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Talking about a revolution with John Holloway


John-Holloway

There is a growing sense throughout the world that capitalism isn’t working; and that the cracks we create in it may really be the only way forward.”

San Andrés de Cholula, Mexico, 03/04/13

On the outskirts of Puebla and at the foot of the giant Popocatépetl volcano lies the sleepy Mexican town of San Andrés de Cholula. It is here that, on a sunny April afternoon, we meet John Holloway. Often referred to as “the philosopher of the Zapatistas”, Holloway — who is a Professor of Sociology at the Autonomous University of Puebla — is widely known for his anti-statist conception of revolution and his intellectual support for autonomous anti-capitalist movements around the world. The publication in 2002 of his influential book, Change the World without Taking Power: The Meaning of Revolution Today, unleashed a veritable firestorm of both praise and criticism from fellow radicals and helped to provoke a period of profound introspection in Leftist circles on the meaning and necessity of revolution in the post-Cold War context of globalized financial capitalism.

For Holloway, it all starts with the Scream: a resounding roar, a ‘NO! Ya Basta! Enough already! We won’t submit any longer to the brutalizing logic of capitalist domination!’ It starts with this Scream, but it does not end there. After the refusal to participate in the reproduction of capitalist control, we open up time, space and resources for a possibly endless range of “other-doings”; for different ways of acting and being within the world. Taken together, these different refusals and other-doings constitute what Holloway calls the “cracks” in the capitalist system; the ruptures in the prison walls from which humanity collectively pushes its dignity and will to survive outward, until one day the walls cave in altogether. These cracks can occur in different dimensions (in space, in time and in terms of activity and/or resources), and at different levels. “It may be the garden in which we find ourselves”, Holloway tells us, “or it may be a good chunk of the state of Chiapas which is now self-governed by the Zapatistas.”

In this conceptualization of revolution, then, the traditional Marxist objective of taking state power becomes a hopeless endeavor. Holloway reminds us that the modern state essentially evolved in symbiosis with capital, leaving its institutional DNA imprinted with the same internal contradictions that bedevil the capitalist system as such. Taking state power with the objective of bringing about radical social change, then, is bound to reproduce the same logic of capital accumulation that the revolution was originally meant to overthrow. “States don’t make much sense,” Holloway says. “So we have to think in terms of something from below, creating our own forms of organization and interaction.” Rather than participating in the reproduction of the capital relation, in other words, our goal should be to undermine capital at its very root: by refusing to continue reproducing it through our own labor, and by rendering the capitalist state superfluous through the construction of alternative forms of self-organization from the grassroots up. In this sense, as Holloway once rightly boasted, “we are the crisis of capital — and we are proud of it!”

Walking into the botanical gardens of Cholula, we therefore immediately understand why Holloway invited us to meet him here. A beautiful small oasis of peace and quiet, the garden — which Holloway proudly tells us is the creation of his compañera — is like a crack of life inside the flattened landscape and dehumanized social universe that is today’s neoliberal Mexico; a dramatically globalized “emerging market” where an unholy alliance of U.S. interests, business power and state-sponsored violence have left the average citizen buckling under a wave of murderous organized crime and criminal levels of inequality. The garden also provides a colorful background to Holloway’s incredibly friendly and soft-spoken character. Just speaking to him about the general things of life, one would almost forget that this kind and humble man is known as one of the most militant anti-capitalist thinkers in the world. Indeed, Holloway doesn’t appear even the tiniest bit like the kind of person who would refer to the riots in Athens as a “very productive and fruitful development.”

And yet it all makes perfect sense. In a way, Holloway’s personal character and mental lifeworld already seem to be light-years beyond capitalism. Here, there is no professorial pride, no academic arrogance, no intellectual vanguardism; just a sense of humility combined with a genuine desire to change the world — without taking power. It is for this viewpoint (the impossibility of bringing about revolutionary social change by taking state power) that Holloway is best-known. In this respect, the 2002 publication of Change the World without Taking Power was remarkably well-timed. Its main ideas dovetailed perfectly with the autonomous Zapatista uprising of the preceding decade (Holloway had moved to Mexico in 1991, three years before the Chiapas rebellion began); they resonated very strongly with the claims and objectives of the Global Justice Movement that had been rocking the United States and Europe ever since the Battle of Seattle in 1999 and the bloody Genoa G8 protests in 2001; and the publication of the book coincided exactly with the ongoing popular uprising in Argentina during that country’s devastating financial meltdown in 2001-’02.

When Pluto Press published Crack Capitalism in 2010, Holloway’s decision to write a book about the many creative forms of anti-capitalist contestation once again proved to be remarkably well-timed. Coming on the heels of the global financial meltdown of 2007-’08, Crack Capitalism prefigured exactly the type of social struggles that were to transpire in the coming years. By 2011, the mass mobilizations of the indignados in Spain, the enormous anti-austerity protests in Greece, and the global resonance of the Occupy movement had made it unmistakable that autonomous forms of horizontal self-organization and direct-democratic models of decision-making had largely replaced the traditional Left as the main source of resistance to the capitalist onslaught on our human dignity — and, indeed, on our very lives. Where a decade ago a book like Change the World without Taking Power could still be considered “controversial”, today the core ideas of Crack Capitalism are all but taken for granted by a new generation of activists and politically-engaged citizens involved in anti-capitalist struggles around the world.

It was for this reason, and many more, that we decided to sit down with John in his adopted home country of Mexico and ask him for some of his views on recent developments around the world — from the role of the state in the ongoing European debt crisis to the meaning of the Greek riots, and from the legacy of Hugo Chávez in Venezuela and the ability to use the state as a crack, to the powerful lessons the Zapatistas can teach us about the different temporalities of revolt in the 21st century. We are very grateful to John for his time and for his permission to reproduce the full transcript of our conversation below. As always, pregundando caminamos.

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ROAR: What do you think the current capitalist crisis tells us about the nature of the state and the future of state-oriented revolutionary action?

John Holloway (JH): I think one thing that is striking about the state in the current crisis is really the degree of closure. Perhaps it’s not that we didn’t know it, but I think it’s been very striking just how the state doesn’t respond to protests and protests and protests. I suppose we can see this in Greece and Spain with their massive protests, both of the more traditional Left and of the more creative Left, if you like. The state just doesn’t listen: it goes ahead anyway. So I suppose one thing that’s become clear in the crisis to more and more people is the distance of the state from society, and the degree to which the state is integrated into the movement of money, so that the state even loses the appearance of being pulled in two directions. It becomes more and more clear that the state is bound to do everything possible to satisfy the money markets and in that sense to guarantee the accumulation of capital. I think that’s become much clearer in the last four or five years. And if that means absolutely refusing to listen to the protests, if it means letting the rioters burn down the cities, then so be it. The most important is really the money markets.

If you think of Greece in 2011 and the extraordinary demonstrations there, in which so many buildings in the center were burned down – the state just carries on regardless. I think it’s very interesting and possibly very important in terms of future directions, because the power of attraction of state-centered politics and protests really depends upon the state having some sort of room for negotiation with the trade unions and with people protesting. If the state feels there is no longer any room for negotiation, or simply gets into the habit of saying ‘we will absolutely not negotiate’, then that closes down the margin for state-centered Left politics and pushes people more towards the idea that, really, trying to do things through the state is absolutely hopeless. So perhaps we can hope that non-state oriented politics will become more and more common and more widespread throughout society.

ROAR: Isn’t that’s exactly what we’ve been seeing for a while already, especially in 2011 with the Occupy movement?

JH: Yes, absolutely, and all over the world. Sometimes people say we are entering an age of riots. A closure of the state means no negotiations, meaning that any kind of protest is pushed towards rioting. What that means in terms of how we move forward, I’m not quite sure. It can be a very productive and fruitful development.

ROAR: As a refusal?

JH: Yes, as a refusal. As a kind of total breakdown of the old way of doing things, which perhaps brought a few little benefits but really didn’t take anybody very far. And I think that more and more people are being forced to reinvent their politics or reinvent their ideas about politics, both in terms of protests – but also I think in terms of creating alternatives. If the system has no room for us, if the system simply leaves 50% of young people unemployed, if state benefits are cut back, if the state absolutely refuses to negotiate, if the police become more repressive, then I think we are forced not only to think of creative forms of protest but also ways of how we actually survive and how we actually create alternative ways of living. And we see that very much in Spain and in Greece, where things are going in that direction. I think what the crisis is also telling us is that that‘s the way to go, but that we haven’t gone far enough yet. We’re not yet in a situation where we can just tell capital to go to hell and survive without it. That’s really the problem. But I think that’s the direction we have to go in.

ROAR: The cracks in capitalism seem to flourish in times of crisis. We saw this in the popular uprising in Argentina in 2001-’02, as Marina Sitrin powerfully portrayed in her book Everyday Revolutions, and we’re seeing it in Southern Europe today. Is there a way to perpetuate such cracks beyond the economic ‘hard times’?

JH: I don’t know. First I don’t think times necessarily get better and secondly I’m not sure that we should worry too much about perpetuation. If you look at Argentina, there was clearly a sense in which things did get better. Like the economy, rates of profit recovered, a process in which a lot of the movements of 2001 and 2002 became sucked into the state. But the problems have obviously reappeared somewhere else. If you look at Spain and Greece, firstly there are no short-term perspectives of things getting substantially better. Secondly, if they did get better, then the crisis would move on somewhere else. And the search for alternative ways of living moves on.

I think there is an accumulation of experience, and also an accumulation of growing awareness that spreads from one country to another, that capitalism just isn’t working and that it is in serious problems. I think that people in Greece look to Argentina and recognize the importance of the experiences of 10 years ago. And I think that people in Argentina – even if things have improved economically for them – look to Greece and see the instability of capitalism. The failure of capitalism is showing up again in another place. I think there is a growing sense throughout the world that capitalism isn’t working. There is a growing confidence perhaps that the cracks we create or the crazinesses we create may really be the basis for a new world and a new society, and may really be the only way forward.

What I don’t like about the idea of perpetuation is that it suggests a smooth upward progress. I don’t think it works like that. I think it’s more like a social flow of rebellion, something that moves throughout the world, with eruptions in one place and then in another place. But there are continuities below the discontinuities. We have to think in terms of disrupting, bubbling movements rather than thinking that it all depends on whether we can perpetuate the movement in one place. If we think in terms of perpetuation in one place, I think it can lead us into either an institutionalization, which I think is not much help, or it can lead us into a sense of defeat, perhaps, which I don’t think is right.

ROAR: What’s wrong with institutionalization? You engaged in a debate with Michael Hardt on this issue, where the position that Hardt and Negri take is that institutionalization per se is not a problem, as long as it is part of the constituent movement; the self-organizing element of rebellion. What’s your view on this?

JH: I think institutionalization is not necessarily damaging. It may or may not be, but we should not focus on that, we should think much more in terms of movements. The danger is that we start thinking in terms of institutionalization at the point at which movements are beginning to fail. Institutionalization can be a way of prolonging their life, but then they turn into something that’s not very exciting and not very interesting. If we think of institutionalization in terms of parties, I think that can definitely be harmful. That is what is happening in Argentina at the moment. If you start thinking that you have to start preparing for the next elections, with luck we may win 1.5% of the votes, and maybe five years after that we’ll win 4% of the votes, or whatever. Once you start going in that direction I think it really is destructive; it’s a way of binding movements into the destructive boredom of state politics.

If you think of institutionalization in terms of the World Social Forum, which has been taking place in the last week or so, then it doesn’t do much harm, but that’s really not where the heart of the movements lies either. It can be useful to have meeting places and it can be useful certainly to create links between movements in different parts of the world. And I think it’s very important to overcome, in practical terms, the national orientation of movements. But institutions aren’t really where it’s happening.

ROAR: Last month we witnessed the passing of Hugo Chávez. There are those, like Dario Azzelini, who have praised Chávez for his support in the creation of tens of thousands of cooperatives and communal councils, arguing that the Bolivarian Revolution really empowered the popular base. To what extent is it possible to mobilize the state as a crack within the system of capitalist domination?

JH: I think it doesn’t work. I think that all revolutionary movements and all movements of radical change are profoundly contradictory. If you look at Venezuela, it’s very interesting because on the one hand it’s very much a state-centered movement, but on the other hand I think there are lots of genuine movements that really aim at transforming society from below, from the neighborhoods. I think with Chávez there was an awareness of that contradiction, and in lots of ways a genuine attempt to strengthen the movement from below and to strengthen the communal councils. But when you try to promote that from above, from the state, of course it’s contradictory. In some cases it has led genuinely to the strengthening of communal movements, sometimes very much in tension with the state structures.

I think that the strength of Chávismo over time is really going to depend not so much on the state organization but on the strength of these communal movements. So no, I don’t think that you can think of the state as being an anti-capitalist crack, simply because the state is a form of organization that excludes people; it is a form of organization that dovetails very easily with the reproduction of capital and derives its income from the accumulation of capital. But I think that even in those countries where the movement for radical change is dominated by the state like in Venezuela, Bolivia or even Cuba, to some extent, pushes in different directions continue at the same time.

ROAR: Have you always had this view about the impossibility of state-based revolutionary action?

JH: I think it was probably always my view. In a way it goes back to the old debates on the state, the so-called state derivation debate in the 1970s, where the emphasis was on trying to understand the state as a capitalist form of social relations. And I think I always took it for granted that of course, if you think of the state as a capitalist form of social relations, then obviously you can’t think of using the state to bring about revolution. We have to think in terms of anti-state forms of organization. So in that sense when I came to write Change the World without Taking Power, I thought I was saying something that was very obvious. I think it has always been my view, but when I came to Mexico and with the Zapatista uprising, then of course it got a new shape, a new impulse.

ROAR: There is this critique, expressed by “unrepentant Marxists” like Louis Proyect, that if you don’t take power, power takes you. What would you respond to such a form of criticism?

JH: I think if you do take power, power takes you. That’s very straightforward. I mean it’s very difficult to take positions of power at least in the sense that it’s usually used as ‘power over’. Inevitably you fall into the patterns of exercising power, of excluding people, of reproducing all that you start off fighting against. We’ve seen that over and over again. If you say ‘we are not going to take power’, I suppose one of the arguments is that if we don’t take power, then the really nasty people will take over, that by not taking power we are leaving a vacuum. I think that’s not true: we have to think in terms of capitalism as a ‘how’ and not as a ‘what’; as a way of doing things. The struggle against capital and the struggle to create a different world — for a different ‘how’ — is about a different way of doing things. It doesn’t make sense at all to say that the best way to achieve our ‘how’ is to do things in the way that we are rejecting. That seems to be complete nonsense. If we say that the struggle is really to create a different way of doing things, different ways of relating to one another, then we have no option but just to get on with doing it, and to do everything possible to resist the imposition of the ‘how’ that we reject.

ROAR: You have written that the transition from capitalism to the future world is necessarily an interstitial process, much like the transition from feudalism to capitalism. This directly contradicts the orthodox Marxist view that revolution is by definition a dramatic top-down transformation of society occurring in a very brief period of time. If this traditional view of revolution is outdated, how would you describe the interstitial process that replaces it?

JH: At first sight, the interstitial view contrasts with the traditional view that ‘we take power and we will bring social transformation from the top-down’. But in reality even that is still an interstitial concept because there was this idea that the state corresponds with society – that they are coterminous – which is obviously nonsense. State and society don’t have the same boundaries. Given that there are some 200 states in the world-system, and given that we won’t overthrow all these states on the same day, even if we want to focus on state power we will have to think interstitially. In this view, it’s just that we are thinking of states as being the relevant interstices, which seems ridiculous. What that means is that we are trying to take control of a form of organization that was constructed to promote the reproduction of capital. Everything in the last century suggests it doesn’t work.

We have to think of interstices, but in terms of our own forms of organization. States don’t make much sense. So we have to think in terms of something from below, creating our own forms of organization and interaction. We do it at the scale that we can: sometimes it’s just a little thing, like this garden we’re in. Sometimes it’s bigger, like a big chunk of the state of Chiapas now being self-governed by the Zapatistas. The question then becomes: how can we promote the confluence of these cracks?

There is this idea that the transition from feudalism to capitalism was an interstitial process, but that the movement from capitalism to communism or socialism cannot be – and that’s clearly wrong. If we think of communism, or the society that we want to create on the basis of self-determination, it has to come from below and not from the structures that deny its existence. This means an interstitial process in two temporalities, which are nicely expressed by the Zapatistas. First comes: ‘Ya basta!’ – we cannot accept this, not in terms of our survival, not in terms of our mental health. If this continues it will mean the destruction of humanity. We have to start now and break now. In this sense, the process is not gradual. It is here and now that we must create something else. But then comes the second Zapatista slogan: ‘We walk, we do not run, because we are going very far’ – a recognition that it’s not just a question of a one-day transformation of society; it’s a question of creating a new world.

via Talking about a revolution with John Holloway | ROAR Magazine.

via Talking about a revolution with John Holloway | ROAR Magazine.

‘A Revolution We Can All Dance To’ (Part 2)


In this two part interview Andrew Robinson introduces the political philosophy of Gilles Deleuze. In this second part we moved from political imaginary to political strategy; discussing Deleuzian alternatives to democratic-centralism for implementing revolutionary change.

Deleuze presents us with an exhilarating political imaginary, but to what extent is such an imaginary a means for attaining itself? Particularly given that, as you write, desire is expressive rather than instrumental? Doesn’t the success of a revolutionary movement partly depends on its ability to maintain its unity and discipline against the dangers of fragmentation and division—a kind of regimentation of desire that Deleuze opposes?

The argument you’re advancing here makes a certain sense, because the rhizomatic movements of the last few decades have suffered from a great decline over the last decade or so.  But really, there isn’t much evidence of organised parties doing much better.  The fashion for disciplined, united, democratic-centralist parties largely followed from the success of the Bolshevik Revolution—and then later, various guerrilla-led revolutions.  But the applicability of this model is questionable.  Firstly, has this model served well in other contexts?  There are dozens of groups trying to reproduce this model in Britain, Europe, America, all over the world in fact, and they all seem to end up either as groupuscles or mainstream parties.  It’s very noticeable that the big upsurges in struggle for the last half-a-century haven’t really stemmed from these groups at all.  Secondly, did the Bolsheviks really “win”?  The regime ossified into authoritarianism pretty quickly, and ultimately deformed back into capitalism.  This happened repeatedly with regimes which went the same way.

Why do you think that was?

I think there are two explanations for this.  Either the communist model is not really a pursuit of liberation in a Deleuzian sense to begin with—it seeks to replace an “illegitimate” domination with a “legitimate” domination, one which authentically represents instead of misrepresenting, which represents a true essence instead of a false one, and which thereby simply reproduces renunciation, repression and the state, through its structural isomorphism with the way in which capitalism/statism already works.  Or the communist model is a pursuit of genuine liberation, but seeks it by means of its opposite—using the state to bring about the withering-away of the state.  If the latter, then the question arises, does the state really wither away when a revolution is achieved this way?  Is there, for that matter, an egalitarian society or a sustainable society?  It fails because ultimately, the party model reproduces the structure of alienation: the separation between leaders and led, intellectual and manual workers, specialists in revolution and non-specialists reduced to a follower role.  I think these questions have been asked within communist movements, in which certain fractions—the Italian autonomists for instance, and the Zapatistas—have moved towards a more Deleuzian model.

What is the Deleuzian a model of political organisation?

There are various models of political organisation in Deleuze and Guattari—the war-machine, the band or pack, the rhizome, the subject-group.  War-machines are taken from Clastres‘ work on Amazonian bands, who form war-parties when they are aggrieved.  According to Clastres, this is a way to prevent any group from concentrating too much power in its own hands. Packs or bands are small groups with limited numbers, unstable connections, and an avoidance of fixed hierarchy.  The band detaches things from their usual connections or territories, bringing them into new combinations. Rhizomes are networks which connect different points without a central trunk or hierarchy.

What advantages do horizontal formations have over traditional, hierarchical parties?

A number of advantages. They can’t be “beheaded” the way parties can—the way the Black Panthers were, for example.  They can incorporate a far wider diversity of groups and perspectives.  They have a certain resilience against repression, because they can regroup on the band level.  Ultimately – and this is recognised for instance by Arquilla and Ronfeldt , on behalf of the US state—rhizomes defeat trunks in prolonged conflicts.  The recent cases of quasi-Leninist revolutions occurred because forces such as the Vietcong, the Algerian FLN, and the Maoists adopted an organisational model with certain rhizomatic traits.  The state and capital have had to adapt by adopting rhizomatic tactics themselves (while keeping the core hierarchy intact, of course).

And this issue is also very contemporary.  I’ve written elsewhere on the politics of the excluded, on emergent forces of resistance appearing at the margins of capitalism. There are a lot of these forces, many of which are barely known about in the North, and some of them are remarkably successful in carving out autonomous zones, creating new practices of living, even defeating states in particular localities.

Such as…

Groups like the Zapatistas , MEND , KRRS , Abahlali and similar groups, the MST , the Mapuche resistance , Argentine piquetero groups , La Ruta Pacifica , APPO; movements such as the Cochabamba uprising, the ‘gas war’, the Kabylie uprising , the Arab Spring; and ongoing struggles in places like El Alto, the Andes, the Amazon, the Himalayas, and the Caucasus. Some of these groups and movements are rhizomes or war-machines, some of them are hybrid groups combining elements of the rhizome with elements of the Leninist party or the guerrilla cell.  They either use the informal small-group model, an inclusive network model, or some kind of general assembly.  They arise out of, and remain densely connected to, local knowledges and forms of life specific to each setting, which actualise non-capitalist living through practices such as land occupation, subsistence farming, and indigenous rituals.  And the basis for this phenomenon is that a lot of people, in a lot of the world, live in rhizomatic ways in at least some parts of their lives.  I think of these groups as autonomous social movements, similar in certain respects to the groups in the North discussed by people such as Katsiaficas .  But the numbers and power of these movements are on a scale unlike anything in the North.  Even where revolutionaries still use state-forms, these forms depend crucially on movements of the excluded—a Chavez, Morales, Thaksin, or Aristide can only take and hold power by channelling such movements, or even stimulating them if they don’t already exist.

So we have good reasons to be optimistic? I must admit the last three decades in Britain haven’t filled me with optimism.

There is pressure in the UK or US to feel hopeless, because the state is deploying huge resources to smash movements before they develop any momentum.  But on a global scale, the system seems to be fraying round the edges, falling apart in places, or hanging by a thread.  If we think also about groups which use a rhizome or war-machine model, but with a reactive or hierarchical goal, then we can see a strong parallel between this model and a tendency towards state collapse in the most peripheral areas—places like Afghanistan, Somalia, Northeast India, the Niger Delta.  In these kinds of spaces—termed ‘black holes’ by the state—the nomadic war-machines are actually stronger than the states.  Of course, these kinds of situations frequently become quite nasty, because the force which is unleashed is at least as much reactive as active.  The Zapatista situation, where localised state collapse is simultaneously a progressive move, is still quite rare.  But the potential is there, and certainly seems more likely than a Leninist revolution or a new social-democracy.  If there’s a new social-democracy, it will emerge because the system needs to contain revolt.

The criticism that sometimes comes from socialists is that hierarchies develop in ostensibly horizontalist group formations anyway and without any formalised procedures to recognise this and hold power to account hierarchies can become much more oppressive. Indeed much of the inspiration for Deleuze comes from Nietzsche who developed his political philosophy precisely as a rejection of attempts to bound power around certain reified *universalist* principles.

Can you clarify if you’re criticising Deleuze for being universalist, or for being anti-universalist?

I was suggesting that Nietzsche sees universality principles as a version of “slave morality”. So that would make it (to the extent that Deleuze is following Nietzsche) a criticism of Deleuze’s anti-universalism. Deleuze’s embrace of horizontalism could be construed as a universalist principle—but I think socialists would argue that unless this commitment is formalised into specific democratic procedures we are threatened with a situation in which a group pays lip service to horizontalism while in practice is quite oppressive.

Of course, this sometimes happens.  The question would be, why do horizontal groups revert to hierarchical forms?  Is there something inherent in human beings which makes us form hierarchies, however we try to live—so the best we can do is democratise the hierarchies?  This view seems to lead back to a conservative stance: human nature is fixed, people are basically bad, so conflict is inevitable, and the best we can do is civilise oppression a bit.

Alternatively, do hierarchies arise because the techniques for the maintenance of autonomy are so far insufficient, incomplete, or maybe forgotten?  Perhaps people in social movements have not overcome reactive desires after all.  Perhaps people revert to familiar, habitual relations even when trying to transcend them. In which case, the point is to develop better ways of locking-in horizontal relations.

I’ve seen this kind of dynamic (i.e. informal hierarchies) in social movements, and I think a lot of it comes down to personality types or communicative styles—some people have quite passive or dependent outlooks, whereas others come across as charismatic or knowledgeable, and get interpellated as leaders, or perhaps seek it. There are big gender and class differentials in which style people adopt, so this reinforces the persistence of gender and class dominance as well.

Wouldn’t democratic procedures ameliorate this?

I don’t think formal procedures or elected hierarchies solve the problem at all—because the same, dominant types of people then manage to get even more power.  They’ll be the loudest, most confident speakers in assemblies, and the most likely to seek and gain election in representative systems.  Actually, if anything, it’s mitigated a bit in small groups, because people who are less confident are less anxious about speaking.  To be honest, I don’t have a solution here, but I think the issue is probably a critical literacy issue—people need to be more reflexive about the relationships they’re in, some people need to become more assertive and gain a sense that they have valid knowledges and contributions, and some other people need to learn to listen and to situate their own perspectives as partial.

When thinking about social power, I’d suggest that there are actually at least two axes.  I’d think about concentrated and diffuse power on the one hand, and formal and informal power on the other.  The libertarian left has traditionally favoured diffuse formal power, such as local assemblies.  Occupy, and some of the social movements I talked about before (the Zapatistas and the MST for example), have diffuse formal power structures.  The assembly or the commune is the main site of power.  Formal state systems are based on concentrated formal power.  Leninists and social-democrats have traditionally sought to capture concentrated formal power so as to use it in more benign or authentically representative ways. The same problems come up with all of these approaches—diffuse formal power can slip into concentrated formal power, and concentrated formal power usually turns into dominance for the benefit of those in power.

If formality increases the risk of concentration, a Deleuzian ideal would be a diffuse informal power?

Yes. And I think Deleuze tries to sketch some of the structural conditions for diffuse informal power, particularly in relation to war-machines, bands and so on. He suggests that diffuse power can be mobilised to prevent concentrations of power, but it takes particular “affects”, particular zones of desire for it to work.

It’s interesting that you raise the question of universalism. Actually, there’s an influential critique of Deleuze—the critique coming from Alain Badiou , Slavoj Zizek and Peter Hallward for example—which maintains precisely the opposite—that Deleuze does have a universal, that he’s a closet universalist!  I think part of the reason for this is that Deleuze makes general claims about the qualitative basis of existence—that it is always based on becoming, it has virtual and actual aspects, it is based on active force, it is an expression of univocity and differenciation, and so on.  It doesn’t lead to an overarching normative position as to how everyone should live, but it has general implications.

Was I wrong to present him as an anti-universalist?

Deleuze is anti-universalist in the sense of being immanentist. He doesn’t believe traditional kinds of morality and ontology which suggest an additional dimension above the world, which judges or structures the world—like God in mainstream Christianity for example.  He doesn’t want some particular site to become the focus of power, integrating all the rest.  Part of the reason for this is that arborescent (tree-like) power necessarily produces hierarchies and inequalities.  Deleuze, like other poststructuralists, thinks that this kind of universalism isn’t really universal.  It always ends up as the perspective of some particular group, portrayed as universal to dominate other groups.  This is similar to Marx’s theory of ideology—what appear as moral absolutes are really particular interests of the bourgeoisie.

Does this make him hostile to grand totalising projects?

Deleuze isn’t in line with a lot of the Anglo-American poststructuralists who think it’s too dangerous to try to create a big political project.  He wants to change the general frame.  Certain structures are oppressive of desire as such.  These structures might be diffuse and capillary, but they also have a centralising logic, and an alienating logic.  In this sense, Deleuze is a revolutionary theorist.  He sees cumulative, capillary resistances, but he also sees them reaching a point of critical mass which will change the course of the world.  This isn’t a universalism in the sense of a philosopher-king delivering a truth to humanity.  But there’s a certain sense in it of humanity in general, or life in general—that on the whole, we’d live better without hierarchies than with them.

Doesn’t this make him an anti-universalist on universalist grounds?

Deleuze goes along with the Nietzschean idea of “beyond good and evil”, but if we read this closely, it doesn’t mean there are no values.  It means values are constructed starting from active power as “good”, and defining what’s “bad” in relation to it.  What’s “bad” is what blocks the power of active desire or active force.  This sometimes means things are only “bad” from one point of view, and “good” from another—if two active forces come into conflict.  But I think Deleuze also wants to say that some things are “bad” in general, because they run counter to the functioning of active force as such.  Hence he has a kind of general project of overcoming certain kinds of structural oppression which are counterposed to active force as such—the capitalist axiomatic, the state, bureaucracy, arborescence, striation of space, rigid segmentarities, unmarked terms and so on.  These are forces which block the emergence and expression of active force as such.  They aren’t just bad in relation to a particular desire.  In a sense, they’re ‘universally’ bad, because active force is ‘universally’ good (even though active forces can desire diverse, incommensurable things).  Part of the theoretical dynamism in Deleuze’s thought come from the attempt to maintain this kind of universalist anti-transcendence while also emphasising radical immanence.

Andrew Robinson is a political theorist and activist based in the UK. His book Power, Resistance and Conflict in the Contemporary World: Social Movements, Networks and Hierarchies (co-authored with Athina Karatzogianni) was published in September 2009 by Routledge.

via New Left Project | Articles | ‘A Revolution We Can All Dance To’ (Part 2).

via ‘A Revolution We Can All Dance To’ (Part 2).

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