One day last October, I
happened to spot an acquaintance’s post on Wechat. It was a simple message
thanking all ‘Ant-izens’ (people who work in Ant Financial of Alibaba) for
their hard work, followed by a short video advertising Ant’s upcoming IPO. It
came from a data scientist who had given up his high-paid job in the US,
returned to China, and joined Ant Financial three years earlier. Ant shares
were then expected to start trading in Hong Kong and Shanghai on 5 November.
Jack Ma, the founder of Ant
and affiliate Alibaba Group Holding, had declared it a “miracle” that such a
large listing would take place outside New York. It was poised to raise up to
$34.4 billion in the world’s largest stock market debut and would create a vast
group of new billionaires. The data scientist’s post, like many posts on social
media, was a showoff: it was a subtle public announcement that he was going to
become extremely rich in two weeks’ time. The post contributed to a rather
complicated, self-consciously suppressed feeling among many professional
Chinese Americans: once again they were tasting the bitter feeling of being
stuck in the US middle-class, left behind by those who had managed to jump on
the fast-track train of China’s economic growth, grabbing opportunity in the
mainland and realizing their ‘Chinese Dreams’ by finally becoming ‘financially
independent’ (meaning rich enough that you and your offspring would never need
to worry about money again).
Then, on 3 November, two
days before the feast, the IPO was suddenly called off by the Chinese
government. Immediately thereafter, China ordered Ant Group to rectify its
businesses and comply with regulatory requirements amid increased scrutiny of
monopoly practices in the country’s internet sector. Such a blow! The data scientist
kept a dignified silence; my professional friends kept a polite silence. And
Jack Ma, the real protagonist of the drama, kept a cautious silence. He has
since disappeared from public view (only reappearing on 19 January 2021 with a
video emphasizing his social work). Where is he? What is he doing now? What
would happen to him? Why would all this happen? What does the state’s
intervention mean to Ant and Alibaba, to the whole ecommerce industry, and to
the whole private sector? What does it say about the logic of the state
apparatus in this enigmatic yet so important country? Where will it go? And how
would this affect the rest of the world, especially the West? So many questions
and so much drama.
Image 1: Jack Ma, who created Alibaba.com in Hangzhou, China in March 1999 (Source: JD Lasica, https://www.flickr.com/photos/jdlasica/292160777)
Unsurprisingly, the Western liberal media have maintained their usual cold-war tone, by interpreting the drama as a typical attack initiated by a post-socialist authoritarian state towards this too powerful private entrepreneur out of fear or simply for the vanity and narcissism of Your Highness Xi. The Financial Times, for example, compared it immediately with the Khodorkovsky case in Russia (Lewis 2021, paywall). The implication was clear: you can never trust those former socialist authoritarian countries. They would never respect private property, follow the rules of the liberal world, and become “us”. Equally unsurprisingly, some Western Leftists have maintained their idealist tone towards a China that may perhaps be capitalist but is at least not Western capitalist. For them, the crack-down on Ant signifies a determined fight by the state and the population against greedy capital and capitalists.
Most people in China indeed
seem to have welcomed the crackdown and support the state’s actions. There are
various reasons for such support. One economist
I talked to supported it for financial security considerations and for the
state’s antitrust efforts. She mentioned the extremely high and hence hazardous
financial leverage that Ant Financial is playing with, as well as the antitrust
efforts against Facebook and Google in the USA. One private entrepreneur also
supported the action for financial security considerations, but based on
different reasoning. According to him, since there are many different kinds of
capital (including foreign capital) behind Alibaba and Ant, Ant’s IPO would further
open the door for foreign finance capital to enter the Chinese market. Some
intellectuals talked about the vulgar and disgusting advertisements made by Ant
Financial aiming to encourage irrational consumption, as well as the
irresponsible private loans it has given out, and how all these behaviors have
disrupted social order and degraded social morals.
All these reasons were evident in the government’s statements for halting Ant: to regulate the financial market, enforce antitrust legislation, and create a healthier consumption environment (Yu 2020). This all seems valid except that the role Ant is playing is largely as a platform––a middleman between state banks and individual small-loan borrowers. Much of the capital given out as small loans by Ant actually comes from the state banks. The state banks were not allowed to engage in these high profit businesses. They also do not have access to the necessary consumer data and data science. They normally deal with state owned enterprises. So, Ant stepped in to help state banks exploit a previously untouched financial market: grassroots personal loans. They then divided the profit. As some observers rightly pointed , Ant has always aimed at creating partnerships with big banks, not disrupting or supplanting them. More importantly, quite a few important government-owned funds and institutions are Ant shareholders and were expected to profit handsomely from the public offering (Zhong & Li 2020). Thus, the claim that Ant squeezed out the state banks is spurious. They were basically in the same boat. That is why the state never really regulated Ant before. Meanwhile, we should not forget that the informal financial market has long existed in Chinese grassroots society due to the inaccessibility of bank loans for most non-state economic entities and common people. Ant actually formalized (to a certain degree) this informal market. Yes, Ant did play the financial game of ‘asset-backed securities’ to enhance its financial leverage, but hardly to the extent that Wall Street is used to doing. Finally, what about the irrational consumption encouraged by easily accessible loans (especially for youths)? Maybe. But most such loans still come from other smaller and less responsible lending agencies following in Ant’s steps, which try to grasp crumbs from the huge cake but do not have the technology and data required to avoid excessive risk. It is these smaller and less technologically capable actors that are in fact creating chaos in credit supply. In short: even if we all agree that financial capital has always been highly speculative, and that Ant is no exception, some of the official statements justifying the intervention into Ant’s IPO still sound fishy.
Meanwhile, the poor in
China still seem the most determined supporters of the state’s crackdown on
Ant. They supported it out of their hatred toward big capital. On the internet,
they lambasted the bloodsucking behavior of Ant, and called it “Leech Financial”
instead of Ant Financial (Leech is pronounced in Chinese as “Ma Huang” and ant
is pronounced as “Ma Yi”). There is also a popular cartoon being circulated on
the internet that depicts Jack Ma as a beggar in his old age—homeless, fragile,
and sad. One blue-collar worker told me that any big capitalist whose main objective is to extract money from the poor
should be dragged down.
Tellingly, the state has intentionally toned down popular indignation. The relationship between state and capital in this country has always been much more complicated than the mere antagonism imagined by liberal commentators. The state can’t afford a strong group of capitalists with too much power and resources; but neither can it afford losing them and scaring capital away. It has always been an art of balancing. As we have seen, Jack Ma has reappeared recently with a more solemn appearance. His Ant is now required to deploy necessary ‘rectifications’ under the tighter rein of state regulation (CBNEditor 2021). It is, nevertheless, the right thing for the state to do, no matter the underlying aims. Ma, of course, should always keep in mind that there has never been an Era of Jack Ma; it has always been the Chinese Era that created him, as one Chinese official newspaper publicly warned him as early as 2019.
As for those professional
Chinese Americans who believe that they have missed the recent gold-digging
opportunities in China and have started to doubt their earlier decision to go
abroad, the crackdown on Ant—or more specifically, the broken dream of becoming
a billionaire data scientist—has taught them a rather comforting lesson:
miracles, whether for a country, a company, or an individual, are slippery. A
boring yet relatively predictable middle-class suburban life in the West should
at least be bearable, perhaps even enviable.
Juzimu is an ethnographic researcher of Chinese capitalist transitions and writes here under pseudonym.
Times are a Changing. The Trump phenomenon
as a whole, his election, his presidency, the events of the Capitol, Joe Biden’s
accession and Donald Trump’s impeachment are moments of radical process. They
form a dynamic in and of themselves. They express the chaos and transition of
the moment but they are also and at the same time forces in the transformation
and transmutations of capitalism and world history, perhaps, with the
complications of the COVID19 pandemic, virtually an axial moment, a switch or
turning-point of crisis, as
Don Kalb has argued on FocaalBlog early in the pandemic (Kalb 2020).
This involves a re-consideration of what is
fast becoming the master narrative concerning Trump, with ideological
implications of its own. Trump is presented as a spectre of a fascist past
rather than a foretaste, a mediation into, the potential of an authoritarian
totalitarian future involving major transmutations in capitalism. What follows
concerning the Trump phenomenon is written with all this very much in
mind.
Our guess (a risky gamble in these times
when almost anything seems possible) is that Trump will fade. There are
doubtless many other political figures similar or worse who could take his
place. With the going of Trump so may his “movement”. What crystallized around
him was more an assemblage, a loose-knit heterogeneous, motely collection of
diverse persons and groups ranging from the extreme far right to the more
moderate, whose organizational cohesion may be more illusory than real. Not yet
a political ‘Party Trump’ it is as likely to melt into air and go the way of
most populist movements as it might congeal into a longer-lasting force of
opposition headed by Trump.
This is not to gainsay the shock of the
storming of the Capitol on the otherwise ritualistic day of the confirmation of
Biden’s victory that concludes the liminal transitional period conventional in
the US-American democratic cycle. Such a liminal space (Turner, 1969) is a
relative retreat and suspension of the state political order as the presidency
is renewed or changed. This is often a festive time given to all kinds of
political excess when the people vent their potency in the selection of those
who are to rule them. Trump encouraged and intensified the potential chaos of liminality
at its peak when, ideally, it should subside and political order be fully
restored. He aimed to disrupt this critical moment and to maintain his
uncertain presence as the Lord of Misrule, if not necessarily to effect a coup.
Named as “God’s
chaos candidate” by some evangelicals who supported him, Trump promoted,
even if unwittingly, a moment of extreme chaos that was all the more intense
for the liminal moment of its occurrence when the participants themselves blew
out of control.
Night of the World, Pandemonium at the Capitol
In the nightmare of the event, newscasts presented
visions of a fascist future filled with Fascist and Nazi images and other
commonly associated symbols. There was a strong sense of dialectical collapse
along the lines of Hegel’s “Night of the World” of demonic appearances when
forces in opposition dissipate against each other and lose their meaning. The
representatives of the nation cowered under their desks fitting gas masks while
those who would challenge them in festive mood and drunk with brief power put
their feet up on desks aping their masters and carried off the mementos and
spoils of their invasion. Exuberant chants of “this is our house” echoed down
the corridors of power.
Shades of the past paraded in the present,
foremost among them that of the enduring trauma of the rise of Nazi
Germany. What Sinclair Lewis had warned
in It Can’t Happen Here – a Hitler-esque rise to power at the centre of
the democratic world – anticipated by all sides from the early days of Trump’s
apotheosis, seemed to be actually materializing. This accounts for the
excitement on the steps of the Capitol – “this is America 2021 y’all!!” Arlie
Hochschild captured the millenarian Nuremberg feel of his campaign rallies when
researching Strangers in Their Own Land: Anger and Mourning on the American
Right (Hochschild 2016), her excellent ethnography of the white far right
and their sympathisers in Louisiana, America’s poorest state and a Donald Trump
heartland. Hochschild recounts at a lecture to the Rosa
Luxemburg Foundation in Berlin a scene, reminiscent of the opening frames
of Leni Riefenstahl’s The Triumph of the Will, when Trump’s plane,
“Trump Force One”, appears through the clouds and, as if from heaven it
descends “down, down, down” to the waiting crowd; electrified in expectation of
the saviour’s endlessly repeated sermon of redemption of the deep resentment that
they felt for having been pushed aside from the promise of the American
Dream.
But here is the point: The immediate
reaction to the storming of the Capitol gave further confirmation to the real
and present danger of Trump’s fascist threat fuelled in the rumblings of class
war which Trump has inflamed and exploited. It is a liberal fear, mainly of the
Democrats but including some Republicans, who are the chief targets of Trump’s
attacks. His demonisation of elite liberal value (marked by accusations of
moral perversities aimed at unmasking the claims to virtue) is at one with his
condemnation of the liberalism of Federal political and social economic
policies which he presents as contributing to the abjection of mainly white US-American
working class and poor; to be seen in the rapidly increasing power of global
corporations, policies of economic globalization, the privileging of
minorities, refugees, recent immigrants etc.
Image 1: When surprises were minimal and manifest destiny kept on giving. The Capitol Christmas Tree arrives in Washington, D.C., Nov. 26, 2012 (Foto: US Forest Service/Keith Riggs, accessed 8 Feb 2021)
It might be remembered at this point that
the violence of the Capitol invasion–the marked involvement of military
veterans, the carrying of weapons, baseball bats, the reports of pipe bombs–that
shocked so many, reflects the fact that all modern states are founded on
violence. This is particularly the case in the US where the US
Constitution’s Second Amendment protects the right to bear arms in defence of
democratic rights. In an important sense the violence of those invading the
Capitol refracts back at the middle class and especially the ruling elite the
very violence that underpins the structure of their rule. If liberal virtue was
shocked by the events on January 6 it was also confronted with the violent
paradox deep in its democratic heart (see Palmer 2021). Thus, this paradox
slips into paroxysm at this critical moment in American political history.
The transitional figure of Trump feeds on
the prejudices of his intended constituencies and exploits an already
ill-formed class awareness building on ready commitments and vulnerabilities – the
well-rehearsed fascist and populist technique – creating indeed a false
consciousness (there is no other way to say it) that is not only destructive
but in the hands of the likes of Trump integral to intensifying the feelings of
impotence and the miseries that give Trump his relative popularity. Slavoj
Zizek says as much in what he describes as “Trump’s
GREATEST TREASON”.
Arnold Schwarzenegger, ‘The Governator,’
was quick to counter the white supremacist, macho, Proud Boy, Oath Keeper and Three
Percenter elements highly visible in media newscasts with a Conan the Barbarian
performance. This was his take on the dominant brand of Make America Great
Again. (Really, all those along the political spectrum participate in MAGA – Democrat
Party badges and hats from the recent election read “Dump Trump Make
America Great Again”). He focussed on his own immigration away from his native
Austria and its Nazi associations to the liberated American world of his
success. For Schwarzenegger, the Capitol invasion and its vandalism equated to Kristallnacht.
Noam Chomsky likens the storming with Hitler’s
Beer Hall Putsch of 1923 observing that it effected a greater penetration
to the heart of power than did Hitler’s failed attempt. But Chomsky, with
characteristic acuity, adds that the fascist danger lies in the anti-democratic
class forces (including electoral and political manipulations on all sides)
that provide the fertile ground for fascism; forces that have acutely and early
been pinpointed by anthropologists (Holmes 2000, 2020; Kalb and Halmai 2011;
Kalb, forthcoming).
But the point must be taken further. New
class formations are in the making right now and they are being driven in the
explosive nature of technological revolution (see Smith
2020). This is something Marx himself was very much aware of and why he
wrote more than one hundred pages on the machine and the human in Capital. This
is also the concern of Marcuse in One Dimensional Man (2002) and the
continued focus of today’s accelerationists such as the Nick Srnicek (2017) on platform
capitalism.
Creative Destruction, the Transmutation in Capital and Corporate State Formation
The rise and fall of Trump (not discounting the
possibility that Humpty Dumpty might come together again, which is the fear of
the master narrative) may be understood as expressing a transition between
two moments of capitalism during which one formation morphs into another. Trump
is the embodiment, instrument, and anguish of this transition, a tragic figure
in a theatre of the absurd. Grand Guignol almost, but in Gothic American Horror
Story style. The accession of Biden is the apotheosis of the new in the
hopes of most; he is a vehicle for healing the divisions in the U.S. that Trump
brought to a head and are still very much present. But Biden’s rise has ominous
oppressive indications of its own.
The Trump events have all the hallmarks of
the crisis and rupture of transformation or, better, transmutation. The
millenarian spirit that Hochschild captures in her account is one born in the
capitalist ideology of the American Dream; fortified in the religious
fundamentalism of Trump’s many followers that revitalizes their hopes in that
American Dream in the face of abject failure. The rallies and the impassioned
actions of those invading the Capitol are filled with revitalizing energy.
Such millenarian explosions, distinct in
their own historical contexts, occur at many other points in global history. It
was apparent at the dawn of capitalism in Europe, at later moments of crisis
and redirection in capitalism up to the present – indeed at the inception of
the Nazi horror, and at points of the disruptive expansion of capital in the
western imperial/colonial thrust as in the Cargo movements of the Pacific (Cohn
1970, Lanternari 1960, Worsley 1970 (1959); Neveling
2014 for a link between Cargo Cults and neoliberal capitalism).
The rupture of transmutation in capital,
the crisis that the Trumpian progress manifests, is an instance of what Marx
and others have understood to be the creative/destruction dynamic of capital;
whereby it reproduces, renews, revitalizes its potency against contradictions
and limitations to its profit motive that capital generates within itself as
well as those thrown up against it in the very process of its own expansion and
transformation.
The circumstances underpinning the current
transmutation in capital relate to the revolutions in science and technology those
associated particularly with the digital age and advances in biotechnology).
The rapid development of capital (and especially that of the still dominant, if
declining, US-American form) was driven by the innovations in knowledge and
technology (something that Marx and many others admired in US-America). What
became known as the nation state (the dominant political form that nurtured
capital) and the class orders that were generated in capitalism and necessary
to it (not to mention the over-population and ecological disasters that grew in
capital’s wake) also constituted barriers and limitations to capital’s
growth.
The new technological revolutions are a
response to the limitations on capital emergent within its own processes.
Technological innovations enabled revolutions in production and consumption, creating
new markets and increasing consumption, reducing the need for human labour and
the resistances it brings with it, overcoming problems, and opening up
novel lines, of distribution; forcing the distress of unemployment (especially
among the erstwhile working class), creating impoverishment and uncertainties
reaching into once affluent middle classes as captured in the neologism ‘the
precariat’; shifting class alignments; redefining the nature and value of work,
of the working day, the expansion of zero hours and, as an overarching
manifestation, a sense of the return of a bygone era.
The current technological revolution is a key
factor in the extraordinary growth in the monopolizing strength of corporations
such as Google, Amazon or even Tencent. The dot.com organizations (the
flagships and spearheads of capitalist transformation with huge social transmutational
effect) have wealth that dwarfs many states and they are functioning in areas
once controlled by the state (from what used to be public services to the
current race to colonize space). Indeed the corporate world has effectively
invaded and taken over the operation of nation-states (Kapferer
2010; Kapferer
and Gold 2018).
This is most noteworthy in those state
orders influenced by histories of liberal social democracy, in Europe and
Australia for example, which tended to draw a sharp demarcation between public
interest and private enterprise. The nation-state and its apparatuses of
government and institutions for public benefit have been corporatized so much
so that in many cases government bureaucracies have not only had their
activities outsourced to private companies but also have adopted managerial
styles and a ruthlessness along the lines of business models. The corporatization
of the state has aligned it much more closely with dominant economic interests
in the private (now also public) sectors than before and enables a bypassing of
state regulation, even that which once sustained capitalist interest, but which
became an impediment to capitalist expansion.
These changes have wrought socio-economic
and political disruption and distress globally and most especially in the
Western hemisphere. This is not merely collateral damage. The revolution in
science and technology has been a key instrument in effecting social and
political changes via destruction, for the regenerative expansion of capital.
It is central to the re-imagination of capital in the opening of the twenty-first
century.
This is particularly so in the United States
whose socio-political order is historically one of corporate state formation which
accounts for its long-term global political economic domination. Some renewal
in leftist thought (e.g. with Bernie Sanders) is an index of the depth of distress
that is being experienced although the ideological and counteractive potency of
the American Dream fuelled especially in fundamentalist Christianity suppresses
such potential and contributes to the intensity and passion of the Trump
phenomenon. The ideological distinction of the Trump event aside, its dynamic
of populism is reflected throughout the globe (Kalb 2021)
One common feature of this is the rejection
of the political systems associated with nation state orders and, to a marked
extent the largely bipartite party systems vital in the discourses of control
and policy in nation states. Trumpism and other populist movements (in Europe
notably) complain of the alienation of the state and its proponents from
interests of the mass. The expansion of corporatization and the further
hollowing out of the state, the corruption of its public responsibilities by
corporate interests, is effectively what Trump was furthering in his
presidency. It is a potent dimension of the Trump paradox and a major irony of
the Capitol invasion that, for all the apparent fascist tendencies, it was the
spirit of reclaiming democracy (admittedly of the freebooting kind) in an
already highly corporatized establishment (subject to great corporate capitalist
interest) that Trump’s actions were directed to. An important figure in this
respect is the Silicon Valley venture capitalist Peter Thiel. The tech
billionaire, early investor in Facebook and founder of PayPal, was an early
Trump supporter and named a part of Trump’s transition team in 2016. His book, Zero
to One, based on his lecture courses at Stanford University, argues for a
corporate-technocratic governance beyond older systems of government. (Thiel
2014).
From Panopticon to Coronopticon
COVID-19 has highlighted the social
devastation of the destructive/creative dynamic of capitalism’s transmutation (see
also Kalb
2020). The class and associated ethnic inequities have everywhere been
shown up and probably intensified by a pandemic that is starting to equal, if
not surpass, the depressing and devastating effect of two world wars. Like them
it is clearing ground for capitalist exploitative expansion – something like
Naomi Klein’s disaster capitalism (Klein 2007).
Under the shadow of the virus, labour
demands are being rationalized, the cutting back of employment and its benefits
legitimated, governments are pumping capital into the economies in a way that
protects consumption in an environment where there is declining occupational
opportunity and income. The idea of the universal basic income is seriously
discussed. Its implementation would offset some of the contradictions in a
transformation of capitalism that is reducing our dependence on labour and endangering
consumption through automation and digitalization. While the poor are getting
poorer the rich are getting richer; most notably those heading the
revolutionary technologies of the digital age and biotechnology, with the
competitive race to secure viable vaccines against the virus one example for
the latter sector’s power.
There is a strange synchronicity linking
the pandemic with the dynamic of capitalism’s transmutational corporatization
of the state. The virus reproduces and spreads in a not dissimilar dynamic.
Indeed, COVID 19 in some ecological understandings is the product of the
acceleration of globalization effected in those processes of capitalism’s
transmutation associated with corporate expansion and the corporatization of
the nation state. As a crossover from animal to human bodies the virus is one
manifestation of increased human population pressure on wild animal territory,
the closer intermeshing of animal and human terrain. The scale
of the pandemic is, of course, a direct consequence of the time space
contraction and intensity
of the networked interconnections of globalization.
State surveillance has intensified as a
by-product of combatting COVID which is also its legitimation, with digitalization
as the major surveillance instrument. The digital penetration into every nook
and cranny of social life (see Zuboff2019, and Netflix’s The Social Dilemma),
is interwoven with the commodification of the social and personal for profit – economizing
individuals calculating the costs and benefits of their social ‘interactions’
(the YouTube or Kuaishou ‘influencer,’ the hype TED talker as Foucault’s
entrepreneurial self, cut, pasted, uploaded and remixed).
The management of Covid-19, demanding
social isolation and the disruption of ordinary social life, has exponentially increased
the role of the digital as the primary mediator of the social and a commanding
force in its very constitution. Covid-19 has been revealed as a kind of social
particle accelerator. As such, and ever more exclusively so, the real of the
social, is being re-imagined, re-engineered and re-mastered as a digital-social,
a ‘Digisoc’ or ‘Minisoc,’ constrained and produced within algorithmically
preset parameters. Here is Peter Weir’s film, The Truman Show,
radically updated. And, as with Truman, the space of freedom is also and at the
same time experienced as a space of unfreedom.
This manifests in the deep ambivalence many
feel about the new technologies they daily live with and through. The digitized
social is often presented as a new agora, a liberating ‘space’ in which new, progressive
ideas and directions are enabled, operationalized and indeed optimized. The
internet has become a site of multiple struggles in which class forces and new
potentials for social difference and proliferating identity-claims are continually
emerging. The freedom of the internet has provided exciting opportunities for
many. Such freedom also and at the same time contributes to conspiracy
imaginations on all sides. As has been made clear in the two elections
featuring Trump, the superpower of corporations like Google and Facebook
threatens to install a domain of hyper-control. Digital walls and electronic
fences are appearing everywhere in the age of the global ‘splinternet.’
The hegemonic and totalizing potential for
the ruling bodies of the corporatizing state who control the digital is as
never before. This is so not just in the global scale of the network reach but
in the heightened degree to which controlling bodies can form the ground of the
social, radically remodel, engineer and design reality in accordance with
dominant interests, and where motivated shut out that which threatens their
order. The awareness of this has driven the fury of censorship and
self-censorship on all sides – Trump’s threatened TikTok ban becomes Twitter’s
actual Trump ban.
Back in Some Form: From 1984 into a Brave New World
Trump and Trumpism are moments in the
transitional, transmutational process of capitalism outlined above and of the
formation of new social and political orders. Echoing the past, they express its
transmutation (and its agonies) rather than repeat it. Trump and Trumpism
manifest the contradictions of such processes, agents and agencies for the
transmutations in the social and political circumstances of life that are in
train, themselves forces in the bringing forth of a future that, in some
aspects, is already being lived.
Trump himself can be described as an
“in-betweener”, a bridge into the new realities, both a force in their
realization and a victim. His manner and style, the brutal no holds barred
amorality is familiar from the captains of industry and robber barons of an
earlier age, who built capitalist America and crushed working-class resistance
by all means, more foul than fair. Trump maintains the style but in reverse
redemptive mode. In his shape-shift he presents as supporter of the working
classes not their nemesis as did his forerunners.
However, his authoritarian business manner,
of The Apprentice’s“you’re
fired” fame, matches well the managerialism of the present. He is an
exemplar of contemporary venture capitalism and most especially of profit from
non-industrial production (often anti production) gained from real estate,
property transfer, asset stripping, and the expanding gaming and gambling
industries (their importance as symptoms of the crises of transformation in
capital) from which some of Trump’s key supporters come.
Trump’s reactive anti-immigrant nationalism
and “Make America Great Again” rhetoric not only appeals to the white right but
is an engagement of past rhetoric to support new political and economic
realities. Trump’s economic war with China stressed re-industrialization but it
was also concerned with counteracting China’s technological ascendancy,
especially in the realm of the digital, a major contradiction born of the
current globalizing transmutation in capitalism involving transfers of
innovatory knowledge.
Trump anticipated the risk to his
presidential re-election. It manifested the dilemmas of his in-betweenness. His
inaction with regard to the pandemic was consistent with the anti “Big
Government” policies of many Republicans and the US-American right who cherish QAnon
conspiracy theories as much as they want to reduce government interference and
modify regulation in capitalist process, a strong emphasis in current
transitions and transformations of the state and of capital.
Trump’s cry that the election was being
stolen was excited in the circumstances of the pandemic. His attack on postal votes
related to the fact that the pandemic gave the postal vote a hitherto
unprecedented role in the election’s outcome by by-passing and neutralising the
millenarian populist potency of his mass rallies already reduced in numbers by
fear. Trump sensed that the COVID-inspired move to ‘working from home’ and ‘voting
from home’ would challenge, fence in and fence out his base of support.
Trump has always taken advantage of the
digital age, his use of Twitter and Facebook the marked feature of his style of
rule. His practices looked forward to the politics of the future ever
increasingly bounded and conditioned in societies of the image. Following the
events at the Capitol, Trump’s own Custer’s Last Stand to allay his
fate, his cyberspace and internet accounts were switched off. He has been
cancelled by the new digitally authoritarian corporate powers (who arguably
benefitted the most from the Trump era and profited greatly under pandemic
conditions) who are behind the growing new society of the image, in which he
was a past-master and within which he had in the main established his identity.
(Kapferer
R, 2016)
The overriding image of the Capitol
invasion and carried across most networks is that of the occupation of the
heart of American democracy by those who would threaten its ideals. The media have
concentrated on what was the dominating presence of the extremist macho white US-American
far right violently parading symbols of a racist past combined with clear
references to the not-so-distant memories of fascism and Nazism. There
were others there more moderate in opinion and representative of other class
fractions, if still mostly white, whose presence does not reduce the fear
of fascism, possibly as in Nazi Germany when what seemed to be small groups of
extremists hijacked power (and the events of the Capitol evokes such memory) to
unleash the horrors to follow. Something similar could be said for what
happened in the Soviet Union leading to Stalinism. These were the worlds of
George Orwell’s 1984, in which some of the major ideals of the time flipped in
their tragic negation. Such events were very much emergent in realities of the
nation-state, its imperialist wars and the class forces of that particular
historical moment in the history of capitalism and the formations of its social
and political orders. There is no statement here that this could not happen
again.
What we are saying is this: a different
authoritarian and oppressive possibility may be taking shape – not of the
fascist past but of the future. This is a future that Trump was mediating but
which may be coming into realization, despite the great hope to the contrary,
in the accession of President Biden. Perhaps this prospect can be seen as more
akin to Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World born in the current transmutations
of capital (and its agonies of class) and in the circumstances of the radical technological
revolutions of the digital era, involving the apotheosis of the corporatisation
of the state, the corporate state emerging out of the ruins of the nation
state.
Aldous Huxley depicted a world centred on production
and efficiency, a bio technologically conditioned global system of perfect
rational, optimised order. The class conflicts of the past are overcome here; everyone
accepts their predetermined place. It is a post-human reality in which the
foundation of human beings in their biology and passions is transcended. It is
a somatised, artificially intelligent world of the image and promiscuity. Indeed,
the American Dream. Those who do not fit or who resist are fenced out. Time and
space are being reconfigured, incurving around the individual and
‘personalised.’
Biden’s inauguration for all its upbeat ceremonial spirit had some
intimation of such a future, taking into full account the security constraints
of its moment: to protect against the murderous unchecked rampage of the virus
and the threat of the attack of right-wing militias. The stress on this, it may
be noted, had an ideological function to distance what was about to come into
being from, for example, the definitely more visceral world of Trump and
thoroughly evident in the invasion of the Capitol – what Biden in his inauguration speech called an “uncivil war.”
The scene of the perfectly scripted inauguration was
virtually devoid of people. Apart from the dignitaries and all-important
celebrities, the highly selected order of the society of the corporate-state. Where
the general populace would normally crowd, was an emptiness filled with flags
and protected by troops, more than currently are stationed in Afghanistan.
Those who might disrupt, Hilary Clinton’s ‘deplorables’ and Aldous Huxley’s ‘resistant
savages,’ were fenced out. It was a totalizing and constructed digital media
image presenting a reality of control, harmony, and absolute surveillance.
We claim that something like Trump and the
events surrounding him would have happened regardless of the specific phenomena
we have focussed on here. The events Trump are a moment, perhaps among the most
intense, in the transitional transmutation of the history of capitalism and the
socio-economic and political orders which build and change around it. The
apparent chaos indicates a major axial moment in world history – a chaos driven
in the emergence of a cybernetic techno-capitalist apparatus on a global scale.
What might be augured in the Biden accession is already taking vastly different
shape in China and elsewhere around the globe. New and diverse formations of
totalitarian authoritarianism are emerging. The Trump phenomenon is crucial for
an understanding of some of the potentials of a future that we are all very
much within and that an overconcentration on the parallels with the past may
too easily obscure.
Bruce Kapferer is a roving anthropologist and ethnographer, Professor Emeritus at Bergen University, Professorial Fellow UCL, Fellow Cairns Institute, and the Director of the ERC Egalitarianism project at the University of Bergen.
Roland Kapferer is a Lecturer in Anthropology, Deakin University, a filmmaker and a musician. He does research on cybertechnologies.
Cite as: Kapferer, Bruce, and Roland Kapferer. 2021. “The Trump Saga and America’s Uncivil War: New Totalitarian Authoritarian Possibilities.” FocaalBlog, 2 March. http://www.focaalblog.com/2021/03/02/bruce-kapferer-roland-kapferer-the-trump-saga-and-americas-uncivil-war-new-totalitarian-authoritarian-possibilities/
Leith Mullings’ death is a terrible blow to anthropology –
and a heartbreaking loss to those of us who were lucky enough to have worked and
collaborated with her. For many of us,
Leith’s death, which happened on December 13, 2020, is still almost too much to
bear. It would have been hard to accept
under normal circumstances, but to have it happen so unexpectedly – and in the
context of the Trump insurrection and the extended COVID emergency, when so
many of us are already feeling so much vulnerability, grief, fear, isolation,
and uncertainty – makes it feel terrible in a way that, at the very least,
reveals the deep inadequacies of standard academic grieving rituals. And yet, here I go.
Leith was a leading figure of the Black Left who established
a pathbreaking form of anthropological praxis that was deeply aligned with the
struggle for the worldwide emancipation of Black people. Her praxis was rooted in Black feminism, in
the centering of African American working class women’s lives in broader
theorizing about political economy, kinship, representation, and resistance, and
in emphasizing the importance of social movements involving people of the
African diaspora in struggles for justice and equality. The influence of her work is especially remarkable
given the reactionary status quo in anthropology of the last three decades,
which, let’s face it, has a very poor track record of providing institutional
and intellectual space to Black women scholars.
Fortunately, Leith, her allies, and her students worked over many
decades to legitimate Black feminist materialist approaches in a discipline
that to this day remains reluctant to give them the attention they deserve.
A remarkable aspect of Leith’s anthropology is the specific
and subtle ways that she imparted antiracist political sensibilities into it. For Leith, as for many other scholars, racism,
sexism, and capitalism were co-constitutive of overlapping systems of
oppression, exploitation, violence, subordination, and discrimination. What made Leith’s work unique was her
insistence on the power of antiracist activism and organizing to interrupt,
unsettle, and contest the system’s hierarchies and inequalities. In her long-term ethnographic study of
African American women’s health in Harlem, for example, she and her co-author
Alaka Wali consider race, class and gender not as attributes of low-income
women of color who suffer from ill health.
Rather, they see race, class and gender more dynamically, as a set of interconnected
relationalities that shape health outcomes in complex ways. In her famous elaboration of Sojourner
Syndrome, the survival strategy of resilience adopted by African American women
to support their families and communities, Leith emphasizes not just the resilience
that living under the yoke of multiplicative oppressions requires of them and
how this stresses them out, but also the importance of Black community struggles
for autonomy, power and control. Along
similar lines, in her work on racisms in the Americas, and on Black Lives
Matter and the Movement for Black Lives, Leith showed how new movements build
on Black freedom struggles from the past to contest the co-production of racism
and capitalism. In a Left intellectual context in which identity politics is
frequently disparaged and class universalism reigns, Leith’s was an essential
and powerful voice whose work demonstrated the significance of transnational
antiracist activism and organizing: what she called “racialization from below.”
Across more than 40 years of intellectual work, she provided irrefutable
evidence that intersectional struggles have connected targets and effects. Let us hope that others who are committed to
justice and equality pay attention to this important lesson.
Decades after prominent scholars called for decolonizing anthropology, US anthropology still attracts too few Black, Indigenous and Latinx students. In the wake of the Black insurgent activism of last year, abolitionist theories and methods are slowly gaining traction but are not nearly as widespread as they should be. The task of emancipating critical historical ethnographic scholarship from anthropology’s imperial and white supremacist present remains an enormous challenge. A new generation of US-based Black anthropologists are influenced by Afropessimist arguments about antiblack world building and the exclusion of Black people from the category of the human. They are looking for ways to incorporate class into their analyses. This effort is not helped along by a Left anthropology that only gives lip service to race and gender in its anticapitalist critique. Fortunately, there is Leith’s work. Her illumination of Black women’s experience of work, kinship, and community life, her attention to overlapping systems of oppression, exploitation and discrimination, and her pioneering approach to the study of social movements serve as inspiration to all scholars who are searching for a way to move past the tired old race vs. class. vs. gender argument, who wish to take capitalism, racism and sexism seriously, and who seek to reconcile these differences in a unified emancipatory framework.
For Leith Mullings
Don Robotham, City University of New York
I first met Leith Mullings as a doctoral student in the
anthropology department of the University of Chicago in 1967. Based on our
common background and interests, we quickly became friends—part of a group of
progressive students on the eve of the Martin Luther King assassination and the
1968 Democratic Party convention in Chicago. Those were tumultuous years,
formative for both of us. Later, she joined me for fieldwork in Ghana and
remained close friends thereafter.
Leith was a remarkable person who was able somehow to manage
the feat of successfully raising two wonderful children, political activism,
developing her large body of scholarship, rising to the top of her profession
while being a major interlocutor for her partner’s intellectual work and those
of her colleagues and friends. She was deeply committed to the Black struggle
first and foremost and always put this in a larger context of the struggle
against racism and all forms of oppression of all peoples worldwide.
Her experience of 1968 and after made her a political
economist and she never wavered from that position or methodology. The
principal focus of her work was racial oppression as it interacted with class
oppression, gender and health, with the emphasis decidedly on the first. From
her earliest work on mental health issues in Accra, Ghana, through her book on
reproductive health in Harlem to her most recent project on racial oppression
of indigenous and African-descended peoples in Latin America, it was the issue
of the material basis of racial oppression on which her work was focused. This
broad experience and sweep led Leith to the view that racial oppression was by
no means a local or national phenomenon of the United States of America but one
with deep historical global roots. Thus, over time she was led naturally
towards the intersectionality concept as a fundamental tool for understanding
oppression and, what was critical for her, laying the basis for a politics of
transformation.
We had many debates on the many challenges which this
approach raised, principally around how much weight to give to class, as
distinct from race and gender, and indeed, whether it was possible or fruitful
to make such distinctions. She would generally hold to the race end and I to
the class end with gender falling in-between in terms of analytical priority.
Leith well understood that adopting the intersectionality concept did not quite
resolve the issue but sharpened it: how and why these forces ‘intersected’ and
which, if any, was analytically or politically prior remained to be answered,
theoretically and empirically via fieldwork. Thus, our debates raged before and
through our current political crisis prior to the 2020 US Presidential
election.
Leith gave as good as she got, indeed usually one came out
on the losing end. She was deeply grounded in both the classics of political
economy and a wide range of anthropological research. It was impossible to
impress her with theoretical acrobatics. Her combination of academic knowledge
and practical political experience made her a formidable interlocutor and scholar.
Her devotion to her students and her conscientiousness in the exercise of her
doctoral supervision duties was something to behold. Few could compete with her
in the quality of the voluminous comments and stylistic guidance provided.
While always sympathetic, she insisted that high standards of scholarship be
maintained especially when a thesis was addressing radical experiences, as many
were. Her scholarly integrity was impeccable and unchallenged, and she enjoyed
the wide respect of many who strongly disagreed with her theoretical and
political positions.
Leith Mullings was very much a product of the 1960s and
1970s. Like many of us, she was deeply influenced by the Civil Rights Movement,
the Cuban Revolution, the Anti-Vietnam War struggle and especially 1968. She
has added to that tradition of intellectual and political struggle in a lasting
way, always insisting that oppression had a material foundation, the analysis
and transformation of which should be the focus of our work and life. We have
lost a wonderful, kind, human being, scholar and activist, when we can least
afford to.
The editorial boards of Focaal and FocaalBlog join our colleagues and friends in remembering the life and work of Leith Mullings; a scholar and activist who has shaped our scholarship and politics.
The authors of The Anthropological Career in Europe(Fotta, Ivancheva and Pernes 2020) have made
visible the inequality and hierarchy that has become increasingly normalized in
higher education in Europe. The impact of the report lies far beyond
anthropology, and my reflections here build on the report’s key findings and
consider the impact of precaritization on the university and academia as a
whole.
I was reluctant to contribute to
this blog series. The recently published EASA report
(Fotta, Ivancheva and Pernes 2020) draws attention to precarious labour in
anthropology. However, in the last decade we seem to have been talking about
precarity in academia non-stop. There is even a nickname for the genre: “quit
lit”. So, what, I wondered, would my story change?
Indeed, I
have been telling my story to many colleagues, including to those in positions of
power. A few colleagues proved to be wonderful allies, offering kindness,
compassion, and practical support. However, quite a few showed little empathy
or solidarity, and displayed a strong appetite for power. While academic
credentials are key to building a career in academia, personal reputation
also matters tremendously. You depend upon your colleagues for recommendation
letters. This is even more true when you become an ‘internal candidate’ (the
sort of candidate that you, as an international migrant, hated until you
finally became one yourself). So you learn to please everybody, to be a “good
girl”: not to question your Line Manager in meetings, and surely never, ever,
in front of others; do not criticise your institution in public; never make
demands; say yes to everything; never complain; do not admit you struggle; and
most importantly, show endless gratitude.
When, after almost seven years of
working at my last institution (where I arrived from Cambridge with my own
Marie Curie grant) my third temporary contract was coming to an end, a group of
undergraduates (without my knowledge) decided to collect signatures in support
of me. However, at the last minute, they hesitated to go public. They revealed
their plans to me and asked, “What if it causes more harm than good?” Even
though they were new to academia, they already sensed that critique and
bottom-up citizen action might be a great topic for an academic paper, but is
not necessarily appreciated at the university offices. For me, the students’
support was moving, not least because it was evidence that I am good at my job
– despite the stream of job rejections suggesting otherwise. My students
appreciated my research insights and my pedagogical skills, and were willing to
take a risk. Yet I feared that it would indeed be seen as an affront and a
betrayal. I felt deeply insecure and was afraid of being accused of actually
initiating the protest myself. I could be branded as a troublemaker. And who would
ever want to hire a troublemaker?
I was also reluctant to contribute
to this important discussion on precarity because I do not wish to be viewed
through the lens of the precariat. I want to be known for my craft, not my
struggle. After all, we are professional academics, not humans. But, most
importantly, I am still struck by the feeling that there is a stigma attached
to being a precarious worker.The myth of meritocracy promotes a
certain narrative: academic success is based on talent, skill, and accomplishment.
Moreover, this is not a mere job, but a vocation, requiring sacrifice. Failure
therefore suggests that you are just not good enough, or lazy, an old maid in
the academic family. If you struggle, perhaps it’s because you just don’t have
what it takes? Maybe you have chosen the wrong job?
Academic labour relations are the
perfect field for gaslighting and undermining the abilities and achievements of
scholars who are not in a position of power. They also lead to segregation and
isolation. In the highly competitive academic market, people are easily reduced
to the amounts of identifiable social capital they can offer. If you represent
the elite, why would you associate with the academic proletariat?
Furthermore,
I did not want to write this blog post because it is embarrassing. How could I
be so naïve as to find myself part of a Ponzi scheme? Universities
and full professors profit from the accelerated recruitment of people in lower
ranks. The more junior scholars you recruit, the less teaching you have to do;
they will do it for you. You have more time for research, publishing,
networking, gaining ever more valuable ‘academic currency’ in an exponential
fashion. The more PhDs you recruit, the more prestige comes to you and your
institution. You can build your clan, your estate, your power. The more
post-docs you recruit, the better your publication record (the most important
academic currency). The goal is therefore the constant expansion of the pool of
dependent early-career scholars. The problem is, how to lure them in? In
academia, this is done by the promise of permanent, stable, respectable jobs,
and the myth of meritocracy: if you work hard, with talent, if you do
everything by the book, you will obtain success. But, as the EASA report clearly
points out, this is often a false promise.
And here
is the final reason for my initial hesitation to write: I am exhausted. I
finally obtained the holy grail of academia: a permanent job! I now have the
chance to rid myself of the stigma, move on, forget. So why would I go back now
and get myself involved in this discussion, associate myself with rebellion,
with a fight that is no longer mine? Why would I throw myself back into this
mud? I worked so hard to get out of it!
Yet, I
decided to write. Because I don’t want to be part of an academia run as
a rat race. Because I know intimately about the suffering of the precariat. For
those of you, who have never been in that position, think of your pandemic
experience: remember March 2020, overwhelmed with teaching because of the
unexpected new rules of the game, having to adjust your teaching overnight.
This is how many precarious workers feel every September. Scholars who move
between institutions have to learn the new rules of the game all the time,
prepare new courses, adjust to new environments. Remember, the frustration when
senior (often male) colleagues were excited that they would finally have time
to publish, while you were drowning in teaching and caring duties? Did you
start to stress about your job security, funding cuts, redundancy? These are
the daily stresses and frustrations of those in the early career stages. Was it
fun to have Christmas or Easter over Zoom, to not see your parents,
grandparents? This is how many international precarious workers have been
spending Christmas for years. You might also now be familiar with the pressure
of caring for your children non-stop. This is the recurrent reality of many of
those in the international precariat who have children, but no family networks
at hand to help, and who cannot afford a sitter or day care. Did you feel
lonely in the pandemic? Are you fed up talking to friends on WhatsApp and would
like to see them in person? This is the constant reality of so many
international scholars lured by the myths of the Ponzi scheme that academia is,
trapped in a precarious limbo.
Many young precarious workers are international
migrants, and as such they make good workers. Uprooted from their personal
networks, with no relatives to visit on Sunday, they are available to work
extra hours. They also have a lot to lose: they have already made so many heavy
financial and personal sacrifices for their academic careers that it is very
hard for them to change course, which means they are ready to do anything and
everything, especially if they are given the hope of another contract. They are
also easily replaceable and disposable as often they are excluded from academic
patronage networks. Often, they have little or no connection with an Alma Mater
of their own. For their new institutions, they are just foreigners who have
arrived for their own gain. There is an unspoken assumption that they will
leave. Consequently, few feel a moral responsibility for them. They are also
highly vulnerable to discrimination based on nationality or race, both within
and beyond the workplace. It is shameful that this exploitation happens in
academia, particularly in anthropology, where so many careers were built on
researching exploitation, migration, and indeed, precarious lives.
Ela Drążkiewicz is a researcher at the
Institute for Sociology at the Slovak Academy of Sciences. She is the author of Institutional Dreams: The
Art of Managing Foreign Aid. She specialises in
political, economic and organisational anthropology.
Bibliography
Fotta, Martin, Mariya Ivancheva and Raluca
Pernes. 2020. The anthropological career in Europe: A complete report on the
EASA membership survey. European Association of Social Anthropologists. https://easaonline.org/publications/precarityrep
Cite as: Drążkiewicz, Ela. 2021. “Blinded by the Light: International Precariat in Academia.” FocaalBlog, 5 February. http://www.focaalblog.com/2021/02/05/ela-drazkiewicz-blinded-by-the-light-international-precariat-in-academia/
International media coverage of the February 1st military coup in Myanmar has been rather consistent. The focus, overwhelmingly, has been on the detention of State Counsellor and Nobel laureate Aung San Suu Kyi, with speculations about the political machinations of Myanmar’s commander-and-chief, Min Aung Hlaing. In this way, the developing story has orbited around the theme of liberal democracy in peril, for which Suu Kyi in detention serves as synecdoche. What such a focus misses, however, is the very real threat the coup poses to millions of ordinary workers and their families across the country.
Already by late January 2021, Min Aung Hlaing had hinted of a possible coup. But still, the events of February 1st came as a shock to many inside the country and abroad. Claiming widespread voter fraud in the November 2020 elections, which delivered Aung San Suu Kyi’s ruling National League for Democracy a resounding victory, the military deployed troops to urban centres, detained Suu Kyi and other senior government officials, and declared a nationwide state of emergency this past Monday.
Online commentary has been rife with speculation. Was the coup motivated by Min Aung Hlaing’s presidential ambitions? Or was is it simply a matter of plain stupidity? The latter assertion claims plausibility on the grounds that the military itself drafted the 2008 constitution, which enshrined its role in government even before the coup by way of apportioned parliamentary seats and reserved ministerial positions. And it was a lucrative arrangement. With sprawling business interests under two expansive holding companies and other nepotistic business arrangements, the generals were collecting vast profits, much of it from mining and other extractive industries in the country’s north and northeast. Whatever the motivations behind the coup, little is certain at present. What is clear, however, is that the state of emergency has raised anxieties among the millions of workers and their families who were already struggling to get by in the industrial zones around Yangon (where I have done research since 2016) and elsewhere in the country.
Image 1: Striking garment factory workers in the Hlaingtharyar industrial zone outside Yangon (Yaung Chi Oo Workers Association, 2019).
Working class struggles
The working-class population in Yangon’s industrial zones comprises mostly former villagers pushed out of rural areas due to unmanageable debt, the infrastructural devastation of 2008’s Cyclone Nargis, and outright theft of their land by military and private business interests. As real estate speculation and elitist urban development over the past ten years drove up the cost of housing, hundreds of thousands of migrants arriving in the city were priced out of formal accommodation and turned instead to cheaper squatter housing on the city’s outskirts. Many of these new urban residents sought employment in food and other processing factories producing for the domestic market, or at garment factories producing for export. By 2018, over a million workers—mostly young women, including many squatters—were employed in garment, textile, footwear, and accessories factories in Myanmar—mostly around Yangon. In this context, workers at factories and workplaces across Yangon’s industrial zones have over the past decade organised collectively, formed unions, and gone on strike in impressive struggles against employer intransigence and outright violence. Such struggles pre-date the country’s so-called democratic transition that began in 2011, which was also the year new labour legalisation granted workers a legal right to form unions. So, while the new labour law cannot be credited with empowering workers, it did grant them greater legal space in which to organise.
Covid-19
Then Covid-19 happened. A shortage of supplies from the People’s Republic of China in February 2020 led to factory closures and an initial loss of 10,000 to 15,000 jobs, and by September, 223 factories had filed for closure, temporary closure, or redundancy following a government-mandated lockdown. Meanwhile, factory employers used the pretext of Covid-19 disruption to fire unionised workers in mass, while police intervened to break up strikes and arrest organisers. With no effective social safety net in the country, dismissed factory workers have been struggling under the pandemic—taking on further debt, reducing food consumption, and in some cases turning to sex work to support their families. And all of this was before the military coup. Indeed, the day before the military seized power, I was editing a funding report for activist friends in Yangon who had formed a sewing cooperative to support factory workers fired during Covid-19 for their union organising activities.
Another state of emergency
Under these
already grim conditions, the declared state of emergency portends even more
dire circumstances for workers and their families. A Myanmar labour activist
group, Alokthema Awlan [The Workers’ Megaphone], shared online the
results of impromptu interviews conducted on the day of the coup with
factory workers in the Hlaingtharyar industrial zone, outside Yangon. Respondents
spoke of fears of food shortages and temporary store closures, which led to
panic buying and drove up prices of basic foodstuffs.
It remains unclear what the status of Myanmar labour law will be under the state of emergency, but there is little to suggest that space for worker organising will do anything but contract. Some workers have already expressed concern that existing labour law will be abrogated or simply disregarded. To get their views on the matter (and since I am in Singapore), a Burmese labour activist friend of mine interviewed, a couple days after the coup, several women employed at garment factories in the Hlaingtharyar industrial zone. One woman, who has been active in her local workplace union, stated:
“Now that the military has taken power, I’m worried the situation will go back to the way it was before [under military rule] and that the workers won’t have any rights anymore. Also, we were told that the [legal minimum] wage was going to be increased in the coming months. The young workers were hoping for that. But now we don’t expect that there’ll be an increase. It’ll be as though we’ve lost our rights. And with the military taking power, it’ll be like it was before, and employers will oppress the workers and reduce their wages. That’s what I expect.”
Trade unions in Myanmar’s global factories
As a precedent, over the two decades of direct military rule from 1988 to 2011, trade unions were prohibited, and police violently repressed workers’ attempts to organise and bargain collectively. Even under Myanmar’s so-called democratic transition (from 2011 to the present), police regularly intervened on the side of employers to repress workers’ struggles. Factories producing for the domestic market have routinely paid below the legal minimum wage, forced employees to work overtime, employed child labour, and violated manifold workplace health and safety laws. Even garment factories producing for export have been in widespread violation of legal labour standards, notwithstanding their greater likelihood of paying the minimum wage and avoiding child labour. Under such conditions, many workers who took their grievances to the government’s industrial relations offices encountered reluctance, evasiveness, and outright collusion with employers by government appointed mediators. Said one such factory worker whom I interviewed in 2019:
“The official at the Township Conciliation Body would say just a little on the side of the workers and would say a lot on the side of the employer. I don’t think that he was trying to achieve justice… I think that the employer and the official were working together.”
“Good” liberal government versus an illiberal military?
Such egregious conditions even before the coup—for industrial workers, but also for impoverished rural dwellers and ethnic minority civilians displaced by ongoing armed conflict elsewhere in the country—raise important caveats for emerging lines of analysis that would frame recent developments in Myanmar as a struggle between a “good” liberal government ousted by an illiberal military. Such was the dominant trope in Burma analysis during the 1990s and early 2000s. It allowed NLD politicians, foreign media, and Western governments to narrowly construe popular opposition to military rule in Myanmar as a singular desire for liberal capitalism and bourgeoise democracy. Military sympathisers could then argue (not without some truth) that such elitist politics disregarded the more immediate health and livelihood concerns of ordinary people in the country—urging, instead, an approach that would ostensibly go “beyond politics to societal imperatives.”
Fighting back
To be sure, workers, unions, and labour activist have already expressed their opposition to recent events. Shortly after the coup, trade unions and labour organisations released statements condemning the military’s actions. Activists disseminated proclamations online of a country-wide campaign of civil disobedience against the reassertion of direct military rule. And by Tuesday night, a day after the coup, the banging of pots was echoing throughout urban centres as an expression of popular dissent. (Friends in the border town of Myawaddy sent me photos of their much-battered kitchenware.) More confrontational tactics are apparently in the works, including strikes by hospital workers, trade unions, and students. And crucially, industrial workers around Yangon are eager to take part in such actions. According to another garment factory worker in Hlaingtharyar whom my friend interviewed:
“Since the 1st [of February] the workers here have wanted to go out and protest. They want to go downtown and join protests. It’s like that. We feel like we can’t accept [the situation]. We all want to do that. We already voted, and then the military seized power. So, we feel that we don’t want to accept what happened. Now, everyone is sharing news on their phones and writing comments about what has happened. If our union federation decided to take some action [against the coup], then all of us workers would want to take part.”
Better lines of analysis and action
There is a sense in which these actions, coming after Suu Kyi’s call for supporters to protest the military’s seizure of power, point to a mere restoration of Myanmar’s brief experiment in bourgeois democracy, which even before the coup had been an elitist project that provided cover for the military’s rapacious resource theft, militarisation of ethnic minority areas, and ethnic cleansing of hundreds of thousands of Rohingya. However, given the frustrations that many workers previously expressed about the repressive working conditions they encountered under NLD rule, current working-class dissent also reveals, I suggest, the enduring material concerns of workers and the unemployed who are struggling to get by in Yangon’s industrial zones.
Such working-class opposition cannot be contained in a liberal narrative that would read proletarian dissent as a mere statement of support for bourgeois democracy under the 2008 constitution. Greater attention to the everyday struggles of ordinary people—under the state of emergency, of course, but also under the NLD’s own elitist rule over the preceding years—would do much to avert the sort of simplistic liberal narratives that dominated international reporting on Myanmar prior to the country’s return to quasi-civilian rule a decade ago.
Stephen Campbell is Assistant Professor in the School of Social Sciences at Nanyang Technological University, and Research Fellow in the Department of Social Anthropology at the University of Bergen. He is the author of Border Capitalism, Disrupted: Precarity and Struggle in a Southeast Asian Industrial Zone (2018), as well as numerous articles on labour issues in Myanmar and Thailand.
Cite as: Campbell, Stephen. 2021. “What can workers expect in post-coup Myanmar?” FocaalBlog, 3 February. http://www.focaalblog.com/2021/02/03/stephen-campbell:-what-can-workers-expect-in-post-coup-myanmar?/
The EASA
report on The Anthropological Career in Europe (Fotta, Ivancheva and Pernes 2020) is an important initiative that offers
quantitative evidence about a situation which all of those who work in academia
are aware of, many experience daily, and which has repeatedly been denounced
since the onslaught of the neoliberal policies starting in the 1980s. I will
comment on this document from my situated viewpoint as a Spanish
anthropologist, a full time tenured anthropologist, and a PI of large
collaborative projects.
As a
report produced by anthropologists for anthropologists, my first surprise was
to find it not very anthropological. Although the report acknowledges that
situations are very different among countries, we do not get a picture of what
those differences are. The ‘methodology’ cannot deliver that picture. First,
the assumption that EASA membership represents anthropologists working in
Europe, and in particular the most precarious anthropologists, is probably inaccurate.
In Spain, many of the part-time non-tenured teaching positions have extremely
low salaries and their holders juggle a plurality of jobs that make research
difficult. As a result, membership in EASA –which is fundamentally tied to
participation in the biennial conference—is rarely sought. Therefore, a large
contingent of (probably) the most precarious voices, many of which are not
proficient in English, is not represented in the survey. This may also explain
why a large majority of respondents work in Northern institutions which have
more resources than those in other countries.
Second,
what does the fact of choosing to produce a ‘survey’ rather than an
‘ethnography’ of “The anthropological career in Europe” say about the
discipline of social anthropology, about its trust in the ‘evidence’ produced
by our main methodological tool? Why does EASA as an association of social
anthropologists thinks that it needs quantitative evidence in order to make its
point about precarious anthropologists’ situation in the academy? We have
countless ethnographies about labor precarity in Europe, but we have scant
detailed ethnographies about precarious anthropologists teaching and doing research
in concrete university environments. This has not been an obstacle to
insightful and important articles being written from two perspectives: on the
one hand, contributions based on personal experience; on the other hand,
contributions based on statistical secondary sources enabling theorizations
about the neoliberal transformations of the university in general or in a
particular country (often in the Global North). As Pérez and Montoya (2018: A5)
propose, personal experience should “reveal research paths for future
ethnographies of academic precarity”, but it cannot substitute for them. I
suggest that producing ethnographies is an urgent task if we want (1) to
understand concrete ongoing processes of exploitation, domination and
dispossession, and (2) to organize in a collective manner to overturn them.
Third, context
and history. The survey does not provide any tools for historical and political
context. Rather, it generalizes the neoliberal process as if it developed in
the same way everywhere. We know from anthropological investigations into other
domains of life, however, that the rolling back and rolling out of the neoliberal
state is modulated by concrete historical circumstances.
In the
mid-1970s, as a result of an increase in the number of university students,
Spanish universities resorted to hiring a large number of non-permanent faculty.
The figures vary slightly according to each university but, on average, 80 per
cent of the faculty in Spanish universities were non-permanent in the mid-1970s
(Profesor No Numerario) (Moreno 2019,
Castillo 1982). According to statistical records of the Ministry of Universities, the figure of non-permanent faculty
has stabilized at around 45 per cent in the past four years. Precarity, then,
was part of an undemocratic university system where hierarchies of patronage
dominated the scarce avenues towards stable tenure. Precarity, now, is part of
an austerity regime that has reduced public education resources, forcing
universities to seek funding from other sources (e.g., research grant overheads)
or public-private partnerships. This has important implications for our
understanding of the neoliberalisation of Spanish academia; as much as it sheds
light on the long history of academic precarity and the struggle against this.
In the
1970s, as part of the general struggles for democratization of the university,
a nationwide movement of the No Numerario’s developed. Based on assembly
meetings in faculties and universities, it was not attached to parties or
unions and was coordinated at the national scale by a committee of
representatives. They demanded the same treatment as the permanent faculty,
together with access to decision making committees in the university and other
democratic requests. They organized long strikes and threatened the continuity
of teaching and exams. Yet, their demand of stability and equal treatment sought
to obtain a well-paid labor contract and
to abolish the life-long tenure of the Profesor
Numerario, subjecting all
professors to periodic evaluation of their teaching and research and,
implicitly, to the possibility of ending their contract. In the end, this
radical position –the generalization of “non-tenured” academic labor contracts–
was disabled by a law of university reform issued by the first socialist
government in 1983, which promoted a process of rapid stabilization of most PhD-holding
No Numerario’s through access to lifelong tenure (Carreras 2004).
Today, the
privatization of the public university system is based on the elimination of that
life-tenure system and its substitution by tenured labor contracts in a context
where the existing labor regulations have deregulated most rights and
protections. Precarious faculty today in Spain are represented only partially and
by various unions demanding stability, but there is no equivalent movement,
organization and coordination to that of the No Numerario’s in the
seventies. Why is that?
Local
patronage networks are still very much in place, and one of the major assets to
access a permanent job is to remain close to one’s Alma Mater, rather than to
publish or get an international post-doc position abroad. In public
universities 87% of teaching faculty (tenured and non-tenured) have a PhD from
the same Autonomous Community, and 73% from the same university where they
defended their PhD. Simultaneously, an increasing contingent of young academics
who have been competitively selected to post-doc positions in research projects,
have generally been able to publish in ‘impact’ journals and have expanded
their international networks.
As a
result, two very different kinds of precarious academic exist nowadays. They
are often pitted against each other in competitions for tenured positions. When
committees have to decide the value of teaching or research experience, the
value of the local or foreign (i.e. from outside the university) candidate,
they often tend to favor the local candidate with teaching experience. Rather
than moralizing this as being ‘bad’ or ‘good’ for the university, my point here
is to underline the diverse positionalities of precarious academics in Spain
and the difficulties that this fragmentation entails in terms of collective
organization and mobilization. In a context with more precarity and minimal
research opportunities, within an ongoing struggle for democracy, the No
Numerario’s movement collectively organized and achieved stability. Why not
now? What needs to be done?
As anthropologists we need ethnographies of academic precarities, we need to historically situate the various forms of precarity and to compare them. To act effectively, we need to understand the structures of feeling and the conditions of possibility for collective mobilization. We know the numbers, now we need to know the souls.
Susana Narotzky is Professor of Social Anthropology at the University of Barcelona, Spain.
Bibliography
Carreras, J. 2004.
Evaluación de la calidad docente y promoción del profesorado (IV). Legislación
universitaria española (b): de la Ley de Reforma Universitaria (1983) a la Ley
Orgánica de universidades (2002). (1ª parte.) Educación Médica 7(1): 9-23
Castillo, J.J. 1982.
Universidad: O todos o ninguno, El País,
12 de abril 1982
Fotta, Martin, Mariya Ivancheva and Raluca
Pernes. 2020. The
anthropological career in Europe: A complete report on the EASA membership
survey. European Association of Social
Anthropologists. https://easaonline.org/publications/precarityrep
Pérez, M. & Montoya, A. 2018. The Unsustainability of the Neoliberal Public University: Towards an Ethnography of Precarity in Academia. Revista de Dialectología y Tradiciones Populares, LXXIII(1): A1-A16
Cite as: Narotzky, Susana. 2021. “A History of Precariousness in Spain.” FocaalBlog, 29 January. http://www.focaalblog.com/2021/01/29/susana-narotzky:-a-history-of-precariousness-in-spain/
Covid19 is
producing a crisis – both sanitary and economic – of global structural
proportions, threatening the very existence of society as we know it. All
precarious segments of society have become more precarious. But even
before now, a growing precariat, eating into larger and larger segments
of the middle classes, was emerging. Isolation, alienation, precaritization are
not a novelty. Looking at the PrecAnthro/Easa survey (Fotta, Ivancheva, Pernes,
2020), one can
see that the transformations of the academic system are an integral part of the
process of middle class precaritization that started long before the current
crisis.
I am an
unemployed anthropologist (and have been so for more than two years). I am also
a member of the PrecAnthro collective/union. At the EASA conference of 2018 I
had the pleasure to be part of Alice Tilche’s initiative to bring together
junior and senior anthropologists (precarious and otherwise) to reflect
critically on the implications of the current trend of funding academic
research through “big projects” (see Tilche and Loperfido, 2019). Before then,
I had been a “privileged” (Matos, 2019) precarious researcher, employed as a
postdoc in one of those big projects. For four years, I enjoyed the chance to
participate in a solidly funded team under the expert coordination of a senior
researcher who was also able to embed our collective research among her high
level contacts in global anthropology. Despite fundamentally benefitting from
having been part of a “big project”, I would like to use my space here to
express a critical stance on what seems to have become one of the hegemonic
mechanisms of research funding in the European and global arena.
The “big project”
trend relates directly to the occupational transformations within social
anthropology highlighted by the survey: precaritization, constant competition
over funding, growing separation between research and teaching, vertical
polarisation of academic hierarchies, de-professionalization of academic labor
through multiple contracts, the imperatives of – often restless – international
mobility, to cite but a few.
In the
1990s, the extension of New Public Management policies to the university system
enforced the managerialization of administrations, introduced performance
requirements, and set up unbridled competition. What emerged was a new trans-nationalized
educational arena, in which “excellence” and “competition” became not only fundamental
key words and real-world access keys to tenured careers. As an effect, an
increasing number of tenured positions were proletarianized as a collective body,
“and the number of short term or part time contracts at major institutions
increased (with the concomitant participation of a handful of highly paid
stars)”, as a worried Bill Readings had already stated 25 years ago (Readings 1996:
1). He noted how the university was beginning to be spoken of in the idiom of
“excellence” rather than of “culture”. His explanation was that “the university
no longer has to safeguard and propagate national culture, because the
nation-state is no longer the major site at which capital reproduces itself” (Readings
1996:13).
About ten
years later, the establishment of the European Research Council was saluted as
“a European Champions League” (Winnacker 2008: 126), and the new way of funding
research through big grants was established as part of the EU’s 7th framework
program. Here again, “individual excellence” and “competition as the
prerequisite for the formation of excellence” were becoming key principles in
overcoming the “startling parochialism fostered in Europe by the reality of
Nation States” (Winnacker: 124-25).
In much
less enthusiastic terms, PrecAnthro’s action has focused on those very processes
of increased internationalisation, escalating competition, and the new global
imperative of “excellence”. With the above-mentioned event at the EASA
conference 2018, we wanted to problematize the ways in which the international
academic arena has been transformed into a market, where “scholars who are able
to secure large grants have become football stars openly traded in the academic
league” (Tilche, Loperfido, 2019:111). A
“Champions League”, indeed. Yet, on the dark side of that seemingly glamorous moon,
a less visible academic precariat silently took shap; and became exposed to all
the profound challenges and hardships in academic careers and personal life that
the EASA/PrecAnthro report brings to light for the EASA membership community.
From all
the above, I can only infer a general decline in the perception of the value of
public institutions as something being endowed with more than just
‘competition’, such as social equality and cultural reproduction. Certainly, we
all love excellent scholarship. Yet, there is a difference between a public
action that promotes academic excellence so that it helps everybody to improve
their scholarship, and an excellence that comes as a single-minded competition
mechanism where only those that already have the label of excellence will benefit.
Personally, I did benefit from the opportunities offered by participation in a big international grant. But we should refuse to assess collective problems on the grounds of our personal interests only. If we are to do something about “the current tragedy of anthropology as a discipline” (Kapferer, 2018) – and these are, once again, words from a time before the current pandemic – it is important ask, from a political and economic angle, where the public money that I benefitted from did not go. How many more non-tenured positions, how many more fixed-term research contracts and how many part-time teaching contracts does each €2,5 million grant produce? Who shoulders the costs of those grants? The PrecAnthro survey offers important answers to these questions. Now, what happens if we put together the scary picture portrayed by that survey prior to the current pandemic with the projections we have on the impact of Covid19 on the global economy and precarity in the academy in particular? There is enough evidence now for an honest and serious discussion on social justice; and to question where the current organisation of “big grant” transnational research funding fits into the escalating inequality in academia.
Giacomo Loperfido is an independent researcher, member of PrecAnthro. He is currently working on his first monograph, A Birth of Neo-fascism: Cultural Identities, the State, and the Politics of Marginality in Italy, thanks to the generous help of the Centro Incontri Umani, Ascona, CH.
Bibliography
Fotta, Martin, Ivancheva, Mariya, Pernes, Raluca.
2020. The anthropological career in Europe: A complete report on the EASA
membership survey. European Association of Social Anthropologists. https://easaonline.org/publications/precarityrep
Kapferer, Bruce. 2018. “The Hau
complicity: An event in the crisis of anthropology.” FocaalBlog, 9 July.
www.focaalblog.com/2018/07/09/bruce-kapferer-the-hau-complicity-an-event-in-the-crisis-of-anthropology.
Matos,
Patricia, 2019. “Precarious Privilege. Confronting Material and Moral
Dispossession”, in Forum: Politics and Precarity in Academia, Social
Anthropology 27: 97-117.
Readings,
Bill, 1996, The University in Ruins. Cambridge, London: Harvard
University Press.
Tilche,
Alice, Loperfido, Giacomo, 2019. “The Return of Armchair Anthropology? Debating
the Ethics and Politics of Big Projects”, in Forum: Politics and Precarity in
Academia, Social Anthropology 27: 97-117
Winnacker, Ernst-Ludwig, 2008. “On Excellence Through Competition”, European Educational Research Journal, 7:2, 124-30.
Cite as: Loperfido, Giacomo. 2021. “On Excellence, Precarity, and The Uses of Public Money.” FocaalBlog, 29 January. http://www.focaalblog.com/2021/01/29/giacomo-loperfido-on-excellence-precarity-and-the-uses-of-public-money/
The EASA membership survey and the associated ‘precarity’
report (Fotta, Ivancheva and Pernes 2020) are an
important and timely contribution. Surely these are findings we must build on
and the critical scrutiny of which is indispensable for formulating minimally
shared lines of action. The report is likely to stir discussion both through
its inclusions as well as through some of its inevitable silences. It is some
of the latter that I want to briefly touch upon here.
The PrecAnthro Collective
within EASA has shown staying power and bite. That is what the EASA precarity survey
demonstrates (Fotta, Ivancheva and Pernes 2020). Mariya Ivancheva has turned
her elected stint in the Board of the European Association of Social
Anthropologists to good use. She, her co-authors, and her multiple
collaborators and supporters in and outside of EASA should be applauded. This
is Europe-wide anthropological collective action at work, and it goes far
beyond business as usual.