Lih’s commentary on this section, he shows that Lenin faced stiff resistance to this idea from Nadezhdin despite their shared goals:

Both Lenin and Nadezhdin want to organise and lead the assault on the autocracy, both of them feel there is vast revolutionary potential in the narod, and both feel that local organisations are the weak links at present. Nadezhdin’s proposed scenario is: the local praktiki organise the people, the narod, for an assault on the autocracy. The activity ‘cultivates [vospitat]’ strong local organisations which are then in a position to unify the Party. But, argues Nedezhdin, an all-Russian newspaper is not much use for the crucial step of organising the narod, because of its inevitable distance from concrete local issues and its ‘writerism.’ In contrast, Lenin’s proposed scenario is: use an all-Russian newspaper to cultivate the local organisations and let these newly prepared leader/guides go out and organise the narod.53

Now that we can see there is an empirically verifiable new idea in WITBD that was essential to the formation of the party, we are brought to yet another decisive point. This point requires that we contest what may seem like a more modest thesis: that there is no meaningful difference between the political thought of Marx and Lenin. This more reasonable thesis is defeated if we seriously consider an argument that Parkinson himself presents. In reference to Marx and Lenin, Parkinson argues that “the break never really happened in the first place. Marx himself fought to form the workers’ party in his own time and struggled within it for programmatic clarity. His own life was an example of the merger formula in practice. Kautsky merely systematized it and Lenin applied it to Russian conditions.” 

What is on the surface level an argument for continuity actually relies on identifying discontinuities. If there is no meaningful difference between Marx and Lenin in their political thought, if there is no break, then how could we put Marx, Kautsky, and Lenin into a series of neat successions? Marx lived the merger formula. Kautsky systematized it. Lenin applied it. These are three distinct moments, three different orientations towards the party in entirely different circumstances, and a continuity can only be identified through these differences. 

In addition to this point about continuity and difference, we are left with a puzzling question: How can Marx and Lenin have no meaningful difference if Lenin’s politics is inconceivable without Kautsky’s systemization of Marx? Here we see a striking problem for Parkinson: if there is an argument that Lenin did not break with Marx on the question of politics in a decisive way, then this is precisely an argument that a Neo-Kautskyan position would not allow us to make. If Kautsky is a central figure in the development of Marxism, then Lenin must have a meaningful divergence in his thought from Marx since Lenin’s thought is dependent on Kautsky’s systemization of Marx. But if Marx and Lenin do not have a meaningful difference in their thought, this would only be because Kautsky’s thought was irrelevant to Lenin’s development. Thus, a precondition to refuting Lazarus’s claim that there is a break between Marx and Lenin is a rejection of Kautsky. Given that Parkinson and Cosmonaut seem committed to a neo-Erfurtain project, a rejection of Kautsky to show that Marx and Lenin have no meaningful difference in their thought would be a very strange position to take up.

Partisan Conclusions

I would like to close with a concrete proposal. This proposal is the product of reading Lazarus and re-examining Lenin and the Bolshevik mode of politics. I believe this proposal is both guided by Lenin’s subjective practices while also resistant to a mechanical imposition of historical forms of organization.

At a recent CPGB event, I was very heartened to see Parkinson advocate for Marxists to join DSA. I agree with Cosmonaut’s mission statement that we need more lively discussions and study outside of the academy. I believe that DSA is currently the best site for continued discussion, study, and experimentation for the Marxist left in the US. I say this knowing full well the organization’s limitations. While DSA can be a difficult place for a number of reasons, I do not think it can be abandoned.

The recent announcement of the Partisan project, a joint publication between San Francisco’s Red Star, NYC’s Emerge, Portland’s Red Caucus, and the Communist Caucus, is immensely encouraging. I welcome the creation of this publication as a step toward the formation of a consolidated Marxist bloc within DSA through which greater study, discussion, and collaboration within the organization can be pursued and relationships with organizations abroad can be deepend. While the caucus paradigm has been important to organizing and developing different tendencies, I believe the caucuses engaging in the Partisan project are correct to be working together more closely. I suggest this work be taken further so we can overcome the various points of unity within DSA that actually limit the degree to which our forces can be consolidated to combat liberals and wreckers within the organization. It seems to me that the notion of partisanship could be a particularly effective organizing principle in forming such a Marxist bloc. I am thinking here of Gavin Walker’s assertion that “the party means to choose a side, to uphold the concept of antagonism, to emphasize that antagonism cannot be avoided without denying the basic politicality of social life.”54

A diversity of views consolidated around core partisan commitments can be the basis for greater collective study, discussion, and experimentation. The Partisan project seems like the best existing vehicle to drive this consolidation, since it is already a formalized partnership between different tendencies. Crucially, it is still a new project that is presumably still figuring out its direction.

While I am unaffiliated with these caucuses and Partisan, I do want to make a recommendation. I propose that Partisan invite other national and local Marxist caucuses, as well as other Marxists and left publications inside and outside of DSA, including comrades abroad, to join the Partisan project. This could be initiated with scheduling an open meeting on Zoom. This open meeting could be called by the Partisan editorial collective to discuss recent articles that have been published in the Partisan journal and beyond with the goal of meeting regularly to develop and explore collective lines of inquiry and practical experimentation. All of this seems in line with the current language of the Partisan project.55

To be more prescriptive, I would suggest that this project concern itself with subjectivization, rather than “building the party.” In my opinion, the party makes it harder to see the tasks before us; the party locates the forms of organization we need now in the future. Without trying to be exhaustive, I believe we should be less concerned with programs and discipline, and more interested in formulating shared partisan commitments that are capable of supporting a diversity of views while fiercely opposing neutralizing tendencies that seek to collaborate with Democrats and generally maintain mass depoliticization. We should emphasize our current need for the collective study necessary to ask each other better questions, rather than attempt to educate others with inadequate answers. In my opinion, we should give up the notion of “leadership” and instead develop positions of partisanship. This includes combatting the liberal establishment’s call for unity–already the apparent motor of the Biden administration–and insist on division from within the sites where people think. 

Extending the Partisan tendency would allow us to construct an organization of militants from within our existing 90k member organization of “official socialist organizers.” To do this without reference to the party would allow us to pursue the collective subjectivization required to construct and advance an emancipatory politics at a distance from the state. While confronting the state will be inevitable, we are currently not in any way equipped to do so. This includes sending our forces “behind enemy lines” to hold elected office or using the publicity of elections to build an organization. Nevermind the fact that an emancipatory politics cannot be reconciled with managing capitalist exploitation and ecological collapse, the prerequisite to utilizing the spectacle of elections and other political institutions, the prerequisite to entering the structure of so-called representative democracy, is a committed core of militants. This is something we simply do not have, but it is something we can create. To suggest otherwise–to say that we do not need a committed core or that one currently exists–is to argue that opportunism is a substitute for politics and that politics must be synonymous with power. Similarly, if our problem is fragmentation, then a growth in membership exacerbates this problem rather than solves it. Ultimately, we must stop attempting to validate our movement through electoral success and paper membership. We must construct our politics on our own terms. It is the fact that these terms cannot be reconciled with the existing order that makes them politics.

As I believe Parkinson said during his discussion with the CPGB, right now we do not need to go to the masses. This is counter-intuitive but it is true. The immediate task is consolidating our forces to determine our commitments so we can give people something new to think about: the thought of politics. And this politics will only be something worth thinking about if it says that everyone has the capacity to think and self-govern. That everyone has the capacity to decide and that we will come together as equals to do what we are constantly denied. We will make a decision.

Advancing the Partisan tendency in the present by consolidating a Marxist bloc seems the best available path to producing an emancipatory movement. It is an insistence on what is partisan, on what divides, that makes possible the collective decision to end capitalist exploitation, ecological armageddon, and mass depoliticization. We cannot wait for liberals to agree with us. We cannot wait for the streets to fill or for a sufficient number of socialists to take office. We cannot wait for exploratory discussions to produce a pre-party organization and for the pre-party organization to produce the party and for the party to develop a revolutionary consciousness in the masses so we can be in the correct position in a revolutionary situation to engage in the art of insurrection. We must organize now. We must consolidate now. We must advance our position from the premises already in existence. This begins with collectively posing the question of the subject in the present, rather than calling for a future party.

 

Other Witherings: On Family Abolition and Defense

Social Conservative defenses of the nuclear family pose it as the default natural form of kinship and blame working-class immiseration on its decline. Cam Scott takes aim at such arguments, including those made by leftists. 

As the deepening crises of capitalism impel greater numbers of people to the left, the communist movement gains in strength. These numerical gains, however, bring about another slew of contradictions, as false friends and ideological seductions appear in a myriad of intimate guises. In imperial core countries such as the United States, a new brand of majoritarian socialism, backed by common sense, gathers around a program of drastic, but ultimately serviceable, reforms to the capitalist system. Within this recent ferment, opportunism flourishes, and right-wing talking points proliferate with the advantage of simplicity. 

A persistent example of rightism within a widening socialist spectrum would be Angela Nagle, who made her debut as a cultural critic with the 2017 publication of Kill All Normies, a remedial ethnography of the online right and its misogynist ressentiment. Perhaps the author’s sympathies were already clear from this early screed against “Tumblr-liberalism,” in which Nagle more or less describes a penchant for denunciation from a “campus left” as a self-fulfilling prophecy, goading its nemesis into existence by sheer wishful hyperbole. But it was only after Nagle published a piece in the conservative journal American Affairs entitled “The Left Case against Open Borders,” calling internationalists “the useful idiots of big business,” that she attracted the interest and agreement of pundits like Tucker Carlson, and a reputation as an “anti-woke” culture warrior. Most recently, Nagle has turned her attention to the family—more specifically, to its defense against a deviant left—for The Lamp, a journal of “consistent, undiluted Catholic orthodoxy.”

As a moral institution, the bourgeois family proves a remarkably effective figure with which to condense Nagle’s racial and sexual politics. Her polemic opens defensively, like so many conservative rallying cries, positioning the family as an institution under attack: “The call to abolish the family has recently been revived by cultural revolutionaries who are getting their way on a number of issues to which most people had never given any consideration.” Beyond the lurching grammar of this curious assertion and its uncertain timeline lurks a fantasy of persecution. Nagle warns her reader of a return; but from whence does this renewed demand originate? Without addressing the pre-history of this apparently perverse fad, Nagle proceeds to ask a follow-up question: “Why is it being revived now, when the family has already been in decline for decades?”

Here one perceives a sudden and deceptive shift, for there’s a wide difference between ‘abolition’ and ‘decline.’ Any revolutionary will profess a desire for the abolition of capitalism, at the same time as they will almost certainly understand that any interval in which capitalism finds itself in decline is sure to be a time of intense cruelty, when its most oppressive institutions reassert themselves. Historical structures, particularly those that ought to be transformed altogether, often enter into periods of decline because of their own contradictions. Decline has never sufficed for revolution in itself; more often, it names the intolerable stage of an untenable state. 

Leaving aside this sleight, the question remains: who are the cultural revolutionaries behind this revival? In a scaremongering rollcall of family abolitionists, Nagle includes “anarchists,” Black Lives Matter, one defunct magazine, and apparently, by implication, the Ford Foundation. With this roster of variously wretched and connected nemeses, Nagle panders to a moral majority, for whom—to the extent that she still claims any left politics whatsoever—she is determined to play the useful idiot. Nonetheless, only an extremely online reader could follow Nagle’s paranoid synopsis, in which she digresses upon the short-lived Capitol Hill Autonomous Zone in Seattle, characterizing organizer Raz Simone as a “warlord” with the racist panache of a Fox News telecaster, and seethingly obsesses over the work of theorist Sophie Lewis on surrogacy.1 

Nagle appears certain that the family, as a unit of social production and necessary (however often obliged, coercive) care, follows natural law, and can be extrapolated from biological descendence. The nuclear family, she asserts, is a cornerstone of “virtually every society hitherto observed in human history.” This is demonstrably false, as well-observed by many decidedly non-radical sociologists and anthropologists. But one needn’t heed any academic in particular, where innumerable cultures world-over call attention to the socially corrosive imposition of the nuclear family form on their own kinship practices and ways of belonging. Nagle is something far worse than incurious, however—she is a reactionary, and the willingness of some on the left to take her seriously warrants a materialist summary of the ground on which she intervenes.

The Origin of the Family, Private Property, and the State

In 1884, Friedrich Engels published The Origin of the Family, Private Property and the State, a historical excavation of the development of the family in consequence of changing relations of production. While clearly dated, the work is a cornerstone of Marxist and feminist theory, in which Engels argues that the patrilinear organization of the modern family develops with the advent of private property, in order that “children of undisputed paternity (might) come into their father’s property as his natural heirs.” It is worth quoting at greater length from the text:

Monogamous marriage comes on the scene as the subjugation of the one sex by the other; it announces a struggle between the sexes unknown throughout the whole previous prehistoric period. In an old unpublished manuscript, written by Marx and myself in 1846, I find the words: “The first division of labor is that between man and woman for the propagation of children.” And today I can add: The first class opposition that appears in history coincides with the development of the antagonism between man and woman in monogamous marriage, and the first class oppression coincides with that of the female sex by the male. Monogamous marriage was a great historical step forward; nevertheless, together with slavery and private wealth, it opens the period that has lasted until today in which every step forward is also relatively a step backward, in which prosperity and development for some are won through the misery and frustration of others. It is the cellular form of civilized society, in which the nature of the oppositions and contradictions fully active in that society can be already studied.

‘The Origin of the Family, Private Property, and the State’ remains a blow to patriarchal ideology to this day.

In Engels’ account, it isn’t only that the nuclear family appears at a particular moment in history as a requirement of capitalist accumulation. Rather, the patriarchal distribution of property in relation to a gendered division of labor preconfigures class society. Theorist Shulamith Firestone believes that “Engels has been given too much credit for these scattered recognitions,” and that his work perceives the “sexual substratum of the historical dialectic” only insofar as it aligns with his own principally economic concerns.2 But it is precisely this alignment to which Nagle and conservative socialists must be accountable. Any serious examination of the emergence and maintenance of capitalism has to account for the development of the nuclear family, and any thought that attempts to circumvent the historicity of this development by reference to natural advantage is unsuitable to the critique of capitalism. 

Over the course of his influential work, Engels narrates the rise of institutionalized patrilineality as a means of transmitting private wealth from generation to generation; and the Marxist demand for the abolition of all rights of inheritance makes little sense without a firm historical grasp of the institutions by which unyielding, multi-generational ownership of the means of production is naturalized along patrilineal, and racial, lines. At the same time, socialist feminists such as Selma James and Silvia Federici have demonstrated the extent to which the family as a minimal unity was essential to the success of free labor, where women and children necessarily tend to a household owned by a man. This is not only a holdover from a feudal arrangement; rather, as John D’Emilio explains in his influential essay on gay identity formation, family members remain mutually dependent under the capitalist mode of production, even as the family ceases to function as a self-sufficient unit of production. As individuals struck out into the market, selling their labor power, new principles of social affiliation emerged. It is the decline of this mutual dependency that Nagle and other defenders of family values bemoan:  

Robert Putnam’s famous work, for example, documents the steady decline of social trust, community, and cooperation in the same time period during which the family has declined, with loneliness and isolation increasing by every statistical measure to a greater extent now than at any point in American history. 

One should ask, however, what else has taken place over the decades in question. Correlation does not imply causation, and as Nagle herself claims to have noticed, almost every collectivity has been threatened by massive deregulation over the last half-century, from organized labor to team bowling. This citation on its own is specious; if proletarianization erodes family values, it in no way follows that this erosion is the cause of other, related symptoms; nor does it follow that the nuclear family as a feudal vestige must be defended. Nagle disagrees:

In the Eighties, the wealth gap that opened up between the educated and less educated due to offshoring and the decline in opportunities for the working class is considered one of the primary causes of family break-ups by sociologists such as Andrew Cherlin, the author of Love’s Labour Lost: The Rise and Fall of the Working Class Family in America. While the working-class family suffered under these economic conditions, family stability increased among the educated. This disparity has in turn exacerbated the wealth gap further. The many demonstrable positive benefits of growing up with two parents are among the many evils of the past from which the working class and the less educated appear to have been liberated.

Moving swiftly past the sleight of hand by which Nagle smuggles her economic nationalism into her defense of the family, she again confuses the disaggregation of the family by economic pressure, and the pains of further isolation from this minimal unity, with an abolitionist program of affirmative affiliation. Cherlin uses an apparent “marriage gap” to index the economic gulf between classes, and before any normative interpretation, this observation—that a stable family structure strongly correlates with economic security—is easily reconcilable with much Marxist and abolitionist thinking on the family. As noted, the family is a miniature unit of production and wealth-sharing in an otherwise atomized market society. As a legal institution, the family functions as a firm, by which wealth is inherited and inequality is reproduced. Otherwise, the security afforded to working people by the family is carefully annotated within Marxist sociology and feminist thought, which describes the family as a site of occluded labor, where unpaid domestic service is expected: the waged worker doesn’t reproduce themself alone. 

Making and Breaking Kin

This reply is far too abstract, however, where Nagle’s racist innuendo is so brazen. Nagle’s assertions about the benefits of growing up in a two-parent household are either banally true, concerning the material advantages of pooling multiple incomes or having the full-time attention of an unwaged, stay-at-home caregiver—or they partake of the deep stereotypes used to ideologize American economic policy. Bluntly, Nagle’s determinism has less to do with Karl Marx than with Daniel Moynihan, whose 1965 report on Black poverty in the United States famously pathologized its subjects, venturing a dismal verdict on Black men and single mothers. As Angela Davis writes:

According to the report’s thesis, the source of oppression was deeper than the racial discrimination that produced unemployment, shoddy housing, inadequate education and substandard medical care. The root of oppression was described as a ‘tangle of pathology’ created by the absence of male authority among Black people!3 

In this document, Moynihan framed the adverse effects of poverty and discrimination as evidence of the incompatibility of Black “matriarchal” custom with European American social mores and progress. Moynihan’s description of this alternative family arrangement was in no way ennobling—rather, this comparative term functioned to naturalize the bourgeois nuclear family and its constitutive divisions of labor and to prioritize this organization as a requirement of economic advancement. 

The Moynihan report sent shockwaves through popular culture, creating the now commonplace narrative of the dysfunctional black family.

In a historically sweeping, meta-psychoanalytic reading of the Moynihan Report, theorist Hortense J. Spillers explains its fatal logic and flawed terminology. The report, she says, purports to compare the “’white’ family, by implication, and the ‘Negro Family,’ by outright assertion, in a constant opposition of binary meanings … with neither past nor future, as tribal currents moving out of time.”4 These two family forms, insofar as they are binarized and reference only each other, lack historical substantiality themselves while operating within a racist imaginary that is itself a historical product. The synchronic Oedipality of Moynihan’s account evades the history of which it is a product. This supposed cultural difference only stands for failure and exclusion where the family is both an amenity and an institution of whiteness:

It seems clear, however, that ‘Family,’ as we practice and understand it ‘in the West’—the vertical transfer of a bloodline, of a patronymic, of titles and entitlements, of real estate and the prerogatives of ‘cold cash,’ from fathers to sons and in the supposedly free exchange of affectional ties between a male and a female of his choice—becomes the mythically revered privilege of a free and freed community.5 

Any verdict as regards Black family life, Spillers suggests, is “impertinent” where enslaved people were forcibly dispersed from their own familial and social arrangements. Slavery is a system that makes kinship impossible, for if it remained so, Spillers explains, “property relations would be undermined, since the offspring would then ‘belong’ to a mother and a father.”6 Thus the Moynihan report’s improper speculation as to the obstinacy of a Black “matriarchal” culture suggests that Black women have been empowered to claim their children throughout history, on a model of inheritance that was systematically denied them.

As one can see, it isn’t simply that the nuclear family has outlived a once-upon-a-time utility, but that it has served continuously as an instrument of subjugation. Where many cultures were suppressed by European colonizers and prohibited access to the conceptual and material resources afforded by the family, others were disciplined into accepting its strictures over the course of forced assimilation. As Europe colonized North America, a patriarchal family unit proved particularly beneficial to the new economy, which in turn transformed vast territories shared by First Nations into private property. The family, as the maximum society permitted by this dispersal, doubled as a workforce; and the drive by individual households to maximize productive capacity changed the demography of North America. As Dakota scholar Kim TallBear explains:

Growing the white population through biologically reproductive heterosexual marriage—in addition to encouraging immigration from some places and not others—was crucial to settler-colonial nation-building … At the same time that the biologically reproductive monogamous white marriage and family were solidified as ideal and central to both US and Canadian nation building, Indigenous peoples who found themselves inside these two countries were being viciously restrained both conceptually and physically inside colonial borders and institutions that included residential schools, churches and missions all designed to “save the man and kill the Indian.”7 

For all of her concern about child welfare and the breaking up of homes, Nagle remains ignorant of how the mandate of the nuclear family has been used to destroy other systems of multi-generational care. The seizure of Indigenous children by the state has been a permanent feature of colonization, from residential schooling to Sixties Scoop the massive abduction of Indigenous children from their communities throughout the 1960s, and their adoption into middle-class settler families across North America. In Canada today, there are more Indigenous children in the custody of Child and Family Services than were placed in residential schools; which have been named an officially genocidal institution. These apprehensions have been similarly denounced by human rights advocates, and often proceed on the basis of discrimination against young, “single” parents or the greater role of older community members in care. On this point, TallBear quotes Cree-Métis feminist Kim Anderson: “Our traditional societies had been sustained by strong kin relations in which women had significant authority. There was no such thing as a single mother because Native women and their children lived and worked in extended kin networks.”8

Throughout her work, Marxist anthropologist Eleanor Leacock makes a forceful case for the historical subversion of the labor of women, and the consequent transformation of social relations, in the development of capitalism. Based on her time with the Innu people, and less fanciful accounts of Indigenous North American life and customs than Engels’ third-hand characterization of the Haudenosaunee, Leacock observes the even dispersal of rights and responsibilities among men and women, in a collective arrangement that considerably surpasses the narrowness of the nuclear family. In these societies, Leacock explains, “women retained control over the products of their labor. These were not alienated, and women’s production of clothing, shelter, and canoe covering gave them concomitant practical power and influence.”9 

Having observed the economic equality of genders as independent parties to exchange in non-European societies, Leacock argues adamantly for a Marxist theory to account for the subordination of women in the emergence of the family, as a crucial prerequisite to the capitalist transformation of work into abstract labour and cooperative production into private property relations. For want of such an account, anthropologists and laypersons alike will repeat “the widespread normative ideal of men as household heads who provision dependent women and children reflects some human need or drive … (and) the unique and valued culture history and tradition of each Third World people will continue to be distorted, twisted to fit the interests of capitalist exploitation.”10

In arguing for a trans-historical family integrity, Nagle and her fellow moral crusaders implicitly condone a trans-historical—that is to say, natural—dependency of women upon men. This imputed dependency serves in turn as a firm foundation for a rigid conception of sex and gender, extrapolated from a division of labour and its concomitant system of property. Little wonder, then, that Nagle’s declensionist account of the American family fixates upon the project of queer liberation as a scene of turpitude. But even she may be surprised at certain reevaluations of the family from the moral right.  

The Brooks Debate

In an improbable piece for The Atlantic, conservative commentator David Brooks narrates the rise and fall of the American family with considerably less dread than one might expect. Brooks notes the social supports offered by the “corporate” family structure of the nineteenth-century, where multiple households supported a family business; and the subsequent decline of multi-generational habitation with the rise of an urban proletariat throughout the twentieth-century. Citing a middle-class cult of “togetherness,” Brooks correctly regards the nuclear family as an idealization, or an abstraction from a statistical average. The 1950s, Brooks declares, “was a freakish historical moment when all of society conspired, wittingly and not, to obscure the essential fragility of the nuclear family.” 

Brooks, who for our purposes appears a better vulgar Marxist than Nagle, periodizes the decline of the nuclear family; marking a fall in real wages through the 1970s and a correspondent uptake in competitive individualism, alongside real gains in mobility for women by the feminist movement. (In this observation, he’s a better dialectician than Nagle, too.) Today, Brooks says, American marriage and birth rates continue to fall and the nuclear family seems on its way out. But this is only half the story. America, Brooks continues, “now has two entirely different family regimes.” Here Brooks winds up veering eerily close to the prognosis of The Communist Manifesto, where Marx and Engels declare that the bourgeois family, based on private gain, exists only for the bourgeoisie, while immiserating conditions have already abolished the family among proletarians. Now Brooks: 

Among the highly educated, family patterns are almost as stable as they were in the 1950s; among the less fortunate, family life is often utter chaos. There’s a reason for that divide: Affluent people have the resources to effectively buy extended family, in order to shore themselves up. Think of all the child-rearing labor affluent parents now buy that used to be done by extended kin: babysitting, professional child care, tutoring, coaching, therapy, expensive after-school programs. 

Brooks, like Nagle, cites Cherlin’s “marriage gap,” arguing that marriage is not only an amenity but an instrument of wealth. For moralists like Brooks, however, economic fortunes are an index of social behavior, and a secondary cause at best; and he’s quick to seek out sociological determinations of economic disparity, reading rates of divorce and remarriage as harbingers of poverty and very nearly parroting the Moynihan report’s foreclosure of Black sociality. The practical difference is in policy, where Brooks proposes a deemphasis of family life in favor of extended and experimental kinship structures. 

“The good news is that human beings adapt, even if politics are slow to do so. When one family form stops working, people cast about for something new—sometimes finding it in something very old,” writes Brooks. Were the source concealed, one might almost agree. Surely politics trails actual developments within the lives of people, and the ways in which those lives are organized is nothing if not changeable. As Leacock explains, human beings only demonstrate a “potential for social living which cultural traditions then supply with specific goals. The notions of private property, or the monogamous family, are culturally learned goals.”11 

In a series of anthropological overtures, looking to pre-capitalist and communal cultures throughout history and across the globe, Brooks strives to remind his reader that “throughout most of human history, kinship was something you could create.” This is doubtlessly true; though the recommendation is scarcely credible in Brooks’ voice, as a frontier mentality underwrites his canvassing of human custom writ large. Moreover, his account of the American family, however economistic, fails to apprehend the relations of production that subtend his broader thesis. Nothing about Brooks’ perspective is exemplary, except for its part in a broad consensus that the family isn’t working as one might expect. 

Six different types of kinship according to 19th-century anthropologist Lewis Henry Morgan.

The Lawful Structure of Love

In a response to Brooks, as part of an online symposium about his essay hosted by the Institute for Family Studies, Cherlin accuses sentimentality: large extended families form a nostalgic backdrop to a bygone way of life, he says, but rarely figured in the everyday; and those who have “innovated” their families outside of the white mainstream rarely did so by choice, and struggle in the present to repair conventional family bonds. All told, Cherlin opines on the side of natural law:

But one must recognize that forged families have some limitations. These kinship ties are easier to break because they are voluntary; neither strong norms nor laws stand in the way of ending them. They also take continual work to maintain: Although your sister is always your sister and your spouse is always your spouse, your close friend is part of your forged family only as long as you and she actively support each other.  

This is a popular, and for many definitive, defense of the family bond, which takes on an ethical character insofar as it is both immutable and received. And yet, in setting forth their materialist determination of the family, Marx and Engels faced down an incredibly sophisticated version of this prejudice, in an account that forms a basis for many liberal defenses of the family today. 

In his 1820 work, Outlines of the Philosophy of Right, G.W.F. Hegel characterized the loving family as the “immediate substantiality of mind”—a paradigm of individuality in essential unity with an external group.12 But even Hegel’s portrayal of the family as a social metabolism requires a moment of departure from this cozy interdependence, where the individual’s life within this group attains its meaning only when the group begins to dissolve. At this point, the family member in question sets out into the world; not as an act of secession but succession, to marry and recommence the cycle by which the family is “completed”—or, why not, abolished.

The act of marriage, Hegel continues, is a willed arrangement by which family capital is exchanged: “The family, as person, has its real external existence in property; and it is only when this property takes the form of capital that it becomes the embodiment of the substantial personality of the family.”13 In this description, free exchange motivates exogenous marriage rite, which market relation Hegel imbues with spiritual necessity, defining marriage as an ethical exemplum—a necessarily loving and conscious unity between consenting individuals. This subjective accord finds its objective unity in a child, to which both parties are absolutely obliged. One could always choose to end a marriage; but this new, dependant relation is non-elective, and thus forms a natural basis for social responsibility and property alike, as the objectification of the family’s intersubjective will.

Children are not property themselves, Hegel continues, but must be raised at expense of the family’s common capital until they reach self-subsistence and are capable of holding property of their own; in which case the dissolution of the family is nearly complete, pending inheritance on the death of the father. Regarding this transaction, Hegel is clear: “the essence of inheritance is the transfer to private ownership of property which is in principle common.”14 Hegel notes that certain earlier ideas of inheritance favored appropriation by proximity, insofar as death transforms private property into wealth without an owner, and the family was simply nearest to the deceased. This, however, “disregards the nature of family relationship,” which necessitates the transmission of property from generation to generation as a principle of ethical life.

In spite of his idealism, Hegel grasps the essential relationship between the family and private property, and the difficulty of accounting for family bonds outside of the latter logic. Here we can perform a simple Marxist manoeuvre and turn Hegel on his big head; for a re-historicization of bourgeois right—which extrapolates private property relations from personal embodiment and filiation—suggests that the custodial family models itself on private property relations, much as the productive family is a staple institution of an earlier feudalism. Moreover, the ethico-legal function of marriage in Hegel’s system models the calling of the authorizing state—to assuage an antagonism immanent to society itself. 

Certainly, Marx and Engels oppose this metaphysical scheme in their demand for the abolition of the right to inheritance; otherwise, the redistribution in advance of lineal wealth allocation. But can the normative social function of Hegel’s family extend beyond the bourgeois property relations that it otherwise models? What, if anything, of this order might remain after the abolition of bourgeois right and property?

The Logical Structure of Love

In their work, Hegel and the Logical Structure of Love, philosophers Toula Nicolacopoulos and George Vassilacopoulos attempt to rewrite the account of familial love offered in the Philosophy of Right, in a manner that proves generative for a communist program of generalized care. As many rebuttals construe the family along similar lines to Hegel, as a timeless unit of ethical life, this work imagines other forms of objective solicitude, irrespective of sex, station, or relation. 

Hegel’s description of familial love is based on an ideal unity, which may or may not be present in other intersubjective relationships. Altruism and solidarity, for example, needn’t recognize the particular individuality of the other; friendship proceeds without a public witness. If recognition is a crucial litmus, Nicolacopoulos and Vassilacopoulos argue, then the dynamic individuality that Hegel prizes is even absent from single-parenting, where the love of a parent for a child is initially asymmetrical; the child doesn’t recognize its self-unity in the parent as yet, and must move from undifferentiated identity with the parent to an atomic individuality before doing so.15 This insight is less disturbing than it sounds at first; for it only rejects the prospect of an unmediated ethical relationship. As noted above, the “single parent” exists only with reference to a double standard—nobody parents alone.

But what of marriage, the lawful relationship that culminates in the family? It’s true that the conceptual sacrament of marriage in Hegel is heterosexual, monogamous, dyadic; but its ethical necessity consists in loving and mutual consent. In Origins of the Family, Engels submits this implausible ideal to historical scrutiny, staging a dialectic of recognition; for where bourgeois property relations obtain, “the marriage is conditioned by the class position of the parties and is to that extent always a marriage of convenience,” if not outright captivity. Elaborating on a theme from the Manifesto—that in many respects, the family has already been abolished for the proletariat—Engels ventures that real mutual love can only exist amid the formal equality of the oppressed:

Sex-love in the relationship with a woman becomes, and can only become, the real rule among the oppressed classes, which means today among the proletariat—whether this relation is officially sanctioned or not. But here all the foundations of typical monogamy are cleared away. Here there is no property, for the preservation and inheritance of which monogamy and male supremacy were established; hence there is no incentive to make this male supremacy effective … The proletarian family is therefore no longer monogamous in the strict sense, even where there is passionate love and firmest loyalty on both sides, and maybe all the blessings of religious and civil authority.

Engels offers a historically specific definition of monogamy, as descended from property relations, that precludes the requirement of free consent. In this way, the disintegration of the family as a unit of production actually conditions love; though of course there are many other power differentials between people in a concrete situation, and in a patriarchal society marriage remains a point of access to a family wage. But Engels’ amoral claim by no means construes proletarianization as emancipatory in itself. One century later, John D’Emilio would ambivalently observe the correlation between “free labor” and free sexual association in a landmark essay on capitalism and gay identity, in an analysis that patiently attends to the domestic constraints placed upon women in the same conjuncture. These key materialist texts illuminate the difficulty of describing the family in terms of affective ties, and the impossibility of extrapolating affection from its legal sanction.

Nicolacopoulos and Vassilacopoulos understand the necessity of monogamy for Hegel, as “immediate exclusive individuality,” to denote the singularity of the beloved, where “exclusivity” denotes the relationship between a beloved’s attributes and their rare person, rather than a pact pertaining to exclusive use.16 This ingenious reading opens away from legalistic monogamy, affording ethical status to all manner of potentially concurrent relationships, but fails by the standard of property, where the institution of marriage presides over the distribution of economic benefit. But where the matter of family capital is concerned, Nicolacopoulos and Vassilacopoulos point out that Hegel defines family property as property that the family holds in common, that cannot be used by any family member in the capacity of the atomic individual. Truthfully, Nagle’s defense of the family as predictive of economic security, following Cherlin, is little more than a defense of this common property, to which empirical banality one must ultimately assent; it is better to have some wealth than none. But to expand the remit of the family beyond present recognition would surely change the meaning of collective wealth as well, including any protocol against the alienation of family property.

Most importantly, “although Hegel repeatedly invokes the biological family …  he does not conflate this with the source of the ethical bond between parents and their children,” Nicolacopoulos and Vassilacopoulos and explain. Rather, “the ethically significant relationship between parents and children concerns the ‘second or spiritual birth of the children,’” namely their upbringing.17 Parenting for Hegel is ethically imbued because it has the negative aim of raising children out of instinct into the freedom of personality, beyond which Hegel offers no instructions or prescriptions as to the cultural situation or particulars of parenting. Thus the Hegelian approach of Nicolacopoulos and Vassilacopoulos “can recognise people sharing responsibility for raising children with a wider circle of intimate others. What matters for the ethical significance of parenting is whether or not those raising the children are related to each other and/or to the children through their mutual loving feeling.”18

Against heteronormativity—and an inconsequential homonormativity sourced from the reifications of queer theory, which seeks a universal figure of desire in historically proscribed behaviors—Nicolacopoulos and Vassilacopoulos recommend a social fabric of “multiple loving forms.” Where Cherlin’s churlishness is concerned, it suffices to say that his thinking is entirely constrained by a society based on generalized self-interest and competition. One needn’t believe in an alternative, nor in the possibility of change; but then one needn’t be a Marxist, either.

Old Habits 

In 1920, Soviet feminist Alexandra Kollontai wrote extensively on the family for the journal Komunistka, or ‘The Woman Communist.’ Kollontai stages the question directly:

Will the family continue to exist under communism? Will the family remain in the same form? These questions are troubling many women of the working class and worrying their menfolk as well. Life is changing before our very eyes; old habits and customs are dying out, and the whole life of the proletarian family is developing in a way that is new and unfamiliar and, in the eyes of some, “bizarre”.19

Noting the oppression of women within the traditional family, who are obliged to domestic labor and increasingly subject to the necessity of waged work outside the household, Kollontai observes that the family as a unit of production is disaggregated by capitalist expansion: “The circumstances that held the family together no longer exist. The family is ceasing to be necessary either to its members or to the nation as a whole.20 Kollontai doesn’t simplistically bemoan this decline or superfluity, in which the family appears as an archaic form of organizing and disciplining labor, but presses further in observation of the historical character of this organization. The family is principally charged with education, in the Russian case; rather than expand this function, Kollontai wonders if it can’t be relieved of this task as well, envisioning the end of housework and domestic hierarchy.

As the individual household ceases to be productive, greater demands are to be made of the state; and Kollontai describes this movement in the precise terms of socialist transition. “Just as housework withers away, so the obligations of parents to their children wither away gradually until finally society assumes the full responsibility.”21 Kollontai’s subsequent proposals for dividing childcare in the service of “solidarity, comradeship, mutual help and loyalty to the collective,” and to overcome the strictures of “the old family, narrow and petty, where the parents quarrel and are only interested in their own offspring,” would surely scandalize readers of The Lamp every bit as much as Nagle’s lurid paraphrase of more recent, ultraleft opinion against the family.22 

Yet Kollontai deals with the two facets or temporalities of family transformation that Nagle conflates—abolition and decline—as part of a movement: “There is no escaping the fact: the old type of family has had its day. The family is withering away not because it is being forcibly destroyed by the state, but because the family is ceasing to be a necessity.”23 To this way of thinking, the family is not destroyed by voluntarist deviancy, but in the same way that any culture opens itself to change in an orthodox Marxist description—insofar as its private remit enters into a contradiction with increasingly socialized production. Kollontai consoles the caring parent:

Working mothers have no need to be alarmed; communists are not intending to take children away from their parents or to tear the baby from the breast of its mother, and neither are they planning to take violent measures to destroy the family. No such thing! The aims of communist society are quite different. Communist society sees that the old type of family is breaking up, and that all the old pillars which supported the family as a social unit are being removed: the domestic economy is dying, and working-class parents are unable to take care of their children or provide them with sustenance and education. Parents and children suffer equally from this situation.24

In a recent summary of Marxist thinking on the family, Alyson Escalante reminds the reader that Kollontai, like Marx, “points to capitalism’s own destruction of the family among the workers” as proletarianization proceeds apace. Moreover, Escalante notes, Kollontai writes to counsel the necessity of change, not a program of abolition per se, where capitalism has already weakened, and perhaps destroyed, the productive substrate of the family. Because of this insight, Kollontai’s hundred-year-old words can help one to imagine an objective and affective future for innumerably many loving, fighting forms. As Escalante writes: 

In the face of the capitalist destruction of the role of the family, (Kollontai) simultaneously argues that attempts to hold on to the old family are both doomed and also naturalize women’s subordination, while simultaneously insisting that a new type of family is possible. She does not tell concerned workers that they must suck it up, that their fears are reactionary and that they must embrace a world without the family. Rather, she preserves the language of the family but reinterprets it into a collectivist, that is to say, a communist, version of the family. The old family is dead, capitalism has killed it, and so we have been invited to build and define a new family.

 

Family Borders

This is a powerful reply, if not to Nagle and to Brooks themselves, then to the conditions that they differently, and partially, address. While Brooks’ thought experiment attempts to recompose the American social fabric after the fashion of a corporation, he fares considerably better than Nagle in observing the necessity of change. Faced with the specter of collectivism, Nagle taunts: “but where will the village, this hypothetical replacement network of solidarity that will recreate and even improve upon the intense loyalty and selfless caregiving of parents and their children in the family unit come from?” One might suggest that this network will necessarily come from those parents and children whose fortunes require a total transformation of society, but that would be only too logical. As Nagle refuses to see communal supersession as a solution to, rather than a cause of, the objective decline of the bourgeois family, she misapprehends the bearing of its discontents. The support network that Nagle disparages is already immanent to the crisis of the family—which is only ever a crisis of capitalism, shored at home—and her language of “replacement” alludes to a different set of anxieties altogether. 

Nagle’s unsuitable nostalgia for a recent period of social cohesion, shored in the miniature family as a bulwark against social chaos, is perhaps too typical of the American left, though her conservatism is near-total:

Nobody would have believed just a few months ago that, say, abolishing the police would become a tenet of mainstream American liberalism. Even rightwing politicians have been cowed more or less overnight into publicly agreeing with things beyond the wildest dreams of the most radical anarchist of just a few years ago. If the abolition of the family is the next demand of our successful cultural revolutionaries, it is easy to imagine how the legal infrastructure undergirding could be dismantled; its moral and cultural foundations are already vulnerable old structures just waiting to be tipped over. Who exactly is going to stop them?

Who, “exactly,” does this call intend to summon to the family’s defense? Nagle’s culture war proceeds on many fronts, and it’s certainly handy that she can’t turn in a 1500-word screed on the family without calling the police. But an inventory of her various journalistic stunts paints a fairly clear picture of her ideology. The cause of the American family has facilitated racial and sexual panic for more than a century, and unspecified concern for the health of “the family” as a reproductive project has long been a polite expression of anxiety over racial purity and demographics. 

In The Left Case against Open Borders, an execrable piece from 2018, Nagle punches left again. Here Nagle argues that “open borders radicalism ultimately benefits the elites within the most powerful countries in the world, further disempowers organized labor, robs the developing world of desperately needed professionals, and turns workers against workers.” Almost clause for clause, this sentence does the work that it attributes to irrational radicals, pitting workers against one another to the benefit of the ruling class. At any border, the contradiction between capital and labor means a relative porosity for capital flows and increased brutality and scrutiny for migrants; and an international division of labor is responsible for the domestic fortunes of a country’s working class in any case.25 “But the Left need not take my word for it,” Nagle gloats. “Just ask Karl Marx, whose position on immigration would get him banished from the modern Left.”

Nagle gives ideological ammunition to the anti-immigration right on Tucker Carlson.

Nagle’s staggeringly incorrect reading of Marx quotes from a letter regarding the division of English proletarians and Irish proletarians: “The ordinary English worker hates the Irish worker as a competitor who lowers his standard of life. In relation to the Irish worker he regards himself as a member of the ruling nation and consequently he becomes a tool of the English aristocrats and capitalists against Ireland, thus strengthening their domination over himself,” she recites. It’s difficult to enumerate the errors in thinking here. Where Marx sees a process of ethnic scapegoating, obscuring the true contradiction of labor and capital, Nagle chooses to see a contradiction between national interests, and her own racism is clear from her abuse of this citation. In the letter quoted above, Marx goes on to compare this divisive scenario to the enmity of “poor whites” for former slaves in the United States, anticipating W.E.B. Dubois’ description of whiteness as a “psychological wage,” preventing white workers from practicing solidarity by conferring public and legal benefits beyond simple remuneration. 

It’s worth noting that there’s almost no chance that Nagle was familiar with Marx’s argumentation on this matter before seeking recourse to his authority. Rather than cite Marx’s 1870 correspondence with Sigfrid Meyer and August Vogt, in which this passage appears, Nagle’s bibliography points to an article by David L. Wilson, in which he quotes from Marx’s letter in order to make a very different argument. Wilson notes Marx’s assertion that Irish immigration precipitated a reduction in English workers’ wages—before theorizing the ideological utility of this national division for the ruling class, one might add—but is careful to note how racism and xenophobia create the climate in which migrant laborers face lower pay and worse conditions of work, putatively forcing wages down. The problem, Wilson concludes, is exploitation, not immigration. 

Nagle’s national chauvinism is intimately related to her defense of the family; for closed borders and private families are two means of attempting to ensure the homogeneity and mores of a population. In Kill All Normies, Nagle portrays the online “alt-right” as a negation of the family-values conservatism evolved by pundits such as Pat Buchanan in the 1990s, which characterization both exaggerates the novelty of this phenomenon and paves the way for a rehabilitation of family values from the left. But as Sophie Bjork-James shows in her research into white nationalist web forums, the family is a central occupation, even a primary concern, of today’s online and alternative right:

Over the past few decades, changes in economic conditions and gender norms have created a proliferation of new family forms, further destabilizing the nuclear family—changes that eectively reduce the space of patriarchal power and disrupt the perceived division between personal and economic life … These conservative and racist activists fight to restore a model of the family, race, nation, and economy that has lost its hegemonic status.26

Bjork-James ventures a determination that eludes Nagle, where the family functions for its staunchest defenders as a fantastic unity beyond the economy and state, despite its historical existence as an expression of both. Ironically, it’s because of Nagle’s crude “class reductionism” that her economic analysis bottoms out at the usual racist canards—“cheap illegal labour,” “single parents,” and so on. Nagle attributes declining economic fortunes to the same scapegoats as the right—once an ethnographic quarry, now her preferred company. 

Fordism and the Family Wage

For all of her dalliances with the right, it’s crucial to note that Nagle’s merely reflexive arguments have far more rigorous, if rigorously reactionary, precedent on the chauvinist left. One could look to sociologist Wolfgang Streeck, for example, whose grim assessment of the postwar welfare state was influential in the 2018 formation of Aufstehen, a German political coalition of “the materialist left, not the moral left.” Like Nagle, Streeck has a record of xenophobic invective, accusing refugee and asylum policy of serving elite interests by importing a foreign labor reserve.27 Streeck takes a special interest in the family, too—annotating its transformation after the decline of American industrial occupation in the postwar era, and the relative safety net extending from the factory to the father to his dependents. According to Streeck:

The social and family structure that the standard employment relationship had once underwritten has itself dissolved in a process of truly revolutionary change. In fact, it appears that the Fordist family was replaced by a flexible family in much the same way as Fordist employment was replaced by flexible employment, during the same period and also all across the Western world.28

Such an account offers the periodizing detail that Nagle omits. But Streeck also laments the disappearance of jobs from core capitalist countries at the same time as he divides the working class by national origin; thus his account of family “decline” is both tellingly chauvinistic, and elucidating in overlay. According to Streeck, “intensified commodification of labor, in particular the increased labor market participation of women, and the de-institutionalization of family relations,” are key factors in the decline of fertility in advanced industrial countries and not others.29 Political scientist Melinda Cooper calls attention to the apparent sexism of this description: 

It was feminism, after all, that first challenged the legal and institutional forms of the Fordist family by encouraging women to seek an independent wage on a par with men and transforming marriage from a long-term, noncontractual obligation into a contract that could be dissolved at will. In so doing, feminists (whom he imagines as middle class) robbed women (whom he imagines as working class) of the economic security that came from marriage to a Fordist worker. By undermining the idea that men should be paid wages high enough to care for a wife and children, feminism helped managers to generalize the norm of precarious employment and workplace flexibility, eventually compromising the security of all workers.30

One ought to note the parallels between Streeck’s account of the flexibilized family and his characterization of the welfare state destabilized by rapid demographic change, in which he describes European immigration policy as an executive adjustment to wages and employment opportunities for domestic workers, enacted after the progressive desires of “liberal-cosmopolitans.” In broad strokes, Streeck’s sketch of the post-Fordist dissolution of the family implies an infiltration of the national economy from within—a domestication of the national economy transpiring in tandem with the global operators of deindustrialization. As with his disparaging remarks about the role of multiculturalism in economic deregulation, Streeck’s paranoia leads him to non-dynamically assert the leading role of culture in the family’s transformation: 

Cultural change—the spread of non-standard forms of social life—may have paved the way for economic and institutional change, in particular the rise of non-standard forms of employment, with the deregulation of society as a forerunner to the deregulation of the economy … Clearly, the decisive development in this context was the mass entry of women into paid employment, which eventually came to be celebrated across the political spectrum as a long-overdue liberation from servitude in the feudal village of the patriarchal family. Especially for the liberal wing of the rapidly growing feminist movement, the associated increase in economic uncertainty and social instability appeared to be a price worth paying for what was seen as secular social progress.31

Streeck glancingly counters his own hypothesis with a more substantive claim—that a decline in real wages might have forced more members of a given household into the workforce in order to support their middle-class standard of living, for one—but doesn’t really attempt to mediate these two perspectives. As one should understand, social movements do not emerge under conditions of the participants’ choosing; and the abatement of the family organization isn’t a revenge fantasy of its feminized discontents. By Streeck’s account, incorrigible women en masse appear too covetous of precarity to recognize that they are about to destroy the patriarchal family wage, of which they are the foremost beneficiaries. 

In the post-Fordist Genesis of Streeck’s simplifications, it seems inconceivable that women could make political demands upon capital, for liberation from the household, or for a subsequent social wage. Notably then, even though his own politics offer no greater destination than the recent past, Streeck already sees this post-Fordist deregulation of the family culminating in a paradoxical redistribution of responsibility. Streeck observes a trend toward the socialization of reproduction in a number of countries, including free childcare and wages for stay-at-home caregivers—and compares this to a shameful situation in the United States, where single parents have fewer real supports than any core capitalist country. 

New Poor Law

When Nagle cites the outcomes of single parenting in North America without any reference to the paucity of available resources, she imputes the violence of the state to proletarian parents, exaggerating and denying their agency all at once. This is a fairly standard manoeuvre, that construes systemic obstacles as failings of personal morality. In its perfected form, this ideology makes moral demonstration into a condition of social support; which is, in broad strokes, exactly how the American welfare system was rearticulated during periods of neoliberal restructuring. Thus, as Melinda Cooper explains, broad neoliberal reforms in the period following the collapse of the Fordist paradigm sought to resuscitate a kind of poor law, emphasizing marital responsibility and familial relation as crucial institutions of economic security, apart from the welfare state. 

This powerful ideology justifies the low participation of the United States government in social assistance programs, as observed by Streeck. But for all of his cultural fixations, Streeck’s empirical comparison between American and European data sets omits crucial mediations of data. The crisis of the 1970s was a crisis of the racial state, writes theorist M. Jacqui Alexander, in which “poverty had to be colored black”; and the reconstructed welfare system that emerged from this decade further entrenched this expectation. This era’s debates fixated on the issue of single parents, “as a way to animate state policy and mobilize a manufactured popular memory that made (black) poverty the causal derivative of welfare.”32

Cooper observes the special scrutiny reserved for federal assistance programs like Aid to Families with Dependent Children (AFDC), which was accused by the conservative left and the right alike of “undermining the American family and contributing to the problem of inflation.”33 This program comprised an important arm of the new poor law, establishing a state chaperone of ruthless prurience—“man-in-the-house” rules, for example, permitted random home inspection to determine whether or not a program participant was in a sexual relationship with a man. If they were, Cooper explains, benefits were revoked, as the male houseguest was deemed “a proper substitute for the paternal function of the state.”34 In this respect, the new liberal welfare regime and its flagship programs functioned as the precise obverse of the Fordist family wage system—presuming male attendance to betoken financial stability. In this lawful arrangement, Alexander says, the state assumes the position of “white fathers to blackness,” recalling the “memory of secret yet licit white paternity under slavery and its possible vengeful reemergence at a different historical moment.”35

As both Cooper and Alexander discuss, the AFDC program proved especially controversial for its perceived benefit to single Black mothers at public expense, even though it was relatively inexpensive among social security programs and the majority of recipients were white. Where the paternal function of the state is concerned, Alexander diagnoses a conservative moralism according to which “it was an irresponsibly absent black masculinity that made the potential conjugal couple incomplete and shifted the fiduciary obligations of the private patriarch onto the public patriarch, thereby forcing an uncomfortable and unwanted paternity onto the white public patriarch.”36 With this dynamic in mind, conservative attacks on single parents appear less a matter of superior morality than an ironic disputation of responsibility, historical and present.

Democrats and Republicans alike accused the AFDC program of fostering dependence on state support, even though benefits had declined precipitously since 1970; and AFDC was replaced with the Personal Responsibility and Work Opportunity Act (PRWORA) by President Bill Clinton in 1996. PRWORA replaced AFDC with a highly conditional program called Temporary Assistance to Needy Families (TANF), offering benefits at approximately one-third of the poverty level; and proliferating conditions that were found to contravene human rights, even permitting states to withhold benefits from mothers who can’t identify the biological father of their children. In this respect, Cooper suggests, PRWORA is both precedent-setting and paradoxical—using the conservative sacrament of the heterosexual family to pursue a radical neoliberal agenda of atomized personal responsibility. 

The “ideological blackening of welfare,” Alexander says, also adversely affects other racialized groups. She calls attention to the “ideological proximity between PRWORA (and) the Illegal Immigration Reform and Immigrant Responsibility Act also of 1996,” which work at once to “make welfare, labor, and immigration deeply intertwined.” Here Alexander follows the work of Payal Banerjee: 

Banerjee argues that the state derived support for PRWORA from the widely held belief that “illegal” and “legal” immigrants relied on state public support and that prohibiting immigrants from receiving public assistance would act as a powerful deterrence to immigration. As a result, both “legal” immigrants (noncitizens) and “illegal” immigrants became ineligible for certain provisions under PRWORA.37

Weighing the Anchor

This complicated saga of targeted racism, massive deregulation, and misogynist stricture forms the basis for Nagle’s assertions as to the non-viability of single-parent homes and the apparently poor outcomes of non-patriarchal care. These are the family values that Nagle defends—a mercenary hodge-podge of spiritualized economic precepts, essentialized market relations, phobic prohibitions, and paranoia. It goes without saying that families of all kinds are places of intense care and devotion, among many other things; but that guise is ultimately incidental to Nagle’s rallying cry, where she knows very well that it is not being criticized by Marxist feminists for any of those occasional features. As noted above, the ethical dimension of family life is itself contingent, consisting of a collective life that can even help to envision its historical transformation. 

The family is not only a historical phenomenon, subject to alteration; but as Bjork-James notes, can also serve as “an anchor of stability in a time of increasing economic and social change.”38 At its most constructive, Nagle’s argument tends to nostalgia for mid-century conditions of capital accumulation, in which sweeping and systemic exclusion procured limited security for a politically enfranchised section of the working class and their preordained dependents. This is a Trojan horse for racism and xenophobia—MAGA with medicare, to be blunt.

Where the family is an obvious synecdoche of nation, Nagle’s convenient narrative of its decline dovetails with her isolationism. This is a unified position, and a fascist one; such talking points have always traveled by way of a superficial socialist concern, and aren’t difficult to spot in their enthusiasms and vendettas. One might even ask whether Nagle herself is worth the trouble. But arguments like hers prove oddly persuasive in certain socialist circles. The Class Unity subgrouping of the DSA, who profess a materialist Marxist politics, enthusiastically promoted Nagle’s article on social media, for example; and her prejudices mirror those of a “traditional left,” characterized by Donald Parkinson as “socially conservative, economically leftist.” As the meaningless abstraction of “populism” tempts a back and forth traffic between these conventional poles, it is more vital than ever to insist upon the Marxist legacy of abolition; “to find the new world through criticism of the old one,” one might say. For communists don’t rally to the recent, nor the distant, past. Our real descendancy is in a better future—one in which family chauvinism, white supremacy, and class privilege are given to history in their entirety.

Disarming the Magic Bullet

Renato Flores responds to Cam W’s argument for Maoism and the mass line. 

Global warming is progressing. Millions are going hungry and do not know whether they can make the next rent payment. The houseless crisis is intensifying. We know we cannot just stand by, and we have to do something. But how do we do something, how do we slay the monster? How do we become free? It is not going to be easy. Everyone has ideas, some more or less thought out than others. What is clear is that we need a plan, and we need one fast, or the monster will devour us all.

In Cosmonaut, we wish to have an open forum for debate, where these ideas can be shared and discussed. Three contributions have been published, with responses, counter-responses and synthesis. This piece is meant as a (short) reply to Cam’s intervention on the debates around the party form started by Taylor B’s piece “Beginnings of Politics” and Donald Parkinson’s piece “Without a party we have nothing”. Cam’s intervention is heavily influenced by, and largely follows Joshua Moufawad-Paul’s (JMP) ideas on how Maoism has been historically defined, what problems it is responding to, and how it must be applied today. Cam’s main thesis is that Maoism, being the only ideology that has correctly absorbed the knowledge produced by the learning process of the Paris Commune and the Russian and Chinese revolutions is uniquely poised to provide an answer to the problem of the party. And that answer comes in the shape of the mass line, which is “a mechanism to transform the nature of the party into a revolutionary mass organization which can resist the neutralizing force of the party-form”.

I take issue with this last statement, and that is what I will try to elaborate on in this article. I start by agreeing with Cam that we must emphasize the points of both continuity and rupture of our revolutionary process. But I diverge from him in seeing the evolution of Marxism as something much more complicated than the picture drawn by JMP. Indeed, in 2020, the experiences of revolutionaries both in overthrowing the old state and in running a new revolutionary state can fill entire libraries. We know much more about what to do, and especially what not to do, than we did in Marx’s time. However, the process through which knowledge has been accumulated and synthesized cannot be reduced to a single path of advancement of the “science of revolution”. By doing this, we risk ossifying slogans, and allowing spontaneity to fill in the gaps, harming our organizing. The picture painted by Cam, which is inherited from JMP, suffers from the same problems Donald is replying to in his piece: a simple periodization is being imposed into a complex process of knowledge production. This periodization is then used to make a dubious point, namely that through an event a lesson was learned that marks the death of a paradigm and the birth of a new one. Everyone stuck in the previous paradigm is at best naive and at worst, unscientific. This is an extremely loaded word that produces a hierarchy of power: my theory is more powerful than yours because it is scientific. No burden of proof is necessary, because I am being scientific and you are not. I have successfully absorbed the lessons of history while you haven’t.

To begin to deconstruct the claim that Maoism is the highest paradigm of revolutionary science, we have to understand that one of the axioms on which it stands is flawed, namely that progress is linear and happens through a single path. Biology and evolution provide a practical counter-example. In a very simplified manner1, organisms face a problem, the environment, and try to find a solution through adaptation. Faced with similar environments, organisms will find similar solutions, even when they are in geographic isolation.2 This is called convergent evolution, and there are many examples in Nature. Bats and whales both evolved the ability to locate prey by echos as an adaptation to finding food in dark environments. Wings have been evolved by pterosauruses, birds and mammals separately. Silk production appeared separately in spiders, silkworms and silk moths. In a similar manner, some characteristics can be devolved. For example, some species of birds have lost the ability to fly after having gained it. It is not correct to view organisms as more evolved, as if evolution was something that accumulates.

In the same manner, progress in all branches of science is far from neat and linear. Geniuses have been forgotten or dismissed for centuries just to be rediscovered. Dead ends are often reached which require looking back into the past to reinvigorate theories that were previously thought dead. More importantly, co-discoveries happen, and happen often. Wallace and Darwin both came to the theory of evolution. Newton and Leibniz both developed calculus. In both of these cases, the co-inventors were resting on similar theoretical knowledge and facing similar questions. It is therefore unsurprising that they would come to the same solution. Even more, scientists working within very different paradigms, say like Mach and Boltzmann, were both able to contribute immensely to the field of physics despite working from vastly distinct starting points. 

Going back to the revolutionary movement, our theory and our practice have been developed to surpass obstacles in our liberation. Even if these obstacles are not identical, they have been very similar. In the same manner as biological evolution, the science of revolution develops very similar solutions to address the problems revolutionaries face. We should expect that similar ideas will arise from similar contexts, a convergent evolution of tactics. From experience, the more scientists independently arrive at the same conclusion, the more likely that this conclusion is correct. In this context, Donald is correct to emphasize Lenin’s unoriginality. Like scientists, practitioners of revolutionary politics are faced with questions that they must answer, both before, during, and after seizing power. They learn from each other, and try to apply the common mindset to their local conditions. 

If one revolutionary movement progresses and breaks new ground in the process to establish socialism, changes in the environment give rise to new problems that were previously not recognized. They might have seized power, but what now? As the Bolsheviks repeatedly pointed out, they thought building socialism was going to be easier than it actually was. Before the Russian revolution, Hilferding had stated that it would be enough to seize the ten largest banks to get to socialism. Hilferding, among others, believed that this was the great mistake of the Paris Commune, and if revolutionaries had just seized these banks, they would have been able to build a socialist system. But as we know, that was far from enough for the Bolsheviks. They did this, and much more. They were forced to continuously experiment, finding ways that could lead to socialism without losing the support of the peasants and workers. The lessons from Leninism cannot be simply reduced to the necessity of smashing the state: they are much more extensive and valuable than this.

In the same vein, the Chinese Revolution was a gigantic experiment in emancipation that involved old and new questions, with old and new methods to answer them. And Mao diverged from Lenin in many aspects. Mao’s theory of change outlined in “On Contradiction” is quite different from Lenin’s understanding of dialectics. The Maoist theory of New Democracy also diverges from Lenin’s ideas of how a revolution should proceed. It is hard to answer if they are improvements or regressions. It is probably better to say that the Marxist canon was enriched by both thinkers. 

Another example of returning to the Marxist canon and reevaluating or rediscovering old hypotheses can be seen in Kautsky, Lenin, Kwame Nkrumah’s theories of Imperialism. In his celebrated Imperialism, Lenin (rightfully) told Kautsky that the world was not heading towards an ultra-imperialist system where different imperial powers share the world peacefully—instead he argued that imperialist conflict was on the table. Indeed, Lenin was correct in that conjecture. World War I and World War II were both driven mainly by inter-imperial conflict.3 But after WW2, their differences would be sublated. A single capitalist superpower was able to set the rules on how the spoils would be divided. Nkrumah captured this in his Neo-Colonialism, basically rediscovering parts of Kautsky’s thesis and adapting them to the present. In this case, an exhausted paradigm was resurrected after significant adaptations were made.

You can see where I am going: it is impossible to lay out a simple evolution of knowledge for Marxism, with clean breaks from one another where knowledge only really had three leaps.  Mao was correct in saying that socialism or communism was not permanent in the USSR and that a reversion to capitalism could happen, but he was surely not the only one to note the problems of socialist construction in the USSR. Revolutionary experience has been accumulated, and it has, for better or worse, been synthesized by revolutionaries. There are points where synthesizers like Lenin or Mao have made key contributions that have left a permanent imprint. Lenin was able to stabilize a revolutionary state, which allowed further problems of socialist construction to be posed. Mao was able to mobilize the masses against a stagnating party, which opened the problem of how to deal with class interests inside the party, and how to open a public sphere in a socialist state. Rather than having done science, it is probably better to think of them as having set up the stage for the further development of scientific socialism. 

Whether Lenin and Mao were scientists or whether they set the stage for new science is a pedantic point— the important point is that periodizations of revolutionary science are not just meant to convey this, they are often used as discourses of power. When Stalin wrote “Foundations of Leninism”, “Trotskyism or Leninism”, or even the Short Course, he was not only trying to synthesize the knowledge gained from the construction of socialism in the USSR and set a roadmap for the future. It was an operation through which he declared himself to be the one true heir of Lenin and excluded others such as Trotsky or Bukharin. When the Indian Maoist Ajith wrote “Against Avakianism”, he was attempting to exclude Bob Avakian’s Revolutionary Communist Party from the mantle of Maoism. In the same way, JMP’s periodization is an attempt to claim for Maoism the mantle of the one science of revolution and exclude other Marxists from possibly contributing to this. But his claim ignores the complexity of knowledge development, something we have been addressing in this piece. Furthermore, even if one takes this periodization at its word, and we take Maoism to be a third synthesis, JMP’s periodization is not the only one in attempting to explain Mao’s epistemological breaks. Marxist-Leninists-Maoists—principally Maoists—who claim the legacy of the relatively successful Peruvian Shining Path, center Gonzalo’s theoretical contributions around People’s War in defining Maoism, rather than recognizing the Revolutionary International Movement (of which SP was a [critical] part) as the principal synthesizer of Maoism.4 

More importantly, why is Maoism the only ideology that can claim to have absorbed the knowledge from revolutionary history? In terms of seizing power, or battling the state to a standstill, what have the Indian Naxalites achieved that has not been achieved by others, as for example by the Zapatistas who started from different premises5 yet face similar material conditions of indigenous dispossession? Are the Zapatistas somehow less scientific than the Naxalites? Or are they responding to different pressures of dependent capitalism in countries with backgrounds of settler-colonialism and casteism?6 Is there really nothing the titanic struggle of the African National Congress against apartheid can teach us, when the pitiful state of the ANC reminds us of how the Maoist revolution in Nepal has become increasingly coopted? What about the many other names of the long list of Latin American or African revolutionaries such as Amilcar Cabral or Paulo Freire, that are written out of this evolution? The successes and failures of the Arusha Declaration and Ujamaa or the Yugoslav experiment in self-management provide way more data points that enrich our knowledge, going way beyond the MLM straight line periodization that only really joins three points and attempts to exclude everyone else. In this spirit, it is worth noting that geographically diverse groups such as Matzpen in Israel and Race Traitor in the United States independently developed very similar ideas on what it means to be a race traitor, and how settler-colonialism and white privilege work to stabilize society. 

Two-line struggles and “bourgeois” ideology

A periodization of history must be accompanied with explanations for the choices taken to divide one epoch from another. These divisions are usually used to give primacy to a political event or concept, after which one theory was proven absolutely correct and the other false. In the case of Taylor’s piece, he follows Badiou by stating that the Cultural Revolution showed that the party-form was an exhausted concept and brought forward the idea that new forms of organization must supplant it. In the case of Cam, who follows JMP’s periodization of MLM, the cultural revolution brings to the forefront the importance of the ‘two-line’ struggle and the mass line. Essentially, Mao reached a breakthrough realization: the ideological struggle between proletariat and bourgeoisie continued in socialism, and (a part of it) happened within the Communist party in the shape of a line-struggle. Stalin was wrong to declare that the USSR had achieved communism, and that this process could not be reversed. Indeed, capitalist roaders inside the party could reverse it and we have to struggle against them, and with the masses. A party which is properly embedded in the masses can successfully struggle against those who would reverse the revolution. And this is why Mao called for the Cultural Revolution: to rebuild those links between party and masses, and to battle the propagation of capitalist ideas in the party. 

This framework is very appealing. It explains the restoration of capitalism in the USSR and China: the bourgeois wing of the party gained power because it was never defeated, despite the Cultural Revolution. It offers a simple and comforting answer to the question of socialist construction: just struggle hard enough against the capitalist roaders. It sounds a lot like a Manichean struggle for the world, and is especially well suited to an American mindset which is based on binaries. But while there definitely are undesirable elements within all Communist parties (just think of Yeltsin or Milosevic) the two-line struggle is a gross simplification that collapses all of the problems of revolutionary science into something that looks a lot like a magic trick: the masses will redeem us if we struggle with them. The whole problem of societal management, both politically and economically (which usually go together) is not a struggle between good and evil. It is the problem of how to control a totality, which risks becoming dysfunctional at places where faults happen, be it either improperly balanced alliances between classes such as the peasantry and the proletarians, existing monopolies on resources like technical skills, or sites of power which reproduce antisocial ideology. Mao was correct to identify some problems as originating from capitalist values and beliefs, which originate and are replicated from the existing conditions and require a cultural revolution to solve. But all of these problems cannot be all cast as bourgeois or capitalist, even if their sources come from constructing socialism on top of a capitalist society.7 By taking this simplification we risk allowing spontaneity to creep in in all places and hoping that high spirits will solve things for us.

 

There is an in-jest comment that asks: tell me which year you think the Russian Revolution was defeated and I will tell you which tendency you belong to. Was it with War Communism? Kronstadt? The disempowering of the Soviets? The retreats of NEP? Rapid and often brutal collectivization? The purges that destroyed the Old Bolsheviks? Kruschev’s or Kosygin’s reforms? Were Gorbachov’s efforts doomed already or did he make serious blunders along the way? Worse even, did he sell the USSR out for a slice of Pizza? The bitter truth is there is no simple answer to when the USSR was defeated. There was a long list of decisions that strengthened some groups while weakening others, eroded the revolution’s mass base of support, slowly created alienated groups of people who felt displaced from power, and eventually created a stagnated, even ossified, society. No longer able to progress toward socialism, it disintegrated under pressure. Until we digest that tough conclusion we risk searching for magic bullets to solve all our problems. 

Seeking redemption through the masses is just one more illusion from a suitcase of quixotic tricks meant to bring us to socialism. Even if it is pointing at a real problem8, the solution is little more than a slogan. The careful and difficult balancing act of institutional design meant to construct a system that would, among many things, grant political freedom as to everyone, abolish permanent managerial roles by ensuring that “every cook can govern”, and eliminate existing oppressive systems carried over from capitalism, is reduced to making sure the proletarian line is upheld by “going to the masses”. This confuses tactic and strategy, and allows ossification and spontaneity to creep into  all the missing spaces. Think about it for a minute. Some problems are easier to solve than others: if a local administrator is behaving badly and abusing their powers, we should discipline them through re-education or even removal. But what if they’re the only one in town that can actually run the irrigation systems? If they’re removed agricultural output will underperform or fail. If this administrator is reinstated, the masses, who are our ultimate allies, will feel betrayed. They didn’t fight a revolution for this. The administrator could feel justified in their privileges and try to go even further in their pursuit of even more privileges and power. But if they aren’t reinstated, the masses might go hungry due to crop failures, or freeze in the winter. Either way, they will be frustrated with the party. 

These sorts of dilemmas around specialists and local administrators were a repeated problem in many societies attempting socialist construction, including the USSR and Maoist China. Mao sought a solution through the mass mobilization of the Cultural Revolution. The first stage dispersed the agglomeration of specialists in the city by sending them to the countryside. This was meant to break their privileges and urban strongholds, and (re)rally the support of the peasants for the revolution. The declassed specialists would then participate in the second and protracted struggle of breaking the monopolies on knowledge by educating the peasantry and opening rural schools. By ensuring that the peasants were able to administer their own affairs as a collective, they would not be beholden to a single, and potentially corrupt, expert. Mao’s solution was implemented at a scale never seen before, especially in a country of China’s size and its deep city-countryside divide., But Mao wasn’t the only one to come up with this sort of solution to the specialist problem: Che Guevara tried to enforce a smaller-scale cultural revolution in Cuba to persuade managers and specialists to throw in their lot with the revolution. Other revolutions came up with their own solutions: the Yugoslavs had a persistent problem with managers monopolizing knowledge and tried to solve it through factory schools and deepening education—without forcing existing specialists to undergo a cultural revolution. This did not end well.

Another more complicated problem was faced by the USSR repeatedly during its history: what happens when the lack of proper food procurement to the cities forces the party to choose between extracting food by force from the peasantry or making significant concessions to it, either through paying higher prices or devoting higher investments. Which of these solutions is ‘proletarian’? The USSR was forced to constantly oscillate between disciplining the peasants by force and granting them concessions because it could not solely rely on the stick or the carrot. Neither of these can be labeled more ‘proletarian’ than the other. Especially when contrasted with alternatives not taken, which can be regarded as capitalist, such as the full liberalization of rural China in the Deng era.  

With this short digression, I hope to have laid out an important point: the working of a society is the working of a complex totality, where relations can become dysfunctional, threatening the whole. It is not (just) a matter of conducting line-struggles between “proletarian” and “bourgeois” lines. It is a matter of sitting down and diagnosing the system, understanding where the dysfunctions are, what groups they are serving or harming, and how the socialist construction can proceed by removing these dysfunctions. Politics is not a Manichean struggle. It is somewhere between a science and an art of organization. Compromises must be made, and we must constantly be asking how the power relationships in society will change if we are to undergo these changes. 

The successive educational policies of the USSR in the 1920s, meant to both democratize knowledge and improve production, ended up empowering a new class of “red specialists” who would control the party 30 years later. The Yugoslav experiment tried to disempower the federal state and empower factory councils to devolve power to the workers, but ended up empowering factory managers and creating a comprador class that would trigger a Civil War. The agricultural reforms enacted by the Great Leap Forward meant to increase food production but ended up causing a food crisis. The type of historical analysis we need is a tough one, but being honest results in a better framing of things which goes beyond simply good and bad lines, and higher or lower scientific tendencies, or who betrayed what revolution. 

Beyond the mass line: deciding how and where to struggle

The same framework, with some caveats, can be applied to formulate the principles of a revolutionary party. The party inserts itself in a capitalist society while simultaneously attempting to destabilize the capitalist totality and replace it with a new totality. 

How do we begin to construct such an organism? Cam’s suggested plan of action is taken from JMP’s book Continuity and Rupture:

The participants in a revolutionary movement begin with a revolutionary theory, taken from the history of Marxism, that they plan to take to the masses. If they succeed in taking this theory to the masses, then they emerge from these masses transformed, pulling in their wake new cadre that will teach both them and their movement something more about revolution, and demonstrating that the moment of from is far more significant than the moment of to because it is the mechanism that permits the recognition of a revolutionary politics.  

This poses several questions and problems, but the main thing is that we begin with participants in a revolutionary movement who are armed with theory that they take to the masses. 

The first critique of this position is that the party is seen as some sort of external agent, formed by intellectuals, who have acquired knowledge and will bring it to the masses. It sets the party aside, as the unique interpreter of Marxism, and the object through which the people’s demands are translated to communist ones. It hopes that with the bringing of theory to the masses, the party will transform itself. We can contrast this approach to the merger theory. In 1903, Kautsky wrote:

In addition to this antagonism between the intellectual and the proletarian in sentiment, there is yet another antagonism. The intellectual, armed with the general education of our time, conceives himself as very superior to the proletarian. Even Engels writes of the scholarly mystification with which he approached workers in his youth. The intellectual finds it very easy to overlook in the proletarian his equal as a fellow fighter, at whose side in the combat he must take his place. Instead he sees in the proletarian the latter’s low level of intellectual development, which it is the intellectual’s task to raise. He sees in the worker not a comrade but a pupil. The intellectual clings to Lassalle’s aphorism on the bond between science and the proletariat, a bond which will raise society to a higher plane. As advocate of science, the intellectuals come to the workers not in order to co-operate with them as comrades, but as an especially friendly external force in society, offering them aid.

The difference between these two conceptions is that the first pays little to no attention to the self-organization of the masses and the ways they are already resisting capitalism. It asks us to go to the masses, without specifying which masses and how to talk to them. The second conception is that of the merger, where the intellectuals come to co-operate with the workers and see them as comrades, inserting themselves into existing struggles and amplifying them. 

This difference is especially critical because it explains the way in which Maoists in the United States fill in their lack of clear tactics and strategy with spontaneity, leaving them lacking a clear plan, something they are slowly coming to realize. “Go to the masses” is left as a magic bullet. This raises the second problem: the identification of the “masses”. Cam suggests we start by “serving and interacting with the people”. A detailed study of the conditions of the people is a prerequisite of any revolutionary movement; just ask Lenin or Mao, but as with JMP, Cam grazes over the question of who the masses are that we are supposed to be interacting with in the United States. This is a question worth some reflecting on: the US is a unique creature in the history of the world. It is an advanced imperialist country, which leads to comparisons with Western Europe, but is also a settler-colonial society scaffolded by whiteness. It has a significant labor aristocracy who have much more to lose than their chains, and also has a significant surplus population that is easily replaceable and has little power to stop the monster.

Which groups are going to lead the revolution and which groups are expected to follow? How will hegemony over these groups be won? Essentially, who is the revolutionary subject in the United States? Who will bell the cat? Without making this explicit we run the risk of fetishizing the most oppressed subjects who unfortunately do not have the power to change the system. 

It is important to remember that Marx located the revolutionary subject in the proletariat because (1) he studied the workers’ self-organization, how they had the power to stop accumulation if they wanted to, and what they were capable of achieving under adequate leadership and structure, and (2) the proletariat had less to lose from overthrowing the system because it possessed nothing. It could only lose their chains. But as we well know, the proletariat in the centers of capitalism failed to revolt. The Paris Commune, which so enthralled Marx, would move East, and the working class of the capitalist centers was pacified at best, or at worst enlisted in imperial or fascistic projects. 

The cat would not be belled because some mice were getting good spoils. Starting with Lenin, there have been plenty of attempts to rationalize why there were no more large-scale revolts, like the Paris Commune, in the centers of capitalism. The labor aristocracy, understood as those who have more to lose than their chains, did not live up to Marx’s tasks. And if they are not willing to revolt and pick up the sword, who will then finish the job? This question is especially pressing in the United States, where capitalism is strongly racialized and where poor whites have been used to stabilize settler-colonialism for centuries. This is where the question of “who are the revolutionary masses” appears. Spontaneity fills in when the prescriptions are vague, which is why so many “mass line” organizations fall into a pattern of providing service aid, in the form of food or legal means, to the most oppressed in hope of activating them for the struggle. I do not wish to repeat a full critique of mutual aid that was already done in an excellent manner by Gus Breslauer. The two basic points are: people do mutual aid because it’s easy and makes us feel good, but in the end what we are doing is redistributing the labor fund and not threatening the state or the bosses in the process. Even if mutual aid can sometimes create useful auxiliaries, such as unemployed committees, they often cannot substitute for the main event. They also require massive amounts of energy and fund expenditures to keep alive, energy which could be spent more efficiently in amplifying existing struggles. We run the risk of burning resources and ourselves in doing something that does not center class struggle and is of minor use in fighting against the capitalist system. 

It is important to locate this new fetish with mutual aid not only in the realization that people are suffering immensely but also in the failure of locating a revolutionary subject willing to fight to the bitter end. Mutual aid attempts to activate the most oppressed layers in the United States, but Marx’s other principle still holds: look for subjects that have the power to change society, rather than just the most oppressed. We should be looking at the sites of class struggle that are actually happening in today’s world and how these can be amplified to throw the capitalist totality into disarray. For this, we could start by reading studies of material conditions, such as Hunsinger & Eisenberg’s Mask Off, in great detail. An important place of struggle in the US right now are the struggles around social reproduction, specifically those around housing, childcare, and healthcare. Teachers’ and nurses’ unions, as well as the tenants movement, are in the front lines of struggle, and they are hurting capitalists because they are breaking into the capitalist totality in a way food distribution among the houseless is not.9 

For some people, the natural starting place might be their union, especially if it is an active and fighting one. But for those who do not have that option, focusing on the tenants union movement allows us to connect to pre-existing struggles in the masses, amplify them, and understand their conditions in a very different way than food distribution does. Tenant unionism also provides us with targets that are actually defeatable, such as a local slumlord, which motivates our members, gives us publicity, and allows our organization to grow while further embedding it in the struggle. Other and larger targets can be tempting, but these are often heroic feats. The fight against Amazon, led by Amazonians United and other unions, is fighting an enemy at a scale much larger than what the proletariat is capable of organizing against right now. Their fight will be an extremely tough one, as the working class in the US (or even internationally) is still in a state of learning. Victories can be quickly stolen from us. For example, German workers defeated Amazon in Germany, so Amazon simply moved across the border to the Czech Republic, continuing distribution in Germany while avoiding their laws.

Conclusion

As mentioned in the introduction, we are in a seriously demoralizing moment. There is a rapidly changing conjuncture, where the pandemic and climate change fill us with urgency but make organizing hard due to increasingly scarce resources. We want to do something that is effective and brings liberation fast, but we are faced with the weight of the failures of the socialist movement, be it revolutionary or reformist. We want answers on how to do this and are attracted to things that do not sound that dissimilar to what we already know, or the ways in which our brains are programmed. 

JMP’s style of Maoism is particularly well suited to the American mind. It provides relatively easy answers and provides enough silences that we can choose to interpret in ways that are not dissonant with our previous mindset. JMP also borrows plenty of epistemological concepts from American Pragmatist philosophy10, such as how truth is evaluated through practice, which makes it even more amenable to the underlying concept of science already present in US society. JMP writes well and clearly and is very articulate in his interviews. Because of this, it is not strange to see him becoming increasingly popular for a younger generation searching for these quick answers on what to do. This Maoism can also claim the mantle of the few revolutionary movements which are still vibrant today: the Philippines and India, which gives us something hopeful to root for internationally— something not as stale as defending an increasingly capitalist China.

However, to develop a proper science of revolution for the United States, whatever doctrine we decide to base ourselves, has to be heavily enriched with anti-colonial thought. One of the referents of Maoism, the Naxalites in India. have not properly dealt with Adivasi culture, and have sometimes misunderstood the way it operates, facing local resentment and resistance.11 This should raise a warning flag on the operating methods of the “mass line”, where the party is left as an interpreter because of its knowledge of Marxism. Furthermore, Naxalites have not successfully linked their struggle with the struggles in Indian cities. A strategy that bases itself on the most oppressed in the US would surely face similar problems. In this respect, the Phillipino Communists do this linking much better, through the use of broad quasi-popular fronts. However, they also went as far as endorsing support for Biden in the last US presidential election. How to adequately interface with the labor aristocracy and win hegemony over them is going to be a gigantic tactical and strategic problem here. 

So to end, I am proposing we do not rely on slogans that can be ossified and filled in with spontaneity. We do not have a Yunnan to build a red base in the US, geography is not as favorable here. Our fight is a long one that will not be solved with tricks but will require years and decades of changing tactics and reevaluating strategies. In this spirit, Cosmonaut is an open forum where revolutionaries can talk to each other and propose ways forward. I know this contribution raises more questions than gives answers, but I hope it serves as a starting point for asking better questions. 

US Constitution: Hiding in Plain Sight

Daniel Lazare writes on the US Constitution, its inherent contradictions, and why socialists should oppose it. 

1982 poster by Soviet artist Evgeny Kazhdan

In order to theorize the United States, socialists must theorize the US Constitution.

By “theorize,” we mean a theoretical analysis not of certain parts, but of the phenomenon as a whole. Rather than focusing exclusively on racism, sexism, and the like, as leftists are wont to do, this means coming to grips with “USA-ness” itself – why it arose, what it means, how it managed to conquer much of North America in a matter of decades, and why it has played such an outsized role in world history ever since. 

The same goes for the US Constitution. Law reviews and poli-sci journals overflow with articles about this or that clause or theory of interpretation. But attempts to grapple with the Constitution in its entirety are rare. Why did eighteenth-century patriots attach so much importance to a written document? Why has it proved so durable? Why do increasingly undemocratic features such as a lifetime Supreme Court or a Senate based on equal state representation draw so little attention? To be sure, articles about the Electoral College have grown common since Republicans used it to steal the presidency in December 2000. But once it becomes clear that reform is impossible within current constitutional confines – which is indeed the case – everyone goes back to sleep. 

So what are we to make of a plan of government that seemingly “disappears” its own shortcomings? Is it simply that Americans are too busy or lazy to care? Or is passive acceptance part of a social contract that is more contradictory and ambiguous than people realize?

What, moreover, does this have to do with socialism? Is Marxism above such local concerns when it comes to the international capitalist crisis? Or, given capitalism’s multi-dimensional quality (which is to say the fact that it is not just an economic system but a political and social one as well), shouldn’t Marxists recognize that the US constitutional crisis is part and parcel of the larger capitalist breakdown and that it is impossible to understand one without the other?

The answer is obvious. Capitalism is concrete. It arises out of real institutions and real societies. We can’t understand it as a whole unless we understand its various components as a whole and determine how they figure in the larger process.

Is the Constitution rational?

The logical place to start is with the document itself. The Constitution (which originally consisted of just 4,300 words but has since grown to around 7,500) consists of a Preamble, seven articles, plus twenty-seven amendments. Article I deals with Congress, II with the presidency, III with the federal judiciary, IV with the states, V with the amending process, while VI contains the all-important supremacy clause declaring that, once adopted, the document “shall be the supreme law of the land.” Article VII, finally, outlines how the ratification process is to proceed.

Since the Constitution says it’s the law of the land, and since law must be rational, the implication is that the document as a whole must be rational as well, meaning that the various pieces must hang together in a logical manner that makes sense. Every legal textbook and every last judicial decision assumes this to be the case; indeed, it would be hard to imagine a society basing itself on laws that it frankly admits are nonsense.

But how do we know this is the case? The Preamble, for instance, seems to advance a straight-forward theory of popular sovereignty in which “we the people” can do whatever they want “in order to form a more perfect union, establish justice, insure domestic tranquility,” and so forth. Article VII drives the point home even more forcefully since it is clearly at odds with the Articles of Confederation, the plan of government approved by all thirteen states in 1781 and still the law of the land when the framers gathered in Philadelphia six years later. The reason it’s at odds is simple: where the Articles of Confederation stipulate that any constitutional change must be approved by all thirteen states (“…nor shall any alteration at any time hereafter be made … unless such alteration be agreed to in a congress of the United States, and be afterwards confirmed by the legislatures of every state”), Article VII’s “establishment clause” says that the new constitutional alteration will be considered valid when ratified by just nine.

Since this was contrary to the Articles of Confederation, this means that the Constitution was illegal at the time it was drafted, a problem it promptly rectified via the miracle of self-legalization. It’s like telling a cop who’s pulled you over for speeding not to bother writing a ticket because you’ve just changed the law in your favor. But what would be absurd for an individual is the opposite for a sovereign people as a whole. Just as “we the people” can make any law they want in order to improve their circumstances, they’re free to disregard any existing law for the same reason.

To paraphrase Richard Nixon: if the people do it, that means it’s legal. This is the definition of popular sovereignty— people are over the law rather than under it and hence legally unbounded when it comes to their own self-advancement. So the Preamble states in combination with Article VII. But the rest of the Constitution goes on to say something very different. Article I establishes a complex legislative process whose purpose is clearly to limit the people’s decision-making abilities. Article II establishes an equally roundabout way of electing presidents. Article III says that federal judges may “hold their offices during good behavior,” which effectively means for life even if the people want to remove them mid-stream.

How can a supposedly sovereign people submit to restrictions on their own power? Finally, there is the amending clause set forth in Article V, which imposes the most astonishing restriction of all. It says that the people cannot change so much as a comma without the approval of two-thirds of each house of Congress plus three-fourths of the states. Back when there were just thirteen states, this meant that four states representing as little as ten percent of the population could veto any constitutional reform sought by the other ninety percent. Today, it means that thirteen states representing as little as 4.4 percent can veto any reform sought by the other 95.6. 

What is even more remarkable is that Article V goes on to lay out two instances in which the people’s power disappears entirely. The first says that “no amendment which may be made prior to the year one thousand eight hundred and eight shall in any manner affect the first and fourth clauses in the ninth section of the first article,” which deal with the slave trade. The second says that “no state, without its consent, shall be deprived of its equal suffrage in the Senate.”Even if every last American agreed that the slave trade should be abolished immediately, in other words, the Constitution says they couldn’t do so for a full twenty years after ratification. Even if the overwhelming majority agreed that a Senate based on equal state representation was intolerable affront to democracy, the Constitution says they can’t alter it in the slightest without the unanimous agreement of all fifty states, which effectively makes it impossible. It thus renders the people powerless as well – not for twenty years but for as long as the Constitution remains in effect. 

How can the Constitution declare the people to be simultaneously omnipotent and impotent? This would appear to be the very definition of incoherence. The rightwing Federalist Society claims to believe in “natural law, the idea of law as founded upon reason and logic and not merely the ipse dixit [unproven assertion] of a given power.”1 But if the Constitution is not founded on reason, as it clearly isn’t, then isn’t this a case of seeing logic where it doesn’t exist?

Of course, it’s not just the Federalist Society but the ruling class in general, who feel this way. All schools of constitutional analysis claim to interpret the Constitution in meaningful ways. Hence, all assume that a kernel of meaning lies at the core. But since we know that the opposite is true, that liberal society can be described as a gigantic conspiracy aimed at pulling the wool over the people’s eyes regarding the essential meaninglessness of their founding document. The result is a classic blind spot concerning a flaw that bourgeois society cannot allow itself to see so that it may continue to function.

Such contradictions are hardly limited to the US. To the contrary, liberal society in general rests on such blind spots. Classic English liberalism, for example, prides itself on the rule of law, political moderation, slow and steady reform, and so forth. “I hear you’ve had a revolution,” Harry Truman remarked to Britain’s George VI following Labor’s sweeping victory in the 1945 parliamentary elections. “Oh no,” the king replied, “we don’t have those here.” Revolutions were for lesser people like the Russians or French, not for a civilized nation like the Brits. Yet, British moderation is in fact a product of a century of turmoil beginning with the English Civil War in 1642 and ending with the Battle of Culloden, the result of an attempted takeover by the vanquished Stuart dynasty, in 1746. England had to go through the fire before Victorian legalism could be achieved. It had to be immoderate in order to become moderate and then forget that it had ever been immoderate at all. 

The US Constitution accomplishes the same trick in virtually the same breath. First, it invokes popular sovereignty but then cancels it, so that “we the people” can submit to a rule of law beyond democratic control – and all in the name of democracy no less. It performs the operation so neatly that bourgeois legal scholars forget that popular sovereignty existed in the first place.

So is this our theory of the US Constitution, i.e. that of a self-denying system of government whose purpose is to blind the people to its own contradictions? One that declares the people to be sovereign in theory while denying it in fact? The answer is not quite. First, we’ve got to examine what purpose this blind spot serves.

Political playing field or instrument of class rule?

E.P. Thompson closed his 1975 study, Whigs and Hunters, an examination of eighteenth-century politics and law, with a swipe at a “highly schematic Marxism” that holds that “the rule of law is only another mask for the rule of a class” and that therefore “[t]he revolutionary can have no interest in law, unless as a phenomenon of ruling-class power and hypocrisy; it should be his aim simply to overthrow it.” Against this sort of “structural reductionism,” Thompson argued in favor of a more supple mode of analysis:

…in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, the law had been less an instrument of class power than a central arena of conflict. In the course of conflict, the law itself had been changed; inherited by the eighteenth-century gentry, this changed law was, literally, central to their whole purchase upon power and upon the means of life.… What had been devised by men of property as a defense against arbitrary power could be turned into service as an apologia for property in the face of the propertyless. And the apologia was serviceable up to a point: for these “propertyless” … comprised multitudes of men and women who themselves enjoyed, in fact, petty property rights or agrarian use-rights whose definition was inconceivable without the forms of law.2

Rather than merely imposing class rule, law achieved hegemony by laying out a political playing field with room for everyone to take part. While obviously benefitting the high and mighty, it offered a measure of protection for the “petty property rights or agrarian use-rights” of those below. The poor thus ended up trusting in the law as well, thereby rendering its hegemony all the more complete. The situation was much the same in British North America, where, if anything, everyone had more of a stake since property was more widespread – not counting slaves and Native Americans, that is. Consequently, New England wound up even more legalistic than Old England back home.

Since travel was difficult from north to south, politico-legal arenas of conflict tended to unfold within colonial lines. The War of Independence changed this by drawing the ex-colonies into a common polity, while the Constitution fairly revolutionized it by deepening political integration in general. Moreover, it continually turned up the heat by trying to accomplish several tasks at once: create a powerful central government while ensuring states’ rights, establish an unprecedented level of national democracy while entrenching slavery even further than the British, etc. The elaborate compromises that the framers carved out in 1787 ended up both infuriating and enlivening all sides, which is why the entire structure exploded in civil war just 74 years later.

 While the Constitution summoned up and cancelled popular sovereignty in practically the same breath, it offered a consolation prize in the form of a powerful new politico-legal system in which eighty percent of the population could take part. The new politics were vast and dramatic, especially once slavery emerged as a major point of contention with the Missouri Compromise in 1820. The people were still not sovereign in the strict sense, but they were politically alive in a way they never had been before. In France, the people created constitution after constitution after 1789. In America, the Constitution created the people by taking scattered seaboard communities and molding them into something approaching a unified polity. 

Structuring politics

But not only did the Constitution create a new politico-legal arena, it shaped it.

Of the 85 Federalist Papers written by Madison, Hamilton, and John Jay from October 1787 to May 1788, the most frequently cited is the tenth, with good reason. In it, Madison takes aim at the “factious spirit” that he says is forever the bane of stable government and comes up with both a diagnosis and a cure.

First the diagnosis: “From the protection of different and unequal faculties of acquiring property, the possession of different degrees and kinds of property immediately results; and from the influence of these on the sentiments and views of the respective proprietors, ensues a division of the society into different interests and parties.” 

Hence, it not only different degrees of property that lead to conflict, but different kinds of – “[a] landed interest, a manufacturing interest, a mercantile interest, a moneyed interest, with many lesser interests,” as the Tenth Federalist puts it. “The regulation of these various and interfering interests forms the principal task of modern legislation,” Madison adds, “and involves the spirit of party and faction in the necessary and ordinary operations of the government.” So how can we make sure that all these interests and factions behave themselves for the good of larger society?

Reading between the lines, it is evident what Madison is up to. Not only is he concerned about struggles between rich and poor, but between different economic sectors, slave-owning planters on one hand and bankers, merchants, and incipient manufacturers on the other. Since he feels it would be unjust to allow one sector to violate another, his concern is how to keep them separate but equal.

Hence his cure: Madison admits that in the rough and tumble of daily politics, the task is not easy. Ordinarily, he says,

…the most numerous party, or, in other words, the most powerful faction must be expected to prevail. Shall domestic manufactures be encouraged, and in what degree, by restrictions on foreign manufactures … are questions which would be differently decided by the landed and the manufacturing classes, and probably by neither with a sole regard to justice and the public good. 

What Madison understands as bullying seems inevitable, but Madison hoped to prevent it via the miracle of complexity, i.e. the division of the polity into so many sub-units and sub-sub-units that political movements will wind up dashing themselves upon the rocks. As the Tenth Federalist notes:

The influence of factious leaders may kindle a flame within their particular states, but will be unable to spread a general conflagration through the other states. A religious sect may degenerate into a political faction in a part of the confederacy; but the variety of sects dispersed over the entire face of it must secure the national councils against any danger from that source. A rage for paper money, for an abolition of debts, for an equal division of property, or for any other improper or wicked project, will be less apt to pervade the whole body of the union than a particular member of it; in the same proportion as such a malady is more likely to taint a particular county or district, than an entire state. 

And, of course, the wickedest and most improper project of all would be the abolition of slavery since it would strike at the Southern landed interest’s very existence. Therefore, the goal was to scatter and confuse the abolitionists. This was the purpose of non-sovereign sovereignty: to prevent the movement from spreading from state to state and thus coming together as a mighty whole. 

This explains both the success and failure of the Civil War. Despite Madison’s efforts, abolitionism succeeded in crossing some state lines. But it didn’t succeed in crossing the Mason-Dixon Line thanks to various pro-slavery provisions that the Constitution had put in place: states’ rights; a three-fifths clause in Article I providing slaveholding states with as many twenty-five extra seats in the House of Representatives and twenty-five extra votes in the Electoral College; a southern-controlled Supreme Court that ruled in Dred Scott that blacks “had no rights which the white man was bound to respect”; a Senate in which slaveholding states were guaranteed parity, and, finally, an amending clause that gave the South an unchallengeable veto over any and all constitutional changes.

Since the Constitution rendered slavery secure within its southern redoubt, the only way around the problem was to suspend the Constitution and launch a revolutionary war aimed ultimately at expropriating the plantocracy. Even though they would never admit it, this is precisely what northern politicians set out to do.

 But once “normal” politics resumed after Appomattox, northern politicians restored the Constitution in full since it had established the only politico-legal arena of struggle they had ever known. Rather than venture deeper into revolutionary waters, they opted almost instinctively to stick with the existing framework. To be sure, the Thirteenth, Fourteenth, and Fifteenth amendments abolished slavery and federalized citizenship in 1865-70, which is why Popular Frontists like the historian Eric Foner extoll the supposedly radical changes they wrought. But, in fact, such reforms rapidly disappeared within the constitutional morass. Former slaves sank into neo-slavery while the notion that they “had no rights which the white man was bound to respect” once again became the law of the land throughout the old Confederacy. Roughly one American in fifty had died, yet the only thing the Civil War accomplished was to eliminate southern secession as a political threat.

Such are the results of democratic self-nullification. 

The circularity of American politics

The ups and downs of the socialist movement that emerged after the Civil War are too numerous to cover in this essay. But it suffices to say that the Constitution “over-determined” its failure by scattering the movement’s energies and preventing it from coming together in a single mighty mass.3 It did so by entrenching racism, (one of the SP’s best-selling pamphlets was a broadside against the “ni*ger equality” that bosses sought to impose by forcing whites to work side by side with blacks)4, and fairly mandating massive repression. Officials called in the state or federal troops to break some five hundred strikes between 1877 and 1903, cementing US labor history as the bloodiest and most violent of any industrial nation outside of czarist Russia.5

The constitutional recrystallization of the post-Civil period resulted in a curious paradox: class unity at the top and disaggregation below. In 1902, the leader of a group of anthracite coal-mine owners declared: “…the rights and interests of the laboring men will be protected and cared for – not by the labor agitators, but by the Christian men to whom God in his infinite wisdom has given control of the property interests of this country.” Sociologist Michael Mann observes: “…no other national capitalist class behaved with quite such righteous solidarity.” Yet workers, split along racial, ethnic, religious, and geographical lines, did the opposite. Socialism requires “a sense of totality,” Mann adds, yet it was precisely a totalizing working-class perspective that the Madisonian constitution was designed to prevent.6

Which brings us to Islam. A footnote that Frederick Engels included in an essay he wrote about the history of religion in 1894 turns out to be oddly relevant to America’s current plight:

Islam is a religion adapted to Orientals, especially Arabs, i.e. on one hand to townsmen engaged in trade and industry, on the other to nomadic Bedouins. Therein lies, however, the embryo of a periodically recurring collision. The townspeople grow rich, luxurious and lax in the observation of the “law.” The Bedouins, poor and hence of strict morals, contemplate with envy and covetousness these riches and pleasures. Then they unite under a prophet, a Mahdi, to chastise the apostates and restore the observation of the ritual and the true faith and to appropriate in recompense the treasures of the renegades. In a hundred years they are naturally in the same position as the renegades were: a new purge of the faith is required, a new Mahdi arises and the game starts again from the beginning. This is what happened from the conquest campaigns of the African Almoravids and Almohads in Spain to the last Mahdi of Khartoum who so successfully thwarted the English. It happened in the same way or similarly with the risings in Persia and other Mohammedan countries. All these movements are clothed in religion but they have their source in economic causes; and yet, even when they are victorious, they allow the old economic conditions to persist untouched. So the old situation remains unchanged and the collision recurs periodically.7

Engels had apparently read the fourteenth-century Moroccan polymath Ibn Khaldun and was therefore familiar with his famous thesis about the three-generation lifespan of Muslim dynasties. What makes the passage relevant is that both systems, modern America and medieval Islam, unfold under a static body of law, the Constitution on one hand, and shariah on the other. Since the law is assumed to be perfect and unchanging, all problems must be the result of laxity in its observance. The solution, therefore, is to restore the law in all its ancient purity. 

This was the message of medieval Muslim reformers like the Almoravids and Almohads, as Engels points out, and, curiously enough, it is the message of American reformers today.

At the height of Watergate, for instance, the black Texas Democrat Barbara Jordan declared in ringing tones: “My faith in the Constitution is whole; it is complete; it is total, and I am not going to sit here and be an idle spectator to the diminution, the subversion, the destruction of the Constitution.” The solution to Nixon’s misdeeds was to put the Constitution back on the pedestal where it belonged. A liberal New York Democrat named Elizabeth Holtzman excoriated Nixon for never stopping to ask himself, “What does the Constitution say? What are the limits of my power? What does the oath of office require of me? What is the right thing to do?” If he had read the Constitution, he would know the answer. Nearly half a century later, Nancy Pelosi denounced Donald Trump in the same ringing tones for “undermining a system, the beautiful, exquisite, brilliant, genius of the Constitution, the separation of powers, by granting to himself the powers of a monarch, which is exactly what Benjamin Franklin said we didn’t have.”8

The problem is always the same, and so the answer must be the same as well. When presidents go rogue, the faithful must draw them back to what ancient prophets like Benjamin Franklin said were their proper constitutional limits. If the Constitution says it it must be right because, after all, the Constitution is the Constitution. But, then, the Qur’an is also the Qur’an, so does that make it right as well? Here is what Ibn Khaldun said about Islam’s founding document: 

The Qur’an … is in itself the claimed revelation. It is itself the wondrous miracle. It is its own proof. It requires no outside proof, as do the other wonders wrought in connection with revelations. It is the clearest proof that can be, because it unites in itself both the proof and what is to be proved. … All this indicates that the Qur’ân is alone among the divine books, in that our Prophet received it directly in the words and phrases in which it appears. … Inimitability is restricted to the Qur’an.9

So is the Constitution, that wondrous miracle that is its own proof, inimitable as well? According to liberal politicians such as Jordan, Pelosi et al., the answer is yes.

Towards a theory of the Constitution 

The upshot is a political system as arid and unchanging as the constitutional structure that controls it. Which is what Madison wanted to accomplish, i.e. to sterilize politics so that the plantation system could continue ad infinitum. 

The result is a society that is unable to grow and hence address a growing list of problems in a constructive and meaningful way. This is not to say there haven’t been bursts of reform. There have, obviously, but it’s invariably a case of one step forward and two steps back. Reconstruction led to Jim Crow and the unbridled corporate dictatorship of the 1880s and 90s. The mixed bag of reforms that comprised the Progressive Era led to the violent suppression of the Wobblies, grim wartime repression under Woodrow Wilson, the Palmer Raids, and Prohibition. The black revolution of the 1950s and 60s gave way to a growing “southernization” marked by the growth of pro-gun and anti-abortion movements and a sophisticated effort aimed at rolling back civil rights. This was observed the British journalist Godfrey Hodgson in 2004: “One of the surprise developments of the last thirty years has been that, where it was once assumed that the South would become more like the rest of the country, in politics and in many aspects of culture, the rest of the country has come to resemble the South.”10

Obviously, popular prejudice is a factor. But it’s an effect rather than a cause, given a slave constitution subject to no more but the most cursory reforms. Take the three-fifths clause that gave southern slaveholders twenty-five extra congressional seats and electoral votes. One might imagine that the abolition of slavery would have done away with such abuses. But with the termination of Reconstruction in 1877, the opposite was the case as black individuals now counted as “five-fifths” of a person for purposes of congressional apportionment— even though they couldn’t vote. Racism wound up expanding all the more, not despite the Constitution, but because of it. The seniority system rewarded racism by allowing the one-party South to expand its tentacles throughout Congress while the Electoral College and the Senate multiplied the power of agrarian states that were less populous and less developed, thus undermining democracy as well.

Despite the civil-rights reforms of the 1950s and 60s, the situation today is largely unchanged. In fact, in many ways, it is worse. Equal state representation, for instance, allows the majority of the population living in just ten states to be outvoted four-to-one in the Senate by the minority living in the other forty. Sixty years ago, the implications were neutral, at least in terms of race, since the top ten actually had fewer minorities than the nation as a whole. Today the situation is reversed with the top ten most populous states home to twenty percent more minorities. The result is a growing premium for whites in places like Montana, the Dakotas, New Hampshire, and Vermont and a growing disadvantage for minorities in places like California, Texas, and New York.

This is why America is racist – not because of some disease that Americans can’t kick, but because of a slave-era constitution that is beyond their control. Meanwhile, the filibuster allows senators from 21 states, like Montana, the Dakotas, etc., to veto any and all bills while the Electoral College gives voters in lily-white Wyoming more than twice as much clout in presidential elections as voters in a “minority-majority” giant like California.11 

Not only does the Constitution prevent the people from tackling the problem of racial inequality, but it also prevents them from advancing on other fronts as well – environmental protection, labor, women’s rights, and so forth. Corporations adore the Constitution because by sterilizing democracy, it gives them a free hand to plunder society as they wish. The working masses are paying a growing price for a constitution that prevents them from taking society in hand and making it work for the benefit of the overwhelming majority. 

Towards a theory of constitution breakdown

If the Constitution’s structure has remained static over the centuries why is it breaking down now? Why has Congress been gridlocked since the 1990s, why has the Electoral College overridden the popular vote in two out of the last five presidential elections, why do Supreme Court nominations generate such bitter fights on Capitol Hill, and why is everyone filled with trepidation over what November will bring – whether the vote count will be honest, whether Trump will leave the White House peacefully if he’s defeated, whether there will be fighting in the streets, etc.? There’s more than a whiff of Weimar in the air. But why now as opposed to, say, the 1950s?

The answer has to do with the larger arc of capitalist development. Les trentes glorieuses, the golden age of postwar capitalism, was a time when seemingly everything worked. In Washington, three white men, two Texans and a Kansan– Dwight Eisenhower, Speaker of the House Sam Rayburn, and Senate Majority Leader Lyndon Johnson – essentially ran the government. Although some leftists feared that Joe McCarthy represented a fascist resurgence, what’s striking now is how neatly Eisenhower was able to nip the threat in the bud. Ike handpicked lawyer Joe Welch to confront the senator at the Army-McCarthy hearings, and the patrician Welch was careful to rehearse his famous line – “Have you no sense of decency, sir, at long last?” – beforehand.12 In the end, McCarthy was denied his beer-hall putsch and collapsed just a few months after the Senate voted overwhelmingly to condemn his behavior.

So the center held – and what’s more, it continued to hold even during the tumult of the 1960s. Indeed, Watergate marked a high-point of constitutional reverence in 1974. In that moment Alexander Cockburn couldn’t resist poking fun at American piety, as a columnist at the old Village Voice:

On the word front, the sky is still dark with clichés coming home to roost. The nightmare of Watergate is slowly receding, the long national trauma is over, the country’s profound need for rest has been appeased, a catharsis has taken place, a curtain is falling on a tragedy almost Greek in its dimensions, agony is giving way to peace, the nation’s wounds are being healed, the healing has begun, the Constitution has worked, the system has worked, pretty well everything you’ve ever heard of has worked, except the economy.13

The economy had ceased working thanks to the 1973 Arab oil embargo and the unraveling of the great postwar boom, this meant that the Constitution would soon stop working as well. Although Republicans went along with Watergate, temperatures quickly started to rise. The 1980s saw the Iran-contra scandal in which a lieutenant colonel named Oliver North denounced Congress like a two-bit Latin American putschist, with legislators too intimidated to say anything in return. House Speaker Newt Gingrich declared war on the Clinton administration with his 1994 “Contract with America” and then tried to use the Monica Lewinsky affair to drive him out of office in 1998. November 2000 saw the “Brooks Brothers Riot” in which Republican thugs tried to disrupt the vote count in Miami in order to steal the election for George W. Bush.14 Republicans tried to use “Birthergate” and “Benghazi-gate” to sabotage another Democratic administration after Obama won office in 2008. Then, as if to prove that subversion was not a one-way street, Democrats tried to overthrow Trump via a no-less-bogus pseudo-scandal known as Russiagate.

Russiagate deserves a book in itself. Although liberals will no doubt cry out in protest, it plainly amounted to an attempted coup d’état by Democrats, the corporate media, and the intelligence agencies, all of whom were up in arms over Trump’s confused ramblings about a rapprochement with Russia and who therefore pushed the theory that he was a Kremlin agent. It was a paranoid fantasy cooked up by unrepentant cold warriors like Hillary Clinton, Nancy Pelosi, Adam Schiff, and Robert Mueller. But beneath it lay a crisis of imperialism that had been building for years, a crisis of capitalism, and a deepening constitutional breakdown. It was the interaction of all three that made the situation so explosive.

As the Marxist economist Michael Roberts has noted, capitalism has been in the grips of a crisis caused by declining profitability since the late 1960s. The 1970s, the decade of de-industrialization and rocketing energy prices, saw a long sickening plunge in corporate profits, while the neoliberal “reforms” of the 1980s saw a brief uptick. With the Asian financial crisis in 1997 and the dot-com bust in 2001, capitalism resumed its downward course. It plunged again in 2007-08 and, thanks to Covid-19, has now gone crashing through the floor.15

Each downward plunge caused the mood in Washington to turn nastier and nastier while convincing disgruntled whites in the hinterlands that the cost of empire is not worth the blood that they had to shed. Deteriorating social conditions among rural whites sparked the anger that provided Trump with his margin of victory in 2016. American society was coming apart at the seams because the constitutional structure was disintegrating with astonishing speed. 

The Declaration of Independence, America’s original founding document, says with regard to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness that “whenever any form of government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the right of the people to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their safety and happiness.” After nearly a century and a half, Americans have arrived right back where they started, i.e. with a government that is undermining their safety and happiness at every turn and which they therefore must replace, not in part but in toto. They can’t do so with eighteenth-century methods— only those of the twenty-first, which is to say with revolutionary socialism.

But that’s a subject for another essay.

 

Beyond Work? The Shortcomings of Post-Work Politics

Mikael Lyngaas argues that post-work theorists ranging from Bob Black to Srnicek and Williams are utopian socialism for the current era. 

Pieter Bruegel the Elder, Estate

In 1845, Karl Marx wrote that in a communist society, workers would be freed from the monotony of a single draining job to “hunt in the morning, fish in the afternoon, rear cattle in the evening, criticize after dinner”. Since then, there have been many new ideas theorizing the nature of work and how capitalism exploits labor. These ideas have convinced a number of leftists to push for the emancipation of the working class through the abolition of work as a whole. This corner of the left argues that rising automation and movements for a universal basic income will eventually neutralize the contradictions of capitalism or abolish it altogether. “Post-work” theories, like other political groupings on the left, arise from the failures of the 19th-century socialist revolutions. Rather than a novel form of emancipatory politics, post-work is better understood as a  return to the utopian socialist tradition of Robert Owen, Charles Fourier, and Henri de Saint-Simon, all of which Marx and Engels furiously polemicized against. Engels writes in Socialism: Utopian and Scientific that “One thing is common to all three [Owen, Fourier, and Saint-Simon]. Not one of them appears as a representative of the interests of that proletariat… Like the French philosophers, they do not claim to emancipate a particular class to begin with, but all humanity at once. Like them, they wish to bring in the kingdom of reason and eternal justice, but this kingdom, as they see it, is as far as Heaven from Earth, from that of the French philosophers”. A different, but similar kind of “kingdom of reason” is brought forward by contemporary post-work theoreticians. Instead of tackling the difficult questions of the transition from class society to a classless society and its revolutionary and strategic implications, the post-work theoreticians leap over these immensely difficult questions by favoring fantasies of technological futures free from labor and struggle. In this process, labor becomes something distorted from its material reality and takes on the form of the supposed core of capitalism, the root of class society, and all its evils. 

The state of the modern left 

To understand the origin and nature of the post-work debate we must start by studying recent history. The last hundred years have led to both major victories and defeats for leftist movements. From the Russian Revolution to the May 68 uprisings, there have been periods of both great confusion and great optimism among the working class. The fall of the Soviet Union and the sharp turn towards capitalism in China led many leftists and progressives into a culture of defeatism. If two of the biggest socialist nations in the world couldn’t unite and abolish capitalism, then is it even possible? Such pessimistic sentiments sometimes lead to nihilism, especially since there seemed to be nothing but short-term, minor victories in sight. The slogan “Socialism in our lifetime!” became a shadow of the past. 

The turn toward reformism and class-compromise infected the European communist parties from May 68 onwards through the “Eurocommunist” trend of the 70s and 80s, which broke up many of these parties and disillusioned a generation of revolutionaries. As their membership numbers dwindled, huge swathes of working-class youth were left without proper representation and consequently strayed into the swamp of microsects and political isolation. There was a time when the left was more unified, and when theory and practice were more connected than today. Many of the so-called “New Left” movements of the 60s and 70s have steadily deemphasized Marxism, intending to overcome capitalism without falling prey to the authoritarianism of previous Stalinist projects. The antithesis to the Stalinist dogmas for these new leftists wasn’t a return to Marxism, but a return to philosophy and academia, as well as a retreat into emerging underground youth culture. The anarchist tendencies within many of these subcultures saw Marxism as an outdated and inherently authoritarian ideology. 

Although defeatism is still present today, countless struggles continue all over the world, and the deadlock of defeat seems to be lifting. Still, there remains skepticism towards the “old” left strategies of class struggle through party and union organizing. 

This is where the post-work theorists come in, by creating new radical alternatives to present political ideologies, including Marxism. Some post-work theories come from anarchist or left-communist traditions. These stem directly from the rejection of the “Leninist” party model (i.e. democratic centralism), and are most influential in the contemporary left as well as in academia. But if we’re going to ponder the question of abolishing work, we must start by looking into what constitutes work and why it is a debated term.

What is Work? 

There are many types of work: Housework, creative work, wage labor, schoolwork, etc. But what do they all have in common? Work is best understood in terms of what Marx called labor-power, defined as “[the] mental and physical capabilities existing in a human being, which he exercises whenever he produces a use-value of any description”.12 Labor-power, although an unquantifiable abstraction, is central to humans and our nature. The concept of a use-value is the usefulness or utility of a given action or an object. Mental and physical capacity is, for Marx, what essentially separates humans from other animals and lays most of the foundation for historical development in general. The work performed, whether it be unskilled or skilled, emotional, or physical, is usually performed in return for an economic reward, such as the means of subsistence of oneself or others in tight-knit communities. In the early phases of human development, after reaching the needed labor for subsistence, excess work was shared and contributed to improving the community.

Work is essentially the most vital expression of human development, in which we realize our labor through the objectification of our surroundings. Under capitalism this process of realization is taken away from the producers in what Marx describes as a “loss of the object and bondage to it; appropriation as estrangement, as alienation”.3 The theory of alienation is vital to understanding both how modern work-relations operate and the need to form new modes of work void of alienation. 

Through the given social forms within society, work became increasingly alienating as it separated humans from their work through brutal exploitation. From the expropriation of crops by feudal lords to capitalist exploitation through wage labor, the workers have been put into a division of labor, where human needs are constantly disregarded in the quest for cheaper labor and profits.4 In The German Ideology, Marx writes that “man’s own deed becomes an alien power opposed to him, which enslaves him instead of being controlled by him”.5 This lack of control doesn’t necessarily entail that all work is alienating to the core, but it is only a privileged few who can work off their creative projects or with small businesses, and ultimately they too must compete in the market. Capitalism ensures that even the best hobby becomes a mundane job. 

For many, work can be both the object of great amounts of dignity and pride, as well as suffering and misery. The organized diminution of work might mean many things. Work-hours get longer to increase the surplus value produced by workers, not because there is a need within society for more of this or that product, but because of capitalisms’ need for constantly increasing profit. The solution to these problems for post-work theoreticians could be summed up by Nick Srnicek and Alex Williams as the goal of a “world in which people are no longer bound by their jobs, but free to create their own lives”.6 

The other part of this equation in need of address is leisure time. Leisure is often described as a period of time when we are recovering from work. There are, of course, a million ways to go about one’s leisure time— but that is beside the point. Under capitalism, leisure is capitalized on heavily as it is the time when we usually consume the most, whether it be television advertisements, food, or shopping. It’s the time when the wages paid to the worker are put back into the market, both out of the necessity of subsistence as well as heavily manipulated consumption for consumption’s sake.

There is also the psychological problem of leisure as breaking the “flow” of organized work. The choice to never work could lead to new forms of isolation and social pathologies.7 American anarchist and essayist Bob Black, taking influence from Fourier, writes in his 1985 essay The Abolition of Work that nonwork, or play, is favorable to work. This he argues by claiming that the arts, sciences, and political organization are more meaningful and fulfilling even though they stand outside modern work-life. Play, or the nonwork of life, is not passive leisure and should be understood as the “libidinization of life” as Black put it, or rather as a time to indulge in culture. An actor, painter, or musician does not necessarily produce a commodity for market purposes, but they perform labor and provide people with entertainment. Although contradictory, it may seem that “nonwork” is just work that is not waged labor. Black’s terms remain an undefined confusion, for how are we to separate “play” from “nonwork” and “wage labor”? And what kind of labor are we willing to allow? Artisanal, artistic, and culinary forms of labor are essential for all human societies, but the post-work theorists have the tendency to dismiss these in favor of philosophical jargon. 

Black puts this argument of libidinization forward not as a political task of any group or mass of people but rather as the self-emancipation of the individual. Even Marx’s son in law, Paul Lafargue, wrote about the supposed cultured and virtuous importance of laziness and leisure in the 1883 essay The Right to be Lazy. This would go on to garner much disdain from workerists who stressed the importance of labor struggle for advancing socialism.8 We might find the starting point of post-work theories in Laufarague’s essay. The idealized notion of laziness and “non-work” might be seen as revolutionary in the face of precarious labor, long hours, and exploitation at every level of management and much of the work that is being done today is not only totally unnecessary but also detrimental to the wellbeing of the producers and the ecosystem globally. Yet at the same time, work is something inherently human which can bring about immense collective improvement as well as great personal fulfillment. It remains obvious that any revolutionary movement elevating laziness and vague jargon will eventually fizzle out into obscurity. 

French communizer Gilles Dauvé also pointed out that work and its character under capitalism are so highly alienating and exploitative that it will impact every socialist attempt to change it. Dauvé describes it as “if social life revolves around this measure, whatever the mode of association, sooner or later the value will reappear”.9 Value for Dau is the process through which capital emerges, and must be stamped out completely if a communist revolution is to succeed. Yet the process of creating a new system away from capital however is, as Marx put it, “[born] with the birthmarks of the old society from whose womb it emerges”.10 For Marx, the new society will emerge from a period of transition that is tainted by elements of the old mode of production. Dauvé points to the Soviet Union as an example of this approach to argue instead for the immediate abolition of work and value through the process of communization. Yet the failure of the Soviet Union was not inevitable due to a failure to immediately abolish work. The failures of the October Revolution to spread internationally meant the continuation of a state ‘socialism’ based entirely around bureaucratic party leadership. For the Soviet Union, work became intensified as it tried to out-compete the US in terms of military-might and productive output. Because of this, the political pragmatism of the Soviet politburo eliminated any notion of higher stages of communism or even world revolution as a whole. Although Dauvé’s criticism of the Soviet Union and similar states raises valid points they do not necessitate his solutions.

“Parasites and do-nothings, whoever doesn’t work for themselves disturbs the work of others. From Soviet Union, 1920.

How do we end work?

For Italian anarchist Alfredo M. Bonanno the problem at hand was the transformation of wage labor from “obligatory doing into free action”, similar to Black.11 This, of course, presupposes that a post-scarcity economy is already achieved and that society is moving further towards a higher stage of communism. Bonanno emphasizes the importance of creativity in order to “destroy work”, and, like other writers on the topic, criticizes the notion of non-activity. Like Black, Bonanno offers vague statements to avoid the implications that the destruction of work might have.

Unlike Black and the other utopians, Bonanno and Dauvé both represent (in different ways) a more uncompromising and insurrectionary utopianism. Bonanno emphasizes the revolutionary nature of “destroying work”, as a sort of self-realization without wage labor leading to collective experimentation, which in turn ends capitalism.12 Here lies a strain of individualism that rejects party organization and political strategy in favor of individual expressions and creativity in direct action. The focus on direct action and insurrection is also found in the works of Dauvé who, like the anarchists, rejects a transitional period to communism in favor of the total abolition of the value-form. This means the total abolition of any economic framework for a transitional period as a whole, leaving an enormous gap in the transition over from capitalism to communism. This world revolution is set forward more like a biblical reckoning rather than a long-term political goal carried forward by a mass proletarian movement.13 The theoretical difference here is that Dauvé does not abandon Marxism or the history of communism, though he draws on anarchists and the autonomists of the 60s and 70s for inspiration. Although Dauvé offers a valuable critique of bureaucratization and top-down leadership, his theory of communization remains an obscure tendency with its lack of a proper political and economic strategy. This again is sacrificing a viable strategy for non-flexible principles. 

It is obvious that the struggle for socialism has to be fought out openly by the broad masses against the bourgeoisie, and that this has historically been effectively done through the proletarian party. The resistance faced by revolutionaries shows clearly that socialism can not be established in a blink of an eye but rather through the organized fight against bourgeois reaction. 

Universal Basic Income

Another approach that has been popularized in later years is the universal basic income (UBI) which emerged as a somewhat broad public policy in the 70s before vanishing. It was popular among both liberals and conservatives as a way to replace public services.  But the rise of neoliberalism secured the position of the ruling class and allowed enormous cuts in social welfare,  rendering the liberal UBI useless. For Nick Srnicek and Alex Williams, the UBI is, among other demands, a part of what they call, ironically enough, “non-reformist reforms”. These are obviously just reforms. Although these reforms are intended to abolish capitalism, they often look more like steps towards an uncertain technocratic utopia. Instead of understanding UBI as an obscure neoliberal project long since cast aside, Srnicek and Williams reproduce a “progressive” approach to what is inherently neoliberalism. Their emphasis on think tanks as a means to put forward their theories also echoes the logic of the bourgeoisie, who seek to externalize political on-the-ground activity as much as possible to keep it out of mind. Srnicek and Williams do not look to the socialist tradition or the labor movement for inspiration and instead gaze at the ivory tower. 

Immediate goals are traditionally theorized as tools for raising class-consciousness which will then lead to a mass revolutionary movement, but Srnicek and William instead aim at long-term technocratic reforms. Through technology and extensive labor struggles for shorter work weeks, full automation, and a universal basic income, Srnicek and Williams argue that we can achieve a post-work society. They envision this as a stage of capitalism, or a process of transformation away from capitalism in which the reserve labor army is abolished and work becomes voluntary, creating a society where labor makes the rules and capital obey.14 In this scenario class-consciousness would surely arise from the immense struggle against capital, and the new social relations formed with the abolishment of unemployment and poverty. This is supposed to lay some of the groundwork for a communist society where work is flexible, and few people are tied to one profession or company their entire life.15 Neoliberalism and its hegemony would slowly be undermined, not only by the masses of workers receiving a UBI but also through academia creating new approaches to problems of socialist calculation. 

Srnicek and William’s theoretical proposals for socialism break with more traditional Marxist ideas of revolution. What they get right is that an emphasis on “utopianism” and long-term goals is necessary to counteract the global left’s defeatism and nihilism in the face of the old questions of emancipation. If everything always remains in the scope of 5, 10 years, or as long as a lifetime, very few emancipatory projects seem worthwhile. Yet a post-work society achieved through automation and UBI would face a myriad of difficult political tasks that are immediate. For Srnicek and Williams, many of these core demands can only be looked at as prefigurative politics aiming at slowly changing social relations for the better.16 Even in a society with a UBI and full automation the contradictions between the interests of capital and the interests of labor will come to a breaking point because the capitalist class cannot allow an ever-expanding UBI as profits decline. To even reach this point would be a long, arduous, and massive political task which makes it a vital necessity for post-work theories to create applicable radical politics. After all, Srnicek and Williams fail to even consider the end of alienating work by transforming the nature of work itsef. UBI becomes not a means to an end but an end in and of itself. 

What then, is Srnicek and William’s strategy for such a political project?  Their strategy is what they call an “ecology of organizations”—  a myriad of left groupings such as trade unions, interest groups, parties etc. A good example of this would probably be the recent Yellow vest movement or Occupy which consisted of many different groups but held no central leadership or demands.There is little description on how these collections of organizations might function without any form of non-spontaneous centralization.17 Creating hegemony and insisting on influencing cultural and political spaces usually leads to what Srnicek and Williams call “folk politics”, that is, the politics of loose and spontaneous groupings with few consistent aims such as the Occupy movement.18 Srnicek and Williams heavily critique folk politics but, ironically, their project also falls prey to utopian folk politics by relying on spontaneity and unity between vastly different, often hostile groups for establishing a hegemony. This theory echoes Dauvé by being an obvious response to state socialism and subsequent reliance on spontaneous struggle. For Dauvé, this struggle is revolutionary, but not for Srnicek and Williams. For them, it might not even be emancipatory at all, admitting that a post-work society may entail colonialism, racism, and patriarchy if it is not global. A future beyond neoliberal wage labor may therefore not only be co-opted by capital, but also be used to further imperialistic expansion.19 

For example, automation may also work to the disadvantage of workers as more and more people are placed into the reserve army of labor. In response to this, many have pointed to the possibility that new technology will create demand for new skilled workers. Yet, as pointed out by Lukas Schlogl and Andy Sumner, automation remains a problem for the low-skilled workers in periphery states.20 This shines a light on the fact that the project of automation and UBI, when isolated to a single country,  could easily be co-opted by liberals, conservatives, and fascists alike. Absent an internationalist perspective, the ideas of post-work theory can morph into variants concerned not with how to bring about socialism or a more egalitarian society, but rather how to push capitalism into complete self-destruction. This is the politics of accelerationism, a theory which presupposes an intensification of capitalism to bring about a new horizon of possibilities through rapid technological invention. This theory, inspired by Deleuze & Guattari’s Anti-Oedipus, is plastered across many popular leftist works, such as Paul Mason’s Postcapitalism. It has also been combined with neo-Nazi race theory and reactionary ideology by figures such as Nick Land who seek to accelerate the demise of the globalized world order into a “patchwork” of “techno-feudalist” city-states. However, since the early 00s, accelerationism has fallen out of favor everywhere except small corners leftwing academia, becoming more of a bizarre internet subculture. Just like in the late 30s when many believed they were witnessing the death of capitalism, we cannot wait for capitalism to defeat itself. This would be equivalent to, in the words of Rosa Luxemburg, waiting “until the sun burns out”. Instead, the working-class needs to consciously organize itself for its own emancipation with a clear goal of communism, not by vague prospects of a new technological paradigm. 

Another approach to the topic of UBI and post-work society can be found in the work of Feminist Theoretician Kathi Weeks, whose book The Problem with Work stresses the principled demand for the wages of domestic workers as a means to obtain a UBI.21 Weeks argues that the utopianism in post-work imaginaries cuts through the traditional dichotomy between reform and revolution. This is done by re-thinking the transformation away from capitalism as a struggle that is won on a day-to-day basis through strikes, protests, and electoral victories to produce “new forms of relations”.22 Vagueness aside, does this approach really break with the dichotomy of reform or revolution? Reformism entails a firm stance against revolutionary action but the revolutionary position supports fighting immediate reformist demands, including many championed by Weeks, Srnicek, and Williams, in addition to the goal of seizing power and abolishing capitalism. Theoretically, the emphasis on creating something new seems to outweigh the project of actually creating coherent politics. The rejection of classical Marxism without a coherent alternative means that post-work theories are stuck within various political science and philosophy departments, instead of being a force in fighting capitalism. Utopian socialism has changed a lot since the 18th century, but it remains stuck in visions of the future without making so much as a single step into that future. The long-term strategy of organization, agitation, and education forces us to deal with the material conditions of the proletariat as well as the current political situation. Envisioning the future and theorizing other social relations can very well be a means of drawing people into the socialist left, but as we’ve explored, they offer very little in terms of actual strategy. If we are to take socialism seriously, we must critique this trend wherever it occurs. 

Poster from East Germany, says “Less work for all!”

Conclusion

The struggle for domestic workers’ right to wages, a global UBI, and full automation are all important topics for any contemporary radical looking to end the alienation of labor. Envisioning a possible future and what it might look like is important for creating the possibility for socialism. The imagination of post-work may inspire class struggle but it is also useless without a well-thought-out and systematic approach to enact their demands. The common lack of a clear political strategy and semantic games about the correct meaning of the word “work” place most post-work theories into the camp of pseudo-academic phrase-mongers rather than serious revolutionaries. Slogans such as “End all work!” might seem appealing, but if we take it together with the most common definitions of labor it would quickly lead down the rabbit hole of meaninglessness and despair. There is already a myriad of working-class demands that are worth fighting for without having to delve into the jargon-filled language of academic philosophers. As capitalism creates work that is mundane and meaningless, the post-work theoreticians respond by trying to regain some notion of working-class agency. Yet this agency is mistaken and only exists in theory. 

Technology might bring an end to neoliberalism, or even capitalism, but only under the control of the producers through intensive struggle. It is not the task of serious Marxists to create prophecies about the future but rather to deal with the current situation as well as the vast history of communism and the working class. There will be no grand acceleration of capitalism, but rather a continuing economic decline together with an enormous environmental collapse. Post-work theories are then revealed to rely heavily on predictions and technological optimism for the future without dealing with the present or the past. Marx says in the Eighteenth Brumaire that “Men make their own history, but they do not make it as they please; they do not make it under self-selected circumstances, but under circumstances existing already, given and transmitted from the past”. Without properly connecting theory to history and political practice it might never break out of the sphere of philosophy and speculation. We already have over a hundred years of working-class struggle to learn from and thousands of pages of valuable theory that directly corresponds with the lived reality of the masses. Although we should not fetishize the past, we should avoid doing the same to the possible future. 

There is naturally a great need to go beyond wage labor and abolish it with more socialized forms of labor aimed at bettering the quality of life for all. This emancipatory project can however simply not be reduced down to a revolutionary imagination or vague hyperbolic demands. The notion of new theory for a new time might be appealing but we do not need to reinvent the wheel. We need to take up the study of Marxism and fight for the immediate goals of the working class as well as the long-term goal of communism. Post-work doesn’t help us do this, they simply create new vocabularies that lead down avenues of vagueness and confusion. 

The Dialectic of Assimilation

How have Jews in the US have gone from an unwelcome immigrant group prone to left-wing radicalism to Zionists and beneficiaries of whiteness? Lane Silberstein investigates. 

Cover of Der Hammer, US Yiddish Socialist magazine, 1932

“There are no allies by divine right.” –Aime Cesaire

With the murders of George Floyd and Breonna Taylor, and now Iyad el-Hallak, a Palestinian in occupied East Jerusalem, I have been thinking about my role as a Jew and a communist and the connections between liberation movements. For leftist Jews in particular, solidarity with people of color and Palestinians necessitates rejecting Zionism and understanding its links to white supremacy and the global color line. The following essay presents some preliminary thoughts on what I’ve been calling the dialectic of assimilation: how have Jews gone from an unwelcome immigrant group to the beneficiaries of white privilege? How has a community that was once so dedicated to socialism become ardently Zionist? The analysis depends on a material critique of the vast Jewish non-profit sector, alongside which contributes heavily to the social reproduction of capitalism and nationalism among North American Jews.

As it is set up and arranged and how it functions, the Jewish community will not lead us to liberation. All of its non-profits, its schools, synagogues, and civil infrastructure exist to reproduce themselves, and they do this by emulating the political status quo. It means little that progressives condemn killings in Palestine when they praise Donald Trump moving the embassy to Jerusalem. The linking of a theological center of Israel to the politics of Zionism is part of this maintenance of bourgeois consciousness. When Jewish establishment pundits feel the need to say they “love Israel” then they aren’t, as they also claim, criticizing it “without reservation.” What do they love? Borders? Neoliberal economics and a massive wealth gap? A racist judicial system? Forced military service? They are admitting that what one loves needs these repressive elements to exist in the first place. Even stating, as many on the left do, that an ethno-state cannot live up to Jewish values, is an admission that these values are partially at fault for failing to prevent massacres of unarmed Palestinians. 

Thus, in its day to day functioning, the Jewish community, defined and represented by this establishment, maintains the mundane violence of life under capitalism and empire. Rabbis and CEOs and non-profit directors will not lead us out of this cycle. Indeed, so many of them validate their existence precisely in the minute ways they think they criticize power. A prime example of this social reproduction masquerading as progressive rests with the Union for Reform Judaism (URJ), the largest branch of organized Judaism in North America. At their recent convention, they passed a resolution to “advocate for the creation of a federal commission to study and develop proposals for reparations to redress the historic and continuing effects of slavery and subsequent systemic racial, societal, and economic discrimination against Black Americans.” But with the continuing murders of unarmed black people, will the URJ ever take a stand on police or prison abolition? And with the ongoing liberal consensus that anti-Zionism is antisemitism, will the URJ ever address their support for a settler-colonial state in the Middle East? Would they ever acknowledge that the IDF works closely with police forces in the US? Should we be surprised at the lack of radical imagination from a group that is, on average, the highest paid clergy in the US? James Baldwin’s words ring out here: “In the American context, the most ironical thing about Negro anti-Semitism is that the Negro is really condemning the Jew for having become an American white man — for having become, in effect, a Christian. The Jew profits from his status in America, and he must expect Negroes to distrust him for it. The Jew does not realize that the credential he offers, the fact that he has been despised and slaughtered, does not increase the Negro’s understanding. It increases the Negro’s rage.” 

We now have people seriously asking if non-profits can be profitable (as if they weren’t already run like businesses) and Jewish day schools modeling themselves after Shark Tank. The Jewish establishment, made up of groups which claim to be “entrepreneurial organizations that demonstrate an innovative approach to transforming the Jewish future” (a meaningless, nearly random assemblage of words lacking any political imagination), is in actuality concerned with the “reproduction of its submission to the rules of the established order,” as Althusser says. We can apply Althusser’s comment when it comes to the social reproduction of whiteness among Jews. 

There are two possibilities for liberation, and they can intersect: external political crises penetrate into Jewish civil society to break it down, or this society finds a way out on its own. That is, the former is a consciousness growing from outside the community and the latter from inside. Historical and political circumstances will change, and this can happen with or without Jewish involvement. But it should be clear that our leaders and our institutions can not give us the tools to take part in the struggle for freedom alongside others. This is the nature of Jewish non-profits: they dare not question Zionism or their funding will be cut. In the meantime, they prop themselves up as representative of all Jews and attempt to promote progressive values. They are actively linking what they see as good, American nationalism and maintaining the global color line and its subsequent oppression of Palestinians. 

The whiteness of Jews in the US has a parallel on the global level. These people who attempt to talk about reparations are the people who will simply be relieved when there’s a two-state solution so they can relate to Israel and Judaism free from liberal guilt. But a two-state solution will not halt the occupation, only shift relations. Israel will still have nuclear arms, and its businesses will still exploit Palestinian labor. In the eyes of the Jewish establishment, Israel will then have more claim to being an enlightened Western outpost. In reality it will remain an authoritarian state propped up by global capital. A two-state solution will justify colonization. 

Assimilation into the white west is concomitant to the assimilation of political values. If “identity politics” can be coined by black socialist women but come to describe whatever it is Hillary Clinton does, then “Jewish social justice” can encompass everything from random progressive-sounding parts of the Talmud, to the orientalist non-profit industrial complex of 19th century Germany, to the bravery of Bundists or Jewish Freedom Riders. The actual, material assimilation of class is accompanied by a white-washing of history and ideology. “Not even the dead are safe,” to quote Jewish communist Walter Benjamin, refers as much to literal dead bodies and cemeteries defaced by fascists as it does the ideas of radical Jews from the past and what they represent to living people, and in particular the ways in which they are manipulated.  

In a perverse twist of history, Zionism has legitimated Jewish life in the diaspora. It gives Jews the benefits of a geopolitical identity based in white supremacy and capitalist success. Global citizenship is conceived of only through the nation-state paradigm — this is why Palestinians are not considered real and anti-Zionist Jews hate themselves. The nation-state is the culmination of Jewish aspirations and it doesn’t matter how it is constituted because we have been so thoroughly seduced by that which for so long we were deprived. As the Jewish novelist Joseph Roth said, “it is better to be a nation than to be oppressed by one.” 

The seduction of Zionism does not function only on an emotional level, but is based on real, material needs; but primarily the needs of one class. The Jewish establishment has been successful in tying their particular class needs to Jewish identity writ large. Norman Finkelstein writes

“Israel came to incarnate for American Jewish intellectuals the high cause of Truth, Justice, and the American Way, to which they could now assert a unique connection by virtue of blood lineage. Joining the Zionist club was a prudent career move for Jewish communal leaders who could then play the role of key interlocutors between the US and its strategic asset…These gung-ho Zionists didn’t even subscribe to the Zionist tenet that Jews had no future in the gentile world. On the contrary, they converted to Zionism because it facilitated their acceptance in the United States.”

For the Jewish bourgeoisie in the diaspora, Zionism fills the gap of a nationalist politics from which they had been disenfranchised. Their class position has finally aligned, after decades of not being allowed in the halls of power, with an ethnic nationalist one, which has been enabled and legitimized by US imperialism. They can be proud Jews in the diaspora without ever thinking of moving to Israel — as long as they form their Jewish ethnic identity entirely around that far away, tiny state. It is a form of assimilation in everything but name: Zionists are willing pawns of empire and capital, and they call this “self-determination.” The international bourgeoisie (including its Jewish members) does in fact have dual loyalties — but these commitments are mutually beneficial. Our fight against Zionism must be a national-class one. 

The Jewish community is making best efforts to conflate Jewishness with Zionism and excise anything that deviates, chiefly leftists. Claims of antisemitism have a political purpose, often entirely divorced from real threats against Jews. The extent to which Jewish leftists can leverage power by claiming we’re part of this illusory community should be measured. Jewish establishment thinkers can deconstruct Torah and call themselves progressive; but when it comes to actual analysis of real-world power, they are toothless. Progressives cannot acknowledge that we are already fighting in enemy terrain, and the ground that this enemy has been so successful in capturing is identity itself. 

Bourgeois Judaism has warped our perception of antisemitism: as middle class, nationalist values become conflated with Jewish values, and the Jewish community (accurately) sees a left that is antagonistic to these values, we thus have “left-wing” antisemitism. There is antisemitism on the left (do we deny that there is also racism and sexism on the left?), but no such thing as left-wing antisemitism. Antisemitism causes Jews to unite with their political opponents — yet we can have no solidarity with the Jewish bourgeoisie. Antisemitism forces Jews to share a fate while we do not share interests. The linking of fate with interest is the meaning of solidarity; only in socialism can there be true solidarity. 

When the Communist League split up in 1850, Marx told his opposition that they “make mere will the motive force of the revolution, instead of actual relations.” In our struggle against capitalism and Zionism and their dual colonization of Jewish identity,  we cannot rely on the will of our religious convictions to overturn the real, material forces behind Jewish nationalism; we must engage in a sober analysis of what Zionism means to Jews and how it can be combated through solidarity and practice. 

We don’t necessarily need to attack the Jewish establishment by doubling down on uncritical identity politics. We don’t need to convince anyone we’re Jewish, because we’re fighting an uphill battle against right-wing forces who have tied Jewishness to white supremacy and Zionism, and feel at home in this. We respond by actually organizing alongside gentiles, and building a massive movement for liberation. The Jewish establishment and its cronies will say they care about “Jewish liberation”; they don’t realize that socialism is Jewish liberation. There’s a difference between ensuring space for Jews in the socialist movement (the universal is only powerful as long as it protects the particular) versus making socialism amenable to the Jewish community and “meeting the community where it’s at.” We must recognize that large amounts of Jews will never be our comrades. Jewish leftists, therefore, should not worry about alienating ourselves from the wider Jewish community; our allies are more numerous than 15 million Jews. 

To quote another Jewish communist, Gyorgy Lukacs: “The tragic dialectics of the bourgeoisie can be seen in the fact that it is not only desirable but essential for it to clarify its own class interests on every particular issue, while at the same time such a clear awareness becomes fatal when it is extended to the question of the totality.” We need to see this system in its entirety or we will be doomed. The occupation only grows out of nationalism — it does not exist on its own. It is now tied, in bourgeois consciousness, to the very idea of Jewish identity and values. The actions of Israel accelerate the fight against Zionism, but it is up to us to push this to a breaking point, and we must do this in every facet of our community. 

It is not the insufficiency of liberal Judaism itself to challenge the status quo, but the insufficiency of civil society from which liberal Judaism draws its ethics. Liberal Judaism places itself in a feedback loop, supporting the civil society that gives it relevance. As Marxists, we must understand that capitalist civil society is doomed. We should not dismiss the possibility of the North American Jewish community turning into the British, where only 13% of the Jewish community voted for Jeremy Corbyn. Before him, only 20% of Jews voted for a Jewish Labour leader. The variable is not Jewish ethics — the variable is class consciousness. British politics will continue on its way without Jewish relevancy. The Jewish establishment in the US seems intent on following a similar path. 

Historically the rabbinate and Jewish philanthropies have been on the conservative side of the Jewish community; only recently have they been seen as leaders on social and economic issues, but this is because of the general decline of mass movements. The bar is set very low. Liberation theology risks complacency if not paired with an aggressive economic agenda; theology isn’t liberatory unless it’s socialist; tikkun olam, that favorite slogan of liberal Jews to “repair the world” is only revolutionary if it’s consciously revolutionary. To quote another Jewish communist, Rosa Luxemburg: “The tactics of Social Democracy should always be more resolute and vigorous than required by the existing power relations, and never less.” Establishment Judaism, including the rabbinate and the vast Jewish non-profit sector, only conceives of a bourgeoisie that’s easier to manage. In order to be free, bourgeois Judaism must be destroyed. I’ve quoted many Jewish radicals throughout this essay but I’ll close with a quote from a black Marxist, one that always sounded very Jewish to me: “if we are to survive, we must take nothing that is dead and choose wisely from among the dying.” 

 

The Need for Organizations that Organize

Ben Reynolds responds to Chris Koch’s The Need for Agitational Organizations.

In a recent article titled ‘The Need for Agitational Organization’ Chris Koch argues that the lackluster growth of revolutionary organizations can be attributed to their petite bourgeois class composition, fetishization of leadership, and ideological rigidity. Koch is right that the predominantly middle-class membership of most left-wing organizations, along with their white and male skew, is a serious obstacle to future growth.1 However, today’s fundamental barrier to positive change is not just an insufficient focus on agitation, but the lack of real knowledge of basic organizing techniques and effective campaign strategy. We have organizations that sell newspapers, call for demonstrations, conduct political education, create podcasts, and infight – we do not, on the main, have organizations that spend their time organizing.

What actually is “organizing?” Members of many leftist organizations would be hard-pressed to find leaders who could give a convincing answer to this question. Indeed, one would probably hear a laundry list of the sort of activities described above which, while important in one way or another, are not organizing. Organizing is the building of relationships with members of an oppressed class in order to create a structure that will enable the group to collectively fight for its interests. It is externally focused, oriented toward uncontacted individuals outside the group who need to be engaged in struggle. By contrast, most left-wing organizations spend their time mobilizing existing members and contacts to come to meetings, attend protests, donate resources, and so on. Because the membership of these groups is predominantly middle class, individuals who happen to join due to existing friendships and chance social connections also tend to be middle class, perpetuating social isolation.

There are a number of reasons that organizations tend to prefer to do pretty much everything except external organizing. First, deliberately trying to forge relationships with new people can be intimidating. It is much more comfortable to spend our time with the already-convinced and with our current friends – the social alienation created by today’s media technologies has exacerbated this problem. Second, organizing is difficult. It requires many hours of work over a relatively long period of time to canvass an area, build relationships with key individuals, and mobilize a community to take action. It is certainly easier to promote a demonstration on social media to the same group of people who show up to every protest.

However, the most important reason for the blockage is that many left-wing organizations have little-to-no knowledge of how to actually undertake an organizing campaign. This is a product of historical circumstances. The defeat of the radical movements of the mid-20th century severed the institutional transfer of knowledge from experienced activists to new members. Leaders of organizations like the Black Panthers were assassinated or imprisoned; student radicals were largely co-opted and reintegrated into capitalist society. Each new generation of activists has thus had to learn the practices and pitfalls of movement work largely blind, with minimal guidance from elders, and has engaged in the same patterns of activity: an influx reacting to an external challenge, symbolic protest action, media coverage and growth, impasse, stagnation, and decay. As burnt-out activists leave in the final stage, so too the knowledge of successes and failures departs from the movement.

Where there are pockets of knowledge about organizing strategy and techniques, the connection to left-wing groups is often insufficient. For example, there are relatively few linkages between organizers in unions that still effectively recruit new members – UNITE HERE and National Nurses United, for instance – and the revolutionary movement. The same can be said of the few nonprofits that focus on base organizing rather than ‘advocacy’ and lobbying. This is not a fatal limitation in and of itself. To overcome it, organizations need to systematically train new members (and, given the present state of things, existing members) on how to become effective organizers. They need to develop training programs, methods for experienced individuals to share skills, and processes of evaluation and self-criticism to allow effective techniques to spread. Most importantly, they must undertake campaigns that put these skills to use, allowing organizers to develop their abilities through practice while recruiting working-class leaders.

While this is not the place for a manual on external organizing, it is still important that we have a basic understanding of what an effective organizing campaign looks like. A campaign begins by identifying a group of people who are being exploited by a shared enemy – a company, landlord, police agency, etc. The organizers must map and canvass the area to understand its social groups, points of agreement, and potential schisms. They must also identify points where the community can exert strategic leverage by inflicting meaningful costs, in dollars, on the adversary, as in a labor strike, rent strike, or blockade. Finally, the organizers need to identify the organic leaders within the community who can help move their social groups to take action when necessary.

The organizers must develop relationships of trust with these leaders and other members of the community, listening to and understanding their problems and motivations. They must then use their understanding to help these individuals overcome their fear and decide to take action. The organizers and community leaders then mobilize a critical mass in the wider community to join the struggle, conduct a pressure campaign against the adversary, and force concessions. Through this process, trust between the organizers and community is created, the oppressed discover their strength, and effective working-class leaders are identified and tried by fire. In one such example, recent organizing by Stomp Out Slumlords in D.C. has led to rent strikes and the creation of a city-wide tenant union.

Chris Koch correctly stressed the importance of credibility, which could be more simply stated as a problem of trust. Working-class communities do not even know that most left-wing organizations exist but, if they did, they would still need to trust them to be willing to risk the real consequences of taking action. Agitation alone is not enough to create this trust. Standing on a soapbox and delivering stirring oratory is no substitute for the relationship building that has to take place before mass action is possible. Agitation, in this context, is more likely to happen over a beer or in someone’s living room than at a major demonstration – it is the part of the process where an organizer helps someone overcome their fear with the dual motivations of hope and anger.

Internal democracy, charismatic agitation, and ideological flexibility are all important – but they are mere window-dressing if an organization has no mass base. The truths of revolutionary socialism will find no purchase if there is no one to listen to them. And, to be frank, the movement needs to spend much more time listening to the problems and demands of the working class, and a bit less time preaching its chosen truths.

Workers like Alexander Shlyapnikov joined the RSDLP and later-Bolsheviks because they developed contacts with members who fought with them in their concrete struggles. Koch rightly emphasized that worker-leaders like Shlyapnikov were far more effective at convincing other workers to take action than socialist intellectuals. Workers in a UPS logistics center, for instance, are still far more likely to listen to their compatriots then some college student radical off the street. This is true of social groups in general – imagine your reaction if a Democratic Party operative tried to advise your local leftist group on the actions it should take. Again, the only way to overcome the social barriers between insiders and outsiders is to undertake a concerted effort to build relationships with insiders, face-to-face.

I believe we need an organization today that somewhat resembles the IWW of old: a big tent comprised of anarchists, communists, socialists, and other militants who unite first and foremost around practical organizing work aimed at engaging the oppressed in struggle and building the organized power of the working class. Unlike the old IWW, such an organization would also engage in campaigns beyond syndicalism, supporting the struggles of tenants, prisoners, the LGBTQ community, and so on. Whether existing organizations can adapt themselves to the task at hand, or whether such a new “people’s alliance” is required, remains to be seen. If the revolutionary movement does not root itself predominantly in the working class, it will fail, plain and simple. It is up to those of us who recognize this reality to side-step the more irrelevant debates within the movement and take up the serious work of creating a movement that organizes.

 

For the Unity of Marxists with the Dispossessed: The Bolsheviks and the State, 1912-1917

 A reply by Medway Baker to Sophia Burns’  article For the Unity of Marxists, or the Unity of the Dispossessed?.    

In a previous article, Comrade Sophia Burns argued for the “unity of the dispossessed,” in opposition to the “unity of Marxists” proposed by Comrades Rosa Janis and Parker McQueeney. She correctly exposes the largely petit-bourgeois makeup of the contemporary left, critiques its culture of protest (which, as she notes, often does little to build up an organised revolutionary force, but rather “attract[s] dissident anger and channel[s] it harmlessly into the ground”), and identifies that Marxists must “gain experience with class struggle, gradually cultivate a base among the dispossessed, and eventually begin to develop the necessary forces to establish revolutionary sovereignty.” However, she goes too far in her identification of what constitutes collaboration with the bourgeois state. 

Burns is correct that the goal of any Marxist minimum programme must be “not [to] join[] the official political realm but [to] creat[e] an entirely new one, an insurrectionary proletarian state”. But even as she advocates for the overthrow of the state and the establishment of “‘dual power’ the way Lenin meant it”, she rejects key lessons of the Bolshevik experience, both before the establishment of “dual power” and after. When she insists on “not lobbying [the government], participating in its elections… or… protesting it”, Burns leaves to us only a single tactic: the formation of “struggle committees” for the fulfillment of the workers’ demands in their struggles against the bosses and the landlords. Presumably these “struggle committees” are to form the nucleus of the future workers’ state. 

This tactical orientation leaves something to be desired, even by Burns’ own admission. “Something more is needed,” she says. “I don’t know what it is. It’ll take a lot of experimentation and, likely, plenty of failures to figure it out.” This is a respectable position to hold, and she is on the right track. She correctly identifies the need for “mass organizations with communist leadership actively destabilizing the liberal order” and “developing the organizational capacity to govern.” As I have argued in the past, it is necessary to form a workers’ party with a revolutionary programme, which will train the proletariat in self-governance through the formation of counter-hegemonic, democratic proletarian civic institutions. These institutions, administered and staffed by the proletariat, must substitute the functions of the bourgeois state following the seizure of power. Burns is not hostile to party-building—indeed, she admits that it “will likely be necessary”—but her conception of this is not comprehensive. 

In How Do You Do Politics? Burns shows the beginnings of the path forward. Although I have some misgivings about her overall thesis, her tactical orientation of directly engaging with workers in the class struggle is correct. But what comes after? Where do we go once we’ve begun to build up this organic base among the workers? 

In accordance with Burns’ own advocacy of “‘dual power’ the way Lenin meant it”, we will explore the ways in which the Bolsheviks built up their mass base among the proletariat. Contrary to Burns’ insistence that the revolutionary movement must boycott all engagement with the bourgeois state, I will argue that such engagement was crucial to the Bolshevik victory in October 1917. The Bolsheviks did not only engage in elections to the soviets—the “insurrectionary proletarian state”, as Burns puts it—but they also made demands of the Provisional Government, called for the convocation of the Constituent Assembly, and participated in bourgeois elections to the Constituent Assembly and the municipal Dumas. Even before the February Revolution, they participated in elections to the tsarist Duma, which was hardly representative and had no real legislative power. We will also examine the notion of “dual power” in the Bolsheviks’ revolutionary strategy in 1917, in order to provide context for these discussions. 

It is true that many attempts by modern-day Marxists to engage in elections are frankly opportunistic, and fail to advance the revolutionary cause. However, as this foray into Russian revolutionary history will reveal, boycotting elections (and other forms of engagement with the state) on principle would be a grave mistake. Although Cosmonaut has published examinations of communist electoral tactics in the past, this remains a very muddled issue for the left, and Burns’ needed intervention provides an opportunity to clarify how communists should orient ourselves vis-à-vis the state. For the moment, the Marxist left in most of the Global North remains too weak to engage in successful electoral tactics on any significant scale, but if we are to engage in party-building, we must be clear about what we plan to do with the party once it has been formed. It is impossible to formulate short-term tactics without a long-term strategy; hopefully, this examination of the Bolshevik strategy can help to inform Marxist revolutionary strategy today. 

Last session of the third Duma, October 15, 1911.

Before the Revolution: The Duma

The trial has unfolded a picture of revolutionary Social-Democracy taking advantage of parliamentarism, the like of which has not been witnessed in international Socialism. This example will, more than all speeches, appeal to the minds and hearts of the proletarian masses; it will, more than any arguments, repudiate the legalist-opportunists and anarchist phrase-mongers…. There was a Workers’ Party in Russia whose deputies neither shone with fine rhetoric, nor had “access” to the bourgeois intellectual drawing rooms, nor possessed the business-like efficiency of a ‘European’ lawyer and parliamentarian, but excelled in maintaining connections with the working masses, in ardent work among those masses, in carrying out the small, unpretentious, difficult, thankless and unusually dangerous functions of illegal propagandists and organisers…. The ‘Pravdist’ papers and the ‘Muranov type’ of work have brought about the unity of four-fifths of the class-conscious workers of Russia…. It is with this section that we must work. It is its unity that must be defended against social-chauvinism. It is along this road that the labour movement of Russia can develop towards social revolution.

— V. I. Lenin, 19151

The State Duma was hardly a democratic body. It had no true legislative power and absolutely no power over the executive. The Russian workers had little faith in it. Nevertheless, the Bolsheviks chose to participate in the elections, even though they knew they would be totally unable to effect any kind of legislative change towards socialism in doing so. Today, in an age of polarisation between electoral opportunism and abstentionism, this may seem strange. If the Bolsheviks had no illusions in the State Duma, and they were committed to effecting revolutionary change, why would they waste their time with sham elections? 

Before answering this question, we should note that the Bolsheviks were not opposed a priori to a boycott of the Duma. In fact, Lenin proposed just this in 1905, when, in response to the great revolutionary upheaval that had taken hold of Russia, the Tsar’s government proposed the convocation of a Duma which would take on a merely advisory role. Nevertheless, Lenin was opposed to “mere passive abstention from voting,” insisting that a boycott of the elections must be an “active boycott”, which “should imply increasing agitation tenfold, organising meetings everywhere, taking advantage of election meetings, even if we have to force our way into them, holding demonstrations, political strikes, and so on and so forth.”2 It is clear from this formulation that the active boycott tactic can only be applied under the conditions of a mass revolutionary upsurge, and requires the existence of a mass workers’ party. 

Lenin would elaborate on this theme two years later, reflecting on the experience of the 1905 revolution. This time, however, he argued against a boycott of the Duma—not on the basis that the Duma had become any more democratic than before, but on the basis that the situation was no longer conducive to an insurrection: 

The Social-Democrat who takes a Marxist stand draws his conclusions about the boycott not from the degree of reactionariness of one or another institution, but from the existence of those special conditions of struggle that, as the experience of the Russian revolution has now shown, make it possible to apply the specific method known as boycott.3

Further, 

All boycott is a struggle, not within the framework of a given institution, but against its emergence, or, to put it more broadly, against it becoming operative. Therefore, those who… opposed the boycott on the general grounds that it was necessary for a Marxist to make use of representative institutions, thereby only revealed absurd doctrinairism… Unquestionably, a Marxist should make use of representative institutions. Does that imply that a Marxist cannot, under certain conditions, stand for a struggle not within the framework of a given institution but against that institution being brought into existence? No, it does not, because this general argument applies only to those cases where there is no room for a struggle to prevent such an institution from coming into being. The boycott is a controversial question precisely because it is a question of whether there is room for a struggle to prevent the emergence of such institutions…. 

… [T]he boycott is a means of struggle aimed directly at overthrowing the old regime, or, at the worst, i.e., when the assault is not strong enough for overthrow, at weakening it to such an extent that it would be unable to set up that institution, unable to make it operate. Consequently, to be successful the boycott requires a direct struggle against the old regime, an uprising against it and mass disobedience to it in a large number of cases (such mass disobedience is one of the conditions for preparing an uprising). Boycott is a refusal to recognise the old regime, a refusal, of course, not in words, but in deeds, i.e., it is something that finds expression not only in cries or the slogans of organisations, but in a definite movement of the mass of the people, who systematically defy the laws of the old regime, systematically set up new institutions, which, though unlawful, actually exist, and so on and so forth. The connection between boycott and the broad revolutionary upswing is thus obvious: boycott is the most decisive means of struggle, which rejects not the form of organisation of the given institution, but its very existence. Boycott is a declaration of open war against the old regime, a direct attack upon it. Unless there is a broad revolutionary upswing, unless there is mass unrest which overflows, as it were, the bounds of the old legality, there can be no question of the boycott succeeding.4

In Lenin’s formulation, it is thus necessary to use the state institutions to the benefit of the revolutionary movement when opposing the state outright is impossible; to boycott these institutions, without having the ability to truly contest their legitimacy, is to spurn a potentially useful avenue of propaganda and revolutionary work. While it could be argued that this formulation is incorrect or no longer applicable, we must understand this context if we are to understand the Bolsheviks’ use of election campaigns and the Duma rostrum. 

With this in mind, we can return to the question of how participation in the Duma could benefit the revolutionary movement. The writings of Alexei Badayev, a factory worker and a Bolshevik deputy to the Duma from 1912 to 1914, offer a great deal of insight into this matter: 

The Fourth Duma was to follow in the footsteps of the Third. The electoral law remained the same, and therefore the majority in the new Duma was bound to be as Black Hundred as before. There was no doubt that the activities of the Fourth Duma would also be directed against the workers and that its legislation would be of no use either to the workers or the peasantry. 

In spite of these considerations the Social-Democratic Party decided to take an active part in the elections as it had done in those for the Second and Third Dumas. The experience of the preceding years had shown the great importance of an election campaign from the standpoint of agitation, and the important role played by Social-Democratic fractions in the Duma. Our fractions, while refusing to take part in the so-called ‘positive’ work of legislation, used the Duma rostrum for revolutionary agitation. The work of the Social-Democratic fractions outside the Duma was still more important; they were becoming the organising centres of Party work in Russia. Therefore our Party decided that active participation in the campaign was necessary.5

Indeed, the election campaign was a great opportunity for the elaboration of the party’s tactics and the development of the workers’ class-consciousness. Although the tsarist police did their utmost to prevent public meetings during the campaigns, debates in Pravda and Luch (the Mensheviks’ newspaper) were widely read by workers and served to clarify the programme of revolutionary social democracy. This helped set the Bolsheviks’ revolutionary platform (centred around the slogans of a democratic republic, an eight-hour workday, and the confiscation of the landlords’ estates, to which the rest of the minimum programme for workers’ power was to be linked) apart from the opportunistic and legalistic slogans of the Mensheviks (which failed to challenge the tsarist, feudal order in a revolutionary manner).6 The election campaign spurred the Bolsheviks to forge true programmatic unity and then helped them to win the proletariat to this programme. Throughout the campaign, the Bolsheviks and their supporters among the working class were subjected to considerable police repression, and while this disrupted a great deal of potentially valuable propaganda work, it also strengthened the solidarity of the workers. 

The most egregious example of such repression is perhaps the invalidation of the election results from 29 factories and mills throughout St. Petersburg, disqualifying their delegates from participating in the electoral college that would choose electors who would go on, along with the electors of the other classes of St. Petersburg, to select a deputy from among themselves.7 

The disqualification of the delegates triggered a militant reaction by the workers of St. Petersburg: more than 70,000 workers would go out on strike, including many of those whose delegates had not been disqualified. No economic demands were presented; the core of the strike was centered around the right to vote. The workers made a great show of unity and discipline and were able to win their demands: not only were new elections to be held, but many factories and mills which had previously been unable to participate in the elections were to be included.8 It was a great victory for the working class, which exemplifies the value of engaging in political struggles against the state, both through elections and in the streets. The electoral and street actions reinforced each other and pushed the class struggle beyond simple economistic demands to a question of state power. The crucial factor is the presentation of concrete demands on a class basis, demands that expose the fundamental opposition between the exploiters and the exploited, the rulers and the ruled. This type of engagement with the state is hardly comparable to the opportunistic election campaigns and liberal activist culture to which so much of the modern left is wedded. 

The election campaign was conducted upon a revolutionary, class basis, which united workers around the struggle for their political rights and the Bolshevik programme. The campaign forced the distinctions between the revolutionary Bolsheviks and the “legalist-opportunist” Mensheviks out into the open, for all the workers to see. It mobilised the forces of labour against the ruling class in a tangible way that clearly raised the workers’ class consciousness. Following the second round of elections, the workers voted to bind their delegates to a set of instructions drafted by the Bolsheviks, which laid out the role of the deputies as specifically revolutionary:

The Duma tribune is, under the present conditions, one of the best means for enlightening and organising the broad masses of the proletariat. 

It is for this very purpose that we are sending our deputy into the Duma, and we charge him and the whole Social-Democratic fraction of the Fourth Duma to make widely known our demands from the Duma tribune, and not to play at legislation in the State Duma…. 

We want to hear the voices of the members of the Social-Democratic fraction ring out loudly from the Duma tribune proclaiming the final goal of the proletariat…. We call upon the Social-Democratic- fraction of the Fourth Duma, in its work on the basis of the above slogans, to act in unity and with its ranks closed.

Let it gather its strength from constant contact with the broad masses. 

Let it march shoulder to shoulder with the political organisation of the working class of Russia.9

The Bolshevik deputies elected to the Duma held to this promise. “During my daily visits to the Pravda offices,” Badayev recalls, “I met the representatives of labour organisations and became acquainted with the moods of the workers. Workers came there from all the city districts and related what had taken place at factories and works, and how the legal and illegal organisations were functioning. Conversations and meetings with the representatives of the revolutionary workers supplied me with a vast amount of material for my future activity in the Duma.”10 

Once within the halls of Tauride Palace, where the Duma sat, the Social-Democratic fraction declared its irreconcilable opposition to the legislative work of the body from day one. They refused to participate in electing the chairman of the Duma, as “the chairman of such a Duma would systematically attack members of the Social-Democratic fraction, whenever the latter spoke from the Duma rostrum in defence of the interests of the masses…. You are welcome to choose a chairman acceptable to the majority; we shall use the rostrum in the interests of the people.”11 In Badayev’s words: 

… [W]e demonstrated, on the first day of the Fourth Duma, that there could be no question of ‘parliamentary’ work for us, that the working class only used the Duma for the greater consolidation and strengthening of the revolutionary struggle in the country. A similar attitude determined the nature of our relations with the Duma majority. No joint work, but a sustained struggle against the Rights, the Octobrists and the Cadets, and their exposure in the eyes of the workers; this was the task of the workers’ deputies in the Duma of the landlords and nobles.12

Another example of the mutual reinforcement of mass action and activities in the Duma came only a short while later. The metalworkers’ union—one of the most advanced workers’ organisations in Russia, with which the party had conducted a great deal of work—was subjected, like all Russian trade unions, to periodic suppressions, forcing it to refound itself under a new name each time. In late 1912, once again, the police shut down the union and worked to prevent its refoundation. In the process, both the police and the municipal government violated the 1906 law that accorded some meager protections to the unions. 

The Social-Democratic fraction took advantage of these illegal proceedings to register an interpellation. This process was always convoluted, and the government did all it could to limit speeches and debate. Nevertheless, the Social-Democratic fraction took advantage of whatever parts of the bureaucratic procedure they could. In particular, they were allowed to make speeches to argue for the urgency of a matter, which would have to be accepted in order for the interpellation to be made. Although the urgency of those matters raised by the Social-Democrats was consistently denied, the fraction frequently used these speeches to denounce the government and call for revolution. In this particular instance, on December 14, the interpellation was accompanied by a one-day strike of the St. Petersburg workers, who held public meetings to pass resolutions of protest against the suppression of the trade unions, and in support of the Social-Democratic fraction’s interpellation. 

What the Social-Democrats had planned as a one-day strike continued the next day, and expanded to include even more workers than the day before. Some of the “unreliable” workers were fired, and this only triggered a third day of strikes, demanding their reinstatement. The Social-Democratic fraction remained at the centre of workers’ struggles during these days. They remained in constant contact with the strikers, helped to coordinate funds and develop slogans, and served as negotiators with the authorities. The workers of the whole city supported, in words and in deeds, the plight of the dismissed workers, and the strike ultimately lasted over two weeks.13

By 1914, the Bolsheviks were a truly mass workers’ party, despite their conditions of illegality. But with the outbreak of the war, this work all came to an end. Patriotic sentiments were running high: pro-war demonstrators marched through the streets, praising the Tsar and beating passers-by who failed to meet the correct standards of nationalist fervour; workers’ organisations were suppressed, and patriotic onlookers aided the police in clashes with strikers and anti-war demonstrators.14

The Bolsheviks declared “War against War”15, and walked out of the Duma rather than participate in the vote for war credits. The Bolshevik deputies were soon arrested, in violation of their parliamentary immunity. The workers protested but were too weak to secure the freedom of the deputies. The party was crippled by the destruction of this centre of revolutionary work, along with the destruction of so many other organising centres. The proletariat won only a single victory in this regard: the government, fearing a backlash in the case that they were to execute the deputies, turned the case over from the military to the civilian courts. 16

Even this was an opportunity for propaganda among the workers, and the party and the deputies seized upon it. The trial was highly publicised by the Bolshevik press, and the deputies defended their revolutionary work with zeal. They insisted that the Russian workers would remember this repression of their chosen representatives, and foretold that they would “not remain long in exile but [would] soon return in triumph.”17 

And so, in 1917, they did. 

From the First Revolution to the Second: Dual Power

The deputies, alongside the rest of the Bolshevik party, returned from exile following the overthrow of the Tsar in February. The bourgeoisie had formed a Provisional Government; the workers and soldiers had formed the soviets. The former represented the bourgeois republic; the latter, the workers’ and peasants’ republic. Lenin described this situation using the term “dual power.” Let us examine what he meant by this, and what political conclusions he drew from this analysis. 

According to the old way of thinking, the rule of the bourgeoisie could and should be followed by the rule of the proletariat and the peasantry, by their dictatorship. 

In real life, however, things have already turned out differently; there has been an extremely original, novel and unprecedented interlacing of the one with the other. We have side by side, existing together, simultaneously, both the rule of the bourgeoisie (the government of Lvov and Guchkov) and a revolutionary-democratic dictatorship of the proletariat and the peasantry, which is voluntarily ceding power to the bourgeoisie, voluntarily making itself an appendage of the bourgeoisie.

For it must not be forgotten that actually, in Petrograd, the power is in the hands of the workers and soldiers; the new government is not using and cannot use violence against them, because there is no police, no army standing apart from the people, no officialdom standing all-powerful above the people. 

… [F]reely elected soldiers’ and peasants’ deputies are freely joining the second, parallel government, and are freely supplementing, developing and completing it. And, just as freely, they are surrendering power to the bourgeoisie…18

It is important to note that “power” (vlast) refers specifically to the sovereign state authority. This is a key point: the existence of more than one vlast is necessarily a contradiction in terms because by definition there can only be one sovereign authority in a single state. “Dual power”, then, is a situation in which the narod (the workers and peasants, analogous to Burns’ use of “the dispossessed”) and the bourgeoisie each has an embryonic vlast, the former (the Soviets of Workers’ and Soldiers’ Deputies) being unwilling to establish a “firm vlast”, and the latter (the Provisional Government) being unable to establish one. In effect, then, there is no true vlast under these conditions. The necessary outcome of this situation is, therefore, the end of dual power, and the establishment of a firm vlast around a single class pole: either that of the bourgeoisie (in the form of the Provisional Government) or that of the narod (in the form of the soviets).19  Lenin summarised this situation thus: 

The bourgeoisie stands for the undivided power (vlast) of the bourgeoisie. 

The class-conscious workers stand for the undivided power (vlast) of the Soviets of Workers’, Agricultural Labourers’, Peasants’, and Soldiers’ Deputies—for undivided power (vlast) made possible not by adventurist acts, but by clarifying proletarian minds, by emancipating them from the influence of the bourgeoisie20

We must ably, carefully, clear people’s minds and lead the proletariat and poor peasantry forward, away from ‘dual power’ towards the full power of the Soviets of Workers’ Deputies.21

Soviet power came into existence in February; October was merely the point at which it ceased to tolerate the Provisional Government, ending the period of “dual power.” To speak, then, of dual power as an aim of the revolutionary movement is to fundamentally misunderstand the lessons of October. In the Bolsheviks’ view, dual power was never an aim but an unexpected obstacle—an aberrant result of the peculiar conditions of the Russian Revolution—which was to be overcome. 

Even so, the Bolsheviks were not opposed to the convention of the Constituent Assembly; in fact, they often criticised the Provisional Government for delaying the elections to it. One of the first demands of the Bolsheviks following the February Revolution was “to convene a Constituent Assembly as speedily as possible” (alongside the establishment of the soviet vlast).22 Lenin noted upon his return to Russia, 

I attacked the Provisional Government for not having appointed an early date, or any date at all, for the convocation of the Constituent Assembly, and for confining itself to promises. I argued that without the Soviets  of Workers’ and Soldiers’ Deputies the convocation of the Constituent Assembly is not guaranteed and its success is impossible.23

Even beyond this, the Bolsheviks participated in the municipal Duma elections in the summer of 1917, much in the same way they used the prewar Duma elections. In particular, they took advantage of the campaign to make a series of demands of the Provisional Government—demands which they knew the government could not meet. “Unless these demands are met,” Pravda proclaimed, “unless a fight is waged for these demands, not a single serious municipal reform and no democratization of municipal affairs is conceivable.”24 These demands were explicitly connected to the transfer of power to the narod. Although the municipal Dumas were not class organs—they did not represent the “insurrectionary state”—the election campaigns were used by the Bolsheviks to agitate for the takeover of the full vlast by the insurrectionary state, as well as to measure the balance of class forces.25 They heartily urged the workers and soldiers to vote, in such forceful terms as: “You, and you alone, comrades, will be to blame if you do not make full use of this right [to vote]…. [B]e capable now of battling for your interests by voting for our Party!”26 

Making demands of the Provisional Government was a key tactic of the Bolshevik party during the revolutionary period. Although in April there was a debate between Lenin and the other Bolsheviks over the issue of “kontrol”, that is, supervision of the Provisional Government by the Soviet, Lars Lih chalks this up to essentially a misunderstanding between Lenin and the Petrograd Bolsheviks, which was resolved by the end of April in a manner that satisfied both camps. The crux of the debate was over the role of kontrol in the revolution: while the moderate socialists proposed kontrol as a means of maintaining the vlast of the Provisional Government, the Bolsheviks proposed it as a means of exposing the Provisional Government as incapable of carrying out the revolution “to the end.”27 

This tactic of making demands, in order to expose the Provisional Government’s counterrevolutionary nature, was used to great effect throughout 1917. The Bolsheviks maintained in their propaganda that the Provisional Government, to the extent that it carried out revolutionary measures against tsarism, only did so under pressure from the workers and soldiers, and its ultimate counterrevolutionary nature would inevitably lead to a confrontation between revolutionary democracy (i.e. the narod) and the bourgeoisie. Hence, demands for a democratic republic, an end to the war, redistribution of the land, the publication and annulment of the secret treaties, etc. were not made under the pretense that the Provisional Government would or could carry these out. Stalin wrote in August: 

The Party declares that unless these demands are realized it will be impossible to save the revolution, which for half a year now has been stifling in the clutches of war and general disruption. 

The Party declares that the only possible way of securing these demands is to break with the capitalists, completely liquidate the bourgeois counter-revolution, and transfer power in the country to the revolutionary workers, peasants, and soldiers. 

That is the only means of saving the country and the revolution from collapse.28

This method must be clearly delineated from that of making demands in a way that obscures the necessity of taking power. Revolution is not a secondary concern in this type of propaganda, but placed front and centre. Demands are formulated specifically in connection with overthrowing the bourgeoisie: “All propaganda, agitation and the organisation of the millions must immediately be directed towards [transferring power to the soviets].”29

This way of making demands of the bourgeois state is far from the usual, liberal-democratic practice of lobbying. These demands, backed up by organising the proletariat through the Bolshevik type of electoral work and street actions, can be a valuable weapon in the arsenal of the revolution. It is true that none of these methods individually can accomplish revolution, but that goes just as much for organising workers in “struggle committees” as it does for electoral participation, making demands of the government, or participating in street protests. Ultimately, the Bolsheviks used all four of these tools to win the confidence of the dispossessed and take power in October. 

Bolshevik Central Committee on the eve of the revolution.

Conclusion

Burns is correct to call for Marxists to focus on organising the proletariat, and she is equally correct to identify erroneous, opportunistic and petit-bourgeois activist tendencies in the contemporary left. However, her solution falls short: her tactical inflexibility leads her to reject participation in elections or making demands of the bourgeois state out of hand—tactics which, as we have shown above, were crucial to the Bolshevik victory in October. 

Comrades Janis and McQueeney are correct to call for programmatic unity of revolutionary Marxists, and they are correct to identify DSA as one possible avenue through which to fight for this unity. The task of Marxists in DSA is not only to organise the working class, but also to fight for a revolutionary programme, and to elaborate on the tactics that may assist organising efforts. While there is an influential opportunistic tendency in DSA that insists on tailing the Democratic Party (either temporarily or indefinitely), this is not the only possible electoral tactic. This opportunism must be fought against, in favour of a class-independent electoral tactic; one that, like the Bolsheviks’, serves to heighten the consciousness of the proletariat, to rally their numbers to the revolutionary programme, and above all to support DSA’s organising work. The specifics of this tactic must be left up to the revolutionary Marxists in DSA, who will need to deliberate among themselves, examine the objective conditions, and engage in debate with both opportunists and abstentionists in order to formulate a revolutionary orientation to bourgeois elections suitable to 21st-century American conditions. That said, the core of this tactic must consist of: 

    1. An immediate break with the Democratic Party and all other bourgeois parties, 
    2. Using electoral and parliamentary work above all to support the task of organising the proletariat, rather than for its own sake, and 
    3. Irreconcilable opposition to the American state, its military and police, and taking advantage of every opportunity to obstruct its functioning. 

It is possible that the best electoral tactic for the present moment is to temporarily refrain from electoral work in favour of organising the working class. It is also possible that the best electoral tactic will involve participation in elections at various levels of government in different degrees. A discussion of these details is well beyond the scope of this essay, but it is urgent that such discussions take place, that revolutionary Marxists in DSA begin to forge programmatic unity, and that the struggle is taken up against opportunist collaboration with the bourgeois state. 

Comrade Burns asks us: “For the unity of Marxists, or the unity of the dispossessed?” This question, although thought-provoking in a necessary way, sets up a false dichotomy. For the Bolsheviks, there was never a question of one or the other. They saw the programmatic unity of revolutionary Marxists as bringing about the unity of the dispossessed around the programme of revolution; and this unity of the dispossessed, in turn, empowered the party of revolution, transforming it from a circle of intellectuals into a potent weapon of the class struggle. The revolution was made possible, not by one or the other, but by both: the unity of Marxists with the dispossessed, the unity of the revolutionary programme with the workers’ movement. This is the lesson of the October Revolution; this is the lesson that we must remember, as the left vacillates between opportunism and impotency if we are to recreate a revolutionary movement, if we are to win power, if we are to achieve communism. 

Neither Intersectionality nor Economism: For a Genuine Class Politics

Neither a politics of identity informed by theories of intersectionality nor reductive economistic readings of Marxism are adequate for a modern socialist project, argues Donald Parkinson. 

Socialism is still primarily a subculture in the United States, and while we are seeing the rise of organizations such as the Democratic Socialist of America (DSA), within them various fissures and debates over the correct approach to socialist politics are emerging. One of the most prominent debates (not only in the DSA but throughout the entire US left) is between perspectives that can be separated into two main camps: identity politics and “class-first” economism. With identity politics, there is a focus on extra-economic issues of oppression as a means to mobilize activists around specific identity groups and those who stand as allies to these groups, theoretically basing itself on the concept of intersectionality. “Identity politics” is often used as a derisive adjective for these forms of activism, and it is often hard to differentiate between the politics of civil rights and identity politics as separate categories. At times it is difficult to tell which critiques of identity politics are simply echoing right-wing talking points and which are actually pursuing an agenda of socialism and human liberation, a fact that is often used to dismiss all attacks on identity politics. One in-vogue reaction to the rise of identity politics is a sort of social-democratic economism that aims to focus on building the broadest political coalition possible around basic economic issues while avoiding any political issues that might be seen as divisive. My aim here is to argue that both approaches are dead ends.

Writers critiqued as examples of identity politics include Ta-Nehisi Coates, bell hooks and Kimberlé Crenshaw. For this article, we shall focus on Crenshaw, who mapped out the theory of intersectionality in her articles “Demarginalizing the Intersection of Race and Sex: A Black Feminist Critique of Antidiscrimination Doctrine, Feminist Theory and Antiracist Politics” and “Mapping the Margins: Intersectionality, Identity Politics, and Violence against Women of Color.” In “Demarginalizing,” Crenshaw focuses on the experience of Black women and the unique form of oppression they face as something which cannot be understood purely through the axis of gender or race. She offers the example of the DeGraffenreid v General Motors case where five Black women sued General Motors for discrimination against Black women, citing that the firm had not hired any Black women from the years 1964 and 1970 and afterwards had disproportionately laid off Black women due to the seniority system. Crenshaw points out how these attempts to sue GM were countered through pointing out how they had hired women, albeit white women, as well as pointing to an earlier lawsuit against racial discrimination that related to Black men. While it could be shown that GM did not discriminate simply based on gender or race, Crenshaw argued that it did discriminate against the particular identity of Black women. Hence, it was not enough to simply use the categories of race or gender; one had to understand how these oppressions intersected in particular ways. To quote Crenshaw,

“The court’s refusal in DeGraffenreid to acknowledge that Black women encounter combined race and sex discrimination implies that the boundaries of sex and race discrimination doctrine are defined respectively by white women’s and Black men’s experiences. Under this view, Black women are protected only to the extent that their experiences coincide with those of either of the two groups.”1

Crenshaw concludes that Black women’s oppression cannot be understood as either gender- or race-based but as an intersection of these two axes. She refers to this as double discrimination, similar to discrimination faced by Black men or white women but nonetheless unique and irreducible to either. To use either category of race or gender on their own can only obscure the actual discrimination faced. To further investigate this issue, Crenshaw explores the life experiences of Sojourner Truth and how they challenged not only conventional notions of womanhood but also notions of Black women as less than women. In this context, Sojourner Truth’s experience facing both racial and gender oppression indicates the inability of most manifestations of feminism to speak to the experiences of Black women, and by default only speaking to the experiences of white women. When feminism discusses the issues of women, according to Crenshaw, the unspoken assumption is that the subject of discussion is white women. Black women, facing a unique status of oppression, are therefore left out of the picture.2

At first glance, there is little that is outright objectionable in Crenshaw’s claims. Black women clearly suffer from a form of double oppression. Crenshaw is able to successfully show how these intersecting forms of oppression not only exist but are masked by the legal system. Yet, what her argument misses, as Mike Macnair points out, is the element of class analysis. The DeGraffenreid v General Motors case, for example, is just as much an expression of class power embedded in bourgeois law as it is an expression of the inability of the law to adequately address the experiences of overlapping oppressions. What Crenshaw doesn’t mention is that these lawsuits were an expression of capitalist firms using the law to keep labor as a pliable resource to be hired and fired at will.3 This cannot be understood simply in terms of discrimination, but as an element of structural exploitation due to the class relations that govern capitalist production. When intersectional analysis does address class, it tends to only address class in terms of discriminations against individuals based on class background, known as “classism.”

An additional weakness of intersectionality is its merely descriptive, rather than explanatory, function. It demonstrates that individuals experience oppression in multiple ways that overlap, but it doesn’t explain how these oppressions are reproduced in society. The Marxist analysis of racism and patriarchy aims to understand how these oppressions are linked to social reproduction and therefore can be abolished by changing society. Intersectionality, because of its genesis in legal theory, seeks to describe the experience of various oppressions and end the practice of these oppressions within the framework of bourgeois law and order. The result is that the primary goal of the activist practice associated with intersectionality, commonly known as social justice, is making existing social relations fairer (or just) to the oppressed as opposed to changing the foundations of society. Because it is not informed by a critique of the way oppressions are reproduced in the division of labor and class relations of society, it tries to make changes to the legal practices or social customs of society. While legal practices and social customs are certainly material and structural, and many of the proposed changes to them are desirable, it is necessary that we situate fights for such reforms within a greater framework and strategy of revolutionary change in order to challenge not just certain unfair aspects of society, but the underlying basis of our fundamentally oppressive society as a whole.

The political practice associated with intersectionality tends to take the form of single-issue activism and coalitions as well as individual forms of consciousness-raising (such as privilege checking, call-outs, etc). Emphasis on the particular forms of oppressions that specific groups experience can cause a belief that only members of the specific oppressed group in question can lead activist campaigns. This creates a fragmented politics wherein certain extreme cases only the “in-group” can speak on a certain issue while the “out-group” can only listen and aid their struggles as “allies.” This aspect of identity politics or “woke-ism” is the most important aspect to critique, as in practice it tends toward a breakdown of solidarity and takes a project for universal human emancipation off the table.

Kimberlé Crenshaw’s theories of intersectionality are a large influence on what is called identity politics

It should be noted than Crenshaw states that “intersectionality is not being offered here as some new, totalizing theory of identity” and that she does not “mean to suggest that violence against women of color can be explained only through the specific frameworks of race and gender considered here.”4 She also adds that issues of class and sexuality are of great importance despite not being mentioned explicitly. However, regardless of how Crenshaw intended for her theory to be used, it has undoubtedly become an item of faith consistently invoked on the left. To understand the debates within the left over identity politics, one cannot ignore the work of Crenshaw. It should be added that Crenshaw was not the first theorist to discuss the unique oppression of Black women. Theorists such as Angela Davis and Claudia Jones also discussed the ways in which race, class, and gender interacted, but within a specifically Marxist framework. When addressing intersectionality we mean the specific theories developed by Crenshaw, not an analysis that involves the categories of race and gender as well as class. One could even argue that intersectionality is an essentially liberal co-option of Marxist critiques of oppression that have existed within the socialist movement for quite some time.

There is no shortage of left critiques of intersectional theory and identity politics. “Exiting the Vampire Castle” by Mark Fisher is a famous example. It is a  description and critique of the cruel and anti-solidaristic behavior that is  associated with “woke-ism”, where individuals police each other’s language in often arbitrary ways and the atmosphere is marked by a “stench of bad conscience and witch-hunting moralism.”5 “Exiting the Vampire Castle” was received with no shortage of vitriol as it was seen as echoing conservative talking points and attacking the left in a way that focused on its excesses and exaggerated them. Others found that Fisher’s analysis resonated with their negative experiences in the left. Regardless of what one thinks of Fisher’s arguments, it was symptomatic of a greater sense of dissatisfaction in the left with identity politics that would lead to its own counter-movement.

A primary theorist of this counter-movement is Adolph Reed Jr. While  Reed has been writing since the 1970s, his critique of cultural politics (specifically Black politics) came to relevance as many leftists tried to construct a negation of the “woke” left. Others, such as Adam Proctor of the podcast Dead Pundits Society and Angela Nagle, the author of the book Kill All Normies, would follow in his footsteps. Some of their opponents argue that these writers form a tendency known as the “class-first left”, and closely associate them with the “dirtbag left”. Reed is the most intelligent and worthwhile of these personalities so we will primarily look at his work. He is most famous for his interpretation of identity politics as a form of neoliberal class politics representing a faction of the petty-bourgeoisie. He summarizes his assessment in this way:

“[Identity] politics is not an alternative to class politics; it is a class politics, the politics of the left-wing of neoliberalism. It is the expression and active agency of a political order and moral economy in which capitalist market forces are treated as unassailable nature.

An integral element of that moral economy is displacement of the critique of the invidious outcomes produced by capitalist class power onto equally naturalized categories of ascriptive identity that sort us into groups supposedly defined by what we essentially are rather than what we do. As I have argued, following Walter Michaels and others, within that moral economy a society in which 1% of the population controlled 90% of the resources could be just, provided that roughly 12% of the 1% were black, 12% were Latino, 50% were women, and whatever the appropriate proportions were LGBT people.

It would be tough to imagine a normative ideal that expresses more unambiguously the social position of people who consider themselves candidates for inclusion in, or at least significant staff positions in service to, the ruling class.”6

Reed has developed this thesis in his political commentary since the 1970s, and there is much of merit in his work. His critique of a politics that moves away from economics and definite material goals to an exclusive focus on changing culture is certainly valid when we consider the utter disconnect of the left from the workers’ movement and its inability to win real victories beyond the symbolic. Much of Reed’s work focuses on issues of the politics of Black Americans, which he sees as constantly running into dead ends due to its emphasis on organizing identity-based coalitions around issues of anti-racism. Anti-racism, he argues, has become a form of politics to shore up the legitimacy of specific Black elite strata that developed in the aftermath of the Civil Rights movement, harkening back to this movement and its tactics despite their irrelevance for the current circumstances we live in.7

One of Reed’s specific targets is the demand for reparations. I do not aim to repeat the debate over reparations and its role in a political program here; what is more important is the general logic of Reed’s argument. While pointing out problems such as the difficulty of determining exactly who would get reparations, Reed’s primary point is that it is simply not politically feasible. To fight for reparations one would have to form a majority constituency and since Black Americans don’t form such a majority in America there is no viable way to do this. He argues for an alternative — something like the New Deal, a broad-based movement that fights for “access to quality health care, the right to a decent and dignified livelihood, affordable housing, quality education for all…pursued effectively only by struggling to unite a wide section of the American population that is denied those essential social benefits or lives in fear of losing them.”8

At the core of this argument is a claim that politics must steer clear of divisive political issues and instead focus on basic bread-and-butter economic issues to build a constituency. If we follow this logic then it no longer makes sense to fight for socialism as it is too divisive. Rather, it implies, we must focus on simple reformist campaigns to expand the welfare state. Reed has explicitly made this argument. At the April 2015 Platypus International Convention, Reed admitted that he desires socialism, but argued that a “new Popular Front” that “takes baby steps” to “decommodify public services” while avoiding the issue of socialism is what the moment calls for, and only after this has raised consciousness can socialism be brought up.9

What Reed is arguing for is essentially a repeat of the right-wing social democracy of the post-war era: an appeal to the most basic material interests of workers that avoids confrontational political issues. Obviously, socialists must fight for these basic material interests, but to address only these issues falls into the problem of what Lenin defined as economism in his work What Is To Be Done?. Lenin’s use of the term (and the way we use the term here) was in the context of a polemic with Russian Marxists who believed that socialist organizing should focus merely on trade union struggles, leaving political issues related to extra-economic oppression to liberal reformers. The economists believed that through the economic struggle alone workers would spontaneously develop a socialist consciousness even without an active political struggle from socialists. Contrary to this approach, Lenin argued that “the Social-Democrats ideal should not be the trade union secretary, but the tribune of the people, who is able to react to every manifestation of tyranny and oppression, no matter where it appears, no matter what stratum or class of the people it affects.”10 Most reactions to the rise of popular identity politics is essentially a form of economism which argues that we must focus on economic issues and base our politics on these issues alone.

Economism is essentially incapable of leading to something beyond the capitalist system on its own. Fights for expanding welfare services, higher wages, and better working conditions are an essential basis for class struggle. However, such struggles are spontaneously generated by the dynamics of capitalism itself, as capitalism is a dynamic system that can adjust to new demands placed on it. If we seek to fight for a new political order it is necessary to move beyond these spontaneous struggles and instead point to the need for a new political order, to make the economic struggle into a political struggle. To avoid any kind of divisive political issues by focusing solely on basic economic demands, one easily falls into the logic of social chauvinism, where the movement avoids taking any kind of position controversial to the capitalist order in the name of maintaining as large of a constituency as possible. In the face of political issues such as imperialism, racism, and gender oppression, this strategy results in the movement acquiescing to the path of least resistance due to fear of entering into contradiction with the masses.

Such logic has led to infamous results, such as the German SPD’s support for World War One, the AFL in the United States supporting Chinese Exclusion laws, or striking workers demanding the exclusion of women from employment to reduce unemployment in the Great Depression. It is a logic born of a narrow-minded focus on securing a constituency and achieving maximum economic benefit within the overall logic of capitalism. One can argue that the New Left, and later intersectional identity politics, rose as a reaction to this left social chauvinism, identifying a focus on class as the cause of these betrayals. But in the face of the left fracturing into a variety of identity groups that can only unite based on coalitions, the logic of focusing on economic issues has a certain appeal. It is through economic struggles that various identity groups can unite across cultural differences into a common project. What the economists get wrong is that they see class not as a means of uniting humanity into a common project for humanity, but rather as a category that (like identity groups) must bargain for the best possible position in the existing framework of our society.

It is important for us to remember why Marx and Engels saw the working class as a revolutionary class. It was not only because of their ability to collectively withdraw their labor power in strikes in order to put demands on their employers. Rather, it was that the proletariat, defined as those dependent on the general wage fund paid out by capitalists, could only secure emancipation by uniting as an entire class across various sectional divisions and collectively replacing private appropriation of the means of production with their democratic management of society. Through its collective existence as a class, the proletariat carries within itself the key to human emancipation. As Mike Macnair eloquently puts it,

“It is not the employed workers’ strength at the point of production which animated Marx and Engels’ belief that the key to communism is the struggle for the emancipation of the proletariat and vice versa. On the contrary, it is the proletariat’s separation from the means of production, the impossibility of restoring small-scale family production, and the proletariat’s consequent need for collective, voluntary organisation, which led them to suppose that the proletariat is a potential ‘universal class’, that its struggles are capable of leading to socialism and to a truly human society.”11

For Marx, the working class was not simply an oppressed group that was disadvantaged by unjust laws or discriminated against but a section of society whose emancipation included  “that of all human beings without distinction of sex or race.”12 Marx’s focus on class was not meant to sideline issues of national oppression or gender oppression but to serve as an axis to unite across various groups in a greater social project — universal emancipation. Contrary to Crenshaw’s intersectionality, class is a category that has  an essential role in socialist politics beyond that of other identity groups, and contrary to the ideology of economism, the proletariat’s liberation is not simply the liberation of the working class but the destruction of  “all the inhuman conditions of life in contemporary society.”13

This is not to dismiss or sideline political claims based on identity. To do so out of fear of divisiveness creates the aforementioned danger of falling into social chauvinism. We cannot allow for class-blind politics any more than we can have color-blind politics. Race and gender oppression have a cross-class basis, i.e it is not only Black proletarians who experience racism. Identity groups, therefore, have a common experience of extra-class oppression and therefore can unite around this experience of oppression. But within these identity groups class divisions exist which influences individuals’ experience of oppression and strategies for fighting back against it. This is where the most important aspects of Reed’s critique factor in. The elites within identity groups tend towards a politics of “brokerage”, trying to navigate within the system to assure a solution to political problems while maintaining their class positions. As a result, identity politics can result in movements that primarily serve the bourgeoisie while leaving the proletariat behind. This is best exemplified by movements that tend to focus purely on upward mobility for oppressed groups.

Colorblind economism will fail the working class

For Marxists, the answer to this issue shouldn’t be to ignore the struggles of oppressed groups in favor of a purist conception of economic struggle but to reveal the class antagonisms within identity groups and fight for the leadership of the proletariat within these struggles. To paraphrase Lenin as quoted earlier, we must not be mere “trade union secretaries” but “tribunes of the people” who “react to every manifestation of oppression.” In fact, when class struggles interact with democratic and extra-economic political struggles it can point in a revolutionary direction beyond bargaining within the existing system. As Louis Althusser points out in Contradiction and Overdetermination, the Russian Revolution was not a product of the mere contradiction between labor and capital, but a result of an accumulation of contradictions relating to the struggles of oppressed nationalities, peasant demands for land reform, and imperialist war, allowing the class struggle to manifest itself in a way that pointed beyond its limits.14

In the United States, where the legacy of racism is very much intact, we leave the struggles of oppressed groups under the leadership of bourgeois and managerial elites at our own peril. In his analysis of the weakness of the US labor movement and the rise of reactionary politics in the US, Mike Davis argues that “the failure of the postwar labor movement to form an organic bloc with Black liberation, to organize the South or to defeat the Southern reaction in the Democratic Party, have determined, more than any other factors, the ultimate decline of American trade unionism and the rightward reconstruction of the political economy during the 1970s.”15 Failing to fuse the democratic struggles of oppressed minorities with the class struggle will only lead to toothless politics. It is no surprise that the Communist Party USA was most successful when it militantly fought for the rights of Black Americans.

We must also understand that identity politics are not a conspiracy of the ruling class aiming to defang class consciousness, but an ideology that arises from the real experiences of oppression in a heartless world. We live in an atomized and individualistic culture. Therefore, people will often by default navigate the issues in an individualistic way. In a world that is already brutal and cruel, we risk marginalizing ourselves from the oppressed by critiquing these politics in cruel and demeaning ways. There are, of course, bad faith opportunists and careerists who wish to manipulate identity issues, but the truth is that many people come into politics through online communities that most directly speak to their issues. Knee-jerk dismissal of all politics based on identity without understanding the very real conditions that lead to these politics will only marginalize people we aim to reach. It is not a mystery why people organize as identity groups in response to issues they face — for example, Black people organizing as Black people against racialized police violence is completely rational. We do ourselves no favors by telling them to put down their struggles, yet we also do ourselves no favors by refusing to critique the bourgeois elites who aim to profit off these struggles. What is necessary is a universalist class politics that can engage all terrains of social life, is capable of developing and practicing a critique of our entire society, and can unite the proletariat in all its diversity — to use Asad Haider’s term, an insurgent universality.16 Both identity politics and economism seek to bargain for a better position within the existing world, but communists do not wish to bargain, we wish to upend the existing order and replace it with something far better