Monday, November 11, 2013

Historical Materialism panel: Theorising Contemporary Racisms posted by Richard Seymour

This is the audio of the panel featuring myself, Félix Boggio Éwanjé-Épée, and Razmig Keucheyan on the subject of ‘Theorising Contemporary Racisms’.  My own segment, on 'Poulantzas and racial states in crisis', is first.  Felix’s speech is based on a paper co-written with Stella Magliani-Belkacem, which I will be hosting on this blog.

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Thursday, September 13, 2012

The territorial logic of the capitalist state posted by Richard Seymour


precapitalist territories
  The movements from Tahrir to Liberty Square have in different ways posed the question of space and political authority.

  But perhaps there has been a bias toward approaching this question mainly on the level of international or transnational action, whether it be in the form of ‘globalization’ or imperialism.  Somehow, and I know this bothers you as much as it does me, New Labour’s Regional Spatial Strategies were just not as interesting as the Bush administration’s ‘Green Zone’ strategy in Iraq.  

  It is natural enough that the ‘spatial turn’ of social theory was linked particularly to the question of imperialism in the last decade.  This is not only because the US army corps of engineers could be found building Xanadu compounds, permanent military bases and separation walls in Iraq, which just is an inherently interesting type of spatial activity.  It is because when a state projects political authority outside of its sovereign, bounded territory, and begins the task of organising the political space of another nation, the seeming naturalness and obviousness of the relationship between space and political power is necessarily problematized.  Territorial authority looks very clearly like what it is: an artifice, a production, multi-tiered effort of coercion, culture war, political organization, economic strategy, material incentives, symbolic organization, the construction, reconstruction and moving of internal frontiers, and so on.  Suddenly, the means by which we ourselves are dominated become visible.  Suddenly we get to see how it is all constructed: it isn’t called ‘state-building’ for nothing.  We can learn a lot from the cities defiled by empire, as Derek Gregory has shown us.  

  And, to be fair, things aren’t quite as one-sided as I am painting them.  It is true that the organization of cities, metropolitan boroughs, counties, and regions, was much more of a going concern during the ‘urbanisation’ boom of the Sixties and Seventies.  Henri Lefebvre and his student Manuel Castells were took the lead as social theorists throwing into question the embedded assumptions of Chicago School ‘urban theory’, partially in response to the jacqueries of 1968, and the French state’s urban rationalisation project.  Each understood in different ways – Lefebvre as a marxist-humanist, Castells as an althusserian - that the ideology of ‘urbanism’ was symptomatic, coming just as the urban-rural divide was really dying, the city in its old form as a sort of isolated hive of commerce and culture finished.  This ideology adverted to certain real long-term trends, intimately connected with the state and its functions in allocating production facilities, and ensuring the conditions for collective consumption (of housing, health, education, municipal lighting, rubbish collection, etc.) in its extended sense allowing the reproduction of labour power.  But the explanation of these issues was obscured by the deployment of an object, the ‘urban’, which lacked rigorous definition.  They understood the ‘urban’ to refer to a set of social predicaments, political antagonisms, and so on, among and between definitely social classes and interests, which required a more sophisticated socio-spatial analysis to cope with scalar reorganization that was global and affected not just the metropolitan area, but also the status of national states as the strategic basis for production.  This type of analysis, sometimes leavened by poststructuralist additives, has been sustained through the years by the likes of Neil Brenner, David Harvey, Ira Katznelson and Mike Davis.  Arguably, such work has become more important in recent years.  For example, Harvey’s Right to the City, though simply following up on his long-term research agenda, seems very Zeitgeisty in the wake of Occupy.

  Still, there’s a logic to focusing on the axis of imperialism, since the emphasis on interstate relations and antagonisms forces one to consider the national territory not as a spatial given but as a social relationship.  What I want to do in this, another of my exceptionally long, finger-wagging, listen-up-and-do-as-you’re-told posts, is try to explain something about the capitalist state and its spatial logics.  I start at the inter-state level, by traversing some of the issues thrown up by imperialism, and then drill down to national states and their ordering of space.  Let me start with the ‘new imperialism’.
***
  Theories positing a 'new imperialism' pivot on the intersection of two logics of power, conceptually separate though inextricable in practise. According to David Harvey and Giovanni Arrighi, these logics are: the capitalist logic and the territorial logic. (I’m aware that Alex Callinicos also aligns with this tendency, but I see his dichotomy as being slightly different, focused on the relative autonomy of the geopolitical from the economic logic). Harvey assigns a distinct type of spatial organisation to each of these logics of power. Thus, the territorial logic is that of states, whose power is based in command of a determinate territory and "the capacity to mobilize its human and natural resources". The capitalist logic of power produces capillary flows of capital accumulation which flow "across and through continuous space, towards or away from territorial entities". 

  Lefebvre looms large in much of this thinking, especially for Harvey.  For Lefebvre, the relationship between the state and space has to be constituted along several axes.  First, there is the production of a national space itself, a national territory that bears the marks of human generations, classes, political forces, etc.  Of course, the capitalist state by no means coincides with the nation – but as we will see, this is beside the point.  Capitalist states organise territory as national space.  Second, the state constitutes within the territory a matrix of institutional spaces appropriate for a social division of labour, and the imperatives of political dominance.  Each of these spaces, from the borough to the post office to the police station, condenses a system of social expectations and responses, which become so 'natural' and 'obvious' that they are never articulated.  Third, the state composes a 'mental' or imaginary space, a set of representations through which people live their relationship to the people-nation, the state and the territory.

  According to Lefebvre, the spatiality of the state constantly comes into conflict with "the pre-existent economic space that it encounters", "spontaneous poles of growth, historic towns, commercialized fragments of space that are sold in 'lots'":
"In the chaos of relations among individuals, groups, class fractions, and classes, the state tends to impose a rationality, its own, which has space as its privileged instrument. The economy is thus recast in spatial terms - flows (of energy, raw materials, labor power, finished goods, trade patterns, etc.) and stocks (of gold and capital, investments, machines, technologies, stable clusters of various jobs, etc.). The state tends to control flows and stocks by ensuring their coordination. In the course of a threefold process (growth - i.e., expansion of the productive forces - urbanization, or the formation of massive units of production and consumption; and spatialization), a qualitative leap occurs: the emergence of the state mode of production (SMP) (mode de production etatique). The articulation between the SMP and space is thus crucial. It differs from that between previous modes of production (including capitalism) and their manner of occupying natural space (including modifying it through social practice). Something new appears in civil society and in political society, in production and in state institutions. This must be given a name and conceptualized. We suggest that this rationalization and socialization of society has assumed a specific form, which can be termed: politicization, statism."  (See Lefebvre, 'Space and State', in Neil Brenner and Bob Jessop, State-Space: A Reader, Blackwell, 2002)

  I dare say the concept of the 'state mode of production' is theoretically extravagant, stretching the concept of the mode of production beyond breaking point, but the thrust of this is clear: there are two spatial logics of power, one spontaneous, random, commercial and capitalist, coming 'from below'; the other planned, ordered, rationalised, non-capitalist, coming 'from above'.

  Equally, some of the inspiration for this distinction may have to do with the work of the geographer G William Skinner, who certainly influenced Arrighi, and the sociologist Charles Tilly, who extrapolated from Skinner's conclusions.  In an important book, Coercion, Capital and European States 900 - 1900, Tilly wrote:
"G. William Skinner portrays the social geography of late imperial China as the intersection of two sets of central-place hierarchies ... The first, constructed largely from the bottom up, emerged from exchange; its overlapping units consisted of larger and larger market areas centered on towns and cities of increasing size. The second, imposed mainly from the top down, resulted from imperial control; its nested units comprised a hierarchy of administrative jurisdictions. Down to the level of the hsien, or county, every city had a place in both the commercial and the administrative hierarchy. Below that level, even the mighty Chinese Empire ruled indirectly via its gentry. In the top-down system, we find the spatial logic of coercion. In the bottom-up system, the spatial logic of capital. We have seen two similar hierarchies at work repeatedly in the unequal encounter between European states and cities."

  Again, it seems that the spatial logic of capital is identical with the spatial logic of commerce, a spontaneous system of flows, coming from below, 'bottom-up'; while the spatial logic of the state is rationalising, ordering, coercive, 'top-down'.  Two spatial logics, two types of power, each so distinct that, for Lefebvre at least, the state's type of power even rises to the level of being a mode of production.  

  This has, superficially at least, a topographical similarity to the Deleuze and Guattari couplet, territorialization-deterritorialization.  You have on the one hand the oedipalized territorialities such as the nation, the church, the family etc., imposing themselves hierarchically, top-down.  These are dominant in the feudal era.  And on the other, the "deterritorialized" flows of capital, obeying a logic much like that of free-flowing desire, destroying the Oedipal territorialities.  The capitalist logic arises from the intersection of two developments, two decoded flows - those of labour, in the form of the free worker, and those of production in the form of money-capital.  And so these twin logics of territorializing political authority and deterritorializing capital, though carnally enmeshed*, tug at and militate against one another.  This is a common image in social theory.
***
  My reservation about 'new imperialism' theory was at first an inchoate and very slightly philistine feeling that I simply didn't 'get' the seemingly exaggerated emphasis on space.  Bob Jessop pointed out a decade ago that the turn toward 'globalization' as the master-concept of social theory produced a pronounced 'spatial' turn that was long overdue for reconsideration if not revision.  More specifically, I didn't get the emphasis on the territorial as a drive logically distinct from capitalist power.  It seemed to me that territorial space was just one aspect or moment in the development of concrete social formations in which the mode of production took root, just one of the aspects that the mode of production organised.  Could it really constitute a logic of power distinct from, but equivalent to, capitalist power?

  Robert Brenner's critique of Harvey's 'new imperialism' theory zones in on this problem.  The capitalist logic of power, says Brenner, is clear.  There are a set of imperatives (production for profit, reducing costs, etc.), and a set of  mechanisms (intra-capitalist competition, pricing, etc.) by which those imperatives are enforced.  Moreover, there is a strong empirical basis for its existence.  But the territorial logic of power, the state logic, is not at all clear.  There appears to be only a vague set of determinations behind this logic, no obvious imperatives or raison d'etre driving it, and little in the way of an empirical basis.  Insofar as the state planners have an interest in defending a territory, expanding their extra-territorial dominion, etc., it is not clear that this is distinct from capitalist interests.  In explaining this, Brenner sticks closely to a 'homeostatic' model of the capitalist state.  The state’s functioning and wealth being derived from capitalist growth, its managers will tend to act in accord with capitalist imperatives.  And he suggests that, independently of his conceptual framework, that is actually Harvey's approach in his explanations of concrete imperialist actions.

  Despite my misgivings about the 'new imperialism' theories, I can't assent unreservedly to this critique.  Though Brenner pinpoints what I see as a real problem with the 'new imperialism' theories, his critique is bound up with a set of assumptions I don't share.  Brenner argues that there is 'rational core' to Harvey's theory in that it seeks to explain the apparent disjuncture between what might be in the interests of the capitalist class, and the actions undertaken by the state (wars, etc.).  In place of ‘two logics’, Brenner fulcrums his explanation for this gap on the dysfunctional relationship between a state form (the national state) and capitalist imperatives (which continually transgress national boundaries).  For Brenner, the world system being compose of many sovereign states is an historical fact which emerged in the context of feudalism, not capitalism; its survival is not essential to capitalism.  Capitalism transformed extant territorial states into capitalist states without actually altering the multi-state character of the world system.  This argument is given considerable historical depth and detail in Benno Teschke's The Myth of 1648  A world-state, Brenner argues, would be far more functional for capitalist growth than the national state, since as capital internationalizes, national states cannot implement strategies to resolve international deadlocks in production or make adjustments to overcome global imbalances, with the necessary degree of coordination.  The problem here is that while this might explain the general tendency toward irrational conflict between states, and their failure to coordinate rational policy responses to capitalist crisis, this doesn't actually explain why a capitalist state under a particular management might pursue policies that are seemingly at odds with any attempt at a national level to overcome such imbalances, resolve crises of production and so on.

  I think it would be better to start answering that question with the fact just as there are many states, that there is no single or general capitalist interest, but rather many capitals, nationally constituted and constitutively divided into fractions with a hierarchy of power between them.  The hegemonic fraction is that which leads the others, and dominates the state at any given moment.  And even then, there is no absolute agreement on interests or strategy within a given fraction - hedge funds, for example, may differ from investment banks as to the best way to raid social security.  The more determinations you add, the more complex the divisions become, and their resolution is contingent on political and ideological leadership.  Rather than assuming a homeostatic model of state action, according to which capitalist interests exert a long-range regulatory effect on state power, this approach places the issue firmly back on the terrain of political praxis, with all its implied dysfunctions.  And, in fact, Brenner's explanation for the causes of the Iraq war points to this Gramscian problematic.

one does not simply  I have other issues.  I think the account of why capitalist states are determined by capitalist and not territorial logic, implies an inadequate mechanistic model of causality.  This is a criticism that applies to other political marxists such as Teschke and Lacher, and also in my opinion to theorists such as Fred Block who also deploy a homeostatic model of the state-capital relationship.  Intriguingly,  the same conclusion regarding the contingent nature of the state system has been reached by those deploying an expressive model of causality.  The critical theoretical impulse of the state-derivation school, beginning in West Germany but taking off in the Anglophone left through the work of John Holloway, Werner Bonefeld and others, was to treat the state as a fetishised form of the capital-relation. Influenced by Evgeny Pashukanis, they thought that just as he derived the legal form from the commodity form, so they could homologously derive the state form from the capital form. This being so, the most important thing about the state form was the way in which it condensed at a general level the capital-relation, becoming in a sense the ideal capitalist, in order to remedy the deficiencies and dysfunctions in the circuits of production and exchange.  The capitalist mode of production being world-wide in scale, there was no necessary reason why the states system should take the form of national states. Thus, Claudia von Braunmühl’s essay on the nation-state in Holloway and Picciotto’s seminal State and Capital argues that this pre-structuration of the state system by feudal relations has been imposed on capitalism.  Capitalism’s systemic opportunism allowed it to take hold of the international states system and transform it, but otherwise it is not essential to the system.  There are some extremely interesting aspects of this approach, which I’ll come back to, and the state-derivation approach has produced some rich, suggestive analyses.  But, to paraphrase Bernard Shaw, it is in this respect like a library: excellent to borrow from but otherwise to be avoided at all costs.  

  I am not convinced that the existence of many states under the dominance of the capitalist mode of production is merely an historical legacy contingent to capitalism, which could in principle be superseded.   This is not, I insist, to lapse into that tacit functionalism according to which what exists under capitalism must exist for the good of capitalism.  I can well see that sovereign, territorial states pre-dated capitalism and imposed a structuring effect on the emerging capitalist world order.  I simply do not see that capitalism could provide the material basis for anything other than a multi-state system.  And it seems to me that to say the multi-state system is an historical legacy and nothing more is to explain away rather than explain the problem of the relationship between the multiple scalar and spatial levels of political organisation and the capitalist mode of production.  The development of capitalism seems to entail a particular type of territorialisation of political power, and it's worth trying to understand why.  I think neither the mechanistic nor expressive models of causality can serve us well in explaining this, and I will later indicate the relevance of Althusser’s notion of structural causality.
***

  What does the territorialisation of political power consist of?  Territoriality in its simplest sense is the disposal of a particular bounded space as a base for achieving a particular social outcome.  A church, a police station, a school... all are, among other things, bounded spaces within which a certain type of social organisation is performed; containers for certain sets of social relations.  Territorialising political power, then, is nothing other than a process of binding political authority to a determinate space in which the goals of the politically dominant class, the ruling class, can be achieved.  

  What is distinctive about capitalist state territoriality?  We can start with the problem of sovereignty.  In the international system, the modern state is a sovereign power to the extent that it not only exercises a monopoly of legitimate violence and political authority within its bounded territory, but also demands recognition by other states of its exclusive right within that territory. In exchange, it recognises the same exclusive right of other states.  This notion of sovereignty seems to have origins in feudal property relations, in absolutist states organised on the basis of kingship, patrilineal descent and personal rule. The concept of sovereignty described the absolute right of kings and princes to dispose of their population and territory, to instruct them in their faith, and command them as they saw fit. However, sovereignty takes a particular form under capitalism that is quite distinct from that of feudal states: it is the sovereignty of the people-nation rather than the king as god-incarnate. 

  This redirects the discussion from inter-state relations to social relations in general; the capitalist state is not just a territorial state, but a national territorial state.  It is a national space that the modern state organises, maps, and attempts to bring under a grid of intelligibility.  But as I have also said, the state does not strictly coincide with the nation.  Many states, like the UK, are multinational; and many nationalities have no state. Nor, obviously enough, are the state's powers simply contained within the boundaries over which it exercises sovereignty: one effect of the internationalization of capital is the internationalization of capitalist states. Nonetheless, the capitalist state specifically identifies itself as a national state, and cannot be indifferent to nations. In some cases, it suppresses them. In some cases, it organises them in a multinational territory, reproducing national spaces through its distribution and scalar organization of sites of power as part of the logic of political domination, while elaborating a superordinate nationality as part of its symbolic organisation of the territory it rules. So, nationality cannot escape the logic of statehood, and the territory of the state is always national.

  One strategy for explaining the relationship between nation-state and capital is to relate the development of the national state to the requirements of a unified market. As Fernand Braudel put it:

“A national economy is a political space, transformed by the state as a result of the necessities and innovations of economic life, into a coherent, unified economic space whose combined activities may tend in the same direction. Only England managed this exploit at an early date. In reference to England the term revolution recurs: agricultural, political, financial and industrial revolutions. To this list must be added- giving it whatever name you choose - the revolution that created England's national market.” (Afterthoughts on material civilization and capitalism, 1977)

  This would seem at first glance to explain the relationship between the spread of capitalism and the shift from fragmented polities of various scales and types with nebulous boundaries - city-states, principalities, communes, sprawling patchwork empires etc. - to rationalised, imperfectly homogenised national-states.  Capitalism’s need for a unified space within which production and exchange can be organised gives rise to various ways of organising space – the growth of towns and cities connected by transport and communications (in a single dominant language), unified by a common currency, protected by military installations, within a territory delimited by borders and protected by a sovereign authority.  But returning to Braunmühl’s argument, cited above, we are reminded of a methodological principle derived from Lukacs – the primacy of the totality over individual instances.  It is insufficient to take the nation-state itself as the starting point, the self-sufficient unit from whose aggregation a world-system arises: “An international system is not the sum of many states, but on the contrary the international system consists of many nation states. The world market is not constituted by many national economies concentrated together, rather the world market is organized in the form of many national economies as its integral components.”  

  The theoretical basis for this assertion is the typical state-derivationist approach of attempting to derive the state form from something in the general concept of capital.  In this case, it is at first the world market itself that is implied in the general concept of capital, as capital has an innate tendency to drive through and beyond national boundaries.  Through the mediation of the world market, localised centres of production and accumulation form a totality, and from that arises the material basis for a world state to carry out the tasks of an ideal-capitalist.  The fact that there is not one world state but many states is, then, an historical accident; nonetheless, these states have fallen under the dominance of the world capitalist system, have been transformed into political organisations capable of organising the world market in some way, and thus should not be seen as simply a series of nation-states having a relationship of exteriority to one another.  They are intrinsically linked through the world market upon which they arise.  Clearly, then, if the unification of the market is what is at stake, it is difficult to explain the perpetuation of national states except as a contingent fact.

  However, there is no reason to start by inferring or deriving the capitalist state form from commodity circulation.  We can certainly concede the methodological primacy of the totality.  But we should remember that the capitalism which emerges in Marx’s Capital is a complex totality composed of many determinations.  Each new determination, as Callinicos points out in Imperialism and Political Economy, is connected to the previous in a dependent but non-deductive way.  So Marx moves from the analysis of the commodity form to the struggle over the eight hour day, or financial markets, or another aspect of capitalist relations.  And while each stage of analysis may depend on the foregoing explications, it is not directly implied in them.  Capital markets are not implicit in the analysis of the commodity form; there is no reason why the state form should be implied by the general form of capital either.  That being the case, the capitalist state form must be seen as part of a complex totality of mutually articulated elements, each exerting a reciprocal effectivity on the others, the organization of the whole determining the effectivity of each element.  The capitalist state is overdetermined by the organization of the complex totality of which it forms a part.

***

  From this perspective alone can one start to do justice to the relationship between the national state and capitalism. The rational kernel of the state-derivation approach is that capitalism doesn’t merely impose a new organization on territorial entities which otherwise remain essentially the same, but rather take hold of an alter their materiality.  This is true of all the spatial units that occur under capitalism. Castells denounced ‘urban theory’ for presuming that the urban retained the same content, the same meaning, through centuries of change, across modes of production and the stages in their development.  Urban space meant something quite different in medieval Europe; towns and cities represented a different spatial organisation of the social division of labour.

  In Marx’s terms, the social division of labour is distinct from the technical division of labour, in that it arises from social functions related to class.  Under capitalism, the social division of labour is organised around personalized bonds between the feudal lord and the peasant or serf.  The major form of extraction was directly political – the ruling class took tribute by means of coercion – and this tended to produce both a parcellisation of political authority and disarticulation of space.  The rural-urban divide, the patchwork of spaces ranging from estates and small towns to great commercial centres and ports to walled cities, condensed a particular social division of labour.  In the countryside, the producer was bound to the soil working for nobles of various rank on estates of varying size with porous frontiers and no clear boundaries.  Towns varied greatly in size and function; some were enclaves of relative commercial freedom, particularly port towns connected to world markets; smaller towns were usually abutments to large feudal estates.  Their inhabitants did not live off the land and produce tribute, but rather lived off petty commodity manufacture, or various types of trade serving the luxury consumption of the feudal ruling class.  (On the rural-urban divide in the middle ages, see Rodney Hilton).  The major form of ideological dominance being religious, there were overlapping frameworks of sacred and secular power, the church acting as landlord, tithe collector, and symbolic guarantor of the unity of the state as the body of Christ.  This specific articulation of economic, political and ideological power was also the basis for the checkered system of miscellaneous polities, from communes  to city-states to empires.  So, the territorialization of political power under feudalism, based on bonds to lord and land, was such that spaces tended to be irregular, reversible, turned in on themselves (though bonds to lord and land) yet simultaneously open (through extensive migration across intersecting boundaries).

  Where the capitalist mode of production took root, however, producers obtained their famous dual freedom, from both lord (bondage) and land (the means of labour); they were drawn into relations of production mediated through exchange, selling their labour power to capitalists who procured it as just one element in a productive process intended to produce a profit.  However, as Poulantzas pointed out, this did not entail deterritorialization; such a schema relied on a naturalist image in which territory was assumed to have a continuous meaning, connotatively linked to ‘rootedness’ in determinate plots of land.  Rather, the capitalist division of labour entailed a different type of territorialization.  Production, circulation and exchange now demanded a spatial matrix of imperfectly homogenized sites, segments of space each carefully delimited by clear frontier marking insides and outsides and linked to a social division of labour – factories, hubs, supply chains, shopping centres, terraces, conurbations, condominiums, and so on.  So while the movements of money, capital and labour would tend to push beyond these spaces, they must cross frontiers in order to do so.  This system of boundaries is necessary to organise the labour force, the distribution and storage of goods, communications, transport, consumption, residences, and so on.  It is necessary to help regularise an already anarchic system of production and minimise its dysfunctions: for example, they help impose a general sedentarization on the labour force (see James Scott on this) that makes its supply more predictable and its constituents intelligible.

  The specific combination of cooperative and competitive relations in the division of labour also has effects on the spatial matrix.  Production, distribution and exchange must necessarily take place in a cooperative manner, meaning that capital units are locked in a relation of interdependence.  This will produce a tendency toward clustering, as functionally associated capitals reduce their distance from one another: it makes sense, for instance, that large manufacturing enterprises would tend to cluster in industrial estates near large workforces with access to main road; or that commercial enterprises would cluster on high streets in pedestrian and motorist accessible centres where consumption can take place.  On the other hand, this cooperative effort is structured by competitive accumulation.  Some capitals will succeed better than others, and over the long-term there will be a concentration and centralization of capitals, which themselves attract chains of supporting industries, producing spaces (towns, cities, even countries) which work as privileged centres of productive capital, and by extension other spaces that are underdeveloped and neglected.

  Political authority under capitalism, rather than being directly embedded in those sites through a chain of significations linking land to labourer to lord, acquired a formal separation or relative autonomy from them.  Indeed, part of its role was to help constitute this new spatial matrix by standing in a formal sense ‘outside’ it, while ‘intervening’ constantly.  The scare quotes are necessary, because it is clear that in no real sense does the state have an external relationship to the spheres of production or exchange.  This is where the state-derivation approach produces an important insight: breaking with the fetishised notion of the state, with the legal, constitutional image of the state as simply an external guardian of civil society, it treats the state as a social relationship, actively involved in the constitution of the totality of social relationships in part by separating off aspects of them and deeming them ‘political’ as opposed to ‘economic’.  This is consistent with Corrigan and Sayer’s important argument that ‘the state’ as such is a fiction, a ‘mythicized abstraction’; it is through the state relation itself that the social categories are produced to give it its seeming legal and institutional determinacy, its “misplaced concreteness”.

  Still, despite the above, and despite the spatial metaphor deployed, this ‘standing outside’ adverts to a real political relationship which is the state’s relative autonomy from social classes.  As Claus Offe put it, this relative autonomy is necessary to capitalism because only a “fully harmonious economic system that did not trigger self-destructive processes of socialization could tolerate the complete positive subordination of the normative-ideological and political systems to itself."  It is the fact that capitalist production is not a self-sufficient system, that it has inherent crisis tendencies, and arguably the fact that is articulated with other systems (ecological, biological, etc.), which makes it so inherently unstable and requires a state with the freedom to provide a spatio-temporal fix.  Another relevant feature of capitalist production is the ‘isolation effect’ it produces in social classes.  Because it is a system of competitive accumulation among many producers, and because capital is constitutively divided into fractions, the capitalist class finds it impossible to constitute its political dominance over the popular classes without the state, which cannot therefore be an ‘instrument’ or ‘tool’ for the capitalist class as such.   So the apparent extrusion of political authority from the organization of the spatial matrices of production, circulation and consumption is actually nothing other than the formal separation of the political from the economic; the state remains deeply involved in and articulated with the processes of capital accumulation, constituting the segments of space through its schools, police, armed forces, councils, parking authorities, free enterprise zones, etc.  And through its action it seeks to unify and homogenize those spaces; but how?

  In the capitalist mode of production, the dominant form of ideology is no longer religious but political; in normal circumstances, the capitalist state presents itself as a popular, representative state (even if not actually democratic).  It does so firstly by binding itself to a nation, an ‘imagined community’, usually with a shared language.  But to represent the nation as such, it must dissolve classes at an ideological level into individualised subjects, who are then cemented together through the state; the dominant ideological form this takes is legal; the law produces the ‘free and equal’ subject of the bourgeois nation-state.  This is connected to the enclosure of a ‘national’ space, which is obviously by no means a natural space (though of course national expansiveness is necessarily responsive to natural resources, and the spatial matrix of production is warped around them).  Just as the segments of space at the level of factories, bureaucratic offices or towns are circumscribed by a clear frontier as part of the logic of organising the social division of labour, so the state constitutes the national space by erecting a frontier around it, a system of exclusion and filtered admission (of labour, goods, etc) which is operated on behalf of the nation.  

  Not only that, but the state effectively operates a system of internal borders, whereby those who are deemed non-national or anti-national can be confined, brutalised, hyper-exploited, etc. – this can range from detention centres for asylum seekers to concentration camps; from Jim Crow laws restricting movement to secret prisons.  This too has a certain relationship to the social division of labour, insofar as the latter is constituted by politics and ideology.  Capitalism has always shown a marked tendency to stratify labour forces according to principles of race, nationality, religion, gender, ethnicity, and so on, in a way that enhances the political dominance of capital over labour and increases the rate of exploitation of all workers over the long-term.  As Roediger and Esch’s accounts of ‘race management’ would demonstrate, this is not something that simply takes place at the level of the state; such strategies are implemented and experimented with directly in productive enterprises.  But the state also develops strategies for the control of labour forces, for example by obstructing the mobility of some workers to discourage migration at some points or render migrant workers insecure at others, or implementing material incentives in a gendered way so as to preserve a family structure in which women perform the labour of reproducing labour (ie maintaining a household, raising children, feeding male workers etc).  The system of both internal and external frontiers is part of the organization and disciplining of the pyramid.

  This directs one’s attention to what the legal concept of the border, as simply an arbitrary political cleavage separating nation from non-nation, obscures: the fact that the frontier is a set of social (economic, political, ideological) relations, mediated through the state, between the contending classes bound by it; between the many capitals based within it and those beyond it; between national oppressed and dominant groups, and those beyond the nation; and between social formations unified by respective national states, whether imperialist or non-imperialist.  The transgression of frontiers naturally also represents one moment in a given social relationship, be it oppression (refugee flows), exploitation (labour migration), social resistance and class struggle (breaking out or breaking in), or imperialism (invasion, bombing).  The point I’m making here is that the most important fact about national states is not that there are many of them, although logically there must be and this is important; it is the social relations embedded in them, which make them national states.

***

Tahrir  So, rather than deriving the appropriate type of territoriality of the capitalist state from one of the general formal elements of the capitalist mode of production, I have suggested multiple levels of determination beginning with the overall social division of labour, proceeding to the organisation of political authority specific to capitalism, the dominant form of ideological domination under capitalism, the type of relation between capitals, and between different groups of workers, and the effects of these determinants on each other.  I am not claiming to have been exhaustive, but approaching it in this way gives one a superior perspective on the different orders of scale and space that characterise the capitalist world system and particularly allows one to understand why the key strategic base at which territorial statehood is organised is the nation and is likely to continue to be the nation.  Of course, the specific unity between nation and state is a practical unity, not one that is given in the theoretical understanding of capitalism.  Nations are not essential to capitalism.  However, in any counterfactual scenario of capitalism’s emergence and development, the world system would most likely be constituted by a graduated system of spaces at the strategic centre of which would be something like national states.

  And it’s worth thinking about how this hierarchy of oedipal territories, this very tightly controlled grid of social spaces from the main public square to the prison, dense with symbols and ideology as they are, are so important to capitalist political dominance.  I don’t claim that actually controlling this or that bit of space is the most important thing about capitalist territoriality – no, it is the social relations embodied in the space that is central.  I have said these segmented spaces are ‘containers’ for social relations in which an implied set of social expectations and responses are condensed.  Because of this, there is a strategic hierarchy; some spaces are worth more than others, because the social relations they embody are more important than others to reproducing the system.  

  A certain approach to anticapitalist struggle focuses on taking over spaces, and creating autonomous zones which are simultaneously protest, pedagogy and prefiguration.  This has been tried with the Occupy movement, and has demonstrated some real strengths in all three capacities.  But it has clearly reached its limits inasmuch as the capitalist state has learned, through trial and error, how to regain control of such spaces.  And to the extent that the strategy was bound up with a longer term perspective of, piece-by-piece, liberating space and building communism on a cellular level, it was never going to work.  For, if it is worth claiming autonomous spaces, then it has to be asked why those actually claimed outside of actual revolutionary situations (and then only for a short period) have always been strategically negligible, of marginal importance to the reproduction of the system.  The answer is most likely that the politically important spaces are always very well organised and manned, while it would be unwise to occupy strategically important productive spaces unless the workers already agree with you, in which case they should be doing it.  That leaves public and semi-public spaces, and a few vacated buildings.  Not exactly the Paris Commune; not even the parish commune.  And since the national state is the privileged level of the political organization of the territory, capturing visible but strategically marginal space is always at best a short-term tactic, doomed as it is to encirclement and shut-down in short order.  The only sensible answer is to re-focus on the social relations that are constituted through a particular organization of space, and try to organize the agencies best placed to disrupt their reproduction.

*That means exactly what you think it does.

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Saturday, July 14, 2012

Notes on passive revolution posted by Richard Seymour

I. ‘Passive revolution’ emerged at first to explain a particular kind of ‘bourgeois revolution’ (ie capitalist transition) effected without a radical-popular assault on the state.  Gramsci’s focus was on the Risorgimento, but other examples would include German Unification, and Meiji Restoration Japan.  In the period since 1848, Neil Davidson suggests in what is evidently the authoritative work on this subject, this type of transition has been the most common due to two factors: first, the emergence of the working class, whose minatory presence sapped the revolutionary afflatus of the bourgeoisie; and second, the emergence of other ruling classes or social groups capable of enacting the transition (in Germany, the feudal ruling class; in Egypt as in many neighbours, the officer corps). Since capitalism had emerged as clearly the most dynamic mode of production in a world system increasingly dominated by it, non-capitalist ruling classes could be persuaded to make the transition.  

II. Thus, for Gramsci, the period after 1848 could be characterised in ‘the West’ as a shift from the ‘war of manoeuvre’ and open struggle against the feudal ruling classes, to the ‘war of position’, in which bourgeois domination is secured through molecular transformations in the composition of social and productive forces which become the matrix of new changes.

III. Later, the scope of ‘passive revolution’ was extended so that it could apply to major transformations within capitalism once that mode of production was established.  These would be transitions aimed at overcoming otherwise potentially lethal limitations to the further accumulation of capital within the social formation – whether these limitations were posed by capital itself, by the working class, or pre-capitalist forms.  This was based on Gramsci’s reading of two insights from Marx:
1. that no social formation disappears as long as the productive forces which have developed within it still find room for further forward movement;
2. that a society does not set itself tasks for whose solution the necessary conditions have not already been incubated etc.
  ‘Passive revolution’ is thus a tendency immanent to capitalist modernity as such.

IV. ‘Passive revolution’ implements changes that are formally ‘progressive’ from the point of view of permitting the development and rationalisation of the productive forces by means of the modification of productive relations, and the rationalisation of social/demographic forces.  Despite this, 'passive revolution' is a conservative, adaptive process, and is apt to be led by conservative or reactionary forces.  An example of this type of transformation is the Fordist re-organisation of American capitalism, in which demographic rationalisation and industrial modernisation is achieved.  To the extent that this advances productive capacity, introduces collectivisation and planning, and acculturates masses to urban life, it is seen as historically progressive.

V.  'Passive revolution' is thus, in both its main senses, a particular relationship between political leadership and social transformation; political leadership becomes identical with state domination, through which transformation is achieved.  The tendency in 'passive revolution' is for the bourgeoisie to be unable to rule directly, or alone.  Partly for this reason, 'passive revolution' is internally related to the concept of 'Caesarism' which, despite being initially posited as an explicitly polemical formulation, is clearly drawn from Marx's discussion of 'Bonapartism', and which is also a tendency immanent to capitalist modernity.  According to Gramsci, 'Caesarism' occurs where the two opposing fundamental classes are deadlocked, both sides evenly matched, potentially threatening mutual ruin: in such a catastrophic stalemate, a 'Caesar' can either play a progressive or reactionary role.  It is in its reactionary sense that it is tied to 'passive revolution', as it is often the role of a 'Caesar' to carry through such a transformation.  A 'Caesar' is not necessarily a great personality.  The decisive thing is that 'Caesarism', whether it is personated in the form of a despot, or party, or faction, or alliance, represents some form of compromise between the classes, whether its general thrust is toward progress or reaction.  That is why, as Gramsci says, ""every coalition government is a first stage of Caesarism".  And, because of the enhanced role of the state in 'Caesarism', it can be an ideal type of regime to achieve 'revolution-restoration'.  It is significant in this sense that Bismarck is given as an example of regressive 'Ceasarism'.

VI. ‘Passive revolution’ has an ambiguous relationship to other Gramscian concepts, such as ‘hegemony’.  In one sense, it would seem to be a polar opposite of hegemony, insofar as ‘passive revolution’ is achieved as a form of domination without consent.  In Gramsci's main example, Risorgimento Italy, ‘passive revolution’ occurs not with the bourgeoisie in a hegemonic position, but with two opposing forces (represented by Cavour and Mazzini, respectively) in a state of almost deadlocked equilibrium.  Bourgeois domination, in this case, is not secured through a hegemonic alliance with subaltern groups, achieved through parliamentary democratic institutions.  Rather, the active and leading layers of oppositional forces and classes are co-opted to the moderate, pro-capitalist centre, in a process known as 'transformism'.  This has the effect of decapitating and disorganising the parties and organisations of the dominated classes - which is certainly a hegemonic practice, but is emphatically not the same thing as hegemony. Generally speaking, 'passive revolution' is carried out over and against the subalterns, rather than with their consent; by means of a bureaucratic organisation of the 'power bloc' rather than through the expansive unity of the 'historical bloc'.

  Yet at the same time, 'passive revolution' is, as I have said, a process in which some compromise between the contending classes is struck.  In some form, however partial and mitigated, popular demands have to be addressed; a material substratum for acquiescence if not active assent must be created.  Moreover, although 'passive revolution' is often a repressive form of modernisation, it is worth recalling that consent is often as not produced through coercion and terror - that is, through the demonstration with physical force that 'there is no alternative, and the only people talking of an alternative are criminals and misfits who get beaten up and arrested'.  (Cf. Poulantzas: "State monopolized physical violence permanently underlies the techniques of power and mechanisms of consent".)  There is a sense in which 'passive revolution' must simulate elements of bourgeois hegemony in a context of weakness, stasis or underdevelopment.  This is why some authors refer to a 'limited hegemony' in the context of 'passive revolution', despite the fact that the dominant tendency is toward domination without consent.

VII.  The delimitations of 'passive revolution' are extremely unclear.  If Gramsci extended the concept of 'passive revolution' in his own theoretical development, a further enlargement was attempted by Christine Buci-Glucksmann as part of a sophisticated Eurocommunist 'left critique' of Stalinism.  According to Buci-Glucksmann, 'passive revolution', as a concept of transition, was not particular to bourgeois revolutions in Gramsci's useage, but was "a potential tendency intrinsic to every transitional process".  This was so particularly where the state played a dominant role, as in the USSR.  Thus, Stalinism was interpreted as 'passive revolution', resolving class antagonisms through a process of conservative reformism conducted in and through the state: far from the state withering away, it 'penetrates' civil society and assumes a 'total' dominance.  This has some basis in what Gramsci wrote, at least insofar as he referred to 'passive revolution' as a principle of interpretation "of every epoch characterised by complex historical upheavals ... a criterion of interpretation 'in the absence of other active elements to a dominant extent'".  Historically, this depends on the idea that Stalinism was carrying through the post-capitalist transition, albeit in a conservative way.  Politically, it is in the last analysis an agument for a centrist approach to the state and parliamentary democracy: the democratic form, as the arena for the consolidation of the expansive unity of the historical bloc, must be the strategic axis of the transition, the counterpoint to a narrow 'revolution from above' which always contains restorationist tendencies.  But the only way to resolve whether or not it is true to the terms of Gramsci's argument is to conduct a close philological reading.  Here, it is most likely that Buci-Glucksmann's argument hinged on an over-interpretation of the phrase "every epoch", as well as perhaps an under-interpretation of the concept of the 'integral state', which leads to a problematic acceptance of the topography in which the state and civil society occupy separate, mutually hostile terrains.

VIII. The question, then, is how can the tendencies toward 'passive revolution', immanent to capitalist modernity, be interpreted today?  The neoliberal transformation sharpened the tendencies toward 'passive revolution'. 
First of all, in the sense that it was a modernisation project, and that it rationalised the productive and demographic forces to an extent, even if it introduced all sorts of new pathologies and 'contradictions' in doing so.  Second, in the sense that it involved some partial, limited concessions to popular interests - differentiation in the proletariat allowed this to be accomplished, even while the rate of exploitation was being driven up.  Thirdly, in the sense that there were tendencies toward hegemony-building, an effort to shift the common sense, even though the main form in which transformation was achieved was through struggle.  Fourth, in the emphasis on repression as a factor in building consent.  Neoliberal reform did not merely rely on repression to enable its passage, but rather implemented a fundamental shift in the continuum toward repression: from welfare and material concessions to the carceral/punitive state.  Finally in the transformist tendencies particularly evident in the latter phase of neoliberal transformation: following the open assault on low wage earners, union militants, the oppressed, the social movements and the left, there ensues the incorporation of the leaders of defeated or at least chastened social movements, unions and left parties into a new neoliberal social democracy.

IX.  The global crisis has demonstrated the need, purely on capitalist terms, for fundamental, structural reform of the capitalist system.  In fact, the only viable solution on capitalist terms would be simultaneously the most irrational solution - the destruction of masses of capital, through profound economic contraction or through war.  But  this is not politically viable.  Not even Rick Santorum could win on that slogan, and the bourgeoisie wouldn't tolerate it if he did.  For that reason, the debate is between a set of mediating, compromise solutions with the emphasis shifting between Keynesian demand management and neoliberal regulation.  In Europe, the most punitive neoliberalism is consistent with a programme of re-regulating financial markets up to and including a continent-wide Tobin tax.  Even in Greece, the EU's austerity project is bound up with rationalising tendencies - building a better tax-collecting apparatus, etc.  So, the tendencies toward 'passive revolution' are, I would say, sharpened further.  Coterminous with this, the 'Caesarist' tendencies are sharpening as well.  If the coalition government is the beginning of Caesarism in a parliamentary age, then the emergence of cross-party coalitions around a 'technocratic' agenda of fundamental institutional and social restructuring represents the beginnings of a Caesarist legion.  One thing that Buci-Glucksmann was certainly right about was that the historic bloc, in its 'expansive unity', is the antithesis of the 'passive revolution' based on cynical, bureaucratic power bloc manouevering.  The question is whether a new historical bloc can be forged in the popular struggles, with its strategic axis the hegemony of the working class and its forms of democracy.

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Friday, January 20, 2012

The state of the 18th Brumaire posted by Richard Seymour

You have been penned in, kettled, assaulted and arrested.  You have had your protest broken up, your occupation invaded, your picket line disbanded.  Now you're facing something called 'Total Policing'.  Wherever you try to organise, you confront the state as the constant factor in your disorganisation.  Whether 'personated', as Marx puts it, by the riot cop, the senior civil servant, or the coalition minister, you find it is always there, resourceful, organised, centralised, almost always one or two steps ahead, almost always with a monopoly on political initiative.  Of course, the state represents itself as a popular, democratic institution, upholding the general will, maintaining law and order as the condition for the full participation of each in the political community.  Yet your experience suggests that something else is at work, and you have to ask: what sort of thing is the state?  Is it even a thing?  Is it an autonomous power over and against society, or does it 'represent' sectional (class) interests within it?  Is it an 'instrument' of the powerful or a venue of contestation?  What are its boundaries?  Where are its weaknesses?  How does its power accumulate, and disintegrate?

***

I was talking to Dan Hind several years ago over a fried lunch, and he explained his interest in what he termed "the mystery of the state".  I said, rather crudely, that I thought there was no mystery.  I invoked Lenin's famous de-mystification: the state is special bodies of armed men, prisons, bureaucracy, and so on.  He looked at me like I was a mad monk reciting arcane scripture.  It was a fair cop.  My answer was question-begging, rather like defining a football game as special bodies of uniformed men, balls, goalposts, etc.  I hadn't resolved the mystery at all, merely listed the obvious clues.  After all, football also consists of relations between its uniformed men, and between those and their managers, and in turn between those and their owners and shareholders, and between all of these and media companies, and shopping outlets, and paying fans.  It consists of a social-structural 'script', a set of codified rules with definite social origins, class-based cultural forms, political antagonisms (Rangers v Celtic etc), mass spectacle, commodity production, and so much more.  The "mystery of football", aside from its popularity, could only be resolved by disclosing the complex, mediated relations between all of these aspects.  I returned to my fried egg, dejectedly poking holes in the disgustingly glutinous texture of the solidified white.  In fairness, my summary of Lenin was rather... summary.  The widely recited phrase from State and Revolution is an extremely bowdlerised version of the argument if left at that.  Lenin was interested in the relationship between the state and social classes, its origin and development, its strategic role in class struggles, and so on.  His engagement with the marxist tradition - in what is, after all, intended to be a rousing pamphlet, a guide to action rather than a monograph or treatise - is extraordinarily sharp, even if he ultimately cleaves to an instrumentalist account of the state, which I think marxists must reject.  But enough about my namesake.

The mystery of the state would not go away, because the state would not go away.  Far from retreating to the perimeters of the 'economic', guarding its boundaries but otherwise allowing 'civil society' to go about its business in laissez-faire fashion, it was everywhere, pro-actively formulating and implementing agendas and strategies, domestically and overseas.  War, sanctions, special forces operations, internment, deportation and special rendition are only the most brute, mail-fisted manifestations of the state.  What about the coordination of ideological agendas on 'Britishness', 'integration', 'culture' and so on?  What about the coordination of bank bailouts, and subsequent austerity programmes?  What about 'workfare' and privatization?  In fact, it seemed increasingly apparent that whereas the capitalist class itself was constantly divided, constantly at its own throat, rarely capable of sustained class initiatives by itself, the state was always there doing something that in one way or another furthered the reproduction of capitalist relations in new ways.  And insofar as it did this, it seemed to be not just a state but a capitalist state.

Part of the mystery dissolved there and then.  It had been a mistake to try to penetrate the core of the state as a sui generis form.  There can be no general theory of the state.  The state is not an eternal form that recurs through successive ages, modes of production and social formations, and to read it as such tends to lead to a Hobbesian view of the state as an instrument for the suppression of 'anarchy' (social conflict).  At most, one can have a general, descriptive outline of what distinguishes a state apparatus (special bodies of armed men, etc), or a genealogy of types of state, noting the factors that recur (though even these factors will have an entirely different content, and stand in different relations to one another, depending on the historical epoch in which they are embedded).  But it is possible to have a theory of the capitalist state, and the best way to approach it seems to be confront the state in its setting, the social formation.

***

This is what the 18th Brumaire of Louis Bonaparte does, among other things.  Its refined lapidary style and mordant ironising also make it a literary classic.  This is a strange thing in a way, but what pomo theorists would call its 'mode of emplotment' is deployed with a deliberate pedagogical purpose.  The satirical deflation is intended to show how potentially world-historical events were always doomed to be reduced to low farce, how the movement of forces under various banners constituted a hollow pantomime of revolution.  The essay surveys the political circumstances of Louis Bonaparte's coup d'etat on 2nd December 1851.  This is where the title comes from: because, for Marx, this coup is a farcical repetition of Napoleon Bonaparte's tragic putsch on the 18th Brumaire VIII (9th November 1799).  From tragedy to farce - you see how literary parody is already inscribed in the first words of the text.  In its parodic appropriation of French history and bourgeois literary traditions, the 18th Brumaire penetrates layers of appearance - not so as to dispose of these layers as so much subterfuge (aha, behind the iron mask of Napoleon lies the unheroic, icy calculation of the bourgeois!) but to show their necessity and efficacy; not to dismiss them but to enact them, to show them at work.

Now, the 18th Brumaire is an extended analysis of a political situation.  But from that comes a subtle diagnosis of the French social formation, and particularly the French state, in its conjuncture.  The text's elegant movements between different levels of analysis, mediating between the abstract and the concrete (or, if you will, the concrete-in-thought), shifting from the political to the ideological to productive relations, its extremely subtle and suggestive analysis of masks and decoys, and the movements between semiosis and performance, discourse theory avant la lettre and strategic class analysis, make it an exceptionally rich study.  Though Marx was writing very shortly after the events, moreover, he did so in a determinedly historical, rather than journalistic, mode: the complex periodisation, the way Marx maps the temporal structure of events and charts the strategic possibilities in each phase, is indicative of how seriously he takes the historical aspect of his purpose.  He is determined to relate these events to deep historical dynamics, even before the dust has fully settled, and moreover to do so in a way that grasps their singularity.  That is why those marxist theorists most concerned with the idiographic, above all Gramsci, have continually returned to the 18th Brumaire.  This lengthy preface is by way of explaining and justifying the focus on one text by Marx to examine the question of the state.

***

In assessing the grotesqueries of 1848-51, Marx developed the elements of a theory of the state for the first time, a project he intended to continue in a sequel to Capital.  For while Louis Bonaparte would seem to have simply reversed the gains of the bourgeois revolution, reinstating the absolute monarchy and "the shamelessly simple domination of the sword and cross", Marx insisted that his regime was in fact something new.  And to understand it, one had to understand the social interests that had driven the struggle between the political forces and their situation in relation to one another that made it possible for Napoleon le Petit to take power.  There had been a failed revolution: somehow the French bourgeoisie and popular classes had been unable to repeat the monumental achievement of 1789.  The first difference between the two situations was that the era in which the bourgeoisie played the progressive historical role was being superceded.  The development of capitalist relations and the opposing interests of capital and labour meant that the bourgeoisie was becoming an increasingly conservative class.  The second was the growing fractionalisation of the ruling class, the major fractions being finance-capital, industry and landlords.  The latter were represented as rival monarchist factions in the Party of Order.  The Legitimists were allied to the landlords, while the Orleanists were allied to high finance.  In principle, these were supporters of different monarchic dynasties, but organised within this rivalry was the sectional struggle of competing class fractions for hegemony within the state.  And in that struggle, they waged a war for the support of subordinate classes: for example, the Legitimists sometimes posed as defenders of the working class against the exploitative industrial and financial capitalists.  Once again, the layers of appearance, the pageantry of ancient intrigue and birthright, codify and represent very modern conflicts.  The question of political representation, in its many senses, is at the centre of Marx's analysis here.   In this connection, note also that the landlords are included as a fraction of the capitalist class, because "large landed property, despite its feudal coquetry and pride of race, has been rendered thoroughly bourgeois by the developments of modern society".

At any rate, if the bourgeoisie was thus divided and weakened, the weakness of the proletariat, its youth and lack of development, meant that it was unable to take the leadership of national politics.  Nor was it able to form the class alliances that would be necessary for the left of the revolution to prevail.  Marx had written in 1848 of how it would be necessary for the urban workers to unite with rural proletarians and revolutionary peasants.  But in the end the urban working class was isolated.  So, there was a sort of stand-off between classes, a stasis that no one class is able to resolve.  The resolution of the stand-off fell to Louis-Napoleon Bonaparte, a dim gaffeur who nonetheless managed to channel a multitude of social interests in his person.  Napoleon le Petit, as Victor Hugo named him, had been the candidate of the monarchist right because he was seen as an exponent of order; of the industrialists, because of his liberal economic views; and of the passive majority of the rural classes, for whom the name of Bonaparte meant something (national greatness) as opposed to nothing.  "The most simple-minded man in France," Marx said, "acquired the most multifarious significance."  His main opponent, Cavaignac, was opposed by a similarly broad range of forces, including the socialists for whom he was tainted by his military career and his involvement in the massacre of workers.  The 'democratic socialist' Ledru-Rollin was distrusted by the urban working class for the same reason.  Bonaparte, meanwhile, also summoned the support of the so-called 'lumpenproletariat', consisting of declassed peasants and workers, soldiers, adventurers, crooks and so on.  It was on this social basis that the Society of 10 December, a pro-Bonaparte faction, rested.  But Bonaparte did not 'represent' all of these classes in the same way, an important point to which we'll return.  He took the presidency in alliance with the party of Order, before eventually disposing of the latter and declaring himself Napoleon III, and Emperor of the French.

Before launching into the issue of 'Bonapartism' and its relation to state theory, though, it is important to see in motion: the jostling of massed forces; the shifting of masses under different political banners; the fractionalisation of the ruling class; the complex and sudden changes in representative techniques; and the way in which the state is contested and occupied.  Using Marx's periodisation without attempting to imitate his style (which would be a severe discourtesy to the original), I will describe a loose schema of this process.

***

Marx begins with the First Period: "From 24 February to 4 May 1848. February period. Prologue. Universal brotherhood swindle."  The February revolution of 1848 had disposed of the monarchy, and brought into being the Second Republic.  The social forces united in the creation of this republic were, at first, bourgeois liberals and workers.  The 'swindle' was the bourgeoisie's promise to defend the interests of workers, the struggling petty bourgeoisie (particularly the artisans whose way of life was in crisis), and the educated for whom there were few posts of status available.  Thus bourgeois republicans promised to create a democratic and social republic.  They extended the franchise to millions of male workers, and relaxing repression and censorship.  Hundreds of newspapers flourished that spring.  In principle, Marx argues, the democratic republic is an ideal form of class rule for capital - in a phrase, the democratic republic is the dictatorship of the bourgeoisie.  But it also creates the political terrain in which the bourgeoisie's contest with the proletariat becomes open, and the 'swindle' of universal brotherhood melts into air.  The bourgeoisie initially honoured its social commitments by adding a proto-welfare state to the democratic republic, with National Workshops (effectively nationalised businesses) giving work to the unemployed. 100,000 were thus employed by the end of May.  All this, the better to consolidate their dictatorship under the banner of universal brotherhood: but this was where the 'swindle' began to break down.

The second period was that during which the republic and Constituent National Assembly are convoked, and is broken up into three sub-phases: "1. From  4  May  to  25  June 1848.  Struggle of  all  classes  against the proletariat. Defeat of the proletariat in the June days."  The bourgeoisie had already started to resent the taxes it had to pay to support the Workshops, and the growing pressure mounted by workers through the new democratic institutions.  It led a generalised shift to the right among an alliance of classes against the proletariat, and the April elections were won by conservatives and moderates.  By June, the workshops were being closed down.  The barricades were once more erected in the capital, and the bourgeois republicans became outright reactionaries.  Working class resistance in the capital was crushed by the National Guard, with 1500 killed during the suppression, 3000 murdered afterward, and 12000 deported to labour camps in colonial Algeria - or, in the familiar refrain of the bourgeoisie, order was restored.

The second sub-phase of the second period:  "From 25 June to 10 December 1848. Dictatorship of the pure bourgeois-republicans. Drafting of  the Constitution. Proclamation of a state of siege in Paris. The bourgeois dictatorship set aside on 10 December by the election of Bonaparte as President."  The defeat of the left and the working class left the state apparatus under the leadership of a "pure" bourgeois-republican bloc that was still moving to the right, albeit with a small opposition from radicals and the social democratic Montagne.  The constitution was revised in a highly conservative manner, striking out clauses supporting a 'right to work', and leaving education in the control of the Catholic church among other things.  Sub-phase 3: "From 20 December 1848 to 28 May 1849. Struggle of the Constituent Assembly with Bonaparte and with the party of Order in alliance with him. Passing of the Constituent Assembly. Fall of the republican bourgeoisie."  During this phase, the conservative Party of Order was increasingly dependent on Bonaparte, and increasingly at odds with the 'pure' bourgeois republicans.  The rule of the latter came to an end in the legislative elections of 28 May 1849, when the Party of Order won a substantial victory.  This reflected, as much as anything else, the continued right-ward swerve of the bourgeoisie, and its rejection of the republicans.

The third period is the most complex, punctuated by three sub-phases, the last of which is itself broken down into four parts. Sub-phase 1: "From 28 May 1849 to 13 June 1849. Struggle of the petty bourgeoisie with  the bourgeoisie and with Bonaparte. Defeat of the petty-bourgeois democracy."  While the right had won the elections, a radical minority of republicans and socialists, known as the Montagne, had been elected to the legislature with 25% of the vote.  For Marx, they represented a kind of petty bourgeois socialism which consisted mainly of the reform and perfection of capitalism: the big bourgeoisie exploits us through finance, so we want credit institutions; it crushes us through competition, so we want protection from the state; etc.  The Montagne continued to resist the Party of Order in parliament, and were expelled from the Assembly for their trouble.  Sub-phase 2: "From 13 June 1849 to 31 May 1850. Parliamentary dictatorship of the party of Order. It completes its rule by abolishing universal suffrage, but loses the parliamentary  ministry."  The Party of Order held the ministry in alliance with Louis-Napoleon, and held together a more or less stable government until elections were held again in 1850.  During these elections, the left swept the board in Paris.  In response, the Party of Order decided to get rid of universal male suffrage and cut about 30% of voters off the rolls. 

Sub-phase 3 contains the most complex and compressed sequence of movements.  Marx begins: "From  31  May  1850  to  2  December 1851.  Struggle between the parliamentary bourgeoisie and  Bonaparte."  This is the decisive movement that makes Louis-Napoleon's coup d'etat possible.  Marx breaks down the period into four discrete steps.  First, in the period until 12 January 1851, parliament lost "the supreme command of the army" to Louis-Napoleon.  Second, in the time until 11 April 1851, the weakness of the Party of Order in the Legislative Assembly forced it to form a coalition with the radicals it had previously expelled. Third, in the period until 9 October 1851, the Party of Order "decomposes into its separate constitutents", with growing antagonism between the executive (Louis-Napoleon) and parliament, and a "breach between the bourgeois parliament and press and the mass of the bourgeoisie".  Finally, in the period until the coup d'etat, the breach between parliament and executive power became more open.  Parliament was abandoned "by its own class, by the army, and by all the remaining classes".  Bourgeois rule passed away, with no resistance.  Foreknowledge of the coup and the ineptitude of its leadership did not prevent its success.  Thus:  "Victory of Bonaparte.  Parody of restoration of empire."
    ***

    As mentioned, the "parody" of imperial restoration here is in fact a modern tale of a failure of class capacities, a collapse in bourgeois initiative and leadership, the bathos of slogans betrayed before the ink has dried.  It is about a particular from of bourgeois state in which the bourgeoisie does not rule.  Prior to the revolution, the bourgeoisie had not ruled, merely "one faction of it: bankers, stock-exchange kings, railway kings, owners of coal and iron mines and forests, a part of the landed proprietors associated with them—the so-called finance aristocracy."  Also excluded were, of course, workers, the "petty bourgeoisie of all gradations" and the peasants.  Even the industrialists were in opposition.  "On the other hand, the smallest financial reform was wrecked due to the influence of the bankers."  At the end of the farce of 1848-51, the bourgeoisie was once again out of power.  In fact, no class had been able to take power: in power was the state apparatus itself, the increasingly powerful bureaucratic and military machinery, which had obtained a degree of autonomy from the contending social classes.  It was powerful enough, independent enough, that a drunken adventurer supported by the lumpenproletariat and smallholding peasants could suffice for its head.  This was, in a word, the 'Ceasarist', or the 'Bonapartist' regime. 

    There are three immediate elements to this kind of regime.  The first is the autonomy of the state apparatus from the contending classes; the second is the existence of a passive popular base for the regime; the third is that the bourgeoisie, by surrendering its political dominance, has retained its dominance at the level of productive relations.  The concept of Caesarism has since been developed in many directions.  Gramsci notably used the concept as a basis for the analysis of fascism, though it has also been a habitual recourse wherever populist governments of one sort or another have appeared.  Other theorists, often influenced by Althusser, have argued that the analysis confirms a more general 'relative autonomy' of the state apparatus.  These are leads that I do not intend to pursue at the moment; I merely list them to indicate that the theoretical (and thus political) consequences of this study, the Eighteenth Brumaire, are profound and contested.

    What I instead want to do is draw out some implications of Marx's survey.  First is the extraordinary power of the state as an apparatus in itself, the sort of power that could enable it to act as a more or less autonomous force in society.  This is far more evident today than in the period Marx was describing.  Second is the relation to social classes.  It is not merely the occupation of the state that determines its class role: the structure of the state itself is not class-neutral.  This is not to say that the class basis of a particular state can be read off from its various features.  After all, if a democratic republic is ideal for a bourgeoisie in rude health, a dictatorship of some sort (not necessarily a Caesarist dictatorship) may be its saviour in crisis.  The question, as Goran Therborn suggests, is what role the state plays in advancing, allowing or inhibiting the further reproduction of capitalist social relations.  Third is the relation between the state and civil society.  Although the state is not class-neutral - and for this reason, Marx takes the view that it must be dismantled rather than perfected - it is nonetheless a terrain which is traversed by contesting classes in representational struggles.  It is impossible to be indifferent to the forms of representation that take place.  Not because these are 'reflections' of 'real' class struggles taking place outside of the political system, but because they are highly mediated forms of class struggle in themselves.  And because the representation of classes within the state has a formative effect on the behaviour of classes within civil society.  When representation breaks down, the political forces in parliament become useless, unmoored: but the class forces they have tried to represent are thereby also disenfranchised.  Fourth, the state has a particular role in relation to the fractionalisation of the ruling class.  Such fractionalisation is an inevitable aspect of capitalist development, and is merely one of the ways in which a 'general' bourgeois interest is only possible under the hegemony of one of its fractions.  In addition to fractionalisation is the individuation of and competition between members of the capitalist class.  The result is that were it not for the state's ability to act as a unifying factor, organising the power of social classes within the apparatus itself, the capitalist class might be constantly, as I suggested earlier, at its own throat.  Poulantzas suggested that the separation of powers - executive, legislative and judicial - could be understood in terms of a distribution of power in which the hegemonic class or fraction controls the executive.  Either way, the state must play a pro-active role in securing the unity of the dominant classes; and by extension the disunity of the dominated classes.

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    Monday, November 08, 2010

    Cops who hate the working class posted by Richard Seymour

    The popular BBC show, The Cops, was unusual in refusing to defer to the boys in blue. Cop shows are usually cheap to make, formulaic, and the police will give you a lot of assistance if it dovetails with their PR efforts. But actually the deference I speak of is suffocatingly omnipresent in contemporary crime fiction. Even the more cynical, wry, slightly left-field Scottish crime writers, such as Ian Rankin, Stuart Macbride and the more obviously political Christopher Brookmyre, tend to glamourise men and women who are basically administrators skilfully applying violence to resolve bureaucratic dilemmas. You have to turn to Irvine Welsh for a properly pungent deconstruction of the polis' unwarranted aura of righteous cool.

    But The Cops was well-researched, and implicitly on the side of the working class people whom the police found themselves in conflict with. The show depicted police men and women without assuming that they should be glamorous, conscientious, or heroic. More often than not, they were anti-working class bigots. In one characteristic scene, set on a deprived estate, two police officers talk about how hated they are on the estate. One looks at a passing mother, with children, and says: "Look at 'em - breedin' like rabbits. I'm sick of them all. Dirty, thievin', lyin' scumbags. I'm sick of 'em." The police hated the programme, and withdrew their advisory role after the first series. Stories like this remind you that it isn't just fiction, and tell you a lot about the attitudes of the police, which are misleadingly described as 'canteen culture':

    Hayley Adamson was hit by a police car which had been travelling at more than 90mph in a 30mph zone in Newcastle.

    The 16-year-old was killed instantly and the accident provoked a hostile reaction from local youths in the working class area of Scotswood.

    The driver, Pc John Dougal, had been pursuing a suspicious vehicle when the accident happened in May 2008.

    Dougal was later convicted of causing death by dangerous driving and jailed for three years. The case led to heavy criticism of Northumbria Police.

    Shortly after Hayley's death, it was revealed that a 'black box' computer fitted to the car had failed to record details of the officer's driving.

    The force were also criticised in March this year after they put themselves forward for a public relations award over their handling of the media coverage of the case.

    They later apologised to Hayley's family.

    Now it has been revealed that a policewoman at the scene of the accident allegedly referred to Hayley as a 'Scotchie scumbag'.

    Scotchie is a nickname for the Scotswood area, which is one of the region's most deprived areas.


    As is usual with incidents where police are implicated in appalling, and perhaps revealing, conduct, leniency is sought, and all too often offered, on the grounds that the police have a difficult, stressful job. (There are a few examples in the comments thread below the cited article, among the usual batshittery). This neatly shifts the focus from the question of what is acceptable behaviour by public authorities, and more generally from what examples like this tell us about the authority in question, to the issue of extenuating circumstances, difficulties faced by people 'on the front line'. It also directs us also to instinctively take the side of the police officers in their daily conflicts, where it may not be sensible to do so.

    It would be more appropriate to stick with the subject. Why would coppers behave like this, have these attitudes? Certainly, social authoritarianism comes with the job. And certainly, those sections of the working class who don't do what they're told would seem to pose a problem for the police. Their job is administer, to uphold the existing social relations and to ensure that their rules are not routinely breached. They would see their job, in a certain light, as being one of social control on deprived estates which suffer from higher rates of vandalism and property offenses. Because of the increased rate of confrontation between police and local people, especially young people, there is an antagonism and suspicion between them, so that the police are also less likely to get compliant cooperation out of the people on poor estates. The relationship between the police and working class populations thus reflects the broader social antagonism that they're a part of. Here, I don't accept the probably common view that the average bobby belongs to the working class. I think that the relationship of the policeman to the means of production is actually very similar to that of any middle class professional, in that they exert authority over the working class on behalf of the owners. In a word, cops are basically managers, junior managers, foremen and supervisors with big sticks and funny hats.

    It is that situation which produces the conflicts that coppers face daily, which leads to them being spat on, yelled at in the streets, and hated by many, and which also leads to them roughing people up, killing people in custody, racially abusing suspects or non-suspects, harrassing kids, and so on. No doubt it is exhausting. No doubt the police man or woman goes home feeling tired, disgusted, emotionally drained, sick to the back teeth of the kinds of people they encounter everyday. No doubt this coarsening, hardening, grinding experience of daily confrontation leads to a certain contempt for political correctness and anything else which could be seen as hypocritical, pretentious or soft-headed. No doubt that is what leads to a police woman referring to a working class girl, killed moments ago by a fellow officer, as "scum". But there's nothing in this that redeems the police woman's motives, or mitigates the offence. Rather, it just calls for the casting of a wider net of critique.

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