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  • Toussaint Louverture and the Haitian Revolution

    Toussaint Louverture and the Haitian Revolution

    Review: Sudhir Hazareesingh, Black Spartacus: The Epic Life of Toussaint Louverture (New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2020)

    By Dan Davison

    The Haitian Revolution of 1791-1804 is increasingly recognized as at least as historically significant as the American and French Revolutions. It began as a slave revolt in what was then the French colony of Saint-Domingue. The rebellion brought about the abolition of slavery in Saint-Domingue in 1793 and across the whole French Empire in 1794.

    In 1802, Napoleon Bonaparte reintroduced slavery in several French colonies and sent an invading force to Saint-Domingue to restore colonial rule. This turned the Haitian Revolution into a war of independence against France. It ended with Haiti becoming the first state in history to ban both slavery and the slave trade unconditionally from its inception.

    The Haitian Revolution shattered the racist assumption that black Africans could never liberate and govern themselves, hastened the demise of the Transatlantic Slave Trade, and became an important point of reference in the American Civil War and other subsequent struggles. No major player in the revolution is as widely celebrated as Toussaint Louverture, a black former slave who rose to command Saint-Domingue’s republican army and govern the colony.

    Thought to have been born circa 1740 and freed in 1776, Louverture led his people to freedom against the imperial forces of Britain, Spain, and France. He adopted his surname from the French word for “opening”. Contemporaries saw Louverture’s meteoric rise as an embodiment of the revolution’s world-changing nature. French admirers hailed him as “the Black Spartacus” – a moniker Louverture embraced. In 1802, Louverture was arrested at a parley by French Division General Jean-Baptiste Brunet and deported to France, where he died in prison the following year.

    Writing about the Haitian Revolution almost inevitably invites comparisons with C.L.R. James’ masterpiece The Black Jacobins (1938). In that landmark study, James examined the deep connections between the French and Haitian Revolutions, the influence of Enlightenment thought on Louverture and other Saint-Domingue revolutionaries, and how the Haitian Revolution actualized the ideas of liberty, equality, and fraternity to an even greater extent than the French Revolution.

    In Black Spartacus, Sudhir Hazareesingh seeks to complicate this picture, drawing on a wealth of archival material to build the most complete biography of Louverture to date. In doing so, Hazareesingh brings out underappreciated dimensions of the ideological context in which Louverture operated, shedding light on some of the more complex aspects of Louverture’s historical role and political vision.

    The first thing I should praise about Black Spartacus is Hazareesingh’s prose. While the book’s main body of text is almost 400 pages long, it is both easy and compelling to read. This is because Hazareesingh maintains an atmosphere of excitement without excessively stylizing his narration. Whether on the battlefield or at the negotiating table, Hazareesingh lets the dynamism of Louverture’s personality and era speak for itself.

    We can draw both historical and political lessons from Hazareesingh’s reappraisal of Louverture’s life and times. On the historical side, we learn that is there is a great deal of truth in the classic account that Louverture drew on Enlightenment ideas and was proud to be associated with them. He prominently positioned a bust of the Abbé Raynal in his offices (p. 100). Nevertheless, Louverture was never a mere disciple: he drew ideas from various inspirations and put his own twist on them.

    For instance, on his table Louverture kept a quarto edition of Guillaume-Thomas Raynal and Denis Diderot’s revolutionary, late Enlightenment pamphlet Histoire philosophique des Deux Indes (1770), which denounced slavery and warned that failing to emancipate the slaves would lead to “terrible reprisals” against the colonists. However, Raynal, Diderot, and other French Enlightenment thinkers did not expect that enslaved black people would emancipate themselves in the name of universalist republican values. In successfully leading the Saint-Domingue slave revolt, Louverture “not only reappropriated the Histoire philosophique, but brought the text to life in a glorious display of erudition, swagger and wit” (p. 11).

    As Hazareesingh demonstrates, there was a similar creative adaptation in Louverture’s relationship to Mackandalism. Captured and executed in 1758, François Mackandal was a leader of the marrons; that is, slaves who escaped and formed bands of free men in the forests. He is believed to have set up an elaborate, conspiratorial organization that used vodou rituals to cement its ties and aimed to overthrow the slave owners with such methods as poisoning. Although historians have questioned the scale and even the existence of this conspiracy, Mackandal quickly became a legend in Saint-Domingue, capturing the imagination of black rebels and inspiring terror among the whites.

    Unlike Mackandal, Louverture believed in working with Saint-Domingue’s European settler population. He also would have opposed the killing of black slaves by Mackandal’s agents. Nevertheless, Louverture’s “subsequent political thinking shows that he was inspired by the Mackandalist ambition to create a common consciousness among black slaves, by the movement’s appeal to their aspirations for liberty, and by its goal to forge an efficient revolutionary organization which could project its influence across the different parts of the colony” (p. 36).

    From Louverture’s innovative approach to Mackandalist and European Enlightenment values to his frequent hybridization of vodou ritual, Catholic moral teachings, and Taino natural mysticism, Black Spartacus paints a striking image of a figure who always sought to push ideas beyond their limits. This resulted in a highly original form of republicanism committed to the ideals of popular sovereignty, the common good, the equal dignity of citizens, and freedom from external domination, which “held up the enticing prospect of a multiracial community of equals, while giving the colony’s black citizens responsibility for defending the revolutionary order” (p. 12). At the heart of this lay a view of citizenship that “represented a much bolder vision of brotherhood than that of the French jacobins”, which Louverture developed “by grappling with the specific circumstances of Saint-Domingue, notably the issue of race” (p. 100).

    At the same time, Louverture had more than a few complications. He owned at least one slave between his emancipation and the start of the revolution (p. 30). During the slave rebellion, Louverture initially fought with Spain against revolutionary France and “was genuinely drawn to certain aspects of royalism – notably its belief in providential leadership and the values of duty, sacrifice, and honour” (p. 57). However, one should bear in mind that, in the early stages of both the French and Haitian Revolutions, France was not yet a republic, the French revolutionary authorities had not yet committed to abolition, and Louverture was tactically wary of distancing himself from key rebel commanders in Saint-Domingue who still flew the royalist banner.

    Louverture’s most contradictory qualities came in the wake of his 1801 Constitution of Haiti, which made him Governor for Life. Believing he needed to restore Saint-Domingue’s plantation economy in order to revive its agricultural exports, Louverture introduced a fiercely disciplinarian regime enforced by his army commanders. Under this regime, workers could not leave the plantations without permission, fugitives were treated with the same harshness as military deserters, and citizens caught harboring vagrants were penalized. Unsurprisingly, this “brought back echoes of slavery for Saint-Domingue’s black masses, even though they received the legal tariff – one quarter of the harvest – as payment for their labour” (p. 277). While Hazareesingh convincingly argues that it would be wrong to surmise that Louverture had abandoned the principle of revolutionary fraternity, there is no denying that his practical understanding of this principle was strongly paternalistic and that, “in his relentless drive to revive Saint-Domingue’s plantation economy, Toussaint became increasingly trapped in an authoritarian spiral” (p. 278).

    This brings me to the political lessons we can draw from Black Spartacus. For all his favorable qualities, Louverture’s paternalistic approach to government and use of military officers in civilian administration clearly illustrate his Bonapartist or Caesarist leanings. In this respect, I am reminded of Hal Draper’s splendid explication of Marx’s New American Cyclopaedia entry on Simon Bolívar, another historically significant military and political leader in the Age of Revolutions. As Draper explains, Marx was grappling with the central problem of Bolívar’s position as a militaristic authoritarian spearheading a genuinely progressive movement against colonial rule, which has important implications for how the international left should approach current examples of so-called “progressive” despots in the Global South.

    This is not to imply that we should discard Louverture’s legacy. Were it not for Louverture’s skills and ideas, and where he placed himself at key points, the Haitian Revolution might have failed. Similarly, Louverture’s richly universalist republicanism, forged in the crucible of a black revolution against slavery and colonialism, provides an important counter to those modern left currents that dismiss universalism as nothing more than white Eurocentrism. My point is that, while individual leaders can prove historically decisive, even the most capable leaders are often overtaken by the boldest layers of the movements they head and need to be kept democratically accountable and under pressure from below.

    With this year’s worldwide renewal of the Black Lives Matter protests, readers could hardly ask for a better time to revisit the Haitian Revolution and Black Spartacus is as good a place to start as any.

  • In Appreciation of Leo Panitch

    In Appreciation of Leo Panitch

    The sudden death our friend and comrade Leo Panitch has led to an extraordinary outpouring of sadness and appreciation across the world. Very few intellectuals on the left have had the intellectual impact on progressive thinkers and activists that Leo has had, as the flood of testimonials shows; and fewer still have in addition personally trained a comparable network of scholars of the highest calibre who are now carrying forward his distinctive project of critical – and self-critical – research and teaching in dozens of countries. Leo also combined research and teaching with engagement with activists in parties, trade unions and social movements: he knew and was consulted by leaders on the left in several continents, but was also known and admired by the rank and file who flocked to meetings whenever he showed up in Johannesburg, Athens, Frankfurt, London, Rio, New Delhi and elsewhere.

    Leo’s contributions to left thought and strategy have been reviewed in several places since he retired from teaching, and will need to be reviewed and celebrated again when there is time to do it properly. His influential and prize-winning magnum opus, The Making of Global Capitalism: The Political Economy of American Empire (co-written with Sam Gindin and published by Verso in 2012) summed up his most important and original arguments on the real nature of globalisation and its meaning for the domestic politics of the countries in that empire from the 1970s onwards. His last book, Searching for Socialism: the project of the Labour New Left from Benn to Corbyn (co-written with Colin Leys and published by Verso in March this year, and now available for free as an e-book) analysed the strategic and tactical problems of the left in the Labour Party from the 1970s to 2019, drawing also on the experiences of the left in other countries, especially Syriza in Greece and Podemos in Spain. And then there is Leo’s 35-year editorship of the international annual, The Socialist Register, ‘the intellectual lodestone of the left’, in which Leo regularly wrote significant essays himself.

    Here we include just two appreciations, from London and South Africa.

    From Ursula Huws, the author of The Making of a Cybertariat:

    Still raw from the shock of the news, I feel the need to express some thoughts about the devastating loss of Leo Panitch from our midst. He was a man of unbounded generosity, integrity and principle, in his personal as well as his intellectual and political life.

    A personification of Gramsci’s ‘pessimism of the intellect; optimism of the will’, he was far too clever and politically astute to imagine that the revolution was around the corner, yet unwaveringly positive in his support for socialism and solidarity with those in struggle.

    He is known by some as the intellectual heir of Ralph Miliband, taking over the editorship of the Socialist Register Miliband founded, and editing it, in partnership first with Colin Leys and then with Greg Albo. He participated, from his hospital bed, in the launch of the 2021 Socialist Register by Zoom just three weeks ago (characteristically upbeat, despite the knowledge that he was seriously ill with multiple myeloma, though the COVID infection and pneumonia that were to kill him so quickly had yet to occur).

    But the Socialist Register was only one part of his public life. It is indeed hard to imagine anyone else on the planet with such a vast overview. He did not just have a horizon-to-horizon knowledge of the literature but was also personally acquainted with many of the greatest political thinkers of our time. He used to boast about how rarely anyone turned down an invitation to contribute to Socialist Register, attributing that to its history as a non-sectarian source of quality analysis. In fact, I suspect, it was Leo himself they did not want to say no to. The warmth and charisma that he radiated made everyone want to be included in it. And he bore no grudges, often inviting people with whom he might have had serious disagreements on some issues to contribute their ideas if he thought these ideas deserved a hearing.

    That characteristic modesty meant that he rarely worked alone. His partnerships with Colin and Greg were paralleled by another very deep intellectual and personal partnership with Sam Gindin. Both hailing from Winnipeg, they had known each other since student days and collaborated closely over many years, including co-authoring the magnum opus The Making of Global Capitalism: The Political Economy of American Empire. I often tried to find the details of the extraordinary joint labour process by which this seamless partnership operated, with no visible joins between the two great brains which seemed to operate as one. I have to put it down to some miracle of chemistry. But such collaborations were not just literary. Leo also invested enormous energy in the building of institutions. First at Carleton University’s Institute of Political Economy, then at York University in Toronto, he created environments where serious political thought could thrive, bringing together leading Marxist thinkers – during periods when Marxism was demonised elsewhere – to create centres of excellence and forward thinking in political economy.

    In so doing, he created safe havens where voices could be heard that were silenced in other parts of academia, where the ravages of neoliberalism were taking their toll, using the resources he could raise to sustain networks and support younger scholars. These were spaces that attracted bright young PhD students from across the world and Leo put a huge amount of his energy into supporting them personally as well as intellectually and politically, inviting them into his home as well as patiently commenting on their drafts.

    He came into my life in the mid-1990s. I was visiting Toronto for other reasons and Sheila Rowbotham suggested I look him up. I was invited round for brunch, to which he had also invited others he thought I might like to meet and by the end of the day i had already agreed to write an article for Socialist Register – an article that, I afterwards realised, gave me the first chance to write in my own voice since the 1970s, giving me a new public persona. From then on, he gave me unfailing (though not always uncritical) support and I felt sustained and honoured to be part of his life.

    In 2015, I happened to be in Toronto at the time of his 70th birthday party. It was an amazing gathering, bringing together family and friends from many parts of his life. Everybody I spoke to seemed to bring a different perspective on Leo but all were loving. At one point, much to my surprise and embarrassment, I was asked by Leo’s friend and colleague from Ottawa days, Donald Schwartz, to propose the toast. I am often quite good at improvising such things but this time I made a complete hash of it. I was so angry with myself that I spent the next two or three days writing in my head the speech I should have made. I had arrived arrived fresh from a conference (organised by the UDC) in which many earnest young radical scholars had been discussing the future of work, and of socialism, and what I wish I had said was that in leaving the conference and arriving in the Panitch home I had moved from the abstract discussion of it to the reality of how socialism should be lived. That, in the company of so many people who had known Leo so much better than I did and for so much longer it felt very presumptuous to speak at all. But it was nevertheless a great privilege to be there, embraced in the welcome of the Panitches (including Leo’s wise, brilliant, generous wife Melanie, his wonderful children, Vida and Maxim and grandchildren) in a place where there was not only a generous, unstinting sharing of ideas, but also of love. And much more. Today I do not have adequate words.

    How he will be missed.

    From Patrick Bond, prolific writer, activist and professor in Cape Town:

    As far away as Johannesburg – literally halfway across the earth from Toronto – the shock waves reverberate and the tears flow. The news is so terribly distressing for everyone who ever came across a comrade who could draw upon such a bottomless well of the socialist ethos: generosity of spirit, clarity of vision, mastery of political history, eloquence of expression, and builder of community. What a gap this leaves in the world’s indy left, for us all to try to fill – and if we do so even partly in the tough period ahead, it will be thanks to our ability to dwell on infinite warm memories of Leo, with such power.

    Here in South Africa, his influence was always a delight and salve, starting around 1992 when – always with Sam amplifying at the right moment, and John Saul having earlier tilled the radical soil, too – Leo visited, providing those tour de force, ruthless-critiques-of-everything he had mastered. We were desperate to understand the perils of leading labour strategists’ tragic adoption of competitiveness within world capitalism, of the unions’ rightward drift and then corporatist slide, of African nationalism’s and social democracy’s limits, of radical social movement potentials, and of the retreat of so many ex-left intellectuals underway here, too. No one could provide these with the force, depth, scope and ironic chuckle that Leo did. That year in SR, he and Ralph Miliband charted a broader course that from right early on, I found to be of lasting relevance for the class and social struggles that lay ahead here:

    “An approach distant both from ultra-leftism on the one hand and from the politics of accommodation of social democracy on the other will need to be elaborated and developed, given clear and relevant, short-term and longer-term policy meaning and institutional focus. This approach entails an involvement in immediate struggles over a multitude of current issues: in the current moment of economic crisis the most important must be bold programmes for economic recovery which are oriented to employing people directly in the expansion and improvement of the public infrastructure [and in South Africa’s case, basic needs goods]… While no such programme will allow one country to escape by itself from the economic crisis, this programme could mitigate the effects of the crisis, and lay the basis for a more ecologically sound, socially just, productive economy in the future. It would contribute, moreover, to giving people a sense that something can be done about the crisis, which is the key to further popular mobilisation in even more radical directions.”

    That advice stayed with me and many others ever since. Indeed over the years Leo also helped to interpret and deconstruct not only our intellectual and labour traditions, but South Africa’s capital-C Communist legacy, for example shaping socialist praxis with the young rebel reds Vishwas Satgar and Langa Zita during their 1998 visit to Toronto (from p.66 here). And the founder of the Alternative Information and Development Centre in Cape Town, Brian Ashley, just rang me a few minutes ago to contemplate Leo’s just-as-powerful influence with a different set of comrades whose political roots were revolutionary and often Trotskyist. A leading South African marxist-feminist who did her PhD at York Politics, Melanie Samson, often recounts how she drew so much from his seminars about our local debates, too. Those are only a few examples. From all sides: full respect.

    During their last trip to Joburg about five years ago, Leo and Sam had not lost a step. They drove home their points not only at academic meetings – here’s a great lecture Vishwas and Michelle Williams hosted through their SR-style Democratic Marxism series – but in crucial sites of strategic confrontation, especially a most extraordinary session at the largest union’s headquarters building in March 2016, with hundreds present, in what might well have been the most sophisticated yet passionate political debate those metalworker leaders have ever witnessed. Dating to the early 1990s, Leo and Sam always helped that crucial union and everyone knew they could review working-class strengths and weaknesses with such profound wisdom. But Leo also knew Leninism so well, and ran rings around some of the ersatz-vanguardist versions he had to confront that day – even growing red-faced with fury at times, since so much was at stake (sigh, it didn’t end well in subsequent years and his warnings were so prescient in retrospect). During that visit, Leo and I negotiated a studio discussion about neoliberalism for listeners of the main national radio station’s morning show, for a full 20 minutes; it was absolutely hilarious, probing with friendly barbs the country’s deepest divides, using the international comparisons we urgently needed then, as President Zuma’s anti-imperial talk-left walk-right dancing was at its clumsiest.

    And over the past decade or so, Leo helped my Rio-based ally Ana and I to continually enrich the application of Brazil’s subimperialism theory – in a book about the BRICS he contributed to in 2015 (from p.61 here), at 2016 Beit Zatoun and York workshops, and later in SR. And we won’t ever forget how even with the nuanced differences, Leo’s own view of imperialism’s capacity to assimilate G20 elites for Washington-dominated multilateralism’s sake, shaped us inexorably. Even when disagreeing, he invariably raised our confidence to keep working on an appropriate semi-peripheral Int’l Poli Econ. And in hotter disputes – … um, like, “crisis? what crisis?!” in the Empire seminar – it was the greatest fun to test lines of argument with a comrade so sharp, funny, tireless and forgiving.

    I wrote Leo emails on several dozen occasions over the years, asking for advice; never was I disappointed. He hosted me in 2003-04 in my first sabbatical. His and other SR comrades’ exceptional networks, wide-ranging commitments and ability to craft the SR alongside Colin and Greg left me breathless with gratitude on countless cold Sunday mornings during annual November editorial meetings in a SOAS seminar room. Making links between comrades always pleased Leo so much, and so many of us were beneficiaries. I can’t thank Leo and the Toronto comrades enough, for the hospitality and the permanent sense that thanks largely to Leo’s institution-building power, York Politics has been our lefty Mecca literally for decades. Melanie and Leo were so gracious letting me stay in such a warm, welcoming house on occasion, a place so well known to the world’s lefty visitors.

    Hamba kahle – travel well – comrade Leo Panitch. Long live your spirit in us all, long live.

    This article first appeared on the Verso website.

  • Structures of Fossil Feeling

    Structures of Fossil Feeling

    Review of Ashley Dawson, People’s Power: Reclaiming the Energy Commons (OR Books, 2020)

    I don’t mind admitting, when my wife and I purchased a solar array two years ago, I basked a bit in my climate virtue. True enough, the tax incentives were a factor. And the idea of being self-sufficient through some looming, dystopian collapse was vaguely reassuring. But I must also admit I had not considered the resources and energy, the extraction and exploitation, that made my shiny, virtuous “clean energy” possible.

    To his great credit, Ashley Dawson does not avoid these very real dilemmas in his new book People’s Power: Reclaiming the Energy Commons published by OR Books. In this easily accessible, passionately argued intervention, Dawson gives the reader both a valuable primer on contemporary struggles for energy justice and an entry into the theoretical debates whose outcome will inform and guide movement strategy going forward. It won’t come as any surprise to those readers that just as the science tells us we need “urgent and unprecedented change”, John Kerry, the anodyne embodiment of moderation, has been appointed Joe Biden’s “climate czar”. This terminal stage of capitalism is one of profound disconnect and dissonance. Any such progress, therefore, will require fighting over fiercely contested terrain. This “war of position” (and perhaps “maneuver”) is demarcated by the dual meanings of power found in the book’s title: both the control of energy and control over the State at its various levels.

    We have all heard the tedious argument that scary language will only cause people to withdraw. Again, to his credit, Dawson does not mince words in describing the converging crises the planet faces. If your house is on fire, you want to make that clear to the 911 dispatcher. And if humanity wishes to, as the author describes it, “avert hurtling to fiery apocalypse”, changing lightbulbs, or installing solar panels, are necessary but not even close to sufficient responses. Ask the survivors of recent Australian, Californian or Colorado fires if “apocalypse” sounds too polemical. Were John Kerry to speak of “planetary ecocide” or “global economic collapse”, I for one would be inspired and strangely relieved. But then, as I suggested, we live in strange times.

    As an activist hoping to initiate a municipalization campaign in my own community, I found the book’s historical account of energy production in the U.S., from Gifford Pinchot’s “Giant Power” to our current Rural Electrification Association, of great value. Ashley urges us “to remember examples like the rural electric co-ops of the 1930’s, which offer an example of precisely the combination of a deepening of representative democracy combined with new organs of popular self-management.” Here in Montana both the monopoly utilities and their partisan regulators, the so-called Public Service Commission, are addicted to fossil fuel and the big dams which have decimated runs of anadromous fish. Could “the prospect of de-centralized, democratically controlled renewable energy generation” inspire and mobilize our rural citizenry? Could such representation be just and equitable? And could energy once again be thought of as a public good rather than a commodity?

    This brings us to the crux of Dawson’s thesis and the vexed question of the State. How to negotiate this “necessary but impossible” relationship has bedeviled the Left throughout history and today’s “Green Reds” are no exception. Here the author provides examples of how popular struggles have moved, in the words of energy democracy activist and scholar James Angel, “in- against and beyond” the state. Dawson uses the thought of Nicos Poulantzas to interrogate the dilemma facing those who wish to de-commodify energy via “the long march through the institutions” of the capitalist state, including the courts. As Dawson puts it, “the battle for the Solar Commons…must be won by establishing new models of collective governance and the legal structures to legitimate these models.” To this end, People’s Power again provides a sampling of contemporary struggles, perhaps the most relevant being the “energiewende” movement in Germany, with a particular focus on Berlin. Having lived for an extended time in Germany, I know comparisons between what can be accomplished there and, for example, here in Montana, are strained. Each fight requires a unique mapping of social relations and sites of power. But I will welcome any and all inspiration in these bleak times.

    At the end of the day, our local fight to take down the private, for-profit utility and gain control of our grid and our energy future is a fight over legitimacy. Both the capitalist state and market forces require, if not our consent, at least our acquiescence. The bourgeois, farcical game show known as “democratic governance” thrives on our participation. To be clear; this is not, as the popular chant would have it, what democracy looks like. This what profound alienation and estrangement look like. And the ecocidal, neoliberal hellscape euphemistically called “free enterprise”, dependent as it is on colonial dispossession and savage exploitation, requires ideological cover as well. Each is legitimized through ballots and flags, statues and paid holidays. In the specific case of fossil capital (the finance and investment which drives most of the earth’s production), recuperation comes in the form of a “political unconscious”, manifested as solar-powered sweat shops and an accelerated, luxury techno-optimism. In stark contrast, those fighting for an ecosocialist vision, who see (and feel) the emergency facing not just humans, but all the voiceless species, must ask people to relinquish; not just a “carbon culture”, but a beautiful dream, a fantasy of endless GDP growth fueled by the miraculous “power density” of fossil fuels. A fantasy which made a very few insanely rich and powerful and many, many others destitute or dead.

    Despite the popular desire for a “return to normal”, this is actually the last thing the biosphere needs in this moment. Both Covid and global heating demonstrate the death-drive inherent to capital, which values accumulation and profit over life itself. As the author states: “If we wish to transform the material infrastructure of fossil capitalism, we must also interrogate and even upend the structures of feeling they have helped produce.” This is an epic, historical task. It’s possible that the combination of Greta Thunberg’s piercing stare and a global pandemic have indeed upended, as Dawson describes them, “expectations of unbridled freedom…space-annihilating patterns of mobility, and spiraling consumption”. It’s a big ask, but certainly reclaiming the energy commons would be a huge leap in the right direction. Ashley Dawson’s book does a great job mapping the coordinates so we stay on track.

  • Biden’s pick for Secretary of Education: What to expect from Cardona?

    Biden’s pick for Secretary of Education: What to expect from Cardona?

    Biden’s choice for Secretary of Education, Miguel Cardona, has all the personal characteristics many teachers have asked for – a Hispanic educator raised in the projects, a former classroom teacher (for a brief time) who rose through the ranks of school administration, someone who “gets” what it’s like in a classroom. He seems like a real educator.  At the same time, his appointment, suggested by Linda Darling-Hammond, a much-respected liberal expert in education policy, revered in some progressive circles, captures why teacher activists have to see beyond the rhetoric and individual characteristics to the politics that underlie this choice. Because Cardona has a limited track record in educational policy and as his Linked-In profile shows, few high-level connections, we can better understand what he likely represents for Biden by looking at Darling-Hammond and her longtime allies, the NEA, AFT, and unions that supported the Obama administration as a “friend of labor.”

    Darling-Hammond has had a stellar record as a scholar of education policy, especially teacher education, examining how to increase educational opportunity for those long denied what was due them because of social oppression:  racism, sexism, xenophobia, ableism. She vigorously contested the spurious research about Teach for America, part of the neoliberal plan globally to deprofessionalize teaching, aimed at putting minimally trained grads from elite colleges into schools serving students who need the best trained, best educated teachers. Accolades given her for that research are well-deserved. Still, the policies she has advanced since her involvement with the Obama administration have attempted to square the circle, making the neoliberal project more equitable rather than challenging its destructive premises of privatization and the Democrats’ use of education reform as a substitute for addressing festering economic inequality.

    To understand the convergence of Darling-Hammond’s ideas with what the Democrats will pursue in Biden’s administration, look at the Learning Policy Institute (LPI) which she created, with the purpose of “Promoting Data-Driven ‘Deeper Learning’.” To understand LPI’s aims,  examine its political interlocks. LPI accepts as a given the future capitalist elites have planned for education:  intensification of privatization with education technology, in particular the widespread use of proprietary software and public/private partnerships – a form of privatization that allows corporations to make profits from public funding.  LPI’s links to big money in the Democratic Party, both the center and its purportedly more progressive wing including unions, show up in projects LPI’s staff undertake, advancing  the aims of “big data” transforming education, carrying out what the World Bank, the OECD, and tech billionaires have planned for us, a project researchers are now exposing and some unions are fighting, as I describe elsewhere.

    What seem to be victories in  LPI’s projects for equity and teachers’ voice, like new “performance assessments,” occur within a framework of ceding control to  Silicon Valley and Wall Street over what our children learn and how our teachers teach, for example in Big Picture Learning. The “big picture” LPI endorses is not one parents, teachers, or students have created. It consists of using online education for job retraining, linking learning, from early childhood years through college, to educational outcomes corporations say they need, vocationalizing education and taking more professional control away from teachers in deciding how and what they will teach, as standardized testing and its standardized curriculum have done. The networks of big money pushing privatization and surveillance with ed tech, documented so well by the blog “Wrench in the Gears,”  are as staggering as they are chilling. LPI is deeply embedded and in bed with this undertaking, urged on by AFT and NEA.

    It may be that Cardona will reject LPI’s assumptions and use his new post and power to resist the moguls who control the Democratic Party and have started the new bipartisan neoliberal project.  Cardona’s presence as an invited speaker at a session on “Investing in education: Criteria for Success” at the Yale School of Management Educational Leadership Conference, along with representatives of big data and big profits, does not, by itself, tell us how he will manage demands made on him and the U.S. Department of Education, though it shows his political orbit. Nor do I think we can  predict his actions from how he handled competing demands in school reopening as Commissioner of Education in CT,  how he will respond to teachers’ activism about the terrible life-and-death choices COVID-19 and capitalism have forced on teachers, students, and parents.

    Precisely because Cardona has not been deeply involved in setting national policy, we may have an opening to push him to stand up for what public education needs:  Not a penny to venture capital and corporations pillaging public funds that should go directly to public schools. Not one piece of personal data given to ed tech to monetize. No use of school resources to advance “platform capitalism.”  Parents, teachers, students who use the schools  have the right to shape their future, to reimagine and make it. We want equality of educational outcomes as well as economic security for working people, health care, housing, food security – a program for social justice and school quality.  We should let Miguel Cardona know we want to have his back if he defends what schools, teachers, students really need – while we simultaneously prepare for his not doing so.

  • The Pull of Communist Culture

    The Pull of Communist Culture

    Review of Milton A. Cohen. The Pull of Politics: Steinbeck, Wright, Hemingway, and the Left in the Late 1930s. Columbia: University of Missouri Press, 2018, vii – 373 pp. $50 Hardcover

    In this quite readable and accessible study, Milton Cohen describes Communist Party efforts to establish relationships with three major American writers of the 1930s – John Steinbeck, Richard Wright, and Ernest Hemingway. Of the three, only Richard Wright became a regular, though conflicted, Party member. Steinbeck and Hemingway, up to the late thirties, declined the Party’s advances.

    By the late 1930s the American Communist Party had achieved its greatest influence in American society. The Depression and the rise of aggressive fascism in Europe and Asia coincided with a revised Party line. Moscow directed its global affiliates to abandon class struggle and anti-capitalist rhetoric and align themselves with liberal and socialist parties, excluding those who disputed the CP’s politics, including Trotskyists, in a “Popular Front” to fight international fascism. Central to this new tactic was the cultivation of left-leaning intellectuals and those in the popular arts.

    Steinbeck, in his earlier novel, In Dubious Battle, writes about an attempt by Communist activists to organize pickers in a California apple orchard. As the title indicates, he regarded his subjects with a certain detachment, presenting organizers’ efforts as near-cynical manipulations of the hapless workers, whom he depicted as exhibiting a sheep-like group mentality. Cohen notes that “All are, to the author, no more than microbes squirming under his microscope” (23). Steinbeck’s emotional distance from the exploited and disadvantaged eroded when he accepted a newspaper assignment to write a series on the condition of migrant labor in California’s fields and farms. Personal contact with the agricultural proletariat quickly moved him from dispassionate observer to indignant advocate for reform. His next novel, The Grapes of Wrath – a work that brought him national notoriety – along with high praise from the left and death threats from the right, reflects his political shift.

    Ernest Hemingway had been the object of severe criticism by leftists for his output in the early thirties – celebrations of bullfighting, hunting and sport fishing in the Bahamas, written during years of economic hardship for so many. He expressed only disdain for the “proletarian novel” so esteemed by the editors of the New Masses and the leftist literary establishment. “I do not,” Hemingway insisted to one critic, “follow the fashions in politics, letters, religion, etc.” (102).

    Nevertheless, as Cohen documents, as with Steinbeck, personal experience tugged him to the left. In 1935 several hundred residents in the Florida Keys were drowned in a devastating hurricane, including some 250 WWI veterans assigned to a WPA project, whom the government had failed to evacuate in time. A furious Hemingway penned an article for the New Masses, “Who Murdered the Vets?,” accusing federal authorities of negligence and indifference. To Have and to Have Not, followed, depicting the uphill struggle of a have-not, a Key West native, driven to risk his life outside the law to earn a living for his family. The lot of Hemingway’s protagonist is contrasted with that of the “Haves,” affluent tourists moored in the yacht basin, leading empty lives in their well-appointed staterooms.

    But it was the civil war in Spain that brought Hemingway into the leftist orbit, at least for the war’s duration. Repeated visits to Spain strengthened his conviction that only the militarization and centralization of the disparate Republican forces could defeat Franco’s fascist army. And since it seemed only the Soviet Union could supply effective aid to the Spanish Republic, he was able to ignore or suspend judgment on Russian infiltration of the Republican government, its suppression of social revolution and even the activities of the Russian secret police and Spanish Communists in their campaign of arrest and murder of radical and anarchist opponents – those they labeled “Trotskyites” and “fascist sympathizers.”

    For Richard Wright, the Communist Party’s forthright stand against racism brought him into the fold. A postal worker with literary ambitions, he joined the Chicago branch of the John Reed Clubs, a Party front group that provided an encouraging milieu for young writers and particularly African-Americans. As he began to write and be published in leftist periodicals, Wright was drawn to become a Party regular, organizing meetings and presenting lectures. The greater was his shock and surprise when the Party summarily closed all the Clubs, swerving to emphasize attracting established literary figures not nurturing the unrecognized. Wright’s CPUSA connection was now through a very doctrinaire local cell concerned mainly with using him as an activist on Party projects, leaving him little time to write. His artistic interests and seeming reluctance to follow directives earned him distrust as a ‘bourgeois intellectual” and finally an “incipient Trotskyite” (66). After his “comrades” physically ejected him from a May Day parade, he decided to move to New York.

    In a much more congenial context Wright became a reporter for the Harlem office of the Daily Worker and shortly thereafter published a short story collection – Uncle Tom’s Children – that brought him to popular attention and critical notice. But it was his later novel Native Son that placed him within the front rank of contemporary authors. A story of inter-racial sexual attraction and brutal violence, it was quite remarkably selected by the Book-of-the-Month-Club for the year 1940.

    All three authors joined the American Writers Congress, a Party front group, by the late 1930s and were elected to mainly honorific positions. Hemingway delivering a memorable address at the organization’s 1937 meeting. Cohen notes that none of the three had made their connection with the Popular Front as a result of ideological conversion to Marxism or Stalinism. Their association was the result of personal involvement in specific causes – the exploitation of the Okies in California agriculture, the cause of Loyalist Spain, the racism pervading American society.

    By 1940 the approving attitude of American artists and intellectuals toward Communism and the Soviet Union faded in the aftermath of the Nazi-Soviet Pact, Stalin’s seizure of the Baltic states, and the Red Army’s invasion of Finland. Uncomfortable with the notoriety that his authorship had brought him, Steinbeck began a withdrawal to more personal concerns. In a novel written some years later, East of Eden, he stated his credo – “the free, exploring mind of the individual human is the most valuable thing in the world” (282).

    With the Republican defeat in the Spanish Civil War, Hemingway presented their cause in a far more nuanced light, in a new novel, noting the intrigues of Russian advisors and the atrocities committed by leftists – perhaps to partially assuage his own conscience. For Whom the Bell Tolls was immediately denounced in the Party press and praised by the anti-Stalinist left.

    Divorce from the CPUSA was much more troubling and distressing for Wright, an active member. The sudden shift in the Party’s line on the war in Europe caught him unawares. In a number of public addresses and articles he had denounced the conflict as a struggle between rival imperialisms and insisted that “the Negro has no stake in this war” (298). On the eve of delivering a speech to the NAACP on the theme of “Not My People’s War,” Hitler invaded the Soviet Union, and for the CP the war shifted to a crusade for democracy. The Party leadership immediately ordered Wright to change his presentation and make an appeal to Black Americans to enlist in the segregated U.S. military. In contrast, A. Philip Randolph and other black leaders called for a massive march on Washington to demand an end to segregation in the armed services and job discrimination in the new defense plants. The CP opposed this and any autonomous initiatives by African-Americans, which were regarded as “negro nationalism,” a reactionary ideology. In any case, racism was to be subsumed in the interests of anti-fascist unity. Breaking his connection to the Party, Wright disengaged himself from Communist activities, expressing his disillusionment and disappointment in a national magazine. His action earned the label of “petty bourgeois degenerate” from his former comrades. In his later novel The Outsider, Wright has his protagonist reflect on how “he loathed the Communist attempt to destroy human subjectivity … his subjectivity was the essence of his life” (306).

    Cohen notes that the movements of these three authors both toward and away from the sectarian left reveals “the tenuousness of a political allegiance created by a single issue or a few such issues” (309). Only complete ideologues could line up in obedience to the wisdom of “higher powers.”

    The Party, or at least its Popular Front, enjoyed something of a fashionable resurgence during the war years, as the Red Army took the brunt of Nazi aggression. The “tenuousness” of allegiance among major novelists described by Cohen would be demonstrated over again among artists in a more popular medium, the motion picture industry. Here the various CP front groups active among Hollywood screenwriters, directors and actors would thrive in the early forties but quickly dissolve with the onset of the Cold War – their members forced to confess their heresy or be blacklisted from employment. The Popular Front, so attuned to the vagaries of Soviet foreign policy, was no more.

  • Hong Kong’s Fight for Democracy

    Hong Kong’s Fight for Democracy

    Review of Au Loong-Yu, Hong Kong in Revolt: the Protest Movement and the Future of China (Pluto Press, 2020)

    Before SARS-CoV-2, the virus which causes COVID-19, entered the United States, the biggest news out of China was the months-long uprising in Hong Kong. Millions poured out into the streets over and again, strikes took place on top of student boycotts, government buildings were occupied, pitched street battles took place against police. For those who want to understand the uprising, its origins, and the still unresolved contradictions, Au Loong-Yu’s Hong Kong in Revolt: the Protest Movement and the Future of China published by Pluto Press (2020), is required reading.

    A vivid picture of the struggle is painted by Au, as he combines an eyewitness perspective with deep analysis – stemming from his vast knowledge of Hong Kong’s political landscape. As a global justice and labor campaigner based in that city, his viewpoint on the underlying dynamics of the rebellion, as it unfolded, is as insightful as it is invaluable.

    For audiences inside and outside of Hong Kong, having a clear view of the forces that were at work is at a premium. That a mass rebellion took place in a country which describes itself as having a socialist economy and a government which supports the working class, can be perplexing. Even a superficial view of life in China demonstrates that their society has more in common with that of the United States than it has differences.

    China’s massive working class operates the workshop of the world, is fed by an enormous agricultural workforce, and has been ruled by the same Communist Party of China (CPC) since 1949. While the US has (near) universal suffrage and two ruling parties – which is an important difference – there is commonality in class power dynamics, where a tiny minority of bosses exploit the huge majority of workers.

    The months-long struggle began in reaction to an extradition bill proposed by the Hong Kong government. Following the murder of Poon Hiu-wing in Taiwan by a Hong Kong resident who had fled the scene, China sought a legal mechanism for extradition. Horrific acts are often exploited by governments to legitimize legal changes for ulterior motives – and many saw this as a path that could end up with political activists being extracted to the mainland from Hong Kong.

    Hong Kong had been under British rule from 1841 until 1997. The occupation began with the Opium War – when the British invaded China after the Qing Dynasty attempted to halt their sale of the debilitating drug. It took over 100 years for China to finally rid their land from colonial exploitation through the CPC’s successful 1949 revolution, but Hong Kong remained under British rule. A Basic Law agreement was made which would return the territory to China from Britain, with the stipulation that for 50 years after the handover, a capitalist economic system will continue.

    Hong Kong’s was a colonial outpost city-state whose main economic function was as a trade center for capital and goods. The British extracted incredible wealth throughout their rule, and once China took over, there was no reason to change this profitable arrangement. It should go without saying that the rich Chinese tycoons of Hong Kong have only one interest in mind, maintaining their personal wealth and power, no matter who is in charge of the government.

    This historical backdrop of the 2019 rebellion is important to understand because the main forces at work are the Chinese state as run by the CPC, the Hong Kong “pan-democrats” who are pro-capitalist liberals that tepidly prefer independence, and the mass movement which came together around five main demands.

    As the dominant political force, China had no compunction when their representative and Chief Executive Carrie Lam, without a shred of irony, invoked a colonial era ordinance in an attempt to intimidate protestors. That a so-called socialist government was enforcing laws from the British occupation speaks volumes about their politics.

    Some on the left are challenged by having a binary view of the world. In their view, one can only choose the side of US imperialism and aggression or whomever happens to be on the other end – no matter what. This has led to some holding the position that any political challenge to the CPC only furthers the hegemonic control of Western imperialism, and therefore must be an agent of those forces.

    Every uprising that has ever occurred has had complicated politics – there has never been a mass struggle where all the actors have lined themselves up in neat rows, their politics clearly represented by different colored ribbons affixed to their sleeves. During the hundreds of protests which involved millions of people, some did wave American or British flags. It is also true that protestors burned train stations and interrupted the lives of those who were not the decision makers, but regular working people.

    The operating conclusion of some leftists was that the entire rebellion was a CIA plot, that it must be opposed, and any crackdown by the Chinese government was justified. Taking a position that literally puts one on the same side as the baton wielding, rubber bullet shooting, Hong Kong police is clearly a bad take.

    Which Side Are You On?

    The simple question we must start with is: which side are you on? The side of the Chinese state and CPC, which was attempting to make the extradition of activists to mainland China much easier? Or on the side of people who were demanding that the law be withdrawn, that the government stop labeling protestors as “rioters,” to drop the charges against protestors, to investigate police behavior, to implement genuine universal suffrage? One can be against US imperialism, against CPC authoritarianism, and in favor of a mass uprising against the latter.

    There’s no question that the movement had missteps, and the book does an excellent job describing many of the very real challenges that needed to be confronted. One interesting dynamic was the tendency of the protest movement to avoid structured organization, to stay away from formalized and accountable leadership, and not build spaces where strategy and tactics of the struggle could be discussed and debated. The author describes this as a product of a strong authoritarian government combined with a weak lead from the “pan-democrat” liberals. This tendency towards structurelessness certainly had reasonable roots, but also significant shortcomings which hampered progress.

    To put it simply, Au states that a revolution in one city would be near impossible to achieve “given the absolute asymmetry of forces between Hong Kong and the [CPC] regime.” Gaining independence from the mainland CPC government would have required a much broader struggle across the entire country. The Chinese state had been successful in both diminishing news reports of the uprising on the mainland, as well as highlighting the few backward xenophobic elements within the protest movement and painted the entire struggle as being against mainland Chinese people, thus dividing them from the struggle.

    Similarly to how the rebellion of 2019 was a continuation of the 2014 Umbrella Movement – a broad struggle for democracy which gained its moniker from protesters using umbrellas to defend themselves against pepper spray and tear gas canisters – the underlying contradictions which gave rise to the 2019 struggles did not disappear when COVID-19 entered the stage.

    One important product of this rebellion has been a significant uptick in unionization. With an overall tendency away from formal organization, this has been an interesting development as unions are a place where structure, elected accountable leadership, and debate, are likely to occur. Organizing strikes and general strikes have centered the question of the role of workers within a rebellion. In a society with a significant pro-capitalism ideology alongside massive poverty, the issues of class and class power are important things to consider. Au writes, “In the first three months of 2020, there were 1,578 new union registration applications, a one hundred-fold increase from 2019.”

    A stronger union movement and a larger left that has a vision that goes beyond universal suffrage to ask deeper questions about class relations continues to be a work in progress in Hong Kong. Au asks “if Hong Kong’s free market capitalism has the ‘tacit consent’ of many of the underclass it is first and foremost because of its success… The only problem is, will this situation last?” One could ask the same about the mainland’s so-called “socialism with Chinese characteristics.” A COVID-19 pandemic induced economic crisis could call many things into question – and has the potential to bring people across borders into unison in a way that the CPC could no longer control.

    Anyone interested in getting a deeper understanding of how the 2019 rebellion of Hong Kong fits into the bigger China picture and what might be coming around the corner, will do themselves a favor by reading this important contribution by Au Loong-Yu.

  • Is socialism winning?

    Is socialism winning?

    Some socialists have recently claimed that our movement is winning. In a post-election newsletter, the National Political Committee of the Democratic Socialists of America commented, “Although establishment Democrats belittle our movement for socialism, we know that the vision we have for this world is popular. WE ARE WINNING!” An article in Jacobin put out a similar message: “There Was Actually a Lot of Good News for the Left on Election Day.” This analysis highlights that 20 out of 29 DSA-endorsed candidates were elected and that 8 out of 11 DSA-backed ballot measures passed, including propositions on the minimum wage, child care, and rent control.

    For the first post-election national DSA webinar, “Socialism is winning,” victorious DSA candidates spoke about the opportunities ahead for the Left, suggesting that electing socialists into office moves us closer to winning reforms. Jabari Brisport, who won his race for New York state senate, said:

    …across the country, we’re winning these elections. We win ballot measures. We change the conversation. We shift the Overton window. We make our enemies afraid of us because they know we’re going to shift power away from the corporate elites into working class people, into marginalized communities, and give them agency for the first time in our nation’s history. I know that when we win, we can indeed win a Green New Deal. We can indeed defund the police. We can get a homes guarantee. We can get health care for all. We can eliminate student debt.

    However, a broader assessment of the political landscape shows that the socialist Left is in a weaker position after this election cycle.

    Successful ballot measures endorsed by DSA.

    Is socialism winning?

    At the beginning of the election cycle, socialists had high hopes for shifting national politics to the left chiefly through the Bernie Sanders campaign. Once Sanders conceded to Joe Biden, DSA shifted the conversation to how to defeat Donald Trump. Though the organization never formally endorsed the Biden-Harris ticket, leading members advocated for supporting Biden, as did a broad array of figures on the U.S. Left.

    In the course of supporting Biden, Sanders and others had to compromise on key demands including Medicare for All and the Green New Deal. Expectations had to be lowered in order to accept Biden’s uninspiring neoliberal centrism. Criticism of Biden had to be submerged, including the fact that he faces credible sexual assault allegations.

    Biden will not deliver any of the things that people fought for in the Sanders campaign. In fact, Biden positioned himself in opposition to Sanders’ politics, bragging after his nomination, “I beat the socialist.” He campaigned on “law and order” in opposition to the anti-racist uprising this summer. And he responded to October protests in Philadelphia over the police killing of Walter Wallace Jr. with “There is no excuse whatsoever for the looting and the violence.”

    Biden’s transition team is shaping up to be a centrist dream team, packed with lobbyists, tech executives, and former Obama administration officials. So far, neither Sanders nor Warren have been offered a place in the new administration. Biden recently nominated Neera Tanden as budget director. This puts Senator Sanders in the uncomfortable position of overseeing the appointment of a person who a former campaign aide called “the single biggest, most aggressive Bernie Sanders critic in the United States of America.” The Sanders wing is not on the brink of taking over the Democratic Party. Rather, the neoliberal wing appears to have strengthened its hold.

    Despite the realities of a potential Biden-Harris administration, parts of the Left insisted on a vote for Biden on the basis that Trump could carry out a coup—but the Right has not been defeated. Though Trump lost the election, he received 10 million more votes than he did in 2016. He is already raising the prospect of a 2024 presidential run. On November 14, thousands of his supporters including members of the Proud Boys and Oath Keepers marched through Washington, D.C., in a “Stop the Steal” demonstration. Though Trump lost the election, his base has been strengthened over the course of it. To say now that the Left is winning downplays—perhaps unintentionally—the growing relevance and threat of the Right.

    What does it mean to win?

    The idea that the 2020 election marked a victory for the socialist Left flows from an electoralist perspective that equates winning elections with “building power” and that uses electoral victories as a gauge of strength. DSA-endorsed candidates contested 29 out of more than 595 federal, state, and municipal races. The post-election DSA newsletter points to the 73 percent win rate of DSA-endorsed candidates and ballot measures to support the idea that socialism is winning.

    Socialists recently elected to office.

    On the DSA post-election webinar, National Political Committee members laid out why they think the socialist Left is in a stronger position. Hannah Allison declared, “We are winning this fight to transform our world.” Allison then went through all of the electoral victories to conclude:

    …We are celebrating, like many of you, the big, broad, multiracial coalition, all the amazing community organizations, unions, and national organizations that kicked Trump out of office. And there’s so much more we’re going to fight together to win. We’re going to keep fighting… and to keep building socialist power at the ballot box.

    Another National Political Committee member, Kristian Hernandez, highlighted that candidates who supported Medicare for All won their races and asserted that “DSA is winning” because of the win rate of endorsed candidates and ballot measures. She explained:

    While we have establishment Democrats out here trying to undermine what we accomplished together, we know that the vision we have for this world is popular. We know it was millions of Black, Brown, Indigenous, and working class people and our movements that kicked Trump out of office.

    This echoes organizations like Justice Democrats that responded to centrists’ attacks on the Left by telling them:

    Scapegoating progressives and Black activists for their demands and messaging is not the lesson to be learned here. It was their organizing efforts, energy and calls for change needed in their communities that drove up voter turnout.

    How do we tell if we are winning?

    The historic turnout of millions of Black, Indigenous, Latinx, working class people to vote for Biden is taken as a sign of the Left’s strength. But the fact that the Democratic Party mobilized its base with help from nongovernmental organizations, community groups, and unions is not a new phenomenon and does not in and of itself reflect social movement strength. Even if it did, the conclusion that we are in a stronger spot when Biden barely managed to beat Trump does not follow.

    Electoral victories are not a sufficient way to gauge whether the balance of forces is shifting. Socialists winning down-ballot elections certainly points to the possibilities of the moment. But we have not yet grappled with some of the limitations of these gains, namely how little winning an election actually guarantees. Reforms are won based on the balance of class forces—when the working class creates a situation where the political price would be too high to not implement a reform. The victory of a candidate who supports Medicare for All does not necessarily tell us if we are any closer to winning Medicare for All. Though progressive ballot measures passed in some places, popular policies were rolled back by referendum in California.

    Down-ballot socialist and progressive victories are contradictory. On the one hand, they give socialists a platform to promote ideas and politics. At the same time, they can bolster illusions that the Democratic Party can be a working class political instrument or that reforms are won by electing socialists to office.

    Objective conditions make winning reforms an uphill battle. Government officials at the state and local level are likely to face austerity budgets as the capitalist class attempts to mitigate the economic crisis on the backs of working people. Just last week, the defection of several progressive Democrats and the DSA Alderman Vasquez on the Chicago City Council provided the margin of votes to pass Mayor Lightfoot’s austerity budget, which leaves police funding intact.

    Chicago DSA issued a statement censuring Vasquez, a positive step that should be a model for how other DSA chapters and left-wing organizations respond to politicians. The budget vote raises larger questions about how to engage in electoral politics, what it means to hold politicians accountable, and the pressures socialists face in office.

    The ideology behind “we’re winning”

    If the post-election assessment is that the socialist Left is winning, then we do not have to do anything differently. That is the logic of electoralism, which rests on the idea that elections are the key source of social change. This perspective orients towards elections as the path to socialism, running candidates with the goal of gaining majorities or significant minorities in representative bodies of government to then pass reforms and eventually legislate in socialism.

    If socialism is full democracy—everyday people in control of social forces that shape our lives—then movements that attempt to introduce socialism on our behalf could succeed in providing reforms but inevitably will not be socialism.

    Electoralism is a political error distinct from electoral strategy itself. Socialists should contest the electoral arena. Engaging in electoral competition can be a way to measure the independent capacities of workers and social movements to fight for themselves. This is how participating in elections can build power, promote socialist ideas and lead to formation of a party that can champion demands of social movements and present an alternative to the two capitalist parties.

    The lack of critical post-election assessments has meant that DSA is slipping deeper into a default electoralist practice without interrogating this slide. When Sanders conceded to Biden in early April, questions of why he lost the Democratic primary twice and what has or has not been built through DSA’s all-in for Bernie strategy were left unexplored. Many DSA members and the Left more broadly believe that Sanders almost took over the Democratic Party.

    There is not a lot of talk about a “dirty break” on the socialist Left anymore. Instead, there has been a doubling down on arguments that the strategic priority should be electoral and that working class gains will be won by struggling within the Democratic Party and the U.S. state. This tendency existed in the DSA before the elections, but it seems to have deepened.

    Many DSA calls and statements will end with “and we need our own party,” but it remains to be seen how that is going to influence our strategic priorities as we face a Biden administration.

    How do we win?

    DSA is the largest socialist organization in the U.S. with around 85,000 members. What are all of those members going to do? In the coming months, we must continue to discuss and debate how we are going to act differently in these new conditions.

    Given the “socialism is winning” assessment, we can anticipate that some DSA members will argue for a focus on supporting and running socialist candidates. Mobilizing people as voters can be a part of a broader strategy, but if it becomes the primary goal of our organizing we risk falling into an electoralism that will not deliver working class power.

    If we are not yet closer to defunding the police or winning reforms like Medicare for All, we need to reorient our strategic focus. The electoral arena is important, but workplaces, neighborhoods, and the streets are the primary and decisive arenas of class struggle, the spaces where workers and oppressed people can start to feel their own power.

    These spaces have not been stagnant or quiet. This summer we saw the largest movement in U.S. history win swift, unprecedented reforms and change the entire conversation about racism and police violence. This past April, we saw a labor uprising against unsafe working conditions in hospitals and warehouses. In August, professional athletes went on strike against racism, raising the prospect of a general strike for Black lives.

    We need to assess these movements and what they mean for how we can win reforms. There is a risk that “defund the police” will be turned into a legislative demand that revolves around electing better city council representatives. Yet, this summer’s rebellion showed that disruptive—often illegal—struggle from below is key to winning.

    We need to throw ourselves into struggles to defund the police, to protect essential workers, to defend tenants from evictions, and to build anti-fascist coalitions.

    Even though socialism is not yet winning, socialism can win.

    First published by Tempest.

  • Teachers unions and the pandemic: Fighting for life and facing neoliberalism’s new bipartisan push

    Teachers unions and the pandemic: Fighting for life and facing neoliberalism’s new bipartisan push

    Randi Weingarten: Always thought we could reopen schools with ‘safeguards’

    (Editor’s note: Shortly after this piece appeared, Biden selected Miguel Cardona to be  Secretary of Education.  Weiner’s analysis of what the movement can expect and demand from Cardona can be found here.)

    Teachers’ activism since the pandemic began has focused on COVID-19’s deadly dangers, for all who use and work in schools. The GOP, Trump, and DeVos, once champions of online learning, in charter schools, suddenly reversed themselves, demanding face-to-face instruction everywhere, a stance that paralleled Trumpism’s disavowal of scientific evidence for how to save lives being lost to COVID-19.  The most comprehensive movement for school safety and economic and racial justice among teacher union activists, demanding “safe, quality, equitable” schools,  has been navigating the complex, often contradictory needs of students, parents, and teachers.  Still,  as one Black teachers union president with deep personal roots in his low-income, BIPOC community told me,  all of the options in school reopenings are harmful for some children, especially those who are most vulnerable because of historic social, political, and economic realities.

    Some children and parents are in desperate need of provisions for safe face-to-face instruction; for some reducing the risk of contagion is literally a matter of life and death; other families are taking remote learning in stride, especially if they have resources to set up private “pods”;  many students find remote instruction, especially when it is carried out poorly, unmitigated drudgery – they need the social interactions with friends and teachers in school; parents who care deeply about their children’s academic success may lack the knowledge, skills, time, or energy to supervise online work. Hence even democratic unions committed to social justice have been squeezed to choose among options that fail to serve students well,  for different reasons.  Facing challenges of teaching remotely, returning to school buildings that are not safe, or both,  teachers are exhausted beyond what they thought possible,  bashed for expressing, let alone acting on their right to work in safe environments.

    The context missed in most analyses of teachers’ responses to the pandemic is how AFT and NEA, as well as the state affiliates in thrall to the national unions, undermined local struggles by failing to mobilize members nationally last Spring, when it was clear the pandemic would not disappear. NEA and AFT needed to fight for what one education policy analyst has noted as the missing “widespread and significant” federal money and support  for equitable re-openings.  Public schools, especially those with the highest concentrations of low-income BIPOC children, needed what affluent private schools (and mostly white, wealthy suburban school districts) provided their teachers and students: practical high-quality professional development in how to shift to online instruction; serious investment to make school buildings safe environments; mechanisms for parents, students, and teachers to identify resources they needed to succeed, like counselors, social workers, and nurses  – and those they don’t, like police and metal detectors.  In the absence of national mobilization by the NEA and AFT, for example organizing for a one day “sick out” before reopenings,  billionaires have used their clout in both parties to exploit the pandemic for profit and power,  exacerbating pre-existing racial and economic inequality in schools.

    Even worse, NEA and AFT have helped pave the way for the newest threat to public education, intensification of privatization with education technology, in particular the widespread use of proprietary software, like Summit Learning, and the five biggest platforms, Google, Microsoft, Apple, Amazon, and Facebook, that mine student data and introduce chilling forms of surveillance that deepen the school-to-prison pipeline.  Many of the dire warnings about increased racial and economic educational inequality from the pandemic come from sources funded by ed tech moguls and advocate seemingly objective solutions that, in fact, deepen (unregulated) data collection throughout the social services and public health, in “private/public” partnerships – the code for privatization.  One need only do a fast check the sources of funding for technology “freebies” schools promote to grasp the extent big, dark money permeates the curriculum already. The pandemic has been a dream come true for the alliance of capitalist elites in Silicon Valley and Wall Street.

    Silicon Valley, Wall Street, and the New Bipartisan Neoliberal Project in Education 

    “Teachers unions should be all over this,” researcher Ben Williamson has observed, sounding an alarm about the dangerous ascendancy of vendor corporations, tech industry trade associations, venture capitalists, and venture philanthropists  determining the future of education.  Yet, or the past six years, AFT and NEA have collaborated in what one teacher-blogger descried as a betrayal of the profession and students, joining ed tech moguls in embracing edu tech’s project of “personalized learning” and “social and emotional development,” which hijacks rhetoric of progressive education to mine student data, replacing rubrics ed tech corporations develop with assessments teachers develop based on their observations of students’ real needs.  Most recently AFT and NEA  unions have partnered with tech billionaires and the foundations they fund in “Education Reimagined.”  Unbeknownst to most union activists, the  pandemic recovery CARES act, praised uncritically by NEA and AFT, pushes money away “bricks and mortar” schools for “distance learning” software controlled by corporations. What has been called “platform capitalism” is colonizing education,  tapping networks of finance, media, and policy to pursue billionaires’ vision about the future of education and the economy, disempowering those who rely on – and should control – public schools.  New York Governor Cuomo’s  invitation to Bill Gates to “reimagine” public education in New York – without schools – shows the tentacles of the project, in ways only a small group of  parents and teachers noticed until recently.

    Liberal media  and pundits have encouraged expectations  Biden will reverse Trump’s educational policies,  pointing to progressive promises, including increased education spending, opposition to Trump/DeVos regulations on sexual harassment, a pledge to name an educator as Secretary of Education, with NEA or AFT presidents names floated, as well as Biden’s support for labor reform. Biden will reverse the most egregious of Trump/DeVos policies, especially those related to the Trumpism’s  allegiance to social conservativism, like funding religious schools, and he may well endorse tighter regulations on for-profit schools. But he will not reverse the inroads of charter schools, privatization of services, and data collection, including the use of standardized tests to measure school and student learning. The footprint of Biden’s education policies is demonstrated by his appointees. At the same time Biden will resurrect a new, even more damaging version of the bipartisan project in education that began with Bush and was pushed by Clinton and Obama. One chilling portent is Biden’s tapping Neera Tanden for a key role in his administration. Tanden helped create the  of the Clinton/Podesta Center for American Progress (CAP), which has issued a report, not only endorsing the Trump administration’s refusal to grant waivers for standardized testing during the pandemic , but asserting the need for even more testing.  CAP’s recommendation is especially noteworthy because even much of the Right concedes standardized testing has failed to improve educational outcomes and equalize educational opportunity.

    Biden assumes the presidency in a political environment upended by Trumpism on the right and the emergence of an energetic socialist left. Biden can’t resurrect the bipartisan project as it was, nor does the capitalist elite want an identical replication: The pandemic has created new opportunities for profit and control. Biden will endorse the old normal Obama handed to Trump, but he will also push profiteering and control of education through technology, a project supported by both Democrats and the GOP from the start of Trump’s administration. Only one Trump nominee for the Department of Education, Scott Strump, assistant secretary for career, technical, and adult education, was approved by the GOP, all the Democrats, and even Bernie Sanders. Strump’s background in “workforce development and education” captures the program we should be prepared to fight under Biden: Improving the economy and workers’ access to good jobs through online learning, especially vocationalizing community colleges, with business titans determining what workers – and students – need to know.

    A rosy report issued by a project at MIT on technology, work, and education, funded by a “who’s who” of Wall Street and Silicon Valley, including JP Morgan Chase, and Google, along with liberal foundations, like the Ford Foundation, and labor officials, lays out the new bipartisan plan for education and the economy: Workers needn’t worry about unemployment if we use educational technology “to link skills training to business demand.”  However, as did the Obama administration’s (now) discredited claim about education being the one true path out of poverty, the new bipartisan push denies staggering levels of unemployment, enormously heightened in the pandemic. This economic reality will not, cannot be changed with education, not even the kind of workforce education we would want to see, when unions develop apprenticeship programs that end with jobs that promote a sustainable planet.  Education cannot substitute for government programs that create jobs, programs Biden, the Democratic Party, and too much of labor officialdom, including the AFT,  reject, like the Green New Deal and Medicare for All.

    Embracing this new bipartisan project, as AFT and NEA did when they pushed standardized testing and teachers’ pay and performance evaluated by student test scores as a way to end inequality in education, will alienate and anger classroom teachers experiencing a further erosion to their professional autonomy and working conditions.  Pleading with Biden to live up to his campaign promises misses what’s needed – organizing for the threat we actually face – from his administration. When reformers argue “Government at all levels has given billions to corporations in the name of recovery. School communities require the same investment”  they implicitly cede territory we need to reclaim, allowing the government to give handouts to the corporations as long as schools get their share.  The movement’s demands to end segregation and equalize educational outcomes are essential and to be realized need to be fused with exposing and ending the deterioration in teaching conditions that have occurred in the pandemic, conditions that cannot be separated from the privatization that has already  occurred and is being intensified.

    Rewriting  the history of the national teachers unions to make them appear militant may make the unions more palatable to liberals who want to support public education but are worried about how to navigate conflicts with communities of color. However, white washing the national and city unions tragic confrontations over race and racism during the 1970s, especially in New York City, and ignoring the leadership of rank and file activists, many of whom came from social movements and had to deal with betrayals of their state unions in the “red state” walkouts, reveals  the AFT and NEA have learned nothing substantive from their mistakes.

    What should union reformers be doing now? The British Columbia Teachers’ Federation (BCTF) provides a model again, as it did for the Caucus of Rank and File Educators in the Chicago Teachers Union, in organizing to roll back and stop privatization and corporate control of schools. Long a model of defending both social justice and rank and file activism with robust democracy, the BCTF has addressed its government’s attempts to impose the new, global iteration of the neoliberal project by tapping members’ insights and dissatisfactions about their work (and students’ learning), connecting critical research  about capitalism’s newest global project for school and work with knowledge of what teachers need to better serve students.  The synergy of members’ knowledge and needs is combined with insights from research about the international picture and alliances with longtime allies and new advocacy groups about students’ rights to privacy and data mining. This potent combination drives the BCTF’s organizing and its resistance to imposition of reforms from powerful elites and the world financial organizations they control.

    One savvy activist reading an earlier version of this article asked me “Why is the issue of educational technology so vital now, with all else that is going on?”  The answer is timing. Trump’s brutal administration intensified privatization but it also disrupted the bipartisanship that fueled the neoliberal project in educational policy through three presidencies. We have a small window to organize against what Biden will do, against the project already taking form, a project  both unions are supporting. Union activists embroiled in battles on their home turf to keep people physically safe have been overwhelmed, fighting for the adoption of online learning but blindsided by the ways they are simultaneously enabling our enemies’ newest push.

    We need to seize this moment to demand new, stringent regulation and control over the project ed tech corporations and moguls have already started, under our noses. Teachers need to educate, agitate, and organize on this issue, as they have done so courageously in the past decade, to protect public education, despite the misleadership of AFT and NEA.

    ###

     This article is adapted from research I have done for a book chapter to be published in late 2021.  New Politics provides this website for timely, informed, left analysis you often won’t find outside of academic publications. Help us to continue this by subscribing or donating – or both.

  • Workers Will Have to Fight to Make Gains Under Biden Presidency

    Workers Will Have to Fight to Make Gains Under Biden Presidency

    This article was written for L’Anticapitaliste, the weekly newspaper of the New Anticapitalist Party (NPA) of France. 

    President-elect Joseph Biden has promised to check corporate power, to encourage unionization and collective bargaining, and to insure that workers are treated with dignity and receive the pay, benefits, and workplace protections they deserve. If he were to do so it would represent a dramatic change from previous Democratic presidents, from Jimmy Carter to Bill Clinton to Barack Obama, who have all failed to keep those same promises.

    For forty years corporations have waged war against the working class and the U.S. government has consistently failed to defend country’s laboring men and women. Consequently only 10.3 percent of all workers (14.6 million) are union members, down from 35 percent in the 1950s. In the private sector the rate is only 6.2 percent, though it is 33 percent in the public sector. Strikes of 1,000 or more workers have generally declined, from three or four hundred from the 1950s to the 1970s, to just 25 this last year, though that was the largest number in a decade.

    Since the coronavirus pandemic began, tens of millions have lost their jobs, with at least 20 million unemployed at present. Government and employer responses to the virus have provoked a series of small strikes and protests. Nurses, teachers, and transportation workers have been leading the fight. But labor unions have mostly been on the defensive with no unified strategy except to put their hopes in electing Biden and more Democrats to Congress.

    While he has filled a number of cabinet posts, Biden has not yet picked a Secretary of Labor. AFL-CIO President Richard Trumka favor Boston Mayor Marty Walsh, who was previously the head of the city’s Building and Construction Trades Council, the most conservative group of union members, mostly white men, many of whom supported President Donald Trump. Public employees and service employees, who are largely Black, Latino, and female, are not happy with that choice. Some unions want Biden to pick Congressman Andy Levin of Michigan, scion of a liberal political family who worked closely with unions. Biden could also choose California’s Secretary of Labor Julie Shu, the daughter of Chinese immigrants. Biden’s cabinet picks are already ethnically and racially diverse and so he could choose Walsh or Levin, both of whom are white men.

    Historically, workers made gains economically and politically during periods of labor upheaval. When workers used their power to strike, they were able to force employers and governments to make concessions. This was the case in the 1930s when millions of stevedores, miners, autoworkers, steelworkers, electrical workers and many others created powerful industrial unions. Similarly in the 1960s public employees such as teachers and social workers engaged in illegal strikes for union recognition and brought most government workers into the labor movement. Still, looking back, it is clear that, though the Great Depression of that era began in 1929, workers did not begin to fight back until 1934 and did not make major gains until a few years later. So workers today may need five or even ten years to build a powerful labor movement.

    In the 1930s, the Communists, Socialists, and Trotskyists played important roles in leading the most militant strikes of that era that created the new unions. Today the Democratic Socialists of America is engaged in several labor organizing projects involving nurses, teachers, social workers, warehouse workers, transport workers, restaurant workers and others. Some of DSA’s labor activists have a rank-and-file orientation, while others work with progressive union officials or staff. During the next few years DSA and other left groups will have to develop the strategies and tactics that can help workers to rebuild their power in the workplace and society. Organizing workers today raises new challenges, as many have precarious jobs and large numbers are undocumented immigrants. Our work is cut out for us.

     

     

     

     

  • As Biden Restores A Malignant “Normalcy,” It’s High Time The Left Declared Its Independence From The Democrats

    As Biden Restores A Malignant “Normalcy,” It’s High Time The Left Declared Its Independence From The Democrats

    [Editors’ note: We are posting two articles on the 2020 U.S. presidential election from the forthcoming Winter 2021 issue of New Politics. Subscribe now to get first access, in print or digitally, to the rest of the issue with original analysis of American politics, the crisis and resistance in global capitalism, the Left in Latin America, Belarus, union democracy, community schools, the ecological situation in China, and much more.]

    [This article will appear in the Winter 2021 print edition of New Politics under the title, “Biden Replaces Trump: A Malignant ‘Normalcy’ is Restored” We re-post it on the website with a new title that highlights its arguments for making a “clean break” with the Democrats and building a new party and movement of the left in the immediate, not the distant, future. We invite responses.]

    The defeat of Donald Trump came as a deliverance to millions of Americans after four years of political hell. It was greeted by mass spontaneous outbursts of joy and relief. Ridding ourselves of a uniquely malicious and bizarre president is reason to celebrate, but I argue that it is misleading to see the election as a victory of democracy over authoritarianism. Biden’s win is the triumph not of democracy but of an oligarchic status quo, itself an increasingly authoritarian system. And I suggest that the conclusions to be drawn from the election point toward a different perspective going forward for the left.

    Even though Biden won by more than six million votes, the 2020 election, Naomi Klein observed, “should have been a repeat of Herbert Hoover’s loss in 1932. We are in the grips of a pandemic, a desperate economic depression, and Trump has done absolutely everything wrong” (The Guardian, Nov. 8, 2020). In those working-class rust belt counties in the Midwest where Biden won, his margin of victory was razor thin, and nationally Trump won the votes of 40 percent of union members. He did manage to take Ohio and came close to winning Pennsylvania, Wisconsin, and Michigan. Exit polls showed that a plurality of voters saw the economy as the main issue; Trump won 82 percent of this group. Biden made the election a referendum on Trump’s character, and especially on his handling of the pandemic, but without offering a plan to sustain incomes and small businesses until COVID is defeated. Workers felt forced to choose between risking their health or facing economic disaster, which is one reason so many of them voted for the incumbent, who constantly called for “opening up” the economy. Biden’s vague, minimalist, cliché-filled campaign—promising to “heal the soul of the nation” (code for bipartisanship)—inspired little enthusiasm. The Democratic platform actually referred to housing as a right and promised “fundamental reforms” to address “structural and systemic racism” and “entrenched income inequality.” Biden scarcely even mentioned them in the campaign, and it is safe to predict that an austerity-minded administration and mainstream Democrats in Congress will do virtually nothing to fulfill these promises.

    The threat of a coup, not totally baseless but wildly exaggerated, was emphasized by liberal pundits—but also by a great many leftists—to frighten voters into turning out for Biden. Aside from a few instances, far-right thugs did not disrupt voting. More serious were the threats to mail-in balloting. Under Trump’s Postmaster General Louis DeJoy, postal delivery was slowed down and mail sorting machines were removed or destroyed. Republican governors and state legislatures have made determined efforts in recent years to suppress voting numbers in minority neighborhoods, for example by closing polling places and purging voter lists, but these were not enough to alter the result. Now, however, millions of Trump supporters believe they have been the victims of a gigantic fraud, and this has ominous implication for politics in the coming period.

    Trumpism Marches On

    Trump may be out of office, but Trumpism—white nationalism, misogyny, conspiracism and paranoia, murderous hatred of “socialism,” and longing for a dictator—will be a powerful force after Biden takes office. A huge mass of right-wingers has always existed in the United States, of course, but in recent years, despair caused by the extreme deprivations of neoliberalism has galvanized them like never before, and since 2016 Trump has provided an icon around which they have rallied and proliferated. Trump himself, even assuming he continues to exert cult-like dominance over these forces, has no consistent ideology, let alone the totalist ideology of a fascist leader. Indeed he lacks the intellectual ability, or the mental discipline, to formulate a coherent program. In the absence of an ideology, Trump’s worshipful followers identify passionately with him personally and with his narrative: that America was once “great,” when white men exercised unchallenged dominance, and that only he, as a strongman and a “very stable genius,” has the power to “Make America Great Again.” The psychiatrist Robert Jay Lifton prefers the term “solipsism” rather than “narcissism” to describe Trump’s psychology. He defines solipsism as “a cognitive process of interpreting the world exclusively through the experience and needs of the self” (Robert Jay Lifton, “The Assault on Reality,” Dissent, April 10, 2018).

    The malevolent forces that identified with Trump’s solipsistic reality constitute, in Lifton’s words, “a major segment of our society [that] ignores or defies the principles of reason, evidence, and shared knowledge that are required for the function of a democracy.” The elections were rigged, they insist, the pandemic is a hoax, leading Democrats are running a massive ring of Satanist pedophiles devoted to the abduction, trafficking, torture, sexual abuse, and cannibalizing of children.

    A significant part of Trump’s following are Christian nationalists who consider him to be another King Cyrus, the Persian ruler who, though a pagan, acted as an instrument of God’s will when he freed the Jews from Babylonian captivity, according to the Book of Isaiah. Trump too, is a sort of pagan, hardly a proper Christian in any case, but God works in mysterious ways, and he has chosen a powerful instrument to rescue his people from the wicked and ungodly, with their abortions, homosexuality, feminism, and so on. Christian nationalists are thoroughly patriarchal and authoritarian, and they long for Trump to be an autocrat, like King Cyrus.

    This gift from God is, of course, utterly amoral. He emerged from the 1980s cesspool of New York City’s leading politicians, gangsters, and business people, especially real estate developers, most of them habitués of the disco Studio 54. (Frank Rich, “The Original Donald Trump,” New York, April 30-May 13, 2018, is a superb description of this slimy milieu.) It was a bipartisan but overwhelmingly Democratic crowd. One of the presiding deities was the notorious lawyer and power broker Roy Cohn, former chief counsel for Joe McCarthy, Trump’s personal mentor and a creature described in Tony Kushner’s Angels in America as “the pole star of human evil.” It was from Cohn that Trump learned always when challenged to counterattack viciously and deny everything. In those days, Trump was treated as an entertaining con man—“The Donald,” as he was routinely known in the tabloid press.

    Trump is an extreme example of the authoritarian personality, obsessed with control and obedience, filled with delusions of grandeur and almost limitless pathological aggression. His self, structured around a core of malice, is an “evil self,” and he is able to attract masses of mesmerized admirers to his narratives of blame and fantasies of revenge. Biden, on the other hand, is not a frenzied demagogue. But he is nevertheless a different kind of evil self, one that fetishizes order and stability, which always take precedence over justice and humanity. If a U.S.-dominated world order requires the deaths of hundreds of thousands of Iraqis, then so be it. (For an analysis of both kinds of evil selves, see Barry Magid, “The Evil Self,” Dynamic Psychotherapy, Fall/Winter 1988. Magid’s examples are Hitler and Kissinger.)

    As long as neoliberals like Biden offer no solution to social crises and their only clear opposition is the far right, Trumpism will flourish and expand. Moreover, unless an independent left takes the field, the far right—increasingly coterminous with the Republican Party—will attract more and more working-class support. And out of the far right, the elements of outright armed fascism, as yet disorganized, amorphous, and numerically puny, will soon coalesce and take to the streets in force. Murderous white nationalist groups have already deeply infiltrated police forces around the country.

    That 72 million people voted for Trump, more than in 2016, and that he won white voters by 15 points, nearly as many as in 2016, and even made inroads among Black men and Latinx voters, are dreadful facts. But at the same time poll results show strong majority support for progressive policies like Medicare for All, heavily taxing the rich, and massive government stimulus programs. This contradictory picture is the result of the fact that the left, unlike the right, has no political party of its own to shape public opinion, no party that could decouple bigotry from hatred of the establishment and persuade voters that major reforms are achievable.

    To change public opinion, the left has mass mobilizations. Occupy Wall Street, the first wave of Black Lives Matter (BLM) protests, the Women’s March, the teachers strikes, and above all the immense upsurge following George Floyd’s murder, have enormously heightened popular consciousness of racism, sexism, inequality, and austerity. The problem, however, is that after the mobilizations flare up, they eventually die down, and politicians go back to business as usual. Protest is essential, but it is not enough. People must be able to envision a political way forward. In the absence of third-party initiatives, defunding demands, despite their popularity in certain cities, are unlikely to succeed. Even where Democratic city councils seemed to adopt major reforms in policing, as in Minneapolis, these have been quickly cancelled. To survive and grow, a third-party breakthrough would have to be buoyed by a social upsurge, but it is equally true that no social upsurge would be sustainable without an electoral breakthrough.

    In a New York Times op-ed (Oct. 21, 2019), Michelle Goldberg noted that, after 2017, “as Donald Trump’s sneering lawlessness and stupefying corruption continues to escalate, it’s confounding, to say the least, that Americans aren’t taking to the streets en masse.” Following the huge protests that were a response to the 2016 election, mass demonstrations began to fade out, even as Americans’ outrage and loathing increased. Goldberg reminded us that “Lyndon Johnson was famously tormented by protest chants that could be heard through the walls of the White House,” and she asked, “Why isn’t Trump?” Why wasn’t Trump, like LBJ, met with militant protests wherever he went?

    It was a good question. The resistance included the spontaneous demonstrations at airports against the Muslim ban and at immigration detention centers against family separation and children in cages, but mostly people seemed to accept the Democrats’ insistence that the only realistic form of resistance was “voting blue.” Then, however, seven months after Goldberg’s article, came the police killing of George Floyd and the explosion of massive multiracial protests led by BLM. An estimated 26 million people demonstrated in two thousand locations in the United States. Eventually, angry chants were discernible through the White House walls.

    Still, during most of the Trump years, the organized left, embodied mainly in Democratic Socialists of America (DSA), immersed itself in the Democratic primary process rather than building a real opposition at a time of maximum anger and disgust. It was a bad choice. Electing a handful of individuals to Congress who call themselves democratic socialists, and a somewhat larger number to state and local government, has put a few good people in office, but it has done nothing to build an independent movement. The Squad’s constituents vote for them not because they’re socialists, but because they’re more progressive Democrats than their primary opponents.

    In fact, efforts to build a strong movement against corporate neoliberalism have been hobbled by Bernie Sanders’ insider strategy. David Sirota, one of Sanders’ senior advisers in 2019, reported that he and other advisers pushed Sanders to highlight his differences with Biden. But except for some moments in Iowa and once in the last debate, on Social Security, he didn’t (“The Tyranny of Decorum Hurt Bernie Sanders’s 2020 Prospects” Jacobin, April 16, 2020). As a result, Biden never had to defend his appalling record and could harp instead on his “electability”—an argument most Democratic primary voters in the South and Midwest accepted, even when they supported key parts of Sanders’ program. Never, or hardly ever, mentioned by Sanders were Biden’s role in helping Republicans pass the Iraq War resolution and the 2005 bankruptcy bill, killing initiatives to lower the price of prescription drugs and prevent profiteering on vaccines developed at taxpayer expense, his refusal as chair of the Senate Judiciary Committee to seriously investigate sexual harassment charges by Anita Hill and other women against Clarence Thomas, his pathological lying, and more. And of course, as soon as Biden won the nomination, Sanders became a “good soldier,” suppressing all criticism in the interests of party unity.

    “Normalcy”

    Biden stands for a restoration of the pre-Trump status quo. While millions, traumatized for four seemingly endless years by a demented goblin, long for what they consider “normalcy,” it is worth remembering what “normal” conditions have been for at least the past thirty years, 16 of them under Democratic administrations: profound systemic racism, a cruel immigration policy, de facto school segregation, increasingly unaffordable housing, a brutal upward concentration of wealth, prisons full to bursting, rampant police violence, war after war, and, worst of all, a world hurtling toward climate catastrophe. On all of these issues, the Trump administration represented, to a great extent, continuity rather than rupture. For example, police killings amounted to about one thousand per year under both Obama and Trump. The Obama administration deported three million people and militarized the border. Its environmental initiatives—fuel efficiency standards, carbon taxes, tax credits for solar panels, joining the Paris Agreement—were far outweighed by a massive increase in oil and gas production and export, the expansion of fracking and offshore drilling, and the laying of tens of thousands of miles of new pipelines. Trump’s dangerous environmental policies, his vicious treatment of migrants and asylum seekers, his encouragement of police violence, all built on the Obama-Biden legacy.

    Trump’s open contempt for democracy and affinity for authoritarian leaders such as Putin, Erdogan, Modi, Duterte, Mohammed bin Salman—even at times Kim Jong-un and Xi Jinping—were shocking and sinister. But his policies did not differ radically from those of his predecessors. Even Obama supported anti-democratic coups in Egypt and Honduras and prosecuted whistleblowers under the infamous 1917 Espionage Act. For about a century, we have not seen a president who openly espoused white supremacy and promoted vigilantism. Woodrow Wilson supported the Ku Klux Klan and made no attempt to disguise his racism, but no other president between Wilson and Trump has so shamelessly exhibited outright bigotry. Trump is certainly uniquely evil, but in a certain way “abnormalizing” him, to use Samuel Moyn’s expression (“The Trouble With Comparisons,” New York Review Daily, May 19, 2020), has served to conceal the continuity of American governance, especially in recent times—and to prepare Americans to accept the return of “normal” neoliberal and imperialist brutality under Biden and Harris.

    Far from strongly opposing Trumpism, the Democrats have been its enablers. The government spending bill that sailed through Congress at the end of 2019, with the votes of 150 out of 232 Democrats, included funding for the Department of Homeland Security and the border wall, with no restriction on the migrant detention policy. At least the bill’s Democratic supporters could use the excuse that it was a budget that contained necessary items and that passing it was the only alternative to another government shutdown. But there could be no extenuating circumstances to justify Democrats’ support for colossal military spending. Trump’s record-breaking military budget—with Congress actually allocating more than he had asked for—was passed in 2019 with the votes of 180 House Democrats, while in the Senate only four Democrats voted against it, as did an equal number of Republicans.

    Democrats objected to Trump not because he’s an imperialist, but because he’s an extraordinarily amateurish and unstable imperialist, one who acts with mindless abandon and dispenses with the ideological niceties. The Democrats and the foreign policy establishment clashed with Trump over multilateral agreements on trade and the environment, relations with NATO, and his withdrawal of troops from Syria. But since World War II, the U.S. empire itself has been a touchstone of bipartisanship. No Democratic leader would consider dismantling it. On this question, there is no disagreement between the two parties: The United States must continue to be the dominant superpower, policing the world allegedly in the interest of order and stability, but actually on behalf of a cruel status quo that condemns billions to misery and early death. Its monstrous military establishment must continue to be funded lavishly, at the expense of social programs.

    On foreign policy, even Bernie Sanders’ record in Congress has been highly equivocal. He supported the congressional resolution giving George W. Bush a blank check to wage war in the aftermath of 9/11. He voted in favor of appropriation bills to finance the U.S. occupation of Afghanistan and Iraq. In 2006, Sanders voted for a House resolution giving support to Israel’s war on Lebanon and also to impose sanctions on the Palestinian Authority.

    As for Biden, he has made it clear that his foreign policy will be another exercise in “normalcy”—restoring the global power that this country has exercised since World War II, winning back the respect of U.S. allies that Trump alienated—as well as getting tough on China and thus initiating a new Cold War.

    And it is important to recall the foreign policy crimes of the pre-Trump era, among them the invasion and devastation of Afghanistan and Iraq; wars in Serbia, Libya, and Yemen; the program of “rendition” (kidnapping) and torture; Guantanamo and Bagram; the slaughter of thousands of innocents by drones and fighter jets. None of the crimes committed by Trump outside U.S. borders were worse than these “normal” offenses. In fact, it can be argued that the violence and lawlessness of Bush and Obama were actually worse.

    Biden has promised to reestablish Washington’s “global leadership,” a euphemism for imperial hegemony. Neocon veterans of the Bush-Cheney years, Eliot Cohen and Eric Edelman, have predicted that Biden will be hawkish on Iran. And if the Democrats take control of the Senate, the majority leader will be Chuck Schumer, who opposed the Iran deal. Cohen says that he and Edelman feel “very comfortable” with Biden’s commitment to Israel (Mondoweiss, Oct. 29, 2020). This too is what is meant by returning to “normal.”

    The Democrats Are Unchangeable

    Speaking on “Democracy Now” (April 10, 2020), Noam Chomsky said, “With a Biden presidency, there would be, if not a strongly sympathetic administration, at least one that can be reached, can be pressured. …  Biden [is] … kind of a pretty empty—you can push him one way or another.” The idea of Biden as a sort of empty vessel is not credible. He is a thoroughly corporate creature whose whole career has been bankrolled by the credit card industry and by other major companies chartered in Delaware, like DuPont. Wall Street knew what it was doing when it heavily backed his presidential campaign. In a remark that distills the essence of Biden’s politics, he promised his wealthy funders that nothing would change for them under his presidency.

    A hardened neoliberal and ardent supporter of U.S. global power, deeply embedded among the ruling elites, whose interests he has spent a lifetime serving, can he nonetheless be pushed to initiate programs that at least go part way toward addressing the alarming crises now upon us? Confronted by massive pressure from below, comparable to the social unrest and the industrial union movement of the 1930s and to the Civil Rights Movement, ghetto uprisings, and anti-war demonstrations of the 1960s, or by another social explosion like the one that occurred in the spring and summer of 2020, Biden might be forced to make concessions. But we should not count on it. As a lifelong partisan of austerity and deficit reduction, he would have to do a complete about-face to support the massive public investment and income support needed to address the economic crisis.

    And even if Biden is pushed by mass upheaval to support programs that are outside his neoliberal comfort zone, they will be as stingy and as nonthreatening to the profit system as possible. These are desperate times, and they call for radical measures. Medicare for All is the only rational, humane way to deal with COVID and inevitable future pandemics. But in the unlikely event that Congress passes Medicare for All—unlikely because the overwhelming majority of Democratic members of Congress are themselves committed to preserving the private insurance industry—Biden has promised to veto it. In the first debate, he forthrightly declared, “I support private insurance.” But worse than that, he has even distanced himself from a universally available public option, which is itself a conservative substitute for Medicare for All, designed to preserve the employer-based health insurance system. Massive unemployment in the current and deepening depression has already left millions without the private health insurance that came with their jobs and will do the same to millions more. Biden’s idea of a “public option” is limited to low-income Americans who qualify for Medicaid but live in the 14 Republican-controlled states that have refused to accept the expansion of Medicaid coverage passed by Congress in 2019. So Biden’s paltry public option would still exclude the vast majority.

    During the primaries, almost all the Democratic contenders paid lip service to some version of a “Green New Deal” (after Nancy Pelosi sneeringly dismissed it as the “green dream or whatever they call it”). But only Sanders defined it as a comprehensive anti-corporate plan to stop fossil fuel production and promote renewable energy and mass transit, with job guarantees so that workers are not forced to choose between environmentally destructive jobs in coal, oil, fracking, and so on—and unemployment. In view of what is at stake—the UN Climate Report gives us only ten years to make the changes that may prevent ecological catastrophe—the planet’s survival depends on a bold, radical program.

    For Sanders and the Squad, a stubborn commitment to working within the Democratic Party and the concomitant pressure to get along with the Democratic leadership constantly undermines their effectiveness in challenging the neoliberal center. When right after entering the House, Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez joined a sit-in by the Sunrise Movement in Nancy Pelosi’s office, Pelosi’s chief of staff declared, “We support every single thing they’re protesting us for.” AOC responded, “That is absolutely true. … What this just needs to do is create a momentum and an energy to make sure it becomes a priority for leadership.” The idea that establishment Democrats actually support radical reforms but simply refuse to prioritize them is false and disorients the left. Sanders, after losing his campaign for the nomination, not only supported Biden as the only alternative to Trump, but predicted that Biden will be the “most progressive president since FDR.” Once Biden reemphasized his opposition to Sanders’ main policy proposals—Medicare for All, the Green New Deal, defunding the police—Sanders was forced to shift from making ridiculous prophecies to pleading with left-wing Democrats to “make sure Biden becomes the most progressive president.” The former vice president was urged to move left in order to “make a stronger outreach to young people, the Latino community, and the progressive movement” as a means of strengthening his campaign—advice that, it goes without saying, Biden firmly rejected.

    Even after the enormous and inspiring Sanders insurgency, the Democratic Party remains largely unchanged. Pelosi, Schumer, and now Biden are still firmly in charge. As a result of the efforts of Justice Democrats and Our Revolution—organizations launched by leaders of the Sanders campaign and dedicated to transforming the Democratic Party and electing progressive Democrats to office—the party’s left wing has grown slightly. It is a small but significant presence in a few state legislatures and city councils, especially Chicago’s. But at the national level the Democratic Party’s left is still minuscule, marginalized, and powerless, despite AOC’s media publicity. There are only ten House members who were endorsed by Justice Democrats. The 60 seconds given to Ocasio-Cortez at the Democratic National Convention, combined with the attention lavished on Republican speakers, showed how committed the party leadership is to centrism and compromise, without any real concessions to the left. In the House, the largest ideological group by far calls itself the New Democrat Coalition, with about half the members of the Democratic caucus. Founded in 1997 as an affiliate of the pro-business Democratic Leadership Council, its priorities are “economic growth” and “fiscal responsibility.” In an op-ed devoted to the New Democrat Coalition, entitled “No, the Democrats Haven’t Gone Over the Edge” (New York Times, Sept. 17, 2020), conservative columnist David Brooks assured his readers that the party contains “a large, strong center that will keep it in the political mainstream.”

    A New Party: Now Is the Time

    What if Sanders had chosen to run an independent campaign in 2016? Of course, he would have won far fewer votes. But his votes as an independent would still have numbered in the millions, and he might at least have begun a left electoral alternative to the Democrats. Had Sanders and his supporters broken in 2016, we might have seen the birth of a combative third party, leading mass demonstrations, protesting and disrupting the atrocities of ICE and the Border Patrol—a real opposition instead of the passive and ineffectual “resistance” of the Democrats. And indeed, the Democrats, faced with a rival on their left flank, would have felt real pressure to stand up more decisively to Trump.

    Canvassing for Sanders and other Democratic candidates by DSA and others on the left has diverted energy and resources that could have been used to build a powerful mass movement of protest and disruption aimed at Trump and the Republicans—and also at their Democratic abettors. And running candidates in Democratic primaries continues to reinforce loyalty to the Democratic Party and to the established prejudice that the Democrats are the only viable alternative to the right.

    If the organized left is to lead a response both to the new administration and to an increasingly authoritarian and right-wing Republican Party, as well as to fascists, then socialists, especially the reported 85,000 members of DSA, could play a key role. Optimally, building a third party of the left should become DSA’s top priority. Now that Trump has been defeated, and there is less of a perceived imperative to rally behind the Democrats as the only bulwark against the right, it may be possible to convince many socialists to become third-party advocates and builders.

    While most of the caucuses in DSA claim to be in favor of an independent workers party eventually, that prospect keeps being deferred to an ever more distant future. And meanwhile, most of the organization is steadily sucked into the Democratic Party, becoming just another part of its powerless left wing—recreating the old realignment program of DSA’s earlier incarnation, in which socialists saw themselves frankly as junior, subordinate partners in coalition with liberals. Among the broad left, most of the current discussion is about how to improve work within the Democratic Party, mainly by persuading the “centrist” leadership that they can win with a progressive program (“centrism” is itself a cozy-sounding misnomer, suggesting moderation and caution, instead of mainline Democrats’ steely corporate neoliberalism).

    Until recently, the most influential perspective within DSA has been the “dirty break,” first laid out by Seth Ackerman’s “Blueprint for a New Party,” published in 2016 in Jacobin. Ackerman called for DSA to start building a pre-party within the existing Democratic Party, essentially a new party but without a ballot line. “Rather than yet another suicidal frontal assault,” he argued, “we need to mount the electoral equivalent of a guerilla insurgency.” Rightly deploring the strategy of working to elect individual progressives who create a base rather than a structure to which they’re accountable, Ackerman envisioned a national organization with chapters at the state and local level, a binding program and electoral candidates chosen by the membership. Its members and candidates would refrain from promoting the Democratic Party or taking posts in its apparatus and explicitly renounce the goal of reforming the party. They would refuse to endorse centrist Democrats. And all this while continuing to contest Democratic primaries and running as Democrats in general elections.

    How such an organization could persuade voters to support its candidates on the Democratic ballot line while totally repudiating the Democratic Party remained an unresolved contradiction, however. And, as argued below, the goal of a mass socialist rather than a broader radical party is unrealistic under current circumstances. In any case, as the dominant politics within DSA moves away from the dirty break perspective toward a de facto realignment position, there are so far no signs that this pre-party will materialize. Instead, the dirty break has become a cover for indefinitely continuing to function as a left-wing pressure group within the Democratic Party. DSA strongly identifies with candidates and elected officials who explicitly or tacitly support realignment—a better name for it would be “boring from within”—and reject any kind of break, clean or dirty.

    What about the Greens? Howie Hawkins and Angela Walker ran an honorable ecosocialist campaign, and their message of independence from the Democrats was loud and clear. I was proud to vote for them, but I knew it was a protest vote and nothing more. Dirty tricks by the Democrats kept the Green Party off the ballot in many states, but even without such maneuvers, the panic and loathing inspired by Trump would have driven most potential Green voters into the Biden camp. More importantly for the immediate future, it is highly unlikely that the Green Party has the potential simply to grow, through slow accretion and without significant institutional support, into the mass party that we need, one that can really contend for power on a national scale. To bring that into being, there must be a political campaign within the labor movement and within BLM and the environmentalist, women’s, civil rights, and LGBTQ movements. Out of these movements can come the needed critical mass. Labor in particular can contribute serious numbers and resources.

    But I want to argue that we should not wait for this fight to begin. Large numbers of progressives will break from the Democrats only when there is already a new party, standing for a clean break and much bigger than the Greens, for them to gravitate toward. It is the job of those who understand that operating within the Democratic Party is a dead end, and who have abandoned lesser-evilism, to start building that new party now.

    Launching a new party would not require massive forces. A little over 50 years ago, a remarkably successful attempt was made by a few hundred radicals in California. A small minority within the Community for New Politics—a semi-independent group spawned by the anti-war congressional campaign of Democrat Robert Scheer—led by members of the Independent Socialist Clubs, re-registered 105,000 voters, almost twice as many as the law required, into a new Peace and Freedom Party (PFP). PFP was organized around a program of immediate withdrawal from Vietnam and support for the Black Liberation movement. Soon after PFP qualified for ballot status in January 1968, however, the entry of Eugene McCarthy and Robert Kennedy into the race for the Democratic presidential nomination heavily dampened the growing enthusiasm for a new party and drew most third-party supporters back to the Democrats. Already, the year before, chances for a strong anti-war ticket had been dashed when Martin Luther King Jr. and noted pediatrician Benjamin Spock turned down a growing movement to have them run for president and vice president, although both had seriously considered it. Still, when the nomination of the pro-war Hubert Humphrey at the Democratic National Convention drove masses of McCarthy and Kennedy supporters right back out, PFP might yet have attracted larger numbers of disaffected Democrats had it made itself into an organizing center for a radical left with broad appeal. Instead, PFP made the mistake of nominating Black Panther Party leader Eldridge Cleaver, who preferred an alliance with the Youth International Party, known as Yippies, and their leader Jerry Rubin, who was addicted to pranks and street theater. Their campaign was an unappealing combination of ultra-revolutionary rhetoric and farce—Election Day was proclaimed “erection day.” So it was not independent political action itself, but the particular form it took that doomed third-party efforts in 1968.

    The base for a new party already exists: disillusioned Sanders, and even many Warren, supporters (more than 12 million voted for Sanders and Warren), BLM demonstrators, militant teachers and health care workers. Opportunities would seem to be especially promising in the cities, in most of which Democratic rule has been palpably dysfunctional yet unchallenged from the left, where mayors and city councils flagrantly promote the interests of finance and real estate. Suffering from massive poverty, exorbitant housing costs, and decaying social services, most non-elite urban voters tend to be deeply alienated from local political contests. Turnout in New York City was only 24 percent in 2013, when de Blasio was first elected mayor. There is thus good reason to believe in the potential for mass mobilization around a program of large-scale direct investment in housing, education, health care, and job creation through public works, financed by steep taxes on wealth—even though there are severe legal limits on the power of municipal governments to implement such policies. One area where cities do have the authority to make major changes is police funding. A third-party-led campaign to defund police departments should have particular resonance in Democratic-run cities, such as Chicago, Minneapolis, New York, Seattle, and many others, that have witnessed extreme police brutality.

    A new party must appeal to the widest constituency with a broad radical program. A great many on the left have an unrealistic idea of the extent to which Americans today embrace socialism. Certainly, polls show there are far more who consider themselves socialists or “approve” of socialism than at any time since the 1930s. DSA is now, perhaps, large enough to form a democratic socialist party—but not as an alternative to a broader, radical, workers or people’s party. What most Americans understand by “socialism” is essentially a revived New Deal-style left liberalism, as championed by Bernie Sanders, but this represents today a sharp challenge to the capitalist system. Most of those who could be attracted to an independent party of the left are just beginning to reject establishment politics and are not yet prepared to identify themselves as socialists. But they can be won to a fight for radical reforms, such as the Green New Deal; in the course of those fights we should have confidence that they will learn that capitalism as a social system is the enemy and must be destroyed root and branch.

    Because Trump-style right-wing populism has succeeded in posing as an alternative to the status quo, it can be countered only by a genuine, radical-democratic alternative, one that attacks capitalists rather than people of color, immigrants, and queer folk. The bulk of a new party’s supporters would undoubtedly come from the Democrats’ voting base, but it will be necessary—and possible—to attract many workers and nonvoters who are currently pro-Trump. An anti-corporate, anti-elite political movement has the potential to win workers and others away from their racism and xenophobia by engaging them in common struggle with immigrants and people of color against the oligarchy that oppresses all of them.

    There was always an independent logic implicit in the Sanders campaign, and now it has to be made explicit. However, a broad left party would have to be organized in an entirely different way. The Sanders “movement” was never an authentic movement, but rather a traditional electoral campaign, albeit one with a huge base of active, enthusiastic supporters—but still, a campaign over which Sanders had absolute control, and which was instantly dissolved prior to the Democratic Convention. A new party, by contrast, would have a formal membership democratically deciding on candidates, program, and strategy.

    In terms of its politics, this new party would be in many ways a continuation of the Bernie Sanders campaign but with one crucial difference: It would abandon the notion that the Democrats are either some sort of workers party that has gone astray or basically an electoral convenience, a mere ballot line for progressive candidates—rather than an intrinsically pro-corporate, anti-progressive opposing force. To be consistent, a conscious decision to break with the Democrats should entail political hostility to the Democratic Party, not merely its leadership, regarding it as an enemy, not a misguided, potentially progressive party that has temporarily “lost its soul.”

    A new party could be built initially around a few key issues, starting with Medicare for All and the Green New Deal, stopping police violence against Black people, and a major investment of resources to fight the coronavirus. It should embrace the Breathe Act, a bill championed by Ayanna Pressley and Rashida Tlaib to divest from policing and invest in alternative, community-based approaches to public safety. It might call for public ownership of the energy and financial industries—but even if it didn’t, this agenda would require a full-scale assault on the health insurance and fossil fuel industries and full employment through a massive public works program. Other positions ought to include substantial cuts in the military budget, nuclear disarmament, a noninterventionist and pro-democracy foreign policy. A domestic pro-democracy agenda would call for reforming the electoral system through legislation to make voting rights consistent and enforceable throughout the country, introducing proportional representation, abolishing the Electoral College, and stripping the egregiously anti-democratic Supreme Court of its power to overturn legislation. Contrary to popular belief, disempowering the Supreme Court would not require a constitutional amendment but could be achieved by Congress.

    All of this would mean that the party, while not socialist, would stand in clear opposition to the power of the corporate oligarchy and to the two parties that serve its agenda. It would be committed to working people and the fight against all forms of oppression.

    Electoralism and Movement-Building

    The new party would be a party of social movements, with members drawn from the Black, Latinx, environmental, women’s, immigrant rights, and LGBTQ movements, as well as a strong anti-fascist movement that will need to be mobilized without delay. Bernie Sanders provided support to social movements, but he did not represent them. A new party, on the other hand, would function as an extension of mass struggles, not an electoral alternative to them. It would see its job as escalating and intensifying social movements, not drawing them off the streets and into the polling places. It could tie those movements together and provide them with a continuous national political voice, enabling them to act not as separate pressure groups, but to combine their forces in a struggle for political power. In fact, it should not be a primarily electoral vehicle, but rather use elections as one important arena for raising consciousness and building a political movement, rather than putting people in office. In reaction against the kind of electoralism practiced by DSA, which prioritizes get-out-the-vote efforts on behalf of self-appointed socialist office seekers running as Democrats, some leftists have counterposed electoral activity to movement-building. But a kind of “electoralism from below” as outlined here would have a complementary, mutually reinforcing relationship with movement-building.

    While contesting elections at all levels, a new party must avoid any unrealistic expectations of winning in the short run. It will need to build toward running a candidate for president in 2024, but with the understanding that even if the party’s candidate were to win only 10 percent of the vote, that would be a major breakthrough. It would represent millions making the extremely difficult decision to abandon their illusions in the Democrats and opt for a genuine alternative.

    Given the ferocity of the deepening economic crisis and the inevitably feeble and pro-corporate response of the Biden administration, a new party, once initiated, might grow very quickly. To do so, though, it would have to overcome the crippling fear of the “spoiler effect.” To grow it would have to peel people away from the Democratic Party as well as mobilize independents and nonvoters. And since this would weaken mainly the Democrats, it might give a temporary electoral advantage to the Republicans. Especially in swing states, the risk of spoiling elections for the Democrats is obviously great, but a serious third-party effort could not for that reason forego organizing throughout much of the Midwest. Anything less than consistency would fatally compromise the new party’s independence because it would be saying, in effect, that independence only matters when it does not hurt the Democrats.

    It could not be a labor party, a party of the organized labor movement. The union leadership, with only a few exceptions, is still too cautious and conservative to break with the Democrats. But it would draw supporters from unions, especially ones with militant locals, like the teachers and health care workers. It should, however, declare itself in favor of a labor-based party, urging the unions to break with the Democrats. And, of course, it would act aggressively in support of strikes and other worker struggles. In these ways it could act as a catalyst, pointing the way toward political independence for the labor movement as a whole.

    It would stand for thoroughgoing and consistent democracy, at home and abroad. And it would stand against all forms of authoritarianism, whether by corporate elites, cops, and the state security apparatus in this country or by repressive states in Russia, China, Hungary, Egypt, Saudi Arabia, India, Israel, Iran, Turkey, Syria, and elsewhere.

    From a socialist perspective, a progressive third party is a stage in the socialist project, not an end in itself. It would constitute a new terrain on which revolutionary socialists, as a critical left wing, would strive to win over workers, students, intellectuals, and others.

    Since the months leading up to the election, there has been a lull in the protest movements, and it is impossible to predict when they might revive—or when the strikes and workplace demonstrations that broke out during the pandemic might reappear. Continuing police violence will ensure a revival of BLM. But a new party will not arise naturally from movements; deliberate initiatives by activists can and must be taken so that an organized left political party is in place when the new wave emerges.

    This is the project being explored by the Movement for a People’s Party. MPP began in 2016 as an effort to draft Sanders for an independent run for the presidency. Prominent supporters include Cornel West, former Ohio State Senator Nina Turner, Chris Hedges, Danny Glover, Oliver Stone, and former Minnesota Governor Jesse Ventura, and it’s been joined by a few branches of Our Revolution. The MPP held a virtual convention in August that was viewed on social media by 400,000 people. It plans to formally launch a political party in 2021, to run candidates in the 2022 midterms, and to put up a presidential candidate in 2024. It’s not clear how substantial the MPP is at this point, but it looks like a promising initiative that, at the very least, ought to attract collaboration from some elements in DSA. Some of its leading personalities endorse Democrats, which is inconsistent with the MPP’s guiding principle of political independence. If it gets off the ground and begins to develop an active membership, that inconsistency could be challenged internally on the basis of the MPP’s self-definition.

    Biden has promised the ruling class that “nothing will change” for them. He will devote himself to protecting their wealth and power and to preserving the inhuman social system that they rule. Trumpism and the far right can only benefit from the status quo politics of Biden and the Democrats. Unless the left manages, and manages soon, to create a political alternative to these two deadly enemies, we are doomed. And step number one is for the left to break decisively with the Democratic Party and declare its political independence.

  • The 2020 Elections in the United States: A Socialist View from Afar

    The 2020 Elections in the United States: A Socialist View from Afar

    [Editors’ note: We are posting two articles on the 2020 U.S. presidential election from the forthcoming Winter 2021 issue of New Politics. Subscribe now to get first access, in print or digitally, to the rest of the issue with original analysis of American politics, the crisis and resistance in global capitalism, the Left in Latin America, Belarus, union democracy, community schools, the ecological situation in China, and much more.]

    While votes were being counted after the November 2020 U.S. elections, despots from around the world—in Iran, Russia, China, Venezuela, and Brazil—crowed over the delay in announcing results.[1] It is easy for rulers in countries where opposition leaders are disqualified, killed, or hounded into exile to mock the time taken to count votes meticulously. However, many of us watching with envy from afar—“envy” because the persecution of minorities, crushing of dissent, domination of the media, and destruction of democratic institutions has gone much further in our countries—have nothing but admiration for the way in which a would-be dictator has been peacefully overthrown.

    But what about claims by the Trump campaign that the election was stolen? It is clear to us that there have been systematic efforts to steal this election … by Trump and his diehard supporters. That became evident well before the election when he declared, in the midst of a deadly pandemic in which many feared the risks of in-person voting, that he opposed extra funding for the Postal Service because mail ballots encouraged voter fraud. At the same time Republican mega-donor Louis DeJoy, who was appointed postmaster general by Trump on June 15, began making changes to the U.S. Postal Service—like a reduction in employee overtime hours and the elimination of postal sorting machines—that would sabotage the timely delivery of mail ballots.[2] We saw reports of polling locations being shut down and African Americans complaining about the long distances they had to travel in order to vote. With Trump instructing his supporters to come out and vote on election day, and several states counting mail-in ballots only after in-person ballots had been counted, the scene was set for his post-election claim that he had won. He expected the case to go to the Supreme Court and explicitly stated that he was nominating Amy Coney Barrett to the court because he believed she would vote in his favor.[3]

    If this wasn’t enough, there is evidence that the Republican Party’s voter suppression efforts targeting minorities picked up after Obama came to power in 2009.[4] Greg Palast has provided plenty more evidence in a book entitled How Trump Stole 2020. Among his findings were that 16.7 million people were removed from the voter rolls between 2014 and 2016 and that you are 900 percent more likely to have your vote spoiled if you are Black than if you are white.[5] To an outsider, it seems incredible that Democrats are allowing Trump to dominate the narrative with his allegation that they are trying to steal the election when in fact it is he and the Republicans who are doing so. Palast’s explanation? As Charlotte Dennett reports, ‘“The Russians-fixed-the-election story line,’ he writes, ‘is a lot more acceptable to Americans than explaining that Trump was elected by an endemic racial apartheid in America’s voting system constructed by the GOP and made possible by their cringing enablers, the see-no-evil Democrats.’”[6] If this didn’t work in 2020, it is only because grassroots activists, including laid-off workers, worked incredibly hard to register and bring out voters of color.

    There is much that we in other countries can learn from this election. One thing is the importance of paper ballots. They can be checked and recounted if there is any question about their validity or the margin is small. Elections conducted with paper ballots can be rigged, but the rigging is more obvious. Not so with Electronic Voting Machines (EVMs), which are becoming a favored tool of dictators who want to maintain a façade of democracy. Neither before nor after an election has it been possible to check every EVM for manipulation, even after random checks have shown that some machines are programmed to give every vote to the ruling party regardless of which button is pressed. Dictators may use crude methods (winning by huge margins) or more subtle ones (winning by slender margins), but the result is the same: They stay in power. Countries that have rejected EVMs on the grounds that they preclude transparency in elections are absolutely right: It is time to make it clear internationally that the integrity of elections using EVMs cannot be guaranteed and that the use of these machines entails a high risk of vote-rigging. Of course, an election can be rigged with any kind of ballots if election officials are under the thumb of the ruling party, and the U.S. electorate is lucky that their election officials have retained their independence.

    The other lesson is the way in which, despite hard-fought primaries, everyone opposed to Trump came together to ensure he was defeated, with the Green Party, which helped Trump to win in 2016, failing to gain traction in 2020. In some of our countries, by contrast, a plethora of opposition parties and independents makes it almost impossible to stitch up an alliance. But the wrangling that broke out after the Democrats did less well in the elections than they had expected made it clear that there are at least two factions in the party—commonly referred to as “moderates” and “progressives”—and possibly a third faction on the right that are not easy to hold together. One complaint from the right was that left-wing members of the party had cost it votes by referring to themselves as “socialists”; another, that the party had neglected “meat and potatoes” issues in favor of “cultural issues” like gun control, abortion rights, and the rights of LGBTQ+ people and other people the party “looks after”;[7] support for Black Lives Matter and the Green New Deal was also blamed.

    It was certainly Trump’s intention to put people off from voting for Biden by his McCarthyite accusation that Biden is a Trojan horse for socialists and by his Cold-War rhetoric depicting socialism as totalitarianism. It is true that some socialists apply the term “socialism” to the ultra-authoritarian Stalinist state, and a few support Putin. There is also a more diffuse set of people who think socialism can be introduced by a political party claiming to represent working people rather than being built from below by working people themselves, although there is also a long tradition of “socialism from below.” Today there is a growing consensus that democracy is intrinsic to the definition of socialism, and there are powerful arguments to that effect.[8] Popularizing this definition would surely be more fruitful than telling socialists to pretend that they are not what they are!

    There was a strong reaction against allegations that support for gun control, abortion rights, LGBT+ rights, Black Lives Matter, and the Green New Deal cost the party votes. One objection was that a majority of the electorate supports these measures and that BLM alone brought a million new registered voters for the party. Another objection came from people who strongly contested the claim that the party “looked after” them, when they had won rights for themselves in numerous struggles; they pointed out that for them, these supposedly cultural issues were actually existential ones. They also made the point that support for human rights doesn’t preclude campaigning on economic issues; it is entirely possible—and necessary—to do both. This is surely a matter of principle: A party that abandons human rights and equality issues, even if espousing them costs votes, cannot claim to be fighting for democracy.

    The irony is that the same position finds an echo on the left. The language is different—identity politics versus working-class politics rather than cultural issues versus meat and potatoes—but the substance is the same, arguing that “particularist” demands of one section of the working class should be eschewed in favor of “universalist” demands of the whole working class.[9] In other words, a demand that doesn’t directly benefit straight cis white male workers is not a demand worth fighting for, even if it’s a matter of life and death for some other section of the working class. Such a stance contradicts the principle of “an injury to one is an injury to all.” People with disabilities and indigenous peoples also suffer specific forms of exclusion and discrimination; are their struggles for social justice not worth supporting?

    This position blurs the distinction between demands for human rights and equality on one side, and identity politics—based on the belief that people who have the same ethnicity, gender, or sexual preference all have the same interests—on the other; it ignores the fact that discrimination, exclusion, and violence can result in blocking the access of some sections of the working class to supposedly universal benefits; and it refuses to acknowledge relationships of oppression within the working class. People who have grown up accepting authoritarianism in their families and communities and believing that women must be subordinate to men, ethno-religious minorities to the majority, and that LGBT+ people shouldn’t exist at all, do not automatically give up these attitudes if they get decent jobs and health care. Indeed, it seems that many white Trump supporters already have well-paid jobs and suffer less from economic distress than from anxiety about the progress of people they feel should remain subordinate to them.[10] Similar attitudes confront socialists in other countries, and they are undoubtedly difficult to tackle, but acknowledging them is the first step in doing so. Nor does supporting struggles for equality entail putting an intolerable burden on a small number of socialist activists, because there are already countless grassroots activists working on human rights and equality issues; all that is required is to work with them rather than pouring scorn on them as, for example, Melissa Naschek does on the Combahee River Collective.[11]

    If it’s a mistake to blame progressives—who played a stellar role in ousting Trump—for the failure of a “blue wave” to materialize, some on the left seem equally mistaken in blaming the nomination of Joe Biden as the Democratic presidential candidate for the same failure,[12] given that he polled more votes than any other U.S. president in history. Indeed, his reputation as a moderate might just have tipped the balance in some battleground states and enabled him to get enough Electoral College votes to make it difficult for a Trump-friendly Supreme Court to overturn the results.

    The problem is not that the electorate failed to vote for Biden; the problem is that Trump won well over 70 million votes, many more than he polled in 2016. What does this mean? In 2016, Trump was relatively unknown to many voters, although the left should have recognized the threat he posed. In 2020, his white supremacism, misogyny, despotism, dishonesty, anti-science irrationality, and callous incompetence in handling the coronavirus pandemic were known to all. The millions who voted for him, like the millions who voted for Hitler, may not all be fascists (although some of them are), but if he had won, they would have enabled an increasingly fascistic ruler to consolidate his grip on power. And they may yet do so in the future, with his dedicated supporters believing the big lie (that he won the election) repeated umpteen times. In the 1930s, the German Communist Party’s concentration of its fire on the Social Democrats while underestimating the danger posed by the Nazis allowed Hitler to consolidate absolute power. In the United States, a united front between moderates and socialists defeated Trump, but dismantling it now risks allowing him or a surrogate to come back to power. That doesn’t mean reining in socialist activists or holding back on trying to push the Democratic Party to the left—not at all. But isn’t it a case of skewed priorities to concentrate one’s fire on Biden in the midst of an attempted coup by Trump, backed by much of the Republican Party and millions of supporters, some of them armed and dangerous?[13]

    Many of us have learned from bitter experience that we can win a battle against a dictatorial far-right regime but then lose to an even more fascistic regime if the coalition that ousted the earlier regime falls apart. In some cases, this is inevitable—if, for example, a different far-right party jumps on the bandwagon of opposition to the dictatorial regime. Far more common is a united front between centrists/neoliberals and socialists/social democrats, where tensions are rife and may lead to disintegration. If socialists attack centrists too aggressively, the latter may not vote for the alliance (or vote at all) in the next election; conversely, if neoliberals are given a free hand, voters relying on social-democratic reforms could be so disgusted they don’t vote for the alliance (or vote at all) in the next election. Trying gently but firmly to push the center to the left is the only way to avoid this.

    Another reason why a center-left coalition may lose to a right-wing party it earlier ousted is if it is seen as ineffective, and this in turn is often due to sabotage from remnants of the far-right regime that remain in positions of power. This suggests that the Democrats would do well to remove Trump loyalists from public service posts, go all out to win the two Senate seats in Georgia in order to minimize roadblocks from the Senate, and expand the Supreme Court until it has a liberal majority. The mid-term elections too would be important.

    The far right can also weaponize allegations of corruption, which may be deserved but are more likely to be wildly exaggerated or even fabricated. The response has to be absolute transparency—admitting wrong-doing or mistakes if there are any—and constant firefighting against disinformation. It is exhausting, and it feels like such a waste of time when there are more important things to be done, but neglecting this task can lead to a return of the far right.

    Finally, leaving the crimes of an authoritarian regime unpunished is also a mistake. In some of our countries these include crimes against humanity and massive corruption, but even lesser crimes are worth prosecuting in order to prevent the criminals from coming back to power.

    Despite manifold flaws in U.S. democracy, the melodrama after the elections has revealed that election officials and members of the judiciary resisted concerted attempts by the ruling party to make them discount valid votes, testifying to their integrity—a situation that doesn’t exist in many of our countries. A section of the mainstream media consistently made it their business to debunk the ruling party’s disinformation, again something we don’t see in our countries. Perhaps this is partly because in the United States the investigative and law enforcement agencies cannot simply be used by the executive to threaten, frame, jail, torture, or kill anyone opposing it, as it can in many of our countries. This situation might well have changed if Trump had won a second term, making the path back to democracy that much steeper—as it is in many of our countries.

    The U.S. elections have demonstrated yet again that so-called “bourgeois democracy” is not a gift of the bourgeoisie and that even one of the most basic democratic rights—the right to vote and have your vote counted—has to be fought for and defended by mass struggles, otherwise large swathes of the population will not have it. Liberal democracy, even if it is flawed, constitutes the terrain on which struggles against capitalism—defined broadly as private capitalism, state capitalism, and any combination of the two—can be successful. Without it, workers’ struggles are pushed back, not least because their organizations are either swallowed up by the state or crushed. So Trump was right to say that his defeat would be a victory for socialists; it is, because it strengthens democracy. Of course, the idea that under Biden, U.S. democracy will become a shining example for the rest of the world is fanciful: There are still many serious flaws that will not be easy to address. But this is a step forward.

    Since capitalism is international, the fight against it has to be international too, and therefore socialists who provide any kind of support for authoritarian regimes in other countries are guilty of pushing back the anti-capitalist struggle in those countries and thereby in their own. Instead, socialists should be providing solidarity in any way they can to pro-democracy activists in other countries. By the same logic, the defeat of Trump in the United States is a victory in the global struggle against authoritarianism and capitalism, and therefore a victory for socialists worldwide: something we can all celebrate, while extending our solidarity to U.S. pro-democracy activists in their struggles ahead!

    Notes

    [1] Andrew Roth and Tom Phillips, “‘What a spectacle!’ US adversaries revel in post-election chaos,” The Guardian, Nov. 6, 2020.

    [2] “Who Is Louis DeJoy? US Postmaster General in Spotlight Ahead of 2020 Election,” NPR, Aug. 21, 2020.

    [3] Noah Feldman, “Trump’s Supreme Court Comments Put Barrett in a Bind,” Bloomberg Quint, Nov. 6, 2020.

    [4] Terry Gross, “Republican Voter Suppression Efforts Are Targeting Minorities, Journalist Says,” NPR, Oct. 23, 2018.

    [5] Charlotte Dennett, “How to Rig an Election: an Interview with Greg Palast,” Counterpunch, Aug. 21, 2020.

    [6] Dennett, “How to Rig an Election: an Interview with Greg Palast.”

    [7] Lauren Gambino, “Democrats left to sift through aftermath of ‘blue wave’ that never crested,” The Guardian, Nov. 8, 2020.

    [8] A good collection can be found in Gregory Smulewicz-Zucker and Michael Thompson, eds., An Inheritance for Our Times: Principles and Politics of Democratic Socialism (New York: OR Books, 2020).

    [9] Melissa Naschek, “The Identity Mistake,” Jacobin, Aug. 28, 2018.

    [10] Benjamin Wallace-Wells, “Arlie Russell Hochschild’s View of Small-Town Decay and Support for Trump,” The New Yorker, Sept. 20, 2016.

    [11] Melissa Naschek, “The Identity Mistake.”

    [12] Naomi Klein, “We were told Joe Biden was the ‘safe choice.’ But it was risky to offer so little,” The Guardian, Nov. 8, 2020.

    [13] Julian Borger, “Trump’s coup failed—but US democracy has been given a scare,” The Guardian, Nov. 25, 2020.

  • Racism and Capitalism

    Racism and Capitalism

    The Reed debate

    Debates about the relationship between race and class, racism and capitalism, have been with us for as long as there’s been a socialist movement. In the past few years they have surfaced in and around the Democratic Socialists of America (DSA), particularly focused on the controversial writings of Adolph Reed. Reed was scheduled to give a talk sponsored by DSA’s Philadelphia and  Lower Manhattan branches in late May, but he canceled his appearance after facing criticism from DSA’s Afrosocialists and Socialists of Color Caucus.

    Reed is a distinguished African-American, left-wing political scientist, who has often had valuable things to say. But he’s always relished being a contrarian and I think that he, and a number of people influenced by him, have gone badly off the rails in their recent writing on race and class. They start from the same place that I start from, that we need a class analysis of racism, but from this they draw a series of mistaken conclusions.

    First, they argue that if we have a class analysis, then we can explain racial inequality mainly in terms of class inequality and pay less attention to race. In an article in Catalyst last year, two of Reed’s co-thinkers argued that mass incarceration isn’t a product of racism. Reed published an article on Common Dreams in April arguing that racial inequality in health outcomes is due to underlying class inequalities and that to draw attention to the fact that “blacks have it worse” is to open the door to racist pseudo science.

    Second, they conclude from this that socialists should focus on universal class demands—like Medicare for All—not on specifically anti-racist demands. Reed for instance, has been hostile to the Black Lives Matter movement and to the call for reparations. In fact, Reed argues that antiracism is counterproductive. He writes “because racism is not the principal source of inequality today, anti-racism functions more as a misdirection that justifies inequality than a strategy for eliminating it.” Elsewhere he claims that anti-racism gives cover to neoliberal identity politics, which elevates a few Blacks, women, gays, etc. to prominent positions, but which doesn’t challenge underlying inequalities.

    Reed’s critics accuse him of class reductionism. He rejects the term, but I think it fits. He, in turn, accuses his critics of being race reductionists, who want to explain inequality in terms of race rather than class. There are no doubt some people who are race reductionists, but I don’t think that is the position of most of Reed’s left-wing critics. We critics agree that we need a class perspective, but we think that race and class are intertwined in much more complex ways than Reed allows.

    History

    To explain what those ways are, we have to discuss the history of capitalism and its relationship to racism. My view is that capitalism created racism. That’s a controversial view—not everyone on the left, let alone in the mainstream, agrees—and I can’t give it a detailed defense in a short article, but I will point to one very important piece of evidence in its favor. The concept of race didn’t exist before the late 14th century. You won’t find it in ancient writings—in the Bible or Herodotus—it’s not even in Marco Polo’s diaries written in the 13th century. Its emergence coincides with the start of the modern African slave trade, and it was used to justify it.

    As the Black historian Eric Williams argued in his classic study Capitalism and Slavery, racism doesn’t explain slavery, slavery explains racism. The slave trade was, of course, vital to the development of capitalism. In the 16th century, enslaved Africans were used to extract wealth from the New World that was essential to the primitive accumulation of capital in western Europe.

    So, racism was absolutely central to the regime of labor relations that allowed capitalism to develop. But it also played a variety of other key roles. Almost immediately, ruling elites recognized its value as a divide-and-rule strategy.

    In capitalism, like all class societies, a minority monopolizes most wealth and power. How can a small minority maintain its dominance over the vast majority? It will use open repression whenever necessary, but it’s hard to run a society just on repression, so ruling classes need to find ways to stop the majority from organizing together. Racism has played this role, especially in North America, since at least the 17th century.

    Starting with Bacon’s Rebellion in Virginia in 1676, there were significant uprisings in the American colonies, with poor whites and enslaved Blacks often joining forces to fight against their masters. Ruling elites responded by passing slave codes to discipline Blacks, while giving small privileges to poor whites. According to the historian Theodore Allen, this amounted to “the invention of the white race.”

    Allen conducted a detailed survey of 17th century records and concluded: “I have found no instance of the official use of the word ‘white’ as a token of social status before its appearance in a Virginia law passed in 1691.” Soon afterwards the Virginia Assembly proclaimed that all white men were superior to Blacks and passed a law requiring masters to provide white servants whose indenture time was up with money, supplies and land.

    Such measures kept poor whites as well as Blacks subordinated to their masters. As Frederick Douglass later put it, “They divided both to conquer each.” This is why racism survived the end of slavery and persisted both as a method of justifying continued racial inequality—embedded in the labor market, housing, education, healthcare, and every other area of society—and as the most effective divide-and-conquer strategy available to the ruling class.

    And racism also continued to play an important role in the justifications offered for colonial and imperial wars and conquest, which remain another central feature of capitalism.

    This raises an interesting question—could capitalism exist without racism? I’ll answer that question in two ways. First, racism is thoroughly embedded and integrated in the capitalism we actually have. In order to end racism, we would have to dismantle the economic system that it is part of—not least because ending racism will require an enormous redistribution of wealth and power.

    Second, at a more abstract level, we can ask whether in different historical circumstances, capitalism could have emerged without racism. I’m willing to entertain that possibility. However (and this is a big “however”), I don’t believe that capitalism could have emerged without some other, functionally equivalent, brutal system of oppression.

    Capitalism is a system of economic exploitation, but it’s a system that can’t operate without methods of dividing the mass of the population using harsh systems of oppression. And, of course, in our society, race is not the only basis for oppression—we have sexism, homophobia, nationalism, ableism, and many other forms of oppression. Perhaps capitalism without racism is a theoretical possibility, but capitalism without oppression is not.

    Practical conclusions

    Finally, what practical conclusions should we draw?

    Because capitalism and racism are intertwined, and because of the role that racism plays in dividing the working class, if we want to fight against capitalism and class inequality, anti-racism has to be at the center of our activity.

    It’s not enough, as Reed and his supporters propose, to raise universal class demands. One of the things that makes it difficult to win such demands is racism. For example, one of the reasons why social benefits are so much worse in the United States than in other developed capitalist countries, is because racism is so strong here. The standard way of opposing government programs to provide welfare or healthcare, is to portray them as handouts to undeserving people of color. Even though most whites would benefit enormously from such programs, this trick has been enormously effective.

    There is absolutely no reason to see anti-racist struggles as a diversion. They are vital if we want to build the kind of class unity necessary to take on the whole system. And it is worth adding that there is no sharp boundary between struggles for racial justice and fights for broader class demands. The experience and victories of the former, can—and often have—laid the basis for the latter. To mention just one example, many of the militants who led the upsurge in labor militancy at the end of the 1960s—including the successful postal workers’ national wildcat strike 50 years ago in 1970—were veterans of the civil rights movement and the black liberation struggle (and also the anti-war movement, the women’s movement, the gay liberation movement, and so on).

    The fight against racism is not a diversion or an optional extra. It’s a key component of the fight for socialism.

    This article is based on a talk given to the Madison-Area DSA in October.

  • Trump Leaves Biden Foreign Policy Problems; How Will the Left React?

    Trump Leaves Biden Foreign Policy Problems; How Will the Left React?

    U.S. Military Bases Around the World

    This article was written for L’Anticapitaliste, the weekly newspaper of the New Anticapitalist Party (NPA) of France. 

    When he became president, Donald Trump broke with what had been seventy years of post-war U.S. foreign policy. At the end of World War II, the United States government took on the roles of organizer of world capitalism, political leader of the capitalist bloc against the Soviet Union and the Communist bloc, and military superpower with the ability to enforce its policies. All of that was based on a partnership with Western Europe and Japan and the subordination of the nations of Latin America, Africa, and Asia. While the American system had been breaking down for decades, when Trump took office he adopted a completely different approach, no less imperialist, but with a different method.

    Trump promised his base that he would avoid foreign wars to carry out regime change and that he would “Make America Great Again,” by taking on its enemies. Trump broke with America’s Western European allies. He threatened to leave the North Atlantic Treaty Organization. He withdrew from the Trans-Pacific Partnership. He pulled out of the Paris Climate Agreement. He withdrew the United States from the Iran deal. He left the U.N. Human Rights Council. And he later left the World Health Organization. Trump built sections of a wall at the U.S.-Mexican border to keep out Latino immigrants and banned immigrants from Muslim nations, while putting tariffs on Chinese goods.

    At the same time Trump broke with the United Nations and recognized Jerusalem as the capital of Israel while his Secretary of State visited Israeli settlements occupied territories. Trump reimposed travel bans on Cuba but became the first U.S. president to meet with the leader of North Korea. Trump praised authoritarian leaders such as Vladimir Putin of Russia, Xi Jinping of China, and Narendra Modi of India. All of these moves represented a fundamental break with traditional U.S. policies. And many of them failed to bring about any significant gains for the United States. Now in the last days of his presidency, having already withdrawn from Syria, he has ordered the withdrawal of U.S. troops from Afghanistan and Somalia, which analysts fear may lead to a resurgence of ISIS.

    Joseph Biden, who takes office on January 20, wants to return to the traditional post-war arrangements and more specifically to the era of President Barack Obama under which he served as vice-president and from whose administration he has taken much of his cabinet. Biden wants to reestablish the U.S. partnership with Western Europe in part contain the growing economic power of China. That’s is a task made more difficult by China’s recent negotiation of a trade pact with Australia, Japan, South Korea, Cambodia, Indonesia, Laos, Thailand, and Vietnam and other nations. In the Middle East, Trump had already ordered the killing of Iranian commander Qasem Soleimani, and Israel’s murder of Iran’s top nuclear scientist, likely approved by Trump, has created the possibility of a regional war. Biden, like Trump will want to maintain relations with Israel, Saudi Arabia, the Arab Emirates, and Egypt, while trying to negotiate with and restrain Iran.

    Biden says that, “The U.S. is back and ready to lead.” While not especially hawkish, Biden supported George W. Bush’s Iraq War, though he had reservations about Afghanistan. Still Biden is absolutely committed to U.S. domination of world affairs and the wars necessary to ensure that. Like Obama, Biden will probably attempt to use limited military actions and drones to carry out his objectives. But remember that the United States still has its Combat Command system, dividing the world into 11 regions, and within these regions the U.S. maintains 800 military bases, as well as the most powerful military in the world.

    Since Obama’s election in 2008 as a peace candidate, the United States has had no anti-war movement. Between then and now the American left has focused on domestic issues and the current situation—pandemic and an economic depression—make it likely that domestic issues will remain in the forefront. The left will have to rebuild an anti-war movement to resist Biden and to fight against U.S. imperialism, militarism and war when it erupts.

  • A Year of Revolt

    A Year of Revolt

    Last year a wave of militant protests spread across North Africa and West Asia, in a sustained, historic series of popular struggles. Emma Wilde Botta reviews A Region in Revolt: Mapping the Recent Uprisings in North Africa and West Asia edited by Jade Saab.

    With so much going on in 2020, it’s easy to forget that just last year the world saw an upsurge in global rebellion. From Hong Kong to Chile to Ecuador to Spain and beyond, people took to the streets to oppose austerity and authoritarianism and to demand radical change. A wave of mass protest spread across North Africa and West Asia, called by some ‘the second Arab Spring.’ In April of 2019, months of mass protest forced Algerian President Abdelaziz Bouteflika to abdicate. Later that month, Sudanese President Omar al-Bashir was ousted in a military coup. In October, massive demonstrations emerged in Iraq challenging the sectarian political system. Similarly, Lebanon saw an October revolution sparked by a bill that would tax apps like whatsapp. Both countries forced the resignation of their respective governments. In November, people in Iran responded to an increase in fuel prices with mass protests that represented unprecedented opposition to the regime.

    These five countries saw militant, sustained, historic popular struggle. The uprisings were a response to decades of political repression, neoliberalism, corruption, patriarchy, and sectarianism. In a notable shift from the 2010-2011 struggles, these revolts shared an understanding that a fundamental restructuring of society is needed to truly address the crises. However, despite their revolutionary character, these movements have received considerably less attention than the 2010-2011 ‘Arab Spring.’

    A Region in Revolt: Mapping the Recent Uprisings in North Africa and West Asia edited by Jade Saab is the first and, to my knowledge, only comprehensive review of the uprisings that took place in Algeria, Sudan, Lebanon, Iraq, and Iran. Each chapter is written by activist-scholars from the respective country who provide an overview of each country’s specific political and economic conditions. They show that, far from being ahistoric spontaneous events, the 2019 uprisings built upon past struggles, by tracing the legacies of resistance in each country and showing how they have impacted the newly emerged movements.

    The authors raise a number of important questions: How do we understand the 2018-2019 revolts? As revolutions? As uprisings? How are these recent movements linked to previous struggles? What will it take to sustain and develop the movements? What tactics were effective? How do socialists relate to protest movements in countries outside of the U.S. sphere of influence? How do we build cross-border solidarity? As we face common global foes, how can we strengthen our interconnected struggles?

    —

    This collection of essays provides an account of the 2019 wave of regional struggle from a socialist perspective that centers the agency of ordinary people. The authors model an approach to analyzing social movements and uprisings that takes as its starting point the workers and oppressed in each country, the ordinary millions who – when in motion – make revolt possible. Detailed exploration of various social forces and their historical development lays the foundation for understanding the power structure of each state.

    In the case of Algeria and Sudan, the military has played a particular role in political life, and this shaped the trajectory of the uprisings. Following a bloody anti-colonial struggle against France, Algeria was left with the military as the only organized force in society. Sudan’s now deposed president Omar al-Bashir had come to power in a military coup in 1989. In both countries, the military high command had essentially ruled the state behind the façade of democracy for decades. Thus, when the presidents were toppled in April, the movements recognized this as insufficient to fully transform the state. In Sudan, madaniya (civilian rule) became the rallying cry. In Algeria, the protesters called for ‘a civilian state, not a military one.’

    The confessional systems of government in Lebanon and Iraq have different origins but similar effects on ruling class formation. The establishment of an identity-based political system in Iraq following the 2003 U.S. invasion drove major sectarian violence. The government’s failure to address unemployment, poverty, and ongoing instability fueled the October revolution, as poor workers and the unemployed youth from the slums of Baghdad called for systemic change. Lebanon’s 1943 National Pact, which allocated government positions on a confessional basis, produced sectarian political parties that have long defended the sectarian political system. In this context, protesters calling for the resignation of all members of the government, chanting kellon yani kellon (all of them means all of them), represented a rejection of sectarianism. The uprisings in Lebanon and to a certain extent in Iraq were notable for their ability to overcome social divisions that had long been used by the governments to foster divisions.

    Following the 1979 Iranian revolution, Ayatollah Khomeini and his followers established the Islamic Republic, which differed from the previous Pahlavi regime in important ways but maintained the statist character of the economy with strong ties between military and industry. Today, the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps (IRGC) led by Ayatollah Khamanei controls 80% of the Iranian economy, making it the de facto state despite the nominal authority of President Hassan Rouhani. While the regime historically used oil wealth for infrastructure projects and social welfare, more recently oil revenue has been funneled into military pursuits and weapons programs, with the rest embezzled by government leaders and their beneficiaries. This left ordinary Iranians in a dire economic situation, the conditions under which they revolted.

    —

    In all of the five countries surveyed, the Left was relatively weak prior to 2019 due in large part to regime repression. Official trade unions had long been co-opted. Most Left political parties and politicians had lost legitimacy due to decades of corruption and compromise. In the recent upheavals, people moved into action largely outside of the traditional organizations of the working class and the Left, and sometimes in opposition to them. The authors draw out initial thoughts on lessons learned from these experiences particularly on the questions of organization and strategy.

    Arguably, Sudan’s uprising posed the greatest threat to the state. Azza Mustafa and Sara Abbas argue that Sudan’s primary lesson is ‘the importance of organizing and communication between different levels of the movement, the importance of building not one nucleus of leadership, but several.’ On a national level, the Forces of Freedom and Change (FFC), an alliance of labor, community, and rebel groups led by the Sudanese Professionals Association (SPA), forced the military into negotiations, resulting in a sort of dual power situation. Additionally, the main innovation of the December Revolution were the Resistance and Change Committees, neighborhood-level grassroots organizations that coordinated with the SPA/FFC and mobilized for protests, strikes, and mutual aid. The development of these committees was driven in large part by youth who distrusted political parties and elites.In the four other cases, no single political entity representing the movement emerged. Hamza Hamouchene and Selma Oumari point to the leaderlessness and looseness of the Algerian uprising as its Achilles’ heel and argue for the necessity of coherent revolutionary organizations. In Lebanon, Jade Saab and Joey Ayoub identify sustained decentralized resistance as essential to continuing the movement and point to the need for coalitions that extend beyond electoral politics. Zeidon Alkinani explains that the lack of an organized movement coalition in Iraq was both the greatest strength and greatest weakness of the uprising. On the one hand, a horizontal, decentralized organizing method assuaged fears of a dominating leader, but, on the other hand, unity and collective action were impaired without an overarching united front.

    In general, the experiences of 2019 point to the necessity of building long-term infrastructures of resistance to sustain social movements.

    —

    The anti-imperialist analysis put forward in the essays is a contribution to a vibrant debate on the international Left about how to understand and fight imperialism. The uprisings in Algeria, Iraq, and Iran explicitly took on questions of imperialism and colonialism. The historical background presented by the authors contextualizes each state’s relationship to international capital and military superpowers.

    The Algerian uprising was deeply anti-colonial. Hamouchene and Oumari examine the contradictions that developed as the post-independence governments of Ben Bella and Boumediene pursued state socialist attempts at economic sovereignty. This strategy ultimately produced a state bourgeoisie with strong ties to the military. The authors show how the 2019 movement is ‘a continuation of the decolonial struggle, to fully realize its aims.’ As part of this phenomenon, the movement rejected a proposed hydrocarbon law that would allow multinational corporations greater access to Algeria’s resources. Unsurprisingly, counter-revolutionary attempts to curtail the uprising have been regionally supported by the UAE, Saudi Arabia, and Egypt.

    The 2019 October uprising in Iraq was not the first protest after the 2003 U.S. invasion, but it was qualitatively different from previous efforts. It represented not only a struggle against the sectarian confessional system installed after the 2003 U.S. invasion, but also a rejection of foreign intervention in Iraq, especially by the United States and Iran, in a struggle for self-determination. The movement also saw a new Shiite Iraqi generation distance itself from Iranian political and military proxies.

    Similarly, the Iranian protesters condemned Iranian regional intervention. Ayatollah Khamenei and his followers have long used anti-U.S. imperialist rhetoric to justify their rule and destroy opposition. But the economic strain of Iran’s military ventures has taken a toll with U.S. sanctions only compounding the misery. In this context, it is significant that Iranian protesters took up the demand for Iranian foreign interventions to end, echoing the call of popular protests in Iraq, Lebanon, Syria, and Yemen.

    This cross-border solidarity among workers and the oppressed has lessons for the international Left, sections of which have been silent on the crimes of the Iranian regime or even openly supported it as a supposed bulwark to U.S. hegemony. In the volume, Frieda Afary emphasizes the importance of an internationalist approach that offers solidarity to social forces struggling against authoritarianism and despotism regardless of the state’s place in the world order.

    —

    A Region in Revolt captures all of the hope and inspiration of the 2019 uprisings. One of the most significant achievements of these movements is that, in the words of Hamouchene and Oumari, ‘people discovered their political will and realised they are in control of their own destiny.’ These were undeniably class revolts, fueled by anger over poverty, unemployment, austerity, and corruption. Yet, the people in the streets largely imagined themselves as citizens. The challenges of how to bring people into motion as workers, how to develop independent working-class organizations, and how to develop a political alternative to capitalism continue to be pressing. The COVID-19 pandemic has thrown another obstacle in the way. But there is no doubt that future struggles are on the horizon. A Region in Revolt helps us answer the question of what we can do now to prepare for them.

    First published by the Review of African Political Economy

  • Biden Chooses His Cabinet; the Left Sees its New Adversary

    Biden Chooses His Cabinet; the Left Sees its New Adversary

    This article was written for L’Anticapitaliste, the weekly newspaper of the New Anticapitalist Party (NPA) of France. 

    Even as President Donald Trump claims that the presidential election was rigged, President-elect Joseph Biden has begun the transition to the next administration by choosing several members of his cabinet. Biden and his team will have to attempt to govern with a weaker Democratic Party presence in the Congress and with a conservative Supreme Court. Already it is clear that progressives have had little impact on Biden and the far left will have to organize to confront a government incapable of passing any major reforms. At the same time tens of millions of Republicans, convinced that Biden is an illegitimate president, will continue to be led by Trump, rightwing media, and conspiracy theories such as QAnon.

    Biden, the Democrats, and the American capitalists face enormous challenges. Most immediately, the coronavirus pandemic that continues to rage out of control with 270,000 dead, over 90,000 hospitalized, and 14 million cases. While vaccines distribution begins next month, it will take several more months before they are available to the public. The U.S. economy is still in crisis with tens of millions unemployed, and federal benefits and eviction protection are ending in December. The world economy is in crisis as well—except for China, the U.S. rival for economic domination.

    Biden hopes to confront these crises in party be reestablishing the U.S. alliance with Western Europe and retaking command of the world’s political and economic capitalist system. As Biden says, “The U.S. is back and ready to lead.” The U.S. will rejoin the Paris Climate Agreement and the World Health Organization, and will seek a new START treaty. Biden will try to reassert America’s role as the world superpower, a position from which it has been slipping. The new cabinet will also have to work with Biden to rebuild the government agencies wrecked by Trump.

    Some progressives and some on the far left had hoped that Biden would appoint reformers like Senator Elizabeth Warren and Bernie Sanders to his cabinet, but he has rejected them. Instead Biden has turned to veterans from former President Barack Obama’s administration and the Democratic Party establishment. Biden has chosen as Secretary of State Antony J. Blinken, a former deputy secretary of state under Obama. Blinken, a supporter of Israel, called for a stronger U.S. military intervention by the United States in Syria and Libya. The fight against U.S. imperialism will clearly have to continue under the Biden presidency.

    Biden’s choice of Treasury Secretary, Janet Yellen, appointed by Obama to serve as chair of the Federal Reserve (the U.S. central bank), has generally supported low interest rates and government incentive programs to boost the economy, but she is also concerned about growing federal debt, so very much a centrist.

    John F. Kerry, who under Obama succeeded Hillary Clinton as Secretary of State, will serve as Biden’s envoy on climate issues and also sit on the National Security Council. Ironically, the climate envoy has supported the expansion of fossil fuels and wants to use the market and regulation to put a price on carbon emissions. Don’t expect a dramatic reduction of carbon fuels.

    Then too we have Avril D. Haines, Biden’s pick for Director of National Intelligence who worked for Obama and George W. Bush in the National Security Council, the State Department, and the C.I.A. The New York Times described her as “the architect of the Obama administration’s program targeting terrorists with drones, some of which killed civilians.”

    Given Biden’s moderate politics and the likelihood of legislative gridlock, the progressive’s and left’s principal projects—the fight for “Medicare for All” and the “Green New Deal”—will probably be stalled. Still, the depth of the national health and economic crisis might force both Democrats and Republicans to take more dramatic action than they wish. But the left will have to be in the street to make change.

     

  • Movement Alders Flip to Pass Austerity Budget

    Movement Alders Flip to Pass Austerity Budget

    City Council just approved Chicago mayor Lori Lightfoot’s antiworker austerity budget, with 29 voting in favor and 21 voting against it. Lightfoot’s property tax increase passed with a slightly narrower margin of 28 for, 22 against. A large but strange assemblage spanning from the left-wing Alderwoman Jeanette Taylor to the notoriously corrupt boss Alderman Ed Burke found themselves voting against the mayor’s budget together. Opposition to the budget came primarily from those opposed to the hike in property taxes and from those opposed to another nail in the coffin of working Chicago.

    Next year’s budget will be a combination of cutbacks, layoffs, and regressive tax hikes that will cause a great deal of pain for poor and working class people in Chicago. Notably, however, the budget makes hardly any concessions to the growing movement against racist police violence in Chicago and all over the country. Scores of activists have been organizing for months to defund the police in a context where cops take 40 percent of the city’s annual operating budget. That’s millions of dollars for repression and punishment that would be much better spent on schools, social workers, medical care, and jobs programs. Lightfoot’s budget, however, brushes aside these demands and keeps the status quo intact.

    As Lightfoot recently put it: “I have been very clear that I do not support defunding police. . . . And I also reject the false narrative that it’s either fund the police or fund the community.” Chicagoans disagree, however: in a recent survey (conducted by the mayor’s office no less), 84 percent of respondents said they want the CPD to be defunded.

    One contentious point of the budget was the Treatment Not Trauma plan to add a public, nonpolice program of mental health responders to mental health emergencies. Lightfoot cynically added a severely underfunded version of the plan to the budget but alongside another plan involving police as co-responders that was rejected by Treatment Not Trauma sponsor, 33rd ward alderperson Rossana Rodriguez, and the city’s antiracist movement.

    In the runup to the vote, Lightfoot resorted to the time-honored Chicago machine tradition of threatening to punish anyone who dares to oppose the mayor’s proposed budget. She told the members of the Black Caucus that she wouldn’t prioritize their wards in the city’s capital improvement plan if they vote against her proposal. She threatened the Latino Caucus that she might not close loopholes in the Welcoming City Ordinance if they vote against her—a move which would leave many Chicagoans vulnerable to deportation.

    Yet despite these and other threats of retaliation, Lightfoot’s budget barely passed—indeed, since 26 votes in favor are required by law in order for it to pass, the margin of victory came down to four votes.

    This isn’t how things typically go in Chicago politics, where city government has been notoriously top-down and dominated by the mayor for decades. This is probably the most contentious budget vote in Chicago in a generation or more. As recently as 2017, Rahm Emanuel had his proposed budget approved unanimously. What explains the change?

    Two factors seem important. First of all, Chicago—like everywhere else in the United States at the moment—is reeling from the pandemic and all of the economic turmoil it has caused (and continues to cause). In this context it’s even harder than usual to sell austerity to a population suffering under the weight of a public health crisis and what is, in effect, a recession.

    The second factor is that City Council is not the rubber stamp it once was. During the last round of aldermanic elections in 2019 a wave of movement-backed candidates swept into office promising to shake things up and challenge the grip corporate-funded politicians have on public policy. Indeed, socialist alderpeople such as Carlos Ramirez-Rosa and Jeanette Taylor gave bold, principled, and fiery speeches at yesterday’s City Council meeting, denouncing the mayor’s budget and standing up for working-class Chicagoans.

    Had all of the movement-backed candidates voted against Lightfoot’s budget, it probably wouldn’t have passed. Lightfoot won this battle because four Progressive Caucus members—Sue Sadlowski-Garza (10th ward), Andre Vasquez (40th ward), Maria Hadden (49th ward) and Mike Rodriguez (22nd ward)—broke ranks with the city’s social movements and voted in favor of austerity. Garza, Hadden, and Rodriguez were all elected after receiving substantial backing and endorsements from United Working Families, an organization funded by the Chicago Teachers Union, SEIU Health Care Illinois-Indiana, and other unions and community groups.  Of the eighteen alderpeople in City Council’s Progressive Caucus, eleven (over 60 percent) voted for the antiworker budget. Given the evidence, the progressive label for the caucus, much like at the national level, has proven to be a meaningless and deceptive nicety.

    Andre Vasquez, currently a member of the Democratic Socialists of America (DSA), won office with the support of the Chicago chapter of the DSA and Reclaim Chicago, a coalition backed by National Nurses United and the People’s Lobby.

    So, to sum up: left-leaning unions, socialist political organizations, and a variety of movement activists helped elect these four alderpeople in order to fight against austerity. But when the game was on the line, they helped the opposing team score a goal.

    Why did they do this? Maria Hadden justified her flip-flop on Treatment Not Trauma by citing the inclusion of an option for a nonpolice responder model—a scarcely funded and heavily compromised nonsolution that movement organizers have rightly pointed out was never Hadden’s to bargain with in the first place. Andre Vasquez deflected blame for his own capitulation toward the federal government and COVID-19, citing his own calls to the mayor and the mayor’s superior staff resources with awe during the council meeting. Due to his actions, it appears that Vasquez’s days as a member of the DSA are numbered, as the Chicago chapter voted to censure him and demand his resignation from the organization.

    The bigger question, however, is: what should we do differently next time around so that we get better results? The crux of the issue is how trade unions and left organizations can ensure that their participation in electoral politics bears real fruit for workers and the oppressed. The current model used by UWF, Reclaim Chicago, and the DSA involves endorsing candidates running for office based on the extent to which those campaigns overlap with the “values” of those organizations. This approach, however, is weak when it comes to ensuring that the candidates who receive endorsements actually follow through on their campaign promises and remain accountable to those who helped put them in office.

    The DSA’s decision to censure (and potentially even expel) Vasquez is a positive example of how to respond constructively to this problem. By publicly denouncing the antiworker vote of Vasquez, the Chicago DSA has taken a vital step toward rebuilding credibility for the socialist movement among the workers who will be most affected by this bosses’ budget. Other left-wing organizations should follow this example.

    What exactly comes next, however, is less clear. At some point the labor movement, the DSA and other left organizations need to talk about running their own candidates and holding them accountable to a democratically determined set of political demands. Rather than endorsing a politically uneven assortment of candidates over whom we’ll have limited control once they win office, we need a political party that is internally democratic, membership-based, which fields its own candidates and can hold them accountable.

    This piece was first published in Rampant Magazine on November 25, 2020. 

  • Left Advances in Brazil Bring Repression and Dirty Tricks

    Left Advances in Brazil Bring Repression and Dirty Tricks

    The movement to defeat Brazil’s right-wing authoritarian President Jair Bolsonaro made significant advances in the first round of local elections on Sunday, November 15, 2020. In São Paulo, by far the largest city in Brazil, the mayoral candidate of the Socialism and Liberty Party (“PSOL”)  came in a strong second place, forcing a run-off election on Sunday, November 29,  against the center-right incumbent Mayor Bruno Covas. The candidate supported by Bolsonaro was relegated to fourth place, widely seen as a significant popular rebuke. 

    The PSOL candidate is Guilherme Boulos, a central leader of the Homeless Workers’ Movement (“MTST”), who has established himself as one of the most important social movement leaders in Brazil and Latin America. The MTST has been at the forefront of fighting homelessness and austerity, through a combination of direct action land occupations, popular mobilizations, and electoral activity.  Victory by Boulos in the second round would represent a significant advance by the left in the struggle to defeat Bolsonaro and the right-wing movement which has been on the ascendancy in Brazil since the arrest of Workers’ Party leader, Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva (Lula) and the coup against his successor, Dilma Rousseff in August 2016.

    This first round result has intensified violence by the Brazilian state against social movements in São Paulo, including against the MTST, and represents a use of the state to politically attack PSOL, the MTST and its leadership, and Boulos.

    In the days leading up to the first-round vote a cynical police operation was undertaken to tarnish and criminalize MTST by painting the matter as targeting alleged crime and drug dealing in New Palestine (Vila Nova Palestina), a shantytown (favela) closely associated with MTST and where the MTST has led important occupations. Also of importance, a number of the leaders of the community, are also leaders of the MTST and ran as part of a ticket – for local council positions – with Boulos. 

    The headline in Folha do São Paulo, read in part, “São Paulo police move against the MTST.” Notably, the head of the police, João Dória, is a fellow member of the party of Boulos’ electoral opponent, Bruno Covas, and is seen as his political godfather. 

    In a scathing repudiation of the police action and the press coverage, the MTST noted that: 

    The action carried out on Thursday was not carried out during the occupation of Vila Nova Palestina, but in a neighboring      [community]…The area where the occupation exists is about 1 million square meters and crosses five neighborhoods, of which only 300 thousand square meters are in the ZEIS (Special Social Interest Area) area effectively occupied by MTST.

    It is also important to remember that the movement’s own statute reinforces Brazilian legislation and strictly prohibits the use of narcotics in occupied areas.

    Finally, MTST strongly rejects the defamatory attempt to link a legitimate social movement – which has already secured housing for more than 20,000 people – to criminal practices. 

    We also strongly reject the political use of the Civil Police of the State of São Paulo to try to interfere, 10 days before the second round, in this year’s municipal elections.

    The international left should similarly repudiate the illegitimate attacks against Boulos, the  MTST and its leadership, and the people of the Vila Nova Palestina. Whatever our respective positions on the coming elections, a basic defense of democratic rights should lead us to condemn this improper use of the forces of the state. 

  • Being Friedrich Engels

    Being Friedrich Engels

    Review of Terrell Carver, Engels Before Marx (Palgrave Macmillan, 2020)

    Friedrich Engels, born 200 years ago on November 28, 1820, has been termed the ‘first Marxist’ in some commentaries and histories from the nineteenth century on, and with good reason, but despite this, Engels’ early works are seldom discussed. There are important exceptions. For example, Michael Roberts, in his newly released treatment of Engels’ contribution to political economy, characterizes Engels’ early economic work, the Umrisse (The Outlines of a Critique of Political Economy) as “a brilliant analysis of the ideas of the contemporary economists, exposing their contradictions…[as well as] begin[ning] to develop some of what became the basic categories of Marxist value and crisis theory well before Marx…” (Roberts, 29). First Marxist, indeed.

    Terrell Carver stands in the same tradition of centering Engels and does an immense service for contemporary readers with his new book, Engels before Marx. Carver wants the reader to imagine what it would be like to be “inside Engels’ head, looking out to make an impact, rather than keeping ourselves outside, looking down at him.” (5) He concedes that this is an “imaginative exercise”, but it is one meant to answer certain questions about the nature of Engels’ motivations, intent, and the shape of his work, without the usual reference to his later communist commitments tied to Karl Marx from 1844 on. Carver is quite explicit about this aspect, proposing to exclude, as much as possible, the influence of Engels’ later self-portrait as Marx’s subordinate, as well as the teleological influences of later biographers, who strove to find the seed of later works in his early literary forays. Carver’s approach answers the key questions of what Engels was like before he teamed up with Marx, and what exactly is left, outside of the usual frame of Engels’ story. (2) It is important to stress that Carver’s treatment of Engels in this work ends at 1844. He does not address the nature of Marx and Engels’ partnership, which he has discussed elsewhere, though a careful reader may find an allusion to his earlier views.

    Carver has been known in previous works to subscribe to what Paul Blackledge has termed the “divergence thesis.” According to Blackledge, Carver is a “prominent proponent of what John Green calls a ‘new orthodoxy’ that condemns Engels for having reduced Marx’s conception of revolutionary praxis to a version of the mechanical materialism and political fatalism against which he and Marx had rebelled in the 1840s.” Regardless of where one stands on this debate, it is perhaps a saving grace of Carver’s view that he sees Engels as having a more sophisticated view of materialism during the 1840s and, thus, worthy of close study in this book.

    The book Carver has written is of pamphlet length, a mere 111 pages, including the references, which range from Marx and Engels’ Collected Works and Gesamtausgabe to recommendations for further reading that include Paul Blackledge, Tristram Hunt, and Gavin McCrea. Its length, however, belies its deep reading of the world Engels inhabited, not only geographically, but also socially and professionally. The works Engels wrote during this period are described in enough detail to see not only what sources and influences he was working with at the time, but also show what impacts he was aiming to make. Carver’s commentary around these descriptions is key to this, and I argue, the deeper point of the book. He does not make broad conclusions at the close of the work, but peppers his commentary throughout the text; the choice is to this reviewer’s eyes a far more narratively satisfying one, as it eschews the usual schematic of hard conclusions in other works, though one particular conclusion is implied with the exclusion of Engels’ later partnership.

    Carver charts Engels’ early literary career in a thematic fashion, emphasizing his creative imagination, his observations during his investigations, his vocation in the military and later as writer in the activist community, and finally some reflections on Engels’ life on the verge of his joining his energies with Marx; all these themes are key to seeing the construction of his work through Engels’ eyes—to almost live the life of ideas that he did.

    For the purpose of brevity, we will confine examples of Carver’s work to three simple illustrations from the themes given: imagination, observation, and vocation.

    As Carver outlines, Engels was “highly imaginative, projecting himself into other worlds via historical narrative and fictional writing, both prose and poetry.” (7) This ability to create from within imagined worlds, being able to put himself in multiple different shoes, already foreshadows the kinds of observations Engels will be able to make, as noted in the second theme of the book. As noted above, however, the works themselves are less the point than being able to “look around the edges of the genre and outside the biographical box, even if this requires some exercise of our imaginations” (11), this, in order to picture what life was like from inside Engels’ head.

    Imagination

    One work highlighted by Carver is Engels’ “The Bedouin”, a ten stanza set of verses which appeared to showcase the orientalism fashionable at the time; a seemingly unremarkable work, in Carver’s terms (19). What Carver illuminates is that this was an example of an out-of-date form, the poetic satire. Under Engels’ pen, the Bedouin is contrasted with the audience, “who are quite alien.” (19) Carver explains that “Engels’ view of his poem is that it was expressing contrasting cultures—the faux sophisticates of the audience, with the Bedouin sons of the desert, but as they were when they were home and free, not slaves of civilization.” (20) Carver further details that this surviving version, through its complete enclosure in a letter to a friend, was subject to censorious treatment by editors who softened it to the trope of the grief at their [the Bedouins] pathetic appearance on stage” (20) Parenthetical to this discussion, Carver mentions Engels’ own self-critique at the work, “for repetition and dissonance, and for lack of clarity in expression.” (20)

    As one reads of this one case, immediately noticeable is Carver’s ongoing commentary, graduating from a short discussion of poetic satire during the early nineteenth century and its suitability for coded political communication with readers, to the commentary on writers like Schiller and the playwright August von Kotzebue, to the discussions of the impact of censors, even on ostensibly literary works. Readers should take note of such commentary, as they are the most outstanding features of Carver’s short work. Readers should also be warned that Carver’s commentary on Engels himself, and his motivations are there too, and these should be, in this reviewers view, separated and evaluated on their own merits according to the various debates on Engels’ motivations and general life story. One example early in the book is Carver’s observation that Engels’ own later self-portrait was meant to consolidate and define his own work and life within the revolutionary context with Marx, a definition that according to Carver, most biographers have adhered to, whether or not in a conscious way.

    Observation

    A work explored in the observation thematic chapter, “Letters from Wuppertal”, is usually treated, as Carver notes, by “modern editors of Engels’ works” as “travel writing”; however, Carver goes on to describe the work according to how the editors of the Telegraph für Deutschland would have seen the serialized manuscript: “they introduced the … work to its liberal-minded readers as an expose of a dangerously irrational religious cult which, they said is ‘rife’ in the German lands…[fitting] the work into the genre that the journal featured, which was liberal-minded commentary.” (42)

    The work in full represents observations by Engels of the people of the Wupper valley in the context of ongoing industrialization to include pietist religious community, the literary and journalistic scene, such as it was, the educational establishments, including some rather detailed ‘rate my professor’-like passages, the character of working people and their employers, as well as the working conditions entailed in the above-mentioned industrialization, a geographical and architectural tour of Barmen and Elberfeld, and small-town boredom and politics.

    This dizzying array of subjects covered may seem a daunting research project for anyone, but as Carver notes, it emerged in his view not from carefully detailed source references, but from a mixture of experience, eye-and-ear-witness, and careful research of local publications, most of which aren’t referenced in a scholarly manner.

    Carver’s commentary on this work detail Engels’ observational acumen, and his real reasons for writing the work; as Carver has it, “His focus on the industrial sociology of, and human misery of, the twin towns followed from his political focus at the outer edge of liberalizing republicanism. His observations of the “wrong side of town” obviously date from his early experiences as a boy living in the middle of the cloth-works and allied industries…His imagination was self-fed by encounters…with works of romantic, liberalizing subversion. What is really intriguing here is the curiosity and daring of even bothering to notice what young Friedrich evidently took in and ruminated on.” (42)

    For Carver, Engels work here “seems astonishingly mature…for an eighteen-year-old” and was obviously fostered over years of observation and learning what to look for when making those observations. As for influences, Carver emphasizes that it is “useless looking for [them] to explain this, and…that kind of search represents [a] trope-trap of intellectual biography over and above teleology.” (53) Carver again emphasizes the need to retain for Engels, as a subject, his agency in the telling rather than making him an object and effect of his influence(s) (53). For Carver, both sources and influences are less the point for telling the story of how Engels wrote his Letters from Wuppertal; rather, it is important for the reader to “note the way that observation depends on curiosity, and curiosity depends on imagining what to look out for, and then what to make efforts to recollect and write up. Once we are liberated from biographical teleologies we can consider what is going on in the mind that lies behind the subject’s eyes.” (46)

    Vocation and Reflections

    Carver’s final large thematic chapter features two works, both of which reveal Engels’ growing vocation as a writer of politics and political economy. His skills in placing himself in the center of whatever he was writing about and being able to make observations missed even by so many of his contemporaries served him well. As will be apparent to the reader, this final thematic chapter spends less time “looking around the edges of the genre [of biography]”, (11) and more time simply summarizing both Schelling and Revelation, the Outlines of a Critique of Political Economy and albeit briefly, The Holy Family. For example, Carver narrates how Engels was able to craft his Outlines through his studies of English economics with the eyes of one who had just had contact with English and French socialists, as well as those in the Left Hegelian philosophical context. Carver is very careful in his narration to ferret out the fact that not only was Engels the originator of later political economy critiques but was also the lead author of his and Marx’s first joint work, The Holy Family.

    In the final few pages, Carver muses on the “disappearance” (109) of Engels into Marx’s shadow, as he “settl[es] into the activist collectives…and political strategies…through which communists…of the day were operating.” (107) This reviewer will leave this unsettling conclusion about Engels’ independent study and work to others who have studied him more fully, but given the amount of creative imagination, observational acumen, and vocational tenacity Carver uncovers for us by peering around the edges of biography, this conclusion seems both anticlimactic and a bit paradoxical, especially since what he uncovers is what Engels eventually brought to his partnership with Marx. Carver’s conclusion may indeed reflect a one-sided judgment of Engels’ total eventual textual output as an individual, but as Carver teaches us in this work, there is more than what is written going on here. Carver is very careful to guide us through Engels’ life from 1837 to the edge of 1844 and his meetings with Marx, and that guidance is meticulous for such a brief work. This reviewer humbly suggests in this light that everyone, whether they are general readers or seasoned Marxists, should read and consider what Carver has uncovered about Engels’ early literary life, and ponder the implications within that for his later partnership with Marx, and afterwards.

  • Thanksgiving Approaches: Trump, the Virus, the Crisis

    Thanksgiving Approaches: Trump, the Virus, the Crisis

    This article was written for L’Anticapitaliste, the weekly newspaper of the New Anticapitalist Party (NPA) of France. 

    The mythic first Thanksgiving supposedly took place in 1620 when the Pilgrims who had emigrated from England to America gathered to thank God for a bountiful harvest, celebrating with the Indians who had helped them to survive their first year in Massachusetts. The real event, an encounter between the Indians and the English, was the prelude to the demographic catastrophe as disease killed most of the indigenous people and the start of the almost 300-year long conquest with the genocide of many tribes, the enslavement of others, the enormous land theft of an entire continent, and the establishment of the white, Protestant, and capitalist society that became the United States.

    In modern America, Thanksgiving has mostly lost its patriotic meaning and is perhaps the most popular family holiday, celebrated by all. Though this November, there seems to be a lot less to be thankful for. Trump continues to try to overturn the result of the presidential election that he clearly lost to Joseph Biden. The pandemic is spreading unchecked throughout the country. And the economy sinks amidst shutdowns, curfews, and layoffs.

    The U.S. election was a genuine expression of democracy as 155 million people voted, representing 65 percent of eligible voters, the highest participation rate since 1908. The popular vote (as of Nov. 19 with votes still being counted) was 79,548,961 votes for Biden to 73,621,808 for Trump. When all of the votes are counted, Biden will have defeated Trump in the Electoral College 306 to 232.

    But Trump has filed dozens of lawsuits in various states in an attempt to overturn the election, nearly all of which have been thrown out. He plans to appeal to the Supreme Court where six out of nine justices are conservatives and three of them Trump appointees. His attorney, former New York City mayor Rudy Giuliani, still claim that the election was stolen. And another Trump lawyer, Sidney Powell, claims preposterously that “Communist money” from China, Cuba, and Venezuela is behind Biden’s fraudulent victory.

    Trump appears to want to throw the election into the Congress where under an 1876 law each state in the House of Representatives would get one vote, giving the Republicans the advantage. (The Democrats now control the House based on proportional representation, but under the 1876 law the rule is one state, one vote, and the Republicans represent more states.) If Trump were to succeed at any of this, it would surely spark a national revolt.

    Larger numbers of Republican politicians, however, have recognized Biden’s victory and urged Trump to do so. Still, about 80 percent of Trump voters—60 million people—believe that he won the election, and he keeps feeding them misinformation and lies. After the rightwing Fox News recognized Biden’s victory, Trump broke with Fox. Since then millions of his followers have moved to the even more extreme rightwing news shows NewsMax and One America News (AON). Trump still has his base.

    Meanwhile, the Center for Diseases Control and seven state governors have urged Americans not to travel for Thanksgiving, fearing there will be myriad super-spreader events as families gather indoors in large numbers. Trump’s spokesperson on the virus, Dr. Scott Atlas, a neuroradiologist with no experience in infection diseases, urged the public to rebel against state restrictions and told people they should travel to visit their elderly relatives, the most vulnerable to the virus. So, with confusion being spread from the top and a lack of social responsibility and solidarity among the population at large, 50 million still plan to travel, about the usual number, demonstrating the country’s complete disregard for public health.

    With the virus rampant, once again schools and businesses are closing, and more workers being laid off. We now have 20 million jobless, with ten million receiving federal unemployment benefits that will end with the New Year, as will protection for 30 million who face eviction. Not a happy Thanksgiving.

    The Thanksgiving cartoon by R. Cobb was first published in the Berkeley Tribe in 1967.

     

  • The radical right after Trump

    The radical right after Trump

    The nature of the American right was ill-understood during the Trump regime. The word “fascist” frequently circulated in liberal and left-wing circles. Yet, the only potential fascist was ousted from the White House before the Trump administration turned one. Now, the risk is forgetting that we still live under conditions favorable to right-wing extremism. The left needs to learn to operate in this Trumpism-prone world without, however, mischaracterizing it.

    The radical right lost the day Trump fired his “chief strategist” Steve Bannon. It will not have the capacity to decisively change this country unless it cultivates more Bannon-like figures, the counterparts of which have secured more sustainable regime change in countries such as Hungary and Turkey. The differentiating characteristic of Trumpism was not simply Trump’s incompetence, but his lack of cadres. Such cadres and the movement they built, not only the skills and charisma of Erdoğan, produced the longest lasting of the radical rightist regimes of the 21st century. How likely is the far right to manufacture an Erdoğan-like transformation in America?

    Any meaningful evaluation has to start with the “heartland.” The Rust Belt determined the fate of the presidency once again. The ex-industrial states of the Midwest had swung from the Democrats to the GOP in 2016. In 2020, they mostly went blue. One reason for this switch was Trump’s failure to deliver on his promise of jobs.

    The misleading employment figures of the last years fostered the impression that Trump was living up to his campaign message, at least before the pandemic. However, these jobs – scattered over the country rather than concentrated in the Midwest – were nothing like the jobs destroyed by the free market policies of the last forty years. Trump’s tax cuts created many fleeting, insecure jobs. Those could not deliver the 1950s-style America that the MAGA hats yearned for. Trumpism handed white workers the exclusion (of competitors and scapegoats) they desired, but could not include and mobilize them sufficiently.

    Within the Trump administration, the only person who consistently pushed for an alternative policy package was Steve Bannon – the far right nationalist who wrote the “American carnage” speech that sent chills down the spines of many. Especially after his exit from the White House, Bannon openly called for what he termed “economic nationalism,” laying bare what he was conspiring to do while he was a part of Trump’s close circle. He wanted the state to act as an entrepreneur and planner – not to abolish capitalism, but to take it under the control of an ideologically motivated government. The public spending spree he envisioned required higher, not lower taxes. He attempted to raise taxes on the wealthiest Americans in the summer of 2017. He was soon fired without getting an opportunity to fight for this plan. After that event, Trump’s promise of a “huge” infrastructural overhaul was reduced to dust.

    Only a massive economic transformation could decisively sever the Rust Belt from the Democratic Party and turn it into an unshakeable part of the Republican Party. However, business interests hold the GOP’s reins too tightly to permit any such overhauling of traditional Republicanism. As importantly, the radical right does not have sufficient organization, let alone a clear policy and ideological direction, to counter-balance entrenched commercial interests. Such were the social forces that bought America some time against a sustainable radical right wave.

    Yet, the problem remains. An atomized, racially fragmented, demoralized working class will always be prone to Trumpism (by any other name). If Biden and the Democrats stick to the policies they have implemented and backed ever since the late 1970s, disorganized workers will either further shift to Trumpism or (as is more likely with Blacks) simply abstain. These policies have rendered the Democratic Party an empty shell, without a loyal base in the working class. Trump’s hatred-driven presidency drove many people to the polls in 2020, both for and against him. But make no mistake. In the absence of an immediate perceived Trumpist threat, another lackluster four years of conservative liberalism (of the Bill Clinton-Obama variety) will keep minorities home more successfully than any campaign of voter intimidation, while the right gets more energetic.

    The question is: will the radical right be in a good shape to react to the increasing misery of the Midwest in a formative way? So far, the signals are mixed. The right-wing street is getting more and more active, without any transformative impact. After Bannon’s dismissal, the far right first fell silent, then had three bursts of activity that created the false impression of a fascistic threat. All crammed into an election year, the gun rallies, the anti-shutdown demonstrations, and the anti-BLM protests in 2020 did not take one step away from the conventional Republican line in the realm of economics. They only made it more viscerally racial. These bursts smacked of election year opportunism and did not feature any ideological agenda. They served Trump more than Trump served them, despite the liberal and left belief to the contrary. Having missed every opportunity to transform the Republican Party, the far right is once again, at the end of 2020, mobilized to save the presidency of a person who is mostly interested in himself and couldn’t care any less about their cause.

    The radical right needs two major dynamics to render it a real regime-changing force, one negative, the other positive. First, it needs an imaginary or overblown left-wing and/or racial threat to organize against. That is the negative dynamic. Second, it needs policies that can solidify a material base: a coalition of people with economic investment in regime change. That is the positive dynamic. With traditional conservatism so much in control of even the most violent of radical right waves, economic nationalist policies that would expand the GOP’s militant base are quite unlikely. Many workers can swing between the two parties and occasionally support right-wing fanatics, but that doesn’t make them fascistic militants. The lack of a positive ideological agenda leaves anti-left mobilization as the right’s safest bet to think and act outside the box.

    There is still a palpable menace that militias and other organizations can expand their constituency by mobilizing in response to the post-election legal process, and other crises that will surely unfold in the next four years. Many people are truly worried that BLM protestors and alleged “socialists” are taking over the country and wreaking havoc. Prior to the vote, commentators believed that such perceptions were restricted to ultra-conservative whites, as well as Cuban-Americans and Venezuelans, but the increasing Black and other minority vote for Trump now shows how influential the red/black scare is. Conservative Democrats are stoking these fears too. This conspiratorial thinking might indeed pull many people to the streets, and into violent organizations, in the coming years.

    However, just like it wasn’t anti-Semitism or the paranoia of “Judeo-Bolshevism” on their own that consolidated fascist regimes in interwar Europe, hatred and fear of Blacks, Mexicans, Muslims, or socialists cannot lead to sustainable regime change. Nazis provided secure jobs and other material benefits to the German people (at least for a while), not just a romantic “utopia” of racial purification. Their racial and political extermination of opponents and minorities was embedded in a larger project of popular economic transformation. The sustainability of contemporary extremist regimes too requires a mass base that has economic interests in the perpetuation and deepening of coercive authoritarianism, as the economic nationalist regimes of Orbán and Erdoğan show.

    Nevertheless, Turkey and Hungary are dependent on world markets and their economic nationalism has devastating limits. In the less dependent US, a similar regime would have a very late expiry date. If Bannon-like figures rise to the helm of the upcoming street action, the results would be disastrous. An institutionalized Bannonite mobilization, however, would necessitate not just an authoritarian politician more agile than Trump, but strategically seasoned cadres who can guide street action, and then keep the next authoritarian president under close scrutiny to prevent him from firing their ideologues. Although it is dubious that the American radical right has this capacity, the danger cannot be written off. So, even if the emergence of right-wing economic nationalism is not an immediate possibility, once it does emerge, there might be no chance of reversal for a very long time. What can we do to prevent such a scenario?

    For racial and ideological hatred to congeal into institutionalized mobilization, the left threat needs to be imagined and exaggerated more than real. When there is a truly organized left-wing alternative, many people who can become far rightists join the left. In other words, left-wing organization would halt the pendulum swing of the Rust Belt and once again make it a wall against reaction. That could start to happen even before there is comprehensive policy change – if and when the left can build solid organizations on the ground and propagate an agenda that clearly shows a way out of the mess of the last four decades – even though an unbreakable Midwestern-left coalition would require actual economic regime change.

    An organized left also has the potential to stop right-wing radicalization in its tracks. As sociologist Michael Mann has demonstrated, the Nazis became the strongest when the upper classes still feared losing their property and privileges, but when such loss was far from a realistic possibility. It is far from certain that there ever was a possibility of radical social transformation in Germany, but if there was, it was unquestionably over by 1923. We only know that thanks to hindsight. The German upper classes, not aware of how weakened the revolutionaries were, lived in perpetual fear for a decade, which pushed them to fund, logistically support, join, or at least tolerate the Nazis. By contrast, where there was solid organization on the left, anti-Semite death squads were put down even in the most culturally anti-Semite of the European cases of the time – the Russian Empire. Organized workers had started to repress these (quickly spreading) death squads as early as 1905 – twelve years before the left came to power.

    Among contemporary cases, Erdoğanism became truly radicalized as the Turkish people got more disorganized, but the further organization of the Kurds created the unfounded fear that Turkey was about to be Balkanized. Even if not as dramatic as Nazism and Erdoğanism, recent years are full of comparable examples. And let’s not get too carried away by apparent left-wing victories, or their fleeting possibility. A Sanders presidency in the absence of trained cadres could have led to more authoritarianism, as the Corbyn case indicates. If a radical government (or, as in Britain, a radical leadership of the main opposition party) is not backed by cadres and movements on the ground, it can easily prepare the scene for its mirror image. This applies to the radical right as much as it does to the radical left. An organizationally weak right-wing storming of the White House could hold its ground only for four years and now left its place to an unprepared liberal party; and an organizationally weak left-wing ascendancy in Britain created unnecessary panic among liberals, further solidifying the tenure of the Brexiteers who lack any vision for the country. The rise of the authoritarian, but ideology-free, populist Bolsonaro too is traceable back to Brazilian cadres’ and movements’ abandonment of political training, base-building, and strategizing after years of demobilization under the country’s increasingly corrupt leftwing government. In short, a disorganized left and a red scare conjointly pave the way for a shift to the radical right.

    We are, then, confronted with two realities that are only apparently contradictory: the far right needs to have a left-wing bogeyman to grow and root itself, and the current American left does not have the strength to stop right-wing militancy. This apparent contradiction dissolves in light of the analysis above, which carefully underlines the implications of an imagined and a real threat of social transformation. Ignoring this complexity, conservative Democrats insist that we should give up progressive demands in order to appease right-wing anger.

    On the surface, the liberal-conservative fantasy of uprooting any talk of socialism seems to make sense: in the absence of challenges to wealth concentration and white privilege, the far right would lose one of its motivations to organize. However, this objection to any mention of socialism ignores two important factors. First, there is so much frustration with the existing system that if the left does not organize it, the far right will, even if an imagined leftwing threat does not quicken that organization. Led carefully by ideologues and cadres, such organization could lead to an irreversible undoing of fundamental democratic rights. Second, as long as centrists keep on discouraging leftists from mobilizing, they are contributing to the disorganization of people who could fight the increasingly militant right-wing forces.

    It is not really possible to predict whether a new Bannon will emerge to give the far right a more consistent ideological direction. But we do know that organizing a real left, rather than letting the radical right further spread the mirage of a so far non-existent socialist threat, would definitively block any chance of a right-wing regime change.

  • Counter-historical Revolutionary: Dan La Botz’s “Trotsky in Tijuana”

    Counter-historical Revolutionary: Dan La Botz’s “Trotsky in Tijuana”

    Book Review

    Trotsky in Tijuana (Booklocker—Serge Press, 2020, 471 pages. $20.99)

    Dan La Botz, the author of some dozen non-fiction books on politics and history, has published this first novel eighty years after the murder of Leon Trotsky by an agent of Joseph Stalin in Mexico City on August 20, 1940. Trotsky was, after Lenin, the most important leader of the 1917 Russian Revolution: Chairman of the Petrograd Soviet, chief organizer and head of the Red Army curing the civil war of 1918-1921, and from 1924 leader of the Left Opposition against Stalin’s rise to power. In consolidating his bureaucratic counter-revolution, Stalin succeeded, step by step, in marginalizing Trotsky and in 1928 forced him into exile. Trotsky continued his political work in Turkey, France, and Norway before finally being invited by the reformist Mexican President Lázaro Cárdenas to settle in the Coyoacán area of Mexico City.

    It was there, a few months after a failed assassination attempt on May 24, 1940, that Ramón Mercader, a Spanish-born agent of the NKVD (forerunner of the KGB), attacked Trotsky in his home office and severely wounded him with a mountaineer’s ice axe. Trotsky died the following day at age 60 and was buried near the house where he lived. His mourners included large crowds of ordinary Mexican citizens.

    A statement by the publisher on the copyright page of Trotsky in Tijuana states that “While this is a counterfactual historical novel inspired by the lives of real people, all of the characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real person, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.” La Botz provides a less confusing description in “A Note on Sources” that follows the final chapter: “In writing this counter-historical novel, I drew on many sources . . . to more accurately portray the period and my fictional characters” (p. 465). What this characterization implies is that “counter-historical” writing doesn’t exclude or avoid the “historical” (like, say, “fantasy”), but stands in dynamic relationship to it: the “counter-historical” depends on, even as it differs from and extends beyond, the “historical.” “Counter-historical” fiction inevitably calls attention to and provokes curiosity about the extent to which characters and events are either rooted in or independent of historical actuality.

    The relationship between history and fiction that I’m describing here is built into the narrative organization of Trotsky in Tijuana. We begin in the summer of 1939: Stalin’s “show trials” of 1936 have resulted in the deaths of thousands of old Bolsheviks; Fascist Italy has annexed Ethiopia and Albania and signed a treaty of cooperation with Nazi German; Hitler’s Anschluss has incorporated Austria and the Czech Sudetenland into the Third Reich and is about to invade Poland, marking the formal beginning of World War II. Trotsky and his second wife, Natalia Sedova, along with their young son Lev Sedov, arrived in Mexico in January 1937. At first they lived with the artists Diego Rivera and Frida Kahlo in La Casa Azul (The Blue House). But in April 1939, after Trotsky’s affair with Kahlo precipitated a break with Rivera, they moved a few blocks away to a residence in the same Coyoacán area of Mexico City. Trotsky’s work at the time was primarily focused on building the Fourth International, an organization of revolutionary socialists around the world dedicated to opposing Stalinism.

    The first seven chapters of Trotsky in Tijuana, by offering various perspectives on this period right before Mercador’s violent assault on Trotsky in August 1940, work in the usual ways of historical fiction. This includes the introduction of fictional characters into a narrative that we clearly recognize as historical. The most consequential of these fictional characters (at least I think he’s mainly fictional) is Ralph Bucek, a young working-class guy from Chicago’s Southside who, inspired by hearing a speech by a leading American Trotskyist, travels to Mexico City and joins the small group dedicated to protecting Trotsky and his family.

    Ralph is not just an important character in the novel, however: he is also represented as the author of the Preface, dated “Chula Vista, California, 1961.” After sketching out the main events of his life and his relationship with Trotsky, he says in this Preface: “I am uniquely situated to write what is a true account of Trotsky in those years in Tijuana and I can state sincerely that this novel is also history and that this fiction is also truth.” What La Botz has done here, we might say, is to create a fictional author who claims a fictional authenticity for a narrative that is actually a complex blend of fiction and history. Readers will no doubt have different responses to this opening move, which is in some respects at odds with what La Botz himself says in his “Note on Sources.” He might have made Ralph the narrator of the novel itself, but that would have produced a book very different from the one we have. Instead, after a Preface in which he identifies himself as the author, Ralph becomes a third-person character in a novel with an unidentified omniscient narrator.

    The crucial turn in Trotsky in Tijuana from “historical” to “counter-historical” fiction comes in Chapter 8, where Mercador’s historical assassination of Trotsky’s is transformed into an attempted assassination and escape. I won’t reveal exactly how this happens; I’ll just say that the details are surprising in many ways and that Ralph plays a key role in Trotsky’s fictional survival. The last two paragraphs in this chapter dramatically foreground the shift into counter-historical discourse. All the verbs are conditional–“would have happened,” “would have been taken,” “would have run,” “would have made,” “would have meant,” “would have been left,” “would have evolved”—until the final sentence: “But remarkably, Trotsky survived” (p. 46).

    The next chapter takes its title from words spoken by Natalia Sedova: “We shall have a little more time . . .” On August 21, 1940, the date of Trotsky’s actual death, President Cárdenas visits the counter-historical Trotskys and insists that conditions have become too dangerous in Mexico City. He has arranged for Trotsky, his family, and his guards to move to the small Baja California town of Tijuana, just across the border from San Diego some 15 miles to the north. We are told that the population of Tijuana at this time was around 15,000 (today it’s the sixth largest city in Mexico, with a post-NAFTA population well over 1.5 million). In 1940 Tijuana was already economically dependent on bars, nightclubs, and brothels that catered mainly to US navy and marine personnel stationed in and around San Diego.

    Imagining Leon Trotsky as a resident of this particular Mexican town is the source of much that’s entertaining as well as historically and politically challenging in this novel. We learn from a final note “About the Author” that from the age of 11 La Botz himself lived, studied, and worked in the area of California just north of Tijuana. His cultural attachment to and political understanding of this area, on both sides of the border, enables him to create a rich and unexpected counter-historical environment for the novel’s “what if” conjectures about Trotsky’s life and work.

    La Botz imagines Trotsky continuing his political work with tireless concentration and determination. Every day he reads newspaper in Russian, German, English, French, and Spanish as well as a constantly replenished library of books and articles; he maintains a vast correspondence with comrades around the world dedicated to the Fourth International project; he generates his own written interventions by using a Dictaphone to produce texts that will then be revised and edited for distribution or publication. Trotsky’s discipline and concentration are represented as astonishing—and inseparable from limitations in his personal relationships. He loves Natalia and Lev and feels affection for those who work with and for him. But the project of preparing and providing leadership for an international socialist revolution is always the priority.

    Trotsky’s most significant contribution during the 1930s was his analysis of the rise of fascism in Germany, Italy, and elsewhere around the world. Especially important in this respect was his updating of a “united front” strategy, first articulated in 1922, that would enable revolutionary organizations of the working class to build resistance alongside non-revolutionary anti-fascist forces without dissolving or surrendering their own independence. As the early stages of World War II developed, Trotsky came to assert two additional and more problematic positions. One was that the war would produce a near-total collapse of the global capitalist system. The other was that in the wake of this collapse, the working class would rise up in opposition to both fascism and capitalist war and begin the process of carrying out an international revolutionary transformation of society. The Hitler-Stalin pact of August 23,1939 showed that Stalin’s vision of “socialism in one country” was a corrupt lie. Trotsky continued to believe that the Soviet Union was a “degenerated” workers’ state—a workers’ state “with bureaucratic distortions.” He insisted that Stalin’s dictatorship would be swept away in a global wave of working-class self-emancipation.

    Trotsky in Tijuana isn’t exclusively devoted to Trotsky’s political work. More personal psychological concerns also make their way into the novel, particularly in a sequence beginning with Chapter 27, “Natalia Seeks Help for Trotsky.” Concerned that political isolation and frustration were causing Trotsky to become seriously depressed–and knowing that Trotsky was an admirer of Freud and, when he lived in Vienna in 1913-14, had begun psychoanalysis with Freud’s follower Alfred Adler–Natalia contacts an Austrian psychotherapist named David Bergman, now based in Los Angeles, and arranges for him to visit Trotsky in Tijuana. They have serious extended discussions—but Trotsky is adamantly unwilling to undergo treatment.

    These discussions are arranged through a mutual friend named Morrie Gold, a flamboyant nightclub promoter who also introduces the Trotskys to one of the novel’s most remarkable characters, a brilliant and extraordinary Jewish “comedienne”(as the novel refers to her) named Rachel Silberstein. Trotsky falls in love with Rachel and eventually has an affair with her, which precipitates a serious crisis in his relationship with Natalia. I have no clear idea of how to judge the historical or counter-historical significance of this part of the novel, but it makes for fascinating, and ultimately very painful, reading.

    La Botz’s novel shows Trotsky spending much of his time and energy trying to resolve factional disagreements within the international Trotskyist movement—disagreements that partly arose from Trotsky’s own exaggerated sense of terminal capitalist crisis and of the imminent strength and unity of the international working class. He also shows Trotsky stubbornly and proudly refusing to listen seriously to revolutionary socialists who disagreed with him and recurrently insisting on his own unique leadership. The central questions posed by Trotsky in Tijuana have to do not just with the character and direction of Trotsky’s influence at the time of his actual death in 1940, but with whether or not that influence would have changed had he lived another 13 years—that is, as long as Stalin himself.

    My own speculation is that Trotsky’s position would have been significantly affected by the unimaginable number of workers killed during the Nazi holocaust, by the German invasion of the Soviet Union and the Allied bombings of cities in Europe and Asia—and by the strength and influence of the U.S. economy following World War II. Reading La Botz’s novel has prompted me to rethink the effects of that war on the fate of revolutionary socialism in the latter half of the 20th century.

    The clearest indication of the novel’s underlying political perspective may perhaps be seen in Chapters 53 and 54, where Victor Serge, the Belgium-born former-Bolshevik, novelist, poet, and historian visit the Trotskys. An anarchist in his early years, Serge remained loyal to the 1917 Revolution and joined Trotsky and the Left Opposition after Lenin’s death. But he was always in some respects at odds with Leninist centralism and severe party discipline. La Botz writes: “While he became a Bolshevik, [Serge] remained a libertarian at heart” (p. 308). During his imagined visit to Tijuana in Chapter 54, Serge argues that Trotsky’s vision of an imminent international working-class revolution following World War II is “a utopian ideal for the future” (p. 318), not a realistic analysis for socialist advance in the present. In addition, Serge believes that, “Lenin’s democratic centralist model before the revolution was lost” (p. 322) in the course of the civil war and in the failure of Marxist revolutions to succeed in other countries. The only immediately feasible project for the mid-1940s, in Serge’s view, is “the laying of a humanistic foundation for a future democratic socialist movement” (p. 324). Trotsky furiously accuses Serge of having abandoned the revolutionary cause and turns his back on his former comrade. “And so in dusty Tijuana,” the chapter concludes, “two of the Russian Revolution’s great figures, the last two Bolsheviks, its leading theoretician and man of action and its great intellectual-artist, parted. They would never meet again” (p. 324).

    Trotsky in Tijuana is divided into four parts: “Saved,” “War,” “Post-War,” “Love and Death.” Within and across these divisions are chapters that focus, alternatingly, on Trotsky and on Stalin—and on the characters that the novel depicts as their future assassins. In Chapter 15 we are introduced to a member of Trotsky’s original Mexico City “team” named Jan van Heijenoort, called “Van,” a Dutch immigrant who had grown up in France, became a dedicated Trotskyist, and now insists that nothing short of the assassination of Stalin can restore the possibility of socialist revolution. Trotsky angrily disagrees, shouting “We will not resort to terrorism and assassination” (p. 83). The fictional Van is determined and finally carries out his plan in Chapters 77-78, poisoning Stalin with a large dose of the anti-coagulant warfarin secretly added to a bottle of wine. (Historically, though there were rumors that Stalin had been poisoned by his second-in-command Lavrentiy Beria, the medical conclusion was death primarily due to a massive brain hemorrhage.)

    Van’s counterpart and rival is Mark Zborowsky, who calls himself Étienne. He had worked with Trotsky’s and Natalia’s deceased son Lyova in France during the 1930s; in 1942 he presents himself as an admirer of Trotsky’s political positions and is invited to become Trotsky’s “Russian secretary.” He makes a brief and, as it turns out, sinister appearance near the end of the confrontation between Trotsky and Serge in Chapter 54. Étienne is really an agent of the GPU, Stalin’s intelligence and secret police service. He bides his time until finally, on March 5, 1953, he fatally poisons Trotsky by putting ricin powder in his orange juice. (The “real” Mark Zborowsky was an anthropologist and an NKVD mole in Paris and in the US. He served a four-year prison sentence in New York in 1962 for spying. Upon release he resumed his academic career and died in 1990 at age 82).

    For readers who may feel that by historicizing La Botz’s “counter-historical” novel I’m spoiling the plot, I can only restate my view that fiction of this kind inevitably provokes us to think about the history that’s being “countered” or re-imagined. So what are the consequences for our historical understanding of Trotsky and Stalin of having them both die at the hands of assassins on the actual day of Stalin’s death? This climactic move in Trotsky in Tijuana underscores the degree to which they represented antithetical political visions of the Russian Revolution and its aftermath. But I find myself resisting the political implications of making their deaths so starkly symmetrical. One of the seven quotations that follow the title-page of this novel is from Sketches for an Autobiography (1960) by A.J. Muste (1885-1967), a Dutch-born American clergyman and activist in the labor, pacifist, and antiwar movements: “Trotsky controlled his followers about as autocratically as Stalin controlled his, though of course Trotsky did not have at his command the crude disciplinary instrument which Stalin had in such abundance.” I find this seriously misleading. We can acknowledge Trotsky’s misjudgments and resistance to being challenged without seeing his influence as in any sense whatsoever the equivalent of Stalin’s genocidal oppression.

    Trotsky in Tijuana recognizes the importance of Trotsky’s revolutionary vision and leadership in the years before he was exiled from Russia. And it shows that the force of his commitment to the transformative power of the working class continued into the 1930s, especially in the fight against fascism. But both the historical and the counter-historical agenda of the novel emphasize the limitations and misjudgments of the last 4-5 years of his life. That being said, this is a skillfully written and politically engaging book—certainly among the best of the novels in English based on Trotsky’s life. (For an informative review of four such novels published fairly recently, see Paul Le Blanc, “Trotsky—truth and fiction,” International Socialist Review # 75, January 2011). Tony Cliff’s 4-volume biography of Trotsky (London: Booksmarks, 1989-1993) should, I believe, have been included in La Botz’s “Note on Sources.” Readers interested in an overview of Trotsky in Tijuana considerably fuller than that provided in the “Note on Sources” should read “On the 80th Anniversary of Trotsky’s Assassination—What If He Had Lived?” (New Politics, August 20, 2020).

    Bill Keach is a member of the Tempest Collective, Boston DSA, and Boston Revolutionary Socialists. His edition of Trotsky’s Literature and Revolution was published by Haymarket Books in 2005.