Thursday, October 25, 2012

Not Accessories

On Saturday I marched, as my union had asked me to, against the current government's austerity programme. It seems somewhere between 100,000 and 150,000 other people did something similar in London, and a few tens of thousands elsewhere. In a country of 60 million, I suppose that's not that impressive, though it is a little more in a city around a tenth of that. On the march, I met some ex-students who seemed a little surprised I was there, though I think at least some of them must have seen me on a picket line earlier in the year. I think they were surprised because I haven't always been very supportive of forms of direct action they've been involved in; I wasn't particularly enthusiastic about UCL's 2010 Occupation, for example, which, whatever you thought of the Government higher education policies it opposed, seemed to have quite the wrong target and to be far too late; how, exactly, was inconveniencing UCL going to stop the coalition government increasing the amount graduates have to pay back once they've found work?

All this is by way of lengthy and digressive introduction to David Runciman's recent LRB piece on the Occupy movement. Occupy seems to me, and I should say here that this impression has been acquired at a distance, much of a piece with this kind of direct action, a sense reinforced by Runciman's careful but caustic deconstruction of the vacuous "we are the 99%" slogan. Political success, at least in the quasi-democracies we're familiar with, is about the mobilization of a sufficiently threatening coalition, and if 99% of us have consistently failed to manage to be a sufficiently threatening coalition over the past thirty-odd years, then that's presumably not because we couldn't be relied on to outnumber the other lot, to be sufficiently threatening. Instead, the problem is more likely to be do with drawing us together into a coalition; as Runciman points out, 99% results in favour of something are the marker of elections that weren't decided at the polls. The idea that there is a majority of that size in favour of something is naive, has failed to understand the circumstances of politics. Coalitions have to be built, built and then held together till their power can be applied to force whatever policy or programme they've been united behind through, typically in electoral contests but sometimes on the streets. Such agreement as can be found, given the inevitability of substantive disagreement, both moral and on the basis of interests, class and otherwise, will need to be used, and there's more or less nothing 99% of the population agree on; the desirability of continuing breathing, perhaps, and probably not much more.

And what did Occupy achieve, after all? For all that it was supposed to represent the 99%, it never got the 100,000 people on the streets that the TUC, with its membership slightly more than 10% of the UK population, could. Occupy and their ilk are hardly alone in this failure to understand what politics is, though; in fact, insofar as I have a professional project, it could be thought of as trying to reiterate, over and over again, how important the distinctive character of politics is for prescriptions about it. It's central to my tediously lengthy, almost obsessive and thus far largely ignored campaign against G. A. Cohen, for example, though he's far from the only offender. I've recently been reading a fair amount of contemporary republicanism, and it's full of it. Richard Dagger wants to shrink cities so as to make them amenable to being governed by something like the New England townhall meetings mythologised by Tocqueville; presumably he's less enthusiastic about the Salem witchtrails. Philip Pettit thinks that a central reform we need to enact in order to protect minorities against domination is to recreate the US Supreme Court across the world; maybe the Supreme Court's silence in the face of slavery or destruction of attempts to regulate the labour market in the Lochner era passed him by.

Neither has thought about what politics is actually like. In Dagger's case, he's forgotten that the small, homogeneous communities those governmental forms flourished in were sexist, racist, and subject to all kinds of vicious public surveillance; in Pettit's, he seems to think that the really important victims of domination in our world are the sort of people that the top echelons of the legal profession, elderly, mainly white and mainly male, are instinctively sympathetic to. On the basis of their work, contemporary republicanism seems to be little more than the delivery platitudes about the desirability of community and minority rights, as if there was nothing to be asked about the advantages of a little discord or of the people, rather than a subset of them, ruling, sometimes leavened with some slightly odd claims about a third theory of liberty. It's hardly Rousseau and his deliciously provocative claims about being forced to be free, all tied up with an awareness of the difficulty of sustaining a political community, of its costs, of the liberties that cannot continue to be held. It's probably not coincidental that neither Pettit nor Dagger are very good readers of Rousseau. They've none of his sense of who his enemies are, of his resentments. Knowing who your enemies are, though, is central to a political project; you need to pick your fights, and win them. As Schumpeter put it,the "psycho-technics of party management and party advertising, slogans and marching tunes [are] the essence of politics": without them, you don't mobilise. Occupy are at least in illustrious company in not seeing that.

Wednesday, October 10, 2012

Being So Glad

One of the reasons I was glad that Ed and not David Miliband won the Labour leadership in the aftermath of the 2010 General Election was that I thought that having been Foreign Secretary in the dog days of the last Labour administration would mean that the older Miliband would be unable to rid himself or his party of the stench of their complicity in so many of the horrors of the War on Terror. I was also glad because having been Foreign Secretary in the dog days of the last Labour administration meant being the kind of Blairite shit who, at best, thought that complicity was a price worth paying for, well, what exactly was never quite clear, but it wasn't only an ideological complaint: this was tactics; I could see any criticism of anything particularly vile the Coalition did being countered with reminders of the Labour leader's involvement in extraordinary rendition, of the party being unable to extricate itself from its entanglement in the quasi-imperial projects of the lunatic fringe of the Republican party and so unable to hold the government to task. So this, reminding us that Miliband assured MPs that rendition was not taking place via Diego Garcia when he was Foreign Secretary, is in a certain kind of sense reassuring. On the other hand, it reminds me that my Department is kindly offering a little prestige in their retirement to someone whose career may well end up being defined by their complicity in and lies to Parliament about torture.