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Rosa Luxemburg marxista senza dogmi

Quando nell’agosto del 1893, al Congresso di Zurigo della Seconda Internazionale, dalla presidenza dell’assemblea fu menzionato il suo nome, Rosa Luxemburg si fece spazio senza indugiare tra la platea di delegati e militanti che riempivano la sala stracolma.

Era ancora giovanissima, di corporatura minuta e con una deformazione all’anca che la costringeva a zoppicare sin dall’età di cinque anni. Nei presenti, il suo apparire sembrò destare l’impressione di trovarsi dinanzi a una persona fragile. Stupì tutti, invece, quando, dopo essere salita su una sedia, per farsi ascoltare meglio, riuscì ad attirare l’attenzione dell’intero uditorio, sorpreso dall’abilità della sua dialettica e affascinato dall’originalità delle sue tesi. Per la Luxemburg, infatti, la rivendicazione centrale del movimento operaio polacco non doveva essere la costruzione di una Polonia indipendente, come veniva ripetuto all’unanimità. La Polonia era ancora tripartita tra gli imperi tedesco, austro-ungarico e russo; la sua riunificazione risultava di difficile attuazione, mentre ai lavoratori andavano prospettati obiettivi realistici che avrebbero dovuto generare lotte pratiche nel nome di bisogni concreti. Con un ragionamento che sviluppò negli anni a venire, ammonì quanti enfatizzavano la questione nazionale, convinta che la retorica del patriottismo sarebbe stata pericolosamente utilizzata per relegare in secondo piano la questione sociale. Alle tante oppressioni patite dal proletariato non occorreva aggiungere anche “l’asservimento alla nazionalità polacca”. Per fare fronte a questa insidia, la Luxemburg auspicò la nascita di autogoverni locali e il rafforzamento delle autonomie culturali che, una volta instaurato il modo di produzione socialista, avrebbero fatto da argine al possibile ripresentarsi di rigurgiti sciovinistici e ad altre nuove discriminazioni. Attraverso l’insieme di queste riflessioni, distinse la questione nazionale da quella dello Stato nazione.

L’episodio del Congresso di Zurigo simboleggia l’intera biografia intellettuale di colei che va annoverata tra i più significativi esponenti del socialismo novecentesco. Nata 150 anni fa, il 5 marzo del 1871, a Zamość, nella Polonia sotto occupazione zarista, la Luxemburg trascorse la sua esistenza ai margini, lottando contro numerose avversità e andando sempre controcorrente. Di origini ebraiche, disabile per tutta la vita, all’età di ventisei anni si trasferì in Germania, dove riuscì a ottenere la cittadinanza solo grazie a un matrimonio combinato. Pacifista convinta al tempo della Prima Guerra Mondiale, venne incarcerata più volte per le sue idee. Fu ardente nemica dell’imperialismo nel mezzo di una nuova e violenta stagione coloniale. Soprattutto, fu una donna e visse in mondi abitati così esclusivamente da soli uomini. Fu spesso l’unica presenza femminile sia all’Università di Zurigo, dove conseguì il dottorato nel 1897, che tra i dirigenti del Partito Socialdemocratico Tedesco, nel quale venne nominata prima insegnante donna della scuola centrale di formazione dei quadri.

A queste difficoltà si aggiunsero il suo spirito indipendente e la sua autonomia – una virtù spesso penalizzante anche nei partiti politici di sinistra. La Luxemburg aveva la capacità di elaborare nuove idee e di saperle difendere, senza alcuna timorosa riverenza, al cospetto di figure del calibro di August Bebel o Karl Kautsky che avevano avuto il privilegio di formarsi attraverso il contatto diretto con Engels. Il suo fine non fu quello di ripetere le parole di Marx, ma di interpretarle storicamente.

Riuscì a superare i tanti ostacoli incontrati e, in occasione della svolta riformista di Eduard Bernstein e dell’acceso dibattito che ne seguì, divenne figura nota nella principale organizzazione del movimento operaio europeo. Se, nel celebre testo I presupposti del socialismo e i compiti della socialdemocrazia, Bernstein aveva invitato il partito a recidere i ponti con il passato e a trasformarsi in una mera forza gradualista, nello scritto Riforma sociale o rivoluzione?, la Luxemburg replicò fermamente che, in ogni periodo della storia, “il lavoro di riforma sociale si muove solo nella direzione e per il tempo corrispondenti alla spinta che gli è stata impressa dall’ultima rivoluzione”. Quanti ritenevano che nel “pollaio del parlamentarismo borghese” si potessero ottenere i medesimi cambiamenti possibili mediante la conquista rivoluzionaria del potere politico, non avevano scelto una “via più tranquilla e più sicura verso la stessa meta, ma, piuttosto, un’altra meta”.

Per la Luxemburg, il socialismo avrebbe dovuto espandere la democrazia, non ridurla. Così, nel 1904, fu protagonista di un altro violento contrasto, questa volta con Lenin, sul tema delle forme dell’organizzazione politica. Il leader bolscevico concepì il partito come un nucleo compatto di rivoluzionari di professione, un’avanguardia che doveva guidare le masse. La Luxemburg obiettò che un partito estremamente centralizzato generava una dinamica molto pericolosa: “l’obbedienza cieca dei militanti all’autorità centrale”. Il partito doveva sviluppare la partecipazione sociale, non soffocarla. Marx aveva scritto che “ogni passo del movimento reale era più importante di una dozzina di programmi”. La Luxemburg estese questo postulato e affermò che “i passi falsi che compie un reale movimento operaio sono, sul piano storico, incommensurabilmente più fecondi e più preziosi dell’infallibilità del migliore comitato centrale”. Questa polemica acquisì ancora maggiore rilevanza dopo la rivoluzione sovietica, alla quale offrì appoggio incondizionato. Preoccupata dagli eventi che si susseguivano in Russia (a partire dalle modalità con le quali si procedette a collettivizzare la terra), la Luxemburg fu la prima, nel campo comunista, a osservare che un “regime di prolungato stato d’assedio” avrebbe esercitato “un’influenza degradante sulla società”. Ribadì che la missione storica del “proletariato giunto al potere” era quella di “creare una democrazia socialista al posto della democrazia borghese, non di distruggere ogni forma di democrazia”. Per lei comunismo significava una “più attiva e libera partecipazione delle masse popolari in una democrazia senza limiti”. Un orizzonte politico e sociale veramente diverso sarebbe stato raggiunto soltanto attraverso questo complicato processo e non se l’esercizio della libertà fosse state “riservato solo ai partigiani del governo e ai membri di un partito unico”. Pur praticando opzioni politiche opposte, socialdemocratici e bolscevichi avevano entrambi erroneamente concepito democrazia e rivoluzione come due processi tra loro alternativi. Al contrario, il cuore della teoria politica della Luxemburg era incentrato sulla loro indissolubile unità.

L’altro cardine dei suoi convincimenti e della sua militanza fu il binomio opposizione alla guerra e agitazione antimilitarista. Su questi temi la Luxemburg fu capace di ammodernare il bagaglio teorico della sinistra e di fare approvare chiaroveggenti risoluzioni ai congressi della Seconda Internazionale. La funzione degli eserciti, il costante riarmo e il ripetersi delle guerre non dovevano essere intesi solo mediante le categorie classiche dell’Ottocento. Si trattava, come era stato più volte scritto, di strumenti utili agli interessi delle forze reazionarie e che producevano divisioni nel proletariato, ma essi rispondevano anche a una precisa finalità economica del tempo. Il capitalismo necessitava della guerra, persino in epoca di pace, per accrescere la produzione, così come per conquistare, appena si presentavano le condizioni, nuovi mercati nelle periferie coloniali extra-europee. La battaglia contro questa barbarie poteva essere vinta solo grazie alla lotta consapevole delle masse e, poiché l’opposizione al militarismo richiedeva una forte coscienza politica, la Luxemburg fu tra i più convinti sostenitori dello sciopero generale contro la guerra – un’arma che molti a sinistra, Marx compreso, sottovalutarono. Per la fondatrice della Lega di Spartaco la lotta di classe non si esauriva con l’aumento del salario. La Luxemburg non volle essere una mera epigona e il suo socialismo non fu mai economicista. Immersa nei drammi del suo tempo, cercò di innovare il marxismo senza metterne in questione le fondamenta e il suo tentativo parla, ancora oggi, alle giovani generazioni.

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Francisco T. Sobrino, Herramienta. Revista de Debate y Crítica Marxista

Este libro, prologado por Eric Hobsbawm para la edición castellana, contiene una colección de ensayos sobre los manuscritos económicos de Marx durante el periodo 1857-1859, a los que se consideran como los primeros borradores de El capital.

Quienes  publicaron estos manuscritos por primera vez en 1939-1941 los llamaron Grundrisse. Lineamientos fundamentales para la crítica de la economía política 1857-1858. En la época en que Marx los elaboraba, los lectores sólo conocieron lo que sería la parte inicial o preliminar de su ambicioso trabajo, bajo el título de Contribución a la crítica de la economía política, que fue publicado en 1859. Este fragmento de sus estudios sería reelaborado por Marx después, al publicar el primer tomo de El capital.
Esta publicación colabora en la tarea de hacer llegar a los lectores hispano hablantes interesados en las actuales investigaciones del proyecto editorial, científico y crítico de la obra de Marx y Engels, conocido como “MEGA2” (Marx Engels Gesamtausgabe). Este proyecto, compuesto por estudiosos, comentaristas y especialistas, está encarando la edición crítica de toda la obra de Marx y Engels, en base al cuidadoso estudio de todos los manuscritos conservados en los archivos existentes, incluyendo borradores, resúmenes, comentarios y tachaduras, etcétera.
El cuerpo del texto consta de una introducción, a cargo del editor: “La crítica de la economía política en los primeros estudios de Marx”. A continuación, se divide en tres partes. La Parte I contiene interpretaciones críticas de los Grundrisse, e incluye los siguientes ensayos: “Historia, producción y método en la ‘Introducción’ de 1857” por el mismo Musto;  “El concepto de valor en la economía moderna: acerca de la relación entre dinero y capital en los Grundrisse”, por Joachim Bischoff y Christoph Lieber; “La concepción de Marx de la alienación en los Grundrisse”, por Terrell Carver; “El descubrimiento de la categoría de plusvalor”, por  Enrique Dussel; “El materialismo histórico en ´Formas que preceden a la producción capitalista’”, por Ellen Meiksins Wood; “Los Grundrisse de Marx y las contradicciones ecológicas del capitalismo”, por John Bellamy Foster; “Individuos emancipados en una sociedad emancipada: la sociedad post-capitalista esbozada por Marx en los Grundrisse”, por Iring Fetscher; y “Repensando El capital a la luz de los Grundrisse”, por Moshe Postone.
La Parte II: “Marx en la época de los Grundrisse”, se dedica a analizar al contexto histórico y biográfico de Marx cuando los escribía, compuesta por los siguientes artículos: “La vida de Marx en la época de los Grundrisse: notas biográficas de 1857-1858”, por Marcello Musto; “La primera crisis económica mundial: Marx como periodista económico”, por Michael R. Krätke; y “Los ‘libros sobre las crisis’ de Marx de 1857-1858”, también por Michael R. Krätke.
La Parte III registra la difusión y la recepción de los Grundrisse en todo el mundo. Este método, ya utilizado eficazmente por Marcello Musto en su anterior libro Marx for Today(publicado en castellano en Buenos Aires con el título: De regreso a Marx: nuevas lecturas y vigencia en el mundo actual, Octubre, 2015), ayuda a los lectores a conocer su impacto en los diversos contextos nacionales y regionales, informando las principales ediciones, versiones y traducciones, así como a las obras más destacadas de comentaristas en los diferentes idiomas. Colaboran aquí 21 autores de una variedad de países y regiones.
Finalmente, un epílogo: “Después de los Grundrisse”, cierra el libro con el ensayo “La escritura de El capital: Génesis y estructura de la crítica de la economía política de Marx”, a cargo del editor. La presente edición, entonces, ofrece un panorama completo del principal proyecto intelectual de Marx, que era su crítica de la economía política. Como lo señala Hobsbawm, en los Grundrisse se refleja la obra de un “Marx maduro, crítico y creativo”. Bien puede afirmarse que con la recepción  de estos manuscritos de 1857-1858 comenzó el proceso de liberar al marxismo de la camisa de fuerza de la ortodoxia soviética, tanto adentro como afuera de los partidos comunistas, y creando la base para una apertura política e ideológica.
Un ejemplo de lo antedicho es la referencia a la conocida tesis que aparece en el “Prólogo” de la Contribución a la crítica de la economía política, publicada en 1859, o sea dos años después de que Marx escribiese la “Introducción” de los Grundrisse: “El modo de producción de la vida material condiciona el proceso de la vida social, política e intelectual en general”, que Marcello Musto nos alerta que no debería ser interpretada en un sentido determinista, y que debería distinguirse claramente de la lectura estrecha y predecible del marxismo-leninismo, en la que “los fenómenos superestructurales de la sociedad son un mero reflejo de la existencia material de los seres humanos”. Y como prueba de ello nos muestra que cuando Marx citó esa afirmación, en una nota a la edición francesa de El capital de 1872-1875, prefirió utilizar el verbo dominer para traducir el alemán bedingen(traducido más usualmente como déterminer o conditionner). Con eso, Marx quiso evitar el riesgo de plantear una relación mecánica entre los dos aspectos.
Sin embargo, generalmente ha prevalecido la primera lectura, también difundida ampliamente por Stalin en su libro Materialismo dialéctico e histórico: “el mundo material representa la realidad objetiva…y la vida espiritual de la sociedad es un reflejo de dicha realidad objetiva”.
Musto finaliza el epílogo recordando una conversación de Marx con el periodista liberal estadounidense John Swinton, quien estaba “profundamente sorprendido por la vastedad de su conocimiento”, que fue publicada el 6 de septiembre de 1880 en la portada de The Sun. Cuando el periodista le preguntó: “La ley suprema del ser, ¿cuál es?”, luego de unos segundos, Marx “respondió, con un tono profundo y solemne: ¡la lucha!”

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Paula Rauhala, Socialism and Democracy

The “late Marx” has recently received increasing attention in research literature.

Marcello Musto reproaches the existing biographies for portraying Marx as a person whose energies had been drained by the 1870s and who was no longer fit for writing during his last years.
The present book challenges this view. Musto draws on Marx’s published and unpublished manuscripts, notes, and letters from 1881–1883, presenting a vital sequel to his earlier work, Another Marx: Early Manuscripts to the International (Bloomsbury, 2018).
Musto insists on the relevance of Marx’s biography to his intellectual development. As in Another Marx, Musto intertwines his account of Marx’s intellectual work with the story of his life, which in this later period revolves around his declining health.
It was not only his extensive readings that shaped Marx as a thinker. Most importantly, Marx learned, in correspondence with activists, from the struggles of working-class movements in various countries. The emphasis on political praxis, and its influence on Marx’s thought is a recurring theme for Musto.
Musto seeks to correct the balance between the young and the old Marx. While Marx’s last years have often been neglected, some scholars have put an “excessive weight” on “Marx’s early writings” (131) – Marx between the years 1818 and 1844 “when he published only two journal articles and had just initiated the study of political economy” (132). Musto shows that even if it is true that Marx did not publish during his last years, he read and took notes on a wide range of disciplines such as agricultural chemistry, physiology, physics, and mathematics, resulting in his Mathematical Manuscripts. He also studied anthropology – and left behind his important Ethnological Notebooks. Finally, he read ancient history, the history of banking, and world history, compiling his Chronological Extracts, “an annotated year-by-year timeline of world events from the first century BC on, summarizing their causes and salient features” (99).
In addition to the fury of taking notes that Maximilien Rubel has called Marx’s “literary bulimia” which, “yielded nearly 3,000 pages of microscopic writing” during his last ten years, Marx acquainted himself with “‘tons’ of statistical material” (132), learned the Russian language, travelled, and very importantly, corresponded with the workers’ organizations of various countries. All this he accomplished while being seriously ill himself and having terminally ill family members around him.
Musto emphasizes that Marx in the 1880s not only continued his studies but also expanded their scope – most importantly to encompass the past and present of such countries as the United States, Russia, Egypt, and Algeria.
The first chapter of The Last Years, “New Research Horizons,” discusses, in addition to Marx’s important anthropological studies, the 101-point questionnaire that he prepared in 1880 for the Federation of Socialist Workers of France, to be published in La Revue socialiste and “distributed in 25,000 copies ‘all over France’” (46). In his introduction to the questionnaire, Marx expressed his conviction that the workers “alone can describe with full knowledge the misfortunes from which they suffer, and that only they, not saviours sent by Providence, can energetically apply the healing remedies for the social ills to which they are a prey” (MECW 24: 636). As in Another Marx, Musto emphasizes that Marx was not only a critic of political economy; he learned from concrete political struggles.
Chapter 2, “Controversy over the Development of Capitalism in Russia,” discusses the famous question that Vera Zasulich (1849–1919) addressed to Marx: should the Russian revolutionaries focus on developing the traditional village commune, the obshchina, or should they concentrate their energies on organizing the – at the time small – industrial proletariat in the cities? Like other scholars before him, Musto shows how seriously Marx took this question. If Marx had had a general historico-philosophical theory of the development of societies – as often assumed – why would he have devoted so much time to studying the economic and social conditions in Russia? The answer is that “Russia seemed more likely to produce a revolution than Britain, …where the workers’ movement, enjoying better living conditions partly based on colonial exploitation, had grown weaker and undergone the negative conditioning of trade union reformism” (49).
Musto underlines Marx’s observation in a draft letter to another Russian populist, Nicholai Mikhailovsky (1842–1904), that “events of striking similarity, taking place in different historical contexts” often lead to totally “disparate results” (MEW 19: 112). As the unfinished manuscripts and study notes published recently in MEGA2 show, Marx “oriented himself to empirical research and historical analysis. In contrast to what many previous interpreters have maintained, these new materials definitively refute the idea that he was mainly driven by a new philosophy of history, or that he had obsessive recourse to the dialectical method” (151).
Moreover, Musto reminds us that although Marx named “[s]team, electricity, and the self-acting mule” as “revolutionists of a rather more dangerous character than even citizens Barbès, Raspail and Blanqui,” he believed that the development of any society was dependent not solely on economic and technical progress, but also on the organizational talent of political groups (MECW 14: 655). As in his other writings (and especially in those dealing with Marx’s activities in the International Workingmen’s Association), Musto highlights how skilled a political organizer Marx was. He was “troubled” by what he called “ultra-revolutionary turns of phrase” which he regarded as “hot air. MECW 14: 655” In 1881, Marx wrote to his daughter Jenny, “Shouting and doing are irreconcilable opposites” (MECW 46: 83).
Musto argues that Marx’s correspondence with the Russian populists helped to widen the scope of his internationalism from the European context to the global scale. The attention Marx paid to non-European societies during his last years led him to a “more pronounced multilinear conception” of political and economic development (76).
The third chapter, “The Travails of ‘Old Nick’,” deals with the early dissemination of Capital in Europe and Marx’s struggle with the initially unsatisfactory translation of Capital into French. Musto asks “why could Marx not complete Capital” and hints that as Marx “deepened his knowledge of economic developments in Russia and the United States” (87), completing the second and the third volumes became even more complicated. In other words, Marx became more and more interested in “the forms in which the capitalist mode of production developed in different contexts and periods” (88).
The fourth and final chapter, “The Moor’s Last Journey,” tells the story of Marx’s visit to Algeria, where, “because of the sun,” he got rid of his “prophet’s beard” and had himself “photographed before offering up” his “hair on the altar of an Algerian barber” (MECW 46: 249). The story of Marx’s stay in Algiers is the story of the beginning of the final deterioration of his health.
Musto’s book presents an overview of Marx’s studies, debates, correspondence, affectionate relationships, diseases, sorrows, and journeys during the last years of his life. Pages cataloguing Marx’s readings are very useful and informative but can be tedious to read because many topics are not discussed substantially but merely mentioned. Such pages are, however, followed by stories of Marx’s family life, correspondence regarding politics, and Marx’s personal relations with his comrades. This rhythm of the prose leads the reader through the pages of this book, which is packed with detailed information as the number and the length of the endnotes indicates.
Readers wishing to deepen their understanding of particular themes of this book may refer to Musto’s original sources in MEGA2, MEW, or MECW – if not the papers in the International Institute of Social History (IISH) in Amsterdam, or the Russian State Archive of Socio-Political History (RGASPI) in Moscow, or the secondary literature found in Musto’s bibliography, consisting of sources in English, French, German, Spanish, Italian, and Portuguese.

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La alternativa posible de la Comuna de París

Los burgueses siempre lo habían conseguido todo. Desde la revolución de 1789, habían sido los únicos que se habían enriquecido en tiempos de prosperidad, mientras que la clase trabajadora había tenido que soportar regularmente el coste de las crisis. La proclamación de la Tercera República abrió nuevos escenarios y ofreció la oportunidad de revertir este rumbo. Napoleón III había sido derrotado y capturado por los alemanes, en Sedán, el 4 de septiembre de 1870. En enero un año después se rendía París, que había estado sitiada durante más de cuatro meses, lo que obligó a los franceses a aceptar las condiciones impuestas por Otto von Bismarck. Se produjo un armisticio que permitió la celebración de elecciones y el posterior nombramiento de Adolphe Thiers como jefe del poder ejecutivo, con el apoyo de una amplia mayoría legitimista y orleanista. En la capital, sin embargo, a diferencia del resto del país, la conjunción progresista-republicana tuvo éxito con una abrumadora mayoría y el descontento popular fue más generalizado que en otros lugares. La perspectiva de un ejecutivo que dejase inmutables todas las injusticias sociales, que quería desarmar la ciudad y estaba dispuesto a hacer recaer el precio de la guerra sobre los menos favorecidos, desató la rebelión. El 18 de marzo estalló una nueva revolución; Thiers y su ejército tuvieron que refugiarse en Versalles.

De lucha y de gobierno
Los insurgentes decidieron celebrar inmediatamente elecciones libres, para garantizar la legitimidad democrática de la insurrección. El 26 de marzo, una abrumadora mayoría (190.000 contra 40.000 votos) aprobó las razones de la revuelta y 70 de los 85 miembros electos se declararon a favor de la revolución. Los 15 representantes moderados del llamado “parti de maires” (partido de los alcaldes), grupo formado por ex presidentes de algunos distritos, dimitieron inmediatamente y no se incorporaron al consejo de la comuna. Poco después fueron seguidos por cuatro radicales. Los 66 miembros restantes, que no se distinguían fácilmente por su doble afiliación política, representaban posiciones muy variadas. Entre ellos había una veintena de republicanos neo-jacobinos (incluidos los influyentes Charles Delescluze y Felix Pyat), una docena de prosélitos de Auguste Blanqui, 17 miembros de la Asociación Internacional de Trabajadores (incluidos los mutualistas seguidores de Pierre-Joseph Proudhon, que con frecuencia no estaban de acuerdo con los colectivistas afines a Karl Marx) y un par de independientes. La mayoría de los miembros de la Comuna eran trabajadores o representantes reconocidos de la clase trabajadora. De ellos, 14 procedían de la Guardia Nacional. Fue precisamente el comité central de esta el que depositó el poder en manos de la Comuna, aunque este acto fue el inicio de una larga serie de contradicciones y conflictos entre las dos entidades.

El 28 de marzo, una gran masa de ciudadanos se reunió cerca del Hôtel de Ville y recibió con alegría la inauguración de la nueva asamblea que oficialmente tomó el nombre de la Comuna de París. Aunque solo duró 72 días, fue el evento político más importante en la historia del movimiento obrero del siglo XIX. La Comuna revivió la esperanza de una población agotada por meses de penurias. En los barrios surgieron comités y grupos en apoyo. En cada rincón de la metrópoli se multiplicaron las iniciativas de solidaridad y los planes para la construcción de un mundo nuevo. Montmartre pasó a llamarse “la ciudadela de la libertad”. Uno de los sentimientos predominantes fue el deseo de compartir. Militantes como Louise Michel dieron ejemplo por su espíritu de abnegación. Víctor Hugo escribió sobre ella: “Hiciste lo que hacen las grandes almas locas. Has dado gloria a los que están aplastados y sometidos”. Sin embargo, la Comuna no vivió gracias al impulso de un dirigente o de unas pocas figuras carismáticas. De hecho, su principal característica fue su dimensión claramente colectiva. Mujeres y hombres se ofrecieron voluntarios para un proyecto de liberación común. La autogestión ya no se consideró más una utopía. La auto-emancipación se convirtió en algo esencial.

La transformación del poder político
Entre los primeros decretos de emergencia proclamados para frenar la pobreza desenfrenada estaba el bloqueo del pago de los alquileres (era justo que “la propiedad hiciera su parte de sacrificio”) y la suspensión de la venta de objetos -por un valor no superior a 20 Francos-, depositados en las casas de empeño. También se crearon nueve comisiones colegiadas para reemplazar los ministerios existentes: guerra, finanzas, seguridad general, educación, subsistencia, justicia, trabajo y comercio, relaciones exteriores, y servicios públicos. Posteriormente se nombró un delegado para gestionar cada una de ellas.

El 19 de abril, tres días después de las elecciones parciales tras las cuales fue posible reemplazar los 31 escaños que quedaron vacantes casi de inmediato, la Comuna redactó la Declaración al Pueblo Francés, en la que se aseguraba “la garantía absoluta de la libertad individual, de la libertad de conciencia y la libertad de trabajo” y “la intervención permanente de la ciudadanía en los asuntos comunes”. Se afirmaba que el conflicto entre París y Versalles “no podía terminar con compromisos ilusorios” y que el pueblo tenía “el deber de luchar y vencer”. Mucho más significativos que el contenido de este texto, síntesis un tanto ambigua para evitar tensiones entre las distintas tendencias políticas, fueron los actos concretos a través de los cuales los militantes de la Comuna lucharon por una transformación total del poder político. Iniciaron una serie de reformas que tenían como objetivo cambiar profundamente no solo la forma en que se administraba la política, sino su propia naturaleza. La democracia directa de la Comuna preveía la revocabilidad de los representantes electos y el control de su labor a través de la vinculación de mandatos (medida insuficiente para resolver la compleja cuestión de la representación política). Los magistrados y otros cargos públicos, también sujetos a control permanente y la posibilidad de revocación, no serían designados arbitrariamente, como en el pasado, sino mediante oposición o elecciones transparentes. Había que impedir la profesionalización de la esfera pública. Las decisiones políticas no debían corresponder a pequeños grupos de funcionarios y técnicos, sino ser tomadas por el pueblo. Los ejércitos y las fuerzas policiales ya no serían instituciones separadas del cuerpo de la sociedad. La separación entre Iglesia y Estado era una necesidad indispensable.

Sin embargo, el cambio político no terminaba con la adopción de estas medidas. Debía ir mucho más a la raíz. La burocracia tenía que reducirse drásticamente, transfiriendo el ejercicio del poder a manos del pueblo. El ámbito social tenía que prevalecer sobre el político y este último – como ya había argumentado Henri de Saint-Simon – dejaría de existir como función especializada, ya que sería asimilado progresivamente por las actividades de la sociedad civil. El cuerpo social recuperaría así las funciones que habían sido transferidas al estado. Derribar la dominación de clase existente no era suficiente; había que extinguir el dominio de clase como tal. Todo esto habría permitido la realización del plan diseñado por los comuneros: una república constituida por la unión de asociaciones libres verdaderamente democráticas que se convertirían en impulsoras de la emancipación de todos sus componentes. Era el autogobierno de los productores.

La prioridad de las reformas sociales
La Comuna creía que las reformas sociales eran incluso más relevantes que las transformaciones en el orden político. Representaban su razón de ser, el termómetro con el que medir la fidelidad a los principios para los que había nacido, el elemento de diferenciación definitivo frente a las revoluciones que la habían precedido en 1789 y 1848. La Comuna ratificó varias disposiciones con una clara connotación de clase. La fecha de vencimiento de las deudas se pospuso tres años, sin pago de intereses. Se suspendieron los desahucios por impago de los alquileres y se adoptaron medidas para que las casas desocupadas fueran requisadas a favor de las personas sin hogar. Se hicieron proyectos para limitar la duración de la jornada laboral (de las 10 horas iniciales a las ocho previstas en el futuro), se prohibió, bajo sanción, la práctica generalizada entre los empresarios de imponer multas espurias a los trabajadores con el único propósito de reducir sus salarios. Se decretaron salarios mínimos decentes. Se adoptó la prohibición de la acumulación de múltiples puestos de trabajo y se estableció un límite máximo para los salarios de los cargos públicos. Se hizo todo lo posible para aumentar el suministro de alimentos y reducir los precios. Se prohibió el trabajo nocturno en las panaderías y se abrieron algunas carnicerías municipales. Se implementaron diversas medidas de asistencia social para los más vulnerables, incluido el suministro de alimentos a mujeres y niños abandonados, y se aprobó el fin de la discriminación entre niños legítimos y naturales.

Todos los comuneros creían que la educación era un factor indispensable para la liberación de los individuos, sinceramente convencidos de que representaba el requisito previo de cualquier cambio social y político serio y duradero. Por tanto, animaron múltiples y relevantes debates en torno a las propuestas de reforma del sistema educativo. La escuela sería obligatoria y gratuita para todos, niños y niñas. La enseñanza religiosa sería reemplazada por la enseñanza laica, inspirada en el pensamiento racional y científico, y los costes del culto ya no recaerían en el presupuesto estatal. En las comisiones especialmente creadas y en la prensa se produjeron numerosas tomas de posición destacando cuán fundamental era la decisión de invertir en la educación femenina. Para convertirse verdaderamente en un “servicio público”, la escuela tenía que ofrecer las mismas oportunidades a los “niños de ambos sexos”. Por último, debía prohibir “las distinciones de raza, nacionalidad, fe o posición social”. Los avances de carácter teórico fueron acompañados de las primeras iniciativas prácticas y, en más de un distrito, miles de niños de la clase trabajadora recibieron material didáctico gratuito y entraron, por primera vez, en un edificio escolar.

La Comuna también legisló medidas de carácter socialista. Se decidió que los talleres abandonados por los propietarios que habían huido de la ciudad, a quienes se les garantizó una indemnización a su regreso, serían entregados a asociaciones cooperativas de trabajadores. Los teatros y museos -que estarían abiertos a todos y no serían de pago- fueron colectivizados y confiados a la dirección de quienes se habían adherido a la “Federación de Artistas de París”, presidida por el pintor e incansable militante Gustave Courbet. En él participaron unos 300 escultores, arquitectos, litógrafos y pintores (entre muchos también Édouard Manet). A esta iniciativa le siguió el nacimiento de la “Federación artística” que agrupó a los actores y al mundo de la ópera.

Todas estas acciones y disposiciones se llevaron a cabo sorprendentemente en solo 54 días, en un París todavía atormentado por los efectos de la guerra franco-prusiana. La Comuna sólo pudo funcionar del 29 de marzo al 21 de mayo y, además, en medio de una heroica resistencia a los ataques de Versalles, en una defensa que requería un gran derroche de energía humana y de recursos económicos. Además, dado que la Comuna no tenía ningún medio de coerción, muchas de las decisiones tomadas no se aplicaron de manera uniforme en el amplio territorio de la ciudad. Sin embargo, constituyeron un notable intento de reforma social y señalaron el camino de un posible cambio.

Una lucha colectiva y feminista
La Comuna fue mucho más que las medidas aprobadas por su asamblea legislativa. Incluso aspiró a alterar sustancialmente el espacio urbano, como lo demuestra la decisión de demoler la Columna Vendôme, reputada como un monumento a la barbarie y símbolo reprensible de la guerra, y secularizar algunos lugares de culto, destinando su uso a la comunidad. La Comuna vivió gracias a una extraordinaria participación masiva y un sólido espíritu de ayuda mutua. En este levantamiento contra la autoridad jugaron un papel destacado los clubes revolucionarios, que surgieron con increíble rapidez en casi todos los distritos. Se establecieron 28 y representaron uno de los ejemplos más importantes de la movilización espontánea que acompañó a la Comuna. Abiertos todas las noches, ofrecieron a la ciudadanía la oportunidad de reunirse, después del trabajo, para discutir libremente la situación social y política, verificar lo que habían logrado sus representantes y sugerir alternativas para la solución de los problemas cotidianos. Se trataba de asociaciones horizontales que favorecían la formación y expresión de la soberanía popular, pero también espacios de auténtica hermandad y fraternidad de hombres y mujeres. Eran espacios donde todos podían respirar la embriagadora posibilidad de convertirse en dueños de su propio destino.

En esta vía de emancipación no existía la discriminación nacional. El título de ciudadano de la Comuna estaba garantizado a todos los que trabajaban por su desarrollo y los extranjeros tenían los mismos derechos sociales garantizados que los franceses. Prueba de este principio de igualdad fue el papel predominante que asumieron varios extranjeros (unos 3.000 en total). El húngaro, miembro de la Asociación Internacional de Trabajadores, Léo Frankel, no solo fue uno de los funcionarios electos de la Comuna, sino también el responsable de la comisión de trabajo, uno de los “ministerios” más importantes de París. Los polacos Jaroslaw Dombrowski y Walery Wroblewski, fueron nombrados generales con mando de la Guardia Nacional y desempeñaron un papel igualmente importante.

En este contexto, las mujeres, aún privadas del derecho al voto y, en consecuencia, también de sentarse entre los representantes del Consejo de la Comuna, jugaron un papel fundamental en la crítica del orden social existente. Transgredieron las normas de la sociedad burguesa y afirmaron su nueva identidad en oposición a los valores de la familia patriarcal. Salieron de la dimensión privada y se ocuparon de la esfera pública. Formaron la “Unión de Mujeres por la Defensa de París y por la Atención a los Heridos” (nacida gracias a la incesante actividad de Élisabeth Dmitrieff, militante de la Asociación Internacional de Trabajadores) y jugaron un papel central en la identificación de batallas sociales estratégicas. Consiguieron el cierre de los burdeles, lograron la igualdad salarial con los maestros varones, acuñaron el lema “a igual trabajo, igual salario”, reclamaron igualdad de derechos en el matrimonio, exigieron el reconocimiento de las uniones libres, promovieron la creación de cámaras sindicales exclusivamente femeninas. Cuando, a mediados de mayo, la situación militar empeoró, cuando las tropas de Versalles llegaron a las puertas de París, las mujeres tomaron las armas e incluso lograron formar su propio batallón. Muchos expiraron su último aliento en las barricadas. La propaganda burguesa las convirtió en objeto de los ataques más despiadados, acusándolas de haber incendiado la ciudad durante los enfrentamientos y atribuyéndoles el despectivo calificativo de “las petroleras”.

¿Centralizar o descentralizar?
La Comuna quería establecer una auténtica democracia. Era un proyecto ambicioso y difícil. La soberanía popular a la que aspiraban los revolucionarios implicaba la participación del mayor número posible de ciudadanos. A finales de marzo, se habían desarrollado en París una miríada de comisiones centrales, subcomités de barrio, clubes revolucionarios y batallones de soldados que flanqueaban el duopolio ya complejo compuesto por el consejo de la Comuna y el comité central de la Guardia Nacional. Este último, de hecho, había conservado el control del poder militar, a menudo operando como un verdadero contrapoder del primero. Si el compromiso directo de una gran parte de la población constituía una garantía democrática vital, la multiplicidad de autoridades sobre el terreno complicaban el proceso de toma de decisiones y hacían tortuosa la aplicación de las ordenanzas.

El problema de la relación entre la autoridad central y los organismos locales produjo no pocos cortocircuitos, lo que resultó en una situación caótica y muchas veces paralizante. El ya precario equilibrio saltó por completo cuando, ante la emergencia de la guerra, la indisciplina presente en las filas de la Guardia Nacional y una creciente ineficacia de la acción gubernamental, Jules Miot propuso la creación de un Comité de Salud Pública de cinco integrantes – una solución inspirada en el modelo dictatorial de Maximilien Robespierre de 1793. La medida fue aprobada el 1 de mayo, por 45 votos a favor y 23 en contra. Fue un error dramático que decretó el principio del fin de una experiencia política sin precedentes y dividió a la Comuna en dos bloques opuestos. A los primeros pertenecían los neo-jacobinos y blanquistas, partidarios de la concentración del poder y, en última instancia, de la primacía de la dimensión política sobre la social. El segundo incluía a la mayoría de los miembros de la Asociación Internacional de Trabajadores, para quienes el ámbito social era más importante que el político. Consideraban necesaria la separación de poderes y creían que la república nunca debía cuestionar las libertades políticas. Coordinados por el infatigable Eugène Varlin, hicieron público su claro rechazo a las derivas autoritarias y no participaron en la elección del Comité de Salud Pública. Para ellos, el poder centralizado en manos de unos pocos individuos contradecía los postulados de la Comuna. Sus cargos electos no eran los poseedores de la soberanía -esta pertenecía al pueblo- y, por tanto, no tenían derecho a enajenarla. El 21 de mayo, cuando la minoría participó nuevamente en una sesión del consejo de la Comuna, se hizo un nuevo intento de restablecer la unidad en su seno. Pero ya era demasiado tarde.

La Comuna, sinónimo de la revolución
La Comuna de París fue reprimida con brutal violencia por los ejércitos de Versalles. Durante la llamada “semana sangrienta” (del 21 al 28 de mayo) fueron muertos entre 17.000 y 25.000 ciudadanos. Los últimos enfrentamientos tuvieron lugar a lo largo del perímetro del cementerio de Père-Lachaise. El joven Arthur Rimbaud describió la capital francesa como una “ciudad dolorosa, casi muerta”. Fue la masacre más violenta de la historia de Francia. Solo 6.000 comuneros lograron escapar y refugiarse en el exilio en Inglaterra, Bélgica y Suiza. Hubo 43.522 prisioneros. Un centenar de ellos fueron condenados a muerte tras juicios sumarísimos de los consejos de guerra, mientras que otros 13.500 fueron enviados a prisión, a trabajos forzados o deportados (en buena parte, especialmente, a la remota Nueva Caledonia). Algunos de ellos se solidarizaron y compartieron la misma suerte que los insurgentes argelinos que habían liderado la revuelta anticolonial de Mokrani, que tuvo lugar al mismo tiempo que la Comuna y que también fue aplastada violentamente por las tropas francesas.

El espectro de la Comuna intensificó la represión anti-socialista en toda Europa. Justificando la violencia estatal sin precedentes ejercida por Thiers, la prensa conservadora y liberal acusó a los comuneros de los peores crímenes y expresó gran alivio por la restauración del “orden natural” y la legalidad burguesa, así como su satisfacción por el triunfo de la “civilización” sobre la “anarquía”. Aquellos que se habían atrevido a cuestionar la autoridad y atacar los privilegios de la clase dominante fueron castigados de manera ejemplar. Las mujeres volvieron a ser consideradas seres inferiores y los trabajadores, con sus manos sucias y llenas de callos, que se habían atrevido a pensar que podían gobernar, fueron devueltos a los lugares que se les reservaba en la sociedad.

Sin embargo, la insurrección parisina dio fuerza a las luchas de los trabajadores y las empujó hacia posiciones más radicales. A raíz de su derrota, Eugène Pottier escribió una canción destinada a convertirse en la más famosa del movimiento obrero. Sus versos dicen: “¡Agrupémonos todos en la lucha final. El género humano es la internacional! (Groupons-nous, et demain, L’Internationale sera le genre humain!). París había demostrado que era necesario perseguir el objetivo de construir una sociedad radicalmente diferente de la capitalista. A partir de ese momento, aunque El tiempo de las cerezas nunca llegó para sus protagonistas (según el título de la célebre canción compuesta por el comunero Jean Baptiste Clément), la Comuna encarnó la idea abstracta y el cambio concreto al mismo tiempo. Se convirtió en sinónimo del concepto mismo de revolución, fue una experiencia ontológica de la clase trabajadora. En La guerra civil en Francia, Marx afirmó que esta “vanguardia del proletariado moderno” logró “acercar a los trabajadores de todo el mundo a Francia”. La Comuna de París cambió la conciencia de los trabajadores y su percepción colectiva. Después de 150 años, su bandera roja sigue ondeando y nos recuerda que siempre es posible una alternativa. Vive la Commune!

Traducción de Gustavo Buster

Categories
Journalism

Histoire-débat. «Pour Rosa Luxemburg»

Lorsqu’en août 1893, au Congrès de la Deuxième Internationale à Zurich, son nom est mentionné par le président de l’assemblée, Rosa Luxemburg se fraye un chemin sans hésitation à travers le parterre des délégués et des militants qui remplissent la salle comble.

Elle était l’une des rares femmes présentes à la réunion, encore très jeune, avec une petite taille et une déformation de la hanche qui l’obligeait à boiter dès l’âge de cinq ans. Les personnes présentes semblaient avoir l’impression d’avoir affaire à une personne fragile.

La question nationale
Mais elle a surpris tout le monde quand, après être montée sur une chaise pour mieux se faire entendre, elle a réussi à attirer l’attention de tout le public, surpris par l’habileté de sa dialectique et fasciné par l’originalité de ses thèses. Pour Rosa Luxemburg, en effet, la revendication centrale du mouvement ouvrier polonais n’était pas la construction d’une Pologne indépendante, comme cela a été unanimement répété. La Pologne est encore divisée en trois entre les empires allemand, austro-hongrois et russe; sa réunification était difficile à réaliser, tandis qu’il fallait proposer aux travailleurs des objectifs réalistes qui susciteraient des luttes pratiques au nom de besoins concrets.

Dans un raisonnement qu’elle a développé dans les années suivantes, elle a mis en garde ceux qui insistaient sur la question nationale, convaincue que la rhétorique du patriotisme serait dangereusement utilisée pour affaiblir la lutte des classes et reléguer la question sociale au second plan. Aux nombreuses oppressions subies par le prolétariat, il n’est pas nécessaire d’ajouter «l’asservissement à la nationalité polonaise». Pour faire face à ce danger, Rosa Luxemburg espérait la naissance de gouvernements autonomes locaux et le renforcement des autonomies culturelles qui, une fois le mode de production socialiste établi, agiraient comme une barrière à la réapparition possible de régurgitations chauvines et d’autres nouvelles discriminations. Par la combinaison de ces réflexions, elle a distingué la question nationale de celle de l’État-nation.

Une existence à contre-courant
L’épisode du Congrès de Zurich symbolise toute la biographie intellectuelle de l’un(e) des plus importants représentants du socialisme du XXe siècle. Né il y a 150 ans, le 5 mars 1871, à Zamosc [près de Lublin], dans la Pologne occupée par les tsars, Rosa Luxemburg a passé sa vie dans les marges, luttant contre de nombreuses adversités et allant toujours à contre-courant. D’origine juive, handicapée toute sa vie, elle s’installe à vingt-six ans en Allemagne, où elle ne parvient à obtenir la citoyenneté que par un mariage arrangé. Pacifiste convaincue au moment de la Première Guerre mondiale, elle a été emprisonnée à plusieurs reprises pour ses idées. Elle était une ardente ennemie de l’impérialisme pendant une nouvelle et violente période coloniale. Elle s’est battue contre la peine de mort au milieu de la barbarie. Elle était avant tout une femme et vivait dans des mondes habités exclusivement par des hommes. Elle a souvent été la seule présence féminine à l’Université de Zurich, où elle a obtenu son doctorat en 1897 avec une thèse sur le développement industriel de la Pologne, et parmi les dirigeants du Parti social-démocrate allemand. Dans ce parti, comme première femme, elle a été nommée la professeure à l’école centrale de formation des cadres [en remplacement d’Hilferding] – un poste qu’elle a occupé entre 1907 et 1913. Durant cette période elle a développé le projet inachevé d’écrire une Introduction à l’économie politique, dont la première édition allemande sera publiée en 1925 et publiera en 1913 L’accumulation du capital. Contribution à l’explication économique de l’impérialisme. [Dans le cadre du projet de publication des œuvres complètes de Rosa Luxemburg par les Editions Smolny, en collaboration avec les Ed. Agone, une version française de l’Introduction à l’économie politique, accompagnée de divers documents, a été publiée en 2008; de même une nouvelle version française L’accumulation du capital. Contribution à l’explication économique de l’impérialisme suivi du texte Critique des critiques a été publié en novembre 2019.]

Ces difficultés ont été aggravées par son esprit indépendant et son autonomie – une vertu qui est souvent pénalisée même dans les partis politiques de gauche. Avec son intelligence vive, Luxemburg a su élaborer de nouvelles idées et a su les défendre, sans crainte de manquer de révérence et même avec une franchise désarmante, en présence de personnalités du calibre d’August Bebel ou de Karl Kautsky qui avaient eu le privilège de se former au contact direct d’Engels. Son but n’était pas de répéter les termes de Marx, mais de les interpréter historiquement et, si nécessaire, d’élargir son analyse. Exprimer librement son opinion et exercer le droit d’exprimer des positions critiques au sein du parti étaient pour elle des exigences indispensables. Le parti doit être un espace où les différentes positions peuvent coexister, si ceux qui y adhèrent ont en commun ses principes fondamentaux.

Parti, grève, révolution
Elle a réussi à surmonter les nombreux obstacles qu’elle a rencontrés et, à l’occasion du tournant réformiste d’Eduard Bernstein et du débat passionné qui a suivi, elle est devenue une figure bien connue de la principale organisation du mouvement ouvrier européen. Si, dans le célèbre texte [synthèse des trois essais publiés dans la revue Die Neue Zeit dès 1896], Les prémisses du socialisme et les tâches de la social-démocratie (1899), Bernstein avait invité le parti à couper ses liens avec le passé et à se transformer en une simple force gradualiste, Rosa Luxemburg, en 1899, dans la brochure Réforme sociale ou révolution? – [dont la première est la synthèse d’articles publiés dans la Leipziger Volkszeitung du 21 au 28 septembre 1898] – a répondu avec fermeté que, dans toutes les périodes de l’histoire, «le travail légal de réformes ne possède aucune autre forme motrice propre, indépendante de la révolution; il ne s’accomplit dans chaque période historique que dans la direction que lui a donnée l’impulsion de la dernière révolution». Ceux qui pensaient pouvoir réaliser dans «la mare aux grenouilles du parlementarisme bourgeois» les mêmes changements que la conquête révolutionnaire du pouvoir politique aurait rendus possibles n’avaient pas choisi «en réalité une voie plus paisible, plus sûre et plus lente conduisant au même but; mais plus exactement un but différent». Ils avaient accepté le monde bourgeois et son idéologie.

Il ne s’agissait pas d’améliorer l’ordre social existant, mais d’en construire un entièrement différent. Le rôle des syndicats – qui ne pouvaient qu’arracher aux patrons des conditions plus favorables dans le cadre du mode de production capitaliste – et la Révolution russe de 1905 lui ont donné l’occasion d’élaborer sur les thèmes et les actions qui pourraient entraîner une transformation radicale de la société. Dans son ouvrage Grève de masse, parti et syndicats (1906), analysant les principaux événements qui se sont déroulés dans de vastes régions de l’Empire russe, elle souligne l’importance fondamentale des couches plus larges du prolétariat, généralement non organisées. Pour elle, ce sont les masses qui ont été les véritables protagonistes de l’histoire. Elle fait remarquer qu’en Russie, «l’élément de spontanéité» (concept pour lequel on lui reproche d’avoir surestimé la conscience de classe présente dans les masses) a été pertinent et que, par conséquent, le rôle du parti ne doit pas être de préparer la grève, mais de se placer à la «direction politique de tout le mouvement».

Pour Rosa Luxemburg, la grève de masse est «le pouls vivant de la révolution et, en même temps, sa force motrice la plus puissante». C’est la véritable «forme de manifestation de la lutte prolétarienne dans la révolution». Il ne s’agit pas d’une action unique, mais du moment récapitulatif d’une longue période de lutte des classes. On ne pouvait d’ailleurs pas ignorer que «dans la tourmente de la période révolutionnaire, le prolétaire se transforme de père de famille prudent qui exige un subside [«pour chômer un Premier Mai»], en un “révolutionnaire romantique” pour qui même le bien suprême, la vie, à plus forte raison le bien-être matériel, n’a que peu de valeur en comparaison du but idéal de la lutte». Les travailleurs y acquièrent une conscience et une maturité. En témoignent les grèves de masse en Russie, qui sont passées «insensiblement de l’ordre économique à l’ordre politique, en sorte qu’il est impossible de tracer la limite entre eux». (Grève de masses, parti et syndicats, Ed. François Maspero, Bibliothèque socialiste, 1968, p. 50 et 44)

Le communisme est synonyme de liberté et de démocratie
Sur le thème des formes d’organisation politique et, plus précisément, sur le rôle du parti, Rosa Luxemburg était, dans ces années-là, le protagoniste d’un autre débat violent, cette fois-ci avec Lénine. Dans l’ouvrage [de plus de 130 pages] «Un pas en avant, deux pas en arrière» (1904), le dirigeant bolchevique défend les choix faits lors du deuxième congrès du Parti ouvrier social-démocrate russe et conçoit le parti comme un noyau compact de révolutionnaires professionnels, une avant-garde qui doit diriger les masses. Rosa Luxemburg objecte dans Problèmes d’organisation de la social-démocratie russe [article publié dans les numéros 42 et 43 de la Neue Zeit, en 1904 et aussi dans l’Iskra, organe de la social-démocratie russe] qu’un parti extrêmement centralisé génère une dynamique très dangereuse: «l’obéissance aveugle des militants au pouvoir central». Le parti devait développer la participation sociale, et non l’étouffer, «maintenir vivante la juste appréciation des formes de lutte». Marx avait écrit que «chaque étape du mouvement réel était plus importante qu’une douzaine de programmes». Rosa Luxemburg a étendu ce postulat et a affirmé que «les erreurs commises par un mouvement ouvrier vraiment révolutionnaire sont historiquement infiniment plus fécondes et plus précieuses que l’infaillibilité du meilleur “Comité central“». (Marxisme contre dictature, Ed. Spartacus, Paris, 1946, p. 33) [2]

Cette polémique a pris encore plus d’importance après la révolution soviétique de 1917, à laquelle elle a apporté son soutien inconditionnel. Préoccupée par les événements en Russie (à commencer par la manière dont la réforme agraire commençait à être abordée), Rosa Luxemburg a été la première dans le camp communiste à constater qu’un «régime de siège prolongé» exercerait une «influence dégradante sur la société». Dans son ouvrage, publié de manière posthume, La Révolution russe [3] elle a réitéré que la mission historique du «prolétariat arrivé au pouvoir» était de «créer une démocratie socialiste à la place de la démocratie bourgeoise, et non de détruire toutes les formes de démocratie». Pour elle, le communisme signifiait une «participation plus active et plus libre des masses populaires dans une démocratie sans limites» qui n’envisageait pas de dirigeants infaillibles pour les guider. Un horizon politique et social véritablement différent ne serait atteint qu’à travers ce processus compliqué et non pas si l’exercice de la liberté était «réservé aux seuls partisans du gouvernement et aux membres d’un seul parti». [Voir en français, la publication récente, Rosa Luxemburg, Sur la révolution russe et autres textes 1917-1918, Editions L’Escalier, mai 2020]

Elle était fermement convaincue que «le socialisme, de par sa nature, ne peut être accordé par en haut». Il était censé étendre la démocratie, et non la réduire. Elle a affirmé que l’on pouvait «décréter ce qui est négatif, la destruction, mais pas ce qui est positif, la construction». C’était un «terrain vierge» et seule «l’expérience pouvait corriger et ouvrir de nouvelles voies». La Ligue Spartacus – formée en 1914 après la rupture avec le parti social-démocrate allemand, et devenue plus tard le Parti communiste allemand – ne prendra le pouvoir que «par la volonté claire et indubitable de la grande majorité des masses prolétariennes de toute l’Allemagne».

Tout en pratiquant des options politiques opposées, les sociaux-démocrates et les bolcheviks avaient tous deux conçu à tort la démocratie et la révolution comme deux processus alternatifs. Au contraire, le cœur de la théorie politique luxemburgiste est centré sur leur unité indissoluble. Son héritage a été écrasé entre ces deux forces: les sociaux-démocrates, complices de son assassinat brutal à l’âge de 47 ans par des milices paramilitaires, l’ont combattue sans relâche pour les accents révolutionnaires de sa pensée, tandis que les staliniens ont pris soin de ne pas diffuser son héritage en raison du caractère critique et libertaire de sa pensée.

Contre le militarisme, la guerre et l’impérialisme
L’autre pierre angulaire de ses convictions et de son militantisme était la combinaison de l’opposition à la guerre et de l’agitation antimilitariste. Sur ces questions, Rosa Luxemburg a su moderniser le bagage théorique de la gauche et faire adopter lors des congrès de la Deuxième Internationale des résolutions clairvoyantes qui, si elles n’avaient pas été ignorées, auraient contrecarré les plans tracés par les partisans de la Première Guerre mondiale. La fonction des armées, le réarmement constant et la répétition des guerres ne doivent pas être compris uniquement à travers les catégories classiques du XIXe siècle. Elles étaient, comme on l’a affirmé à plusieurs reprises, des forces qui réprimaient les luttes ouvrières, des instruments utiles aux intérêts de la réaction et qui, de plus, produisaient des divisions dans le prolétariat, mais elles répondaient aussi à un objectif économique précis de l’époque. Le capitalisme a besoin de l’impérialisme et de la guerre, même en temps de paix, pour augmenter la production, ainsi que pour conquérir, dès que les conditions se présentent, de nouveaux marchés dans les périphéries coloniales hors d’Europe. Comme elle l’a déclaré dans L’accumulation du capital, «la violence politique n’était que le véhicule du processus économique». Cette déclaration a été suivie par l’une des thèses les plus controversées de son travail, à savoir que le réarmement était indispensable pour faire face à l’expansion productive du capitalisme.

C’était un scénario très différent des représentations optimistes des réformistes et, pour le décrire au mieux, Rosa Luxemburg a utilisé un slogan qui était destiné à avoir un grand succès: «socialisme ou barbarie». Elle explique que cette dernière ne peut être évitée que par la lutte consciente des masses et, comme l’opposition au militarisme nécessite une forte conscience politique, elle fait partie des partisans les plus convaincus de la grève générale contre la guerre – une arme que beaucoup de gens de gauche, dont Marx, sous-estiment. Le thème de la défense nationale devait être utilisé contre les nouveaux scénarios de guerre et le mot d’ordre «guerre contre guerre» devait devenir «le point central de la politique prolétarienne». Comme elle l’écrit dans La crise de la social-démocratie (1916), également connue sous le titre de Juniusbroschüre [La brochure de Junius] la Deuxième Internationale a implosé parce qu’elle n’a pas réussi à «réaliser une tactique et une action communes du prolétariat dans tous les pays». Par conséquent, le prolétariat devait désormais avoir comme «objectif principal», même en temps de paix, de «lutter contre l’impérialisme et de prévenir les guerres». [Voir Œuvres complètes – Tome IV – La brochure de Junius, la guerre et l’Internationale (1907-1916), Ed. Smolny –Ed. Agone, 2014]

Sans perdre de sa tendresse
Cosmopolite, citoyenne de «ce qui est à venir», elle dit se sentir chez elle «partout dans le monde, là où il y a des nuages, des oiseaux et des larmes humaines». Passionnée de botanique et amoureuse des animaux, comme en témoignent ses lettres, c’était une femme d’une sensibilité extraordinaire, qui est restée intacte malgré les expériences amères que la vie lui a réservées. Pour la co-fondatrice de la Ligue Spartacus, la lutte des classes n’était pas épuisée par une augmentation des salaires. Rosa Luxemburg ne voulait pas être une simple épigone et son socialisme n’a jamais été économiciste.

Immergée dans les drames de son temps, elle cherche à innover le marxisme sans en remettre les fondements en question. Sa tentative est un avertissement constant aux forces de gauche de ne pas limiter leur action politique à la réalisation de palliatifs fades et de ne pas abandonner l’idée de changer l’état actuel des choses. Sa façon de vivre, la capacité avec laquelle elle a réussi à mener de front l’élaboration théorique et l’agitation sociale, sont une leçon extraordinaire, inchangée au fil du temps, qui parle à la nouvelle génération de militant·e·s qui a choisi de poursuivre les nombreux combats qu’elle a entrepris. (Texte envoyé par l’auteur à la rédaction de A l’Encontre le 18 février ; traduction de l’italien par la rédaction A l’Encontre)

References
[1] Dans cet article Marcello Musto cite Rosa Luxemburg en utilisant la collection de textes établie par Lelio Basso en 1967: Rosa Luxemburg, Scritti Politici, Ed. Riuniti, 1967. Les références exactes (pages, chapitres, etc.) de la collection faite par Lelio Basso ne sont pas fournies. Nous nous sommes efforcés, pour l’essentiel, dans la traduction de cet article, de fournir les références précises des traductions françaises des contributions de Rosa Luxemburg et d’indiquer l’important travail, récent et en cours, de traduction (enfin) en français, des Œuvres complètes de Rosa Luxemburg par les éditions Smolny et Agone. (Réd. A l’Encontre)

[2] La réponse de Lénine, intitulée de même «Un pas en avant, deux pas en arrière», a été refusée de publication par K. Kautsky dans la Neue Zeit. En outre, il serait univoque de ne pas mentionner, pour faire écho à cette réflexion de Rosa Luxemburg, ce qu’écrivait Lénine à propos de «l’autoritarisme»: «L’histoire en général, et plus particulièrement l’histoire des révolutions, est toujours plus riche de contenu, plus variée, plus “ingénieuse” que ne le pensent les meilleurs partis, les avant-gardes les plus conscientes des classes les plus avancées», in La maladie infantile du communisme, Œuvres, T.31, pp.91-92. (Réd. A l’Encontre)

[3] Pour comprendre le contexte dans lequel Rosa Luxemburg écrit les essais qui seront publiés, en fin 1921, sous le titre La Révolution Russe, il est quasi impératif pour les lecteurs et lectrices de langue française de se rapporter à l’ouvrage de John Peter Nettl, datant de 1966 (Oxford University Press), et dont la traduction française est parue en 1972, en deux volumes – dans la collection Bibliothèque socialiste animée par Georges Haupt – auprès des Editions François Maspero, en 1972, sous le titre: La Vie et l’œuvre de Rosa Luxemburg. Sur la publication de la Révolution russe, J.P. Nettl consacre des dizaines de pages – pp.658-685, volume II – au contexte interconnecté, allemand et russe, et à la «vision» de Rosa Luxemburg à propos de la révolution russe initiée en 1917 et à la conjoncture révolutionnaire en Allemagne en 1918. J.P. Nettl conclut fort bien: «L’essai de Rosa Luxemburg sur la révolution russe est célébré aujourd’hui comme une accusation quasi prophétique contre les bolchéviks. C’est en partie justifié. Mais nous lui rendrons mieux justice encore si nous le lisons comme un exposé de révolution idéale et qui serait rédigé – comme c’est souvent le cas chez Rosa Luxemburg – sous forme de dialogue critique, en l’occurrence avec la révolution bolchévik d’Octobre. Ceux qui recherchent une critique des fondements mêmes de la révolution bolchévik devront s’adresser ailleurs.» (p. 685)

Categories
Journalism

Por Rosa Luxemburgo

Cuando su nombre fue mencionado en agosto de 1893 por la presidencia de la asamblea, en el Congreso de la Segunda Internacional de Zúrich, Rosa Luxemburgo ocupó su sitio sin demora entre la audiencia de delegados y militantes que llenaban el abarrotado salón.

Era una de las pocas mujeres presentes en la asamblea, todavía muy joven, de complexión pequeña y con una deformación en la cadera que la obligaba a cojear desde los cinco años. Su aparición pareció despertar en los presentes la impresión de estar frente a una persona frágil.

La cuestión nacional
Sin embargo, sorprendió a todos cuando, tras subirse a una silla, para hacerse oír mejor, consiguió llamar la atención de todo el público, sorprendido por la maestría de su dialéctica y fascinado por la originalidad de sus tesis. Para Luxemburgo, de hecho, la reivindicación central del movimiento obrero polaco no debía ser la construcción de una Polonia independiente, como se venía repitiendo por unanimidad. Polonia seguía dividida en tres entre los imperios alemán, austro-húngaro y ruso; su reunificación resultaba difícil de conseguir, pero a los trabajadores se les debía presentar objetivos realistas que pudieran generar luchas prácticas en nombre de necesidades concretas.

Con un razonamiento que desarrolló en los años venideros, amonestó a quienes enfatizaban el tema nacional, convencida de que la retórica del patriotismo sería utilizada peligrosamente para debilitar la lucha de clases y relegar la cuestión social a un segundo plano. A las muchas opresiones sufridas por el proletariado, no era necesario agregar “su esclavitud a la nacionalidad polaca”. Para hacer frente a este escollo, Luxemburgo esperaba el nacimiento de autogobiernos locales y el fortalecimiento de la autonomía cultural que, una vez establecido el modo de producción socialista, actuarían como una barrera para el posible resurgimiento de regurgitaciones chovinistas y otras nuevas discriminaciones. Mediante todas estas reflexiones, diferenció la cuestión nacional de la del Estado nacional.

Una existencia a contracorriente
El episodio del Congreso de Zúrich simboliza toda la biografía intelectual de quien fue uno de los exponentes más significativos del socialismo del siglo XX. Nacida hace 150 años, el 5 de marzo de 1871, en Zamość, en la Polonia bajo ocupación zarista, Luxemburgo pasó su vida en los márgenes, luchando contra numerosas adversidades y siempre a contracorriente. De origen judío, con una discapacidad permanente, a los veintiséis años se trasladó a Alemania, donde sólo pudo obtener la ciudadanía mediante un matrimonio concertado. Pacifista convencida en la época de la Primera Guerra Mundial, fue encarcelada varias veces por sus ideas. Fue una enemiga ardiente del imperialismo en una nueva y violenta época colonial. Luchó contra la pena de muerte en medio de la barbarie. Sobre todo, era mujer y vivió en mundos habitados exclusivamente por hombres. A menudo era la única presencia femenina tanto en la Universidad de Zúrich, donde obtuvo su doctorado en 1897 con una tesis sobre el desarrollo industrial de Polonia, como entre los líderes del Partido Socialdemócrata Alemán. Fue la primera profesora mujer de la escuela central para la formación de cuadros del partido, cargo que ocupó entre 1907 y 1914, período en el que elaboró ​​el proyecto inconcluso de escribir una Introducción a la economía política (1925) y publicó La acumulación del capital (1913).

A estas dificultades se sumaba su espíritu independiente y su autonomía, virtud que a menudo penaliza incluso en los partidos políticos de izquierda. Con su viva inteligencia, Luxemburgo tuvo la capacidad de elaborar nuevas ideas y de saber defenderlas, sin reverencias sumisas y, de hecho, con una franqueza desarmante, en presencia de figuras del calibre de August Bebel o Karl Kautsky, que habían tenido el privilegio de formarse en contacto directo con Engels. Su objetivo no era repetir las palabras de Marx, sino interpretarlas históricamente y, cuando fuera necesario, desarrollar su análisis. Expresar libremente su opinión y ejercer el derecho a expresar posiciones críticas dentro del partido eran requisitos indispensables para ella. El partido tenía que ser un espacio donde pudieran convivir diferentes posiciones, siempre que sus afiliados compartieran sus principios fundamentales.

Partido, huelga, revolución
Logró superar los numerosos obstáculos encontrados y, con motivo del giro reformista de Eduard Bernstein y el acalorado debate que siguió, se convirtió en una figura conocida en la principal organización del movimiento obrero europeo. Si, en el famoso texto Los supuestos del socialismo y las tareas de la socialdemocracia (1897-99), Bernstein había invitado al partido a romper los puentes con el pasado y a transformarse en una mera fuerza gradualista, en el escrito Reforma social o ¿Revolución? (1898-99), Luxemburgo respondió con firmeza que, en todos los períodos de la historia, “la obra de reforma social se mueve sólo en la dirección y durante el tiempo que corresponde al empuje que le dio la última revolución”. Quienes creían que podían lograr en el “gallinero del parlamentarismo burgués” los mismos cambios que la conquista revolucionaria del poder político hubiera hecho posibles, no habían elegido “un camino más tranquilo y seguro hacia el mismo objetivo, sino otro distinto”. Habían aceptado el mundo burgués y su ideología.

No se trataba de mejorar el orden social existente, sino de construir uno completamente diferente. El papel de los sindicatos -que solo podía arrancar a los patronos condiciones más favorables dentro del modo de producción capitalista- y la Revolución Rusa de 1905 le dieron la oportunidad de meditar sobre cuáles podrían ser los sujetos y las acciones capaces de producir una transformación radical de la sociedad. En su libro Huelga general, partido y sindicatos (1906), al analizar los principales acontecimientos que tuvieron lugar en vastas áreas del Imperio ruso, enfatizó la importancia fundamental de los estratos más amplios del proletariado, generalmente desorganizados. Para ella, las masas eran las verdaderas protagonistas de la historia. Observó que en Rusia “el elemento de la espontaneidad” (concepto por el que se le acusa de haber sobrestimado la conciencia de clase presente en las masas) había sido relevante y, por tanto, el papel del partido no debía ser preparar la huelga, sino tomar la “dirección política de todo el movimiento”.

Para Luxemburgo, la huelga de masas es “el pulso vivo de la revolución y, al mismo tiempo, es su rueda motriz más potente”. Es la verdadera “forma de manifestación de la lucha proletaria en la revolución”. No es una acción única, sino el momento decisivo de un largo período de lucha de clases. Además, no se podía pasar por alto que “en la agitación del período revolucionario, el proletariado cambia, de modo que incluso el bien más elevado, la vida, sin perjuicio del bienestar material, tiene un valor mínimo en comparación con el ideal por el que se lucha”. Los trabajadores adquirían conciencia y madurez. Así lo atestiguaban las huelgas de masas en Rusia, que “sin darse cuenta pasaron del terreno económico al político, de modo que era casi imposible trazar una línea divisoria entre los dos”.

Comunismo significa libertad y democracia
En el tema de las formas de organización política y, más específicamente, en el papel del partido, en esos años, Luxemburgo fue protagonista de otro conflicto violento, esta vez con Lenin. En el texto Un paso adelante, dos pasos atrás (1904), el líder bolchevique defendió las decisiones tomadas en el segundo congreso del Partido Obrero Socialdemócrata Ruso y concibió al partido como un núcleo compacto de revolucionarios profesionales, una vanguardia que debía liderar a las masas.

Luxemburgo objetó en Problemas organizativos de la social-democracia rusa (1904) que un partido extremadamente centralizado generaba una dinámica muy peligrosa: “la obediencia ciega de los militantes a la autoridad central”. El partido debía desarrollar la participación social, no reprimirla, “mantener viva la apreciación justa de las formas de lucha”. Marx escribió que “cada paso del movimiento real es más importante que una docena de programas”. Luxemburgo amplió este postulado y afirmó que “los pasos en falso del movimiento obrero real son, históricamente, inconmensurablemente más fructíferos y más preciosos que la infalibilidad del mejor comité central”.

Esta controversia adquirió aún mayor importancia después de la revolución soviética de 1917, a la que Luxemburgo dio su apoyo incondicional. Preocupada por los hechos que tenían lugar en Rusia (a partir de la forma como se inició la reforma agraria), Luxemburgo fue la primera, en el campo comunista, en observar que un “régimen de estado de sitio prolongado” había ejercido “una influencia degradante en la sociedad”. En su artículo póstumo La revolución rusa (1918), reiteró que la misión histórica del “proletariado que ha llegado al poder” es “crear una democracia socialista en lugar de la democracia burguesa, no destruir toda forma de democracia”. Para ella, el comunismo significaba “una participación más activa y libre de las masas populares en una democracia sin límites” que no contaba con líderes infalibles que las guiaran. Un horizonte político y social verdaderamente diferente solo se podía alcanzar a través de este complicado proceso y sin que el ejercicio de la libertad estuviera “reservado exclusivamente a los partidarios del gobierno y a los miembros de un partido único”.

Estaba firmemente convencida de que “el socialismo, por su naturaleza, no se puede otorgar desde arriba”. Debía expandir la democracia, no reducirla. Afirmó que se podía “decretar lo negativo, la destrucción, pero no lo positivo, la construcción”. Esta era “tierra virgen” y sólo “a partir de la experiencia se podía corregir y abrir nuevos caminos”. La Liga Espartaco -nacida en 1914, tras la ruptura con el Partido Socialdemócrata Alemán, que luego se convertiría en Partido Comunista Alemán- sólo tomaría el poder “mediante la voluntad clara e incuestionable de la gran mayoría de las masas proletarias de toda Alemania”.

Desde la practica de opciones políticas opuestas, los socialdemócratas y los bolcheviques habían concebido erróneamente la democracia y la revolución como dos procesos mutuamente alternativos. Por el contrario, el corazón de la teoría política de Luxemburgo se centró en su unidad indisoluble. Su legado quedó aplastado precisamente entre estas dos fuerzas: los socialdemócratas, cómplices de su brutal asesinato, ocurrido a los 47 años, a manos de las milicias paramilitares, la combatieron sin piedad por el acento revolucionario de sus reflexiones, mientras que los estalinistas se guardaron de difundir su legado debido al carácter crítico y libertario de su pensamiento.

Contra el militarismo, la guerra y el imperialismo
La otra piedra angular de sus convicciones y su militancia fue la combinación de la oposición a la guerra y la agitación antimilitarista. En estos temas, Luxemburgo pudo modernizar el bagaje teórico de la izquierda y hacer que en los congresos de la Segunda Internacional se aprobaran clarividentes resoluciones que, de no haber sido ignoradas, habrían entorpecido los planes tramados por los partidarios de la Primera Guerra Mundial. La función de los ejércitos, el constante rearme y la repetición de guerras no debían entenderse únicamente mediante las categorías clásicas del siglo XIX. Se trataba, como se había afirmado repetidamente, de fuerzas que reprimían las luchas obreras, herramientas útiles para los intereses de la reacción y que, además, producían divisiones en el proletariado, pero que también respondían a una finalidad económica precisa de la época. El capitalismo necesitaba del imperialismo y la guerra, incluso en tiempos de paz, para aumentar la producción, así como para conquistar, en cuanto las condiciones fueran adecuadas, nuevos mercados en las periferias coloniales fuera de Europa. Como escribió en La acumulación del capital, “la violencia política no es sino el vehículo del proceso económico”. A esta afirmación le siguió una de las tesis más controvertidas de su obra, a saber, que el rearme era fundamental para afrontar la expansión productiva del capitalismo.

Era un escenario muy diferente de las representaciones optimistas de los reformistas y, para describirlo mejor, Luxemburgo utilizó un eslogan destinado a tener mucho éxito: “socialismo o barbarie”. Explicó que esta solo podía evitarse gracias a la lucha consciente de las masas y, dado que la oposición al militarismo requería una fuerte conciencia política, estaba entre los más acérrimos partidarios de la huelga general contra la guerra, un arma que muchos en la izquierda, incluido Marx, habían subestimado. El tema de la defensa nacional debía ser utilizado contra los nuevos escenarios bélicos y el lema “¡guerra contra la guerra!” se convertiría en “el meollo de la política proletaria”. Como escribió en La crisis de la socialdemocracia (1916), también conocido como el Juniusbroschüre, la Segunda Internacional había implosionado por no poder “llevar a cabo una táctica y una acción común del proletariado en todos los países”. Por tanto, a partir de ese momento, el proletariado debía tener como “objetivo principal”, incluso en tiempos de paz, “luchar contra el imperialismo y prevenir las guerras”.

Sin perder la ternura
Cosmopolita, ciudadana de “lo que vendrá”, aseguró sentirse como en casa “en todo el mundo, dondequiera que haya nubes y pájaros y lágrimas humanas”. Apasionada de la botánica y amante de los animales, como se desprende de la lectura de su correspondencia, fue una mujer de extraordinaria sensibilidad, que conservó intacta a pesar de las amargas experiencias que le reservó la vida. Para la cofundadora de la Liga Espartaco, la lucha de clases no terminaba con el aumento de los salarios. Luxemburgo no quiso ser un mero epígono y su socialismo nunca fue economicista.

Inmersa en los dramas de su tiempo, buscó innovar el marxismo sin cuestionar sus fundamentos. Su intento es una advertencia constante a las fuerzas de izquierda para que no limiten su acción política a la consecución de paliativos suaves y no renuncien a la idea de cambiar el estado de cosas existente. La forma en que vivió, la habilidad con la que logró llevar a cabo su elaboración teórica y la agitación social al mismo tiempo, son una lección extraordinaria, inalterada por el tiempo, que habla a la nueva generación de militantes que ha optado por continuar las múltiples batallas que Luxemburgo emprendió.

 

Traducción de Gustavo Buster

Categories
Reviews

Llorenç Saval Devesa, Catarsi

De retorn a Marx

Escriure una ressenya d’un llibre col·lectiu és sempre una tasca exigent.

Tenint en compte l’infern de matisos, desnivells argumentals, idees innovadores i qüestions obertes que hi conviuen en un sol text, vint-i-un textos de vint-i-un autors diferents suposa tot un repte. Això no obstant, l’objectiu d’aquesta ressenya no és aprofundir en cadascun dels escrits; més bé delimitar una panoràmica general de cada text capaç de seduir al possible lector. Com les onze tesis sobre Feuerbach —les quals moren en la capacitat pràctica de la sensibilitat humana—, els articles discorren al voltant d’un mateix nucli comú: rescatar al Marx més actual per tal d’utilitzar-lo com una ferramenta crítica del present.

El llibre està dividit en dues parts precedides d’una introducció que corre de part de Marcello Musto, el coordinador del llibre. Nascut a Nàpols, Musto és professor de sociologia i teoria política a la Universitat de York, autor d’un gran nombre de textos i articles que abasten des de la història del pensament socialista a les teories de l’alienació i les crisis econòmiques, abordant aquesta sèrie de problemàtiques des del marxisme heterodox. La introducció —un text riquíssim que desborda per complet la seua funció introductòria— no sols explica el perquè del llibre col·lectiu, també fa un repàs breu a la història del marxisme als segles XIX i XX, així com la necessitat de tornar a Marx en els moments de crisi del capitalisme —vet aquí part de la pertinent actualitat. Musto aprofita la clarividència i capacitat predictiva del filòsof renà per explicar la inestabilitat intrínseca del capitalisme i les consegüents crisis econòmiques d’un sistema històric que deu ser superat.

La primera part del llibre anomenada La relectura de Marx en 2015 consta de deu articles on s’aborda l’obra de Marx des d’una visió no dogmàtica, situant l’autor en el seu context i limitacions, però fent justícia a l’extensíssima obra —fet que no sempre s’hi dona entre la tradició marxista. En definitiva, s’hi tracta de reafirmar la importància dels textos originals en relació amb les interpretacions hegemòniques que s’hi van fer al segle XX, afavorint en gran manera la comprensió del capitalisme contemporani com un sistema estructuralment intransigent —per molt que en varie l’embolcall formal— del qual encara no hem esbossat tota la seua complexitat. El llibre reprèn l’anàlisi de Marx com una necessitat epistemològica vital per afrontar la lluita política del present. Al mateix temps, s’aporta llum sobre qüestions i polèmiques de l’intel·lecte marxià que constituïren un problema —filosòfic, hermenèutic però sobretot polític— en el passat.

D’aquesta manera podem veure com al primer article Kevin B. Anderson hi escriu sobre la transició de Marx cap a visions més obertes en allò que respecta als països no occidentals, la raça, l’ètnia o el nacionalisme. Resulta d’especial interés observar com trenca Marx amb els seus escrits primerencs de caràcter etapista, unilinial i determinista respecte els països no occidentals —els quals pensava, en un primer moment, que havien de passar per una etapa capitalista que els «civilitzara» a l’europea—. Als textos més tardans rebutja la necessitat d’una fase capitalista per avançar cap al socialisme, accepta certes estructures socials precapitalistes com a elements de resistència al capital i afirma inclús que l’adjectiu «feudal» —de caràcter eurocèntric— no era vàlid per caracteritzar aquests tipus de societats.

Unes pàgines més endavant, hi escriu Paresh Chattopadhyay sobre un tema de gran controvèrsia: l’enorme diferència entre allò que consistia el socialisme per a Marx i el que posteriorment es va assajar en països com l’URSS o la Xina per part de moviments autodenominats «comunistes». L’autor indi critica el caràcter ambigu d’unes revolucions que van incorporar de manera forçada la complexa realitat política dels seus entorns dintre d’una cosmovisió que pretenia anomenar-se marxista, però que en cap cas feien justícia als escrits marxians. Açò, més enllà d’un problema hermenèutic o terminològic, va derivar en una sèrie de problemes polítics que minvaren el caràcter emancipador de les suposades «revolucions socialistes».
El text de Michael Lebowitz conclou també en una mena de crítica als moviments socialistes del segle XX que hi van intentar construir «barreres» per al desenvolupament capitalista en lloc de proposar un sistema radicalment diferent. Al nou sistema, el desenvolupament de les forces productives devia estar supeditat a les exigències de la vida humana, i no al revés tal com va passar en els exemples citats anteriorment.

En un article de caràcter més filosòfic, George Comninel dona algunes claus per entendre la filosofia marxiana de la història i la seua tesi principal: la història de la humanitat és l’evolució del treball alienat en les seues respectives formes històriques i, d’aquesta manera, la història humana és també l’evolució de les formes històriques que ha revestit la propietat privada —la superació d’aquesta última correspon amb l’emancipació humana. Comninel argumenta al voltant d’aquesta afirmació sense tractar-la, com tampoc feia Marx, de veritat universal. Al text hi podem trobar els matisos que fan de la filosofia marxiana una teoria conscient de la dificultat de l’objecte històric, i, en conseqüència, de l’error idealista que suposa aplicar-hi conceptes universals desvinculats de la realitat material.

El següent article, escrit per Víctor Wallis, enfronta una qüestió política antiquíssima en el moviment obrer que perdura fins avui en dia: els posicionaments a favor o en contra del «mal menor» amb relació a la tàctica política. Al text s’aborden els arguments de figures com Marx, Engels i Lenin a l’hora de participar en les institucions i parlaments «burgesos» des de la concepció del «mal menor» o directament des de la creença ferma en la seua utilitat. Wallis utilitza el cas de la política estatunidenca com un exemple paradigmàtic on aquest tipus d’argumentació «malmenorista» domina el debat polític.

Els següents dos articles aborden directament la qüestió de l’alienació des de perspectives molt àmplies, dotant de recorregut històric i actualitat a les formes d’alienació contemporànies que dominen el món del treball al segle XXI. En primer lloc, Marcello Musto traça una genealogia del concepte d’alienació que va dels escrits juvenils de Marx fins als més madurs —on el concepte arrela històricament a les relacions de producció—, contraposant-la amb altres concepcions no marxistes que presenten l’alienació de manera ontològica —no històrica—, així com les teories que distorsionen políticament el concepte a l’individualitzar-lo. En segon lloc, l’article de Ricardo Antunes se centra sobretot en el pas de l’empresa taylorista-fordista a l’empresa de la «flexibilitat liofilitzada» actual, on el procés de treball s’intensifica de diverses maneres, provocant modalitats d’alienació de caràcter aparentment menys despòtic mentre s’interioritzen nous mecanismes de control de la subjectivitat. Antunes recorrerà a la distinció de Lukács entre cosificacions innocents i cosificacions alienades per tal d’aportar llum sobre la realitat dels treballadors en el capitalisme actual.

En un intent d’aportar llum sobre el «matrimoni infeliç» entre marxisme i feminisme, Terrel Carver escriu al seu article la manera en què son tractades algunes de les qüestions centrals dels feminismes d’avui en dia a l’obra de Marx: el sexe, el gènere, les dones o la sexualitat. Tractant d’eludir l’anacronisme, l’autor incideix en buits teòrics tals com la naturalització dels rols sexuals o la funció del treball reproductiu en la societat industrial, reconeixent al mateix temps que les «aproximacions feministes» de Marx, situant-les en el seu context, poden resultar interessants.

Pel que fa a un tema de gran actualitat com ho són les crisis econòmiques, Richard D. Wolf fa un recorregut a les depressions econòmiques dels últims temps partint d’algunes de les tesis i pronòstics marxians, que parlen d’una inestabilitat intrínseca al mode de producció capitalista. Aquesta capacitat de predicció provocà un renovat interés en Marx arran de la crisi de 2007. Wolff compara i presenta la insuficiència dels models econòmics neoclàssic i keynesià que tractaven d’explicar i remeiar la inestabilitat del capitalisme sense impugnar els seus fonaments. D’aquesta manera, presenta una explicació alternativa als fenòmens d’inestabilitat i depressions econòmiques dels últims 125 anys, per afirmar a posteriori una solució en clau marxiana que permeta superar les alternatives proposades fins al moment.

Finalment, l’últim article d’aquesta primera part corre a càrrec d’Ellen Meiksins Wood, que tracta la universalitat actual del capitalisme com un fenomen complex que pot afectar a la validesa d’algunes de les teories del segle XX on el capitalisme encara es trobava en fase d’expansió. D’aquesta manera, Wood exposa les diferents actituds de l’esquerra front l’universalisme capitalista, algunes de les quals denotaven un clar derrotisme. Tanmateix, l’autora planteja un optimisme teòric donada la necessitat cancerígena del capitalisme a estendre’s, podent suposar una feblesa pel que fa a la incessant reproducció de les seues contradiccions internes.

La segona part del llibre, anomenada La recepció global de Marx avui, tracta d’oferir una panoràmica de l’estat en el qual es troba la recepció dels textos de Marx arreu del món. D’aquesta manera, s’aborden les publicacions, seminaris, conferències, l’estat de l’acadèmia i el marc teòric dels partits, en referència a una sèrie de països i indrets geogràfics: Brasil, França, Amèrica Llatina, Xina, el món anglòfon, Rússia, Alemanya, Itàlia, Corea del Sud i el Japó. El recorregut ens serveix per a veure com les qüestions polítiques de cada regió determinen en gran manera la recepció teòrica i intel·lectual, així com l’enorme feina que encara hi queda per fer en allò que respecta a la traducció, difusió i crítica del llegat marxià que, com hem vist als textos anteriors, és vital per entendre bona part del món en el qual vivim.

Categories
Reviews

Eren Kozluca, Socialism and Democracy

Marx’s Capital After 150 Years: Critique and Alternative to Capitalism contains the proceedings of an international conference held at York University in 2017.

It is the latest addition to the series of compilations that encompass the theoretical and political nature, stakes and implications of Karl Marx’s major work. 1 With 17 contributors of diverse political affiliations, theoretical standpoints, and immediate concerns within the contested terrain of Marxism and Marxian scholarship, the relatively peaceful coexistence of these interventions, at the very least, confirms that the breakthroughs realized in the last few decades in the study of Capital proved to be lasting. In other words, we now have a qualitatively new, shared understanding regarding Capital that both distances it from the presuppositions of classical political economy and opposes the interpretative (and editorial) ambitions to present its theorems and conclusions as closed totalities. Cautiously discerning the multiplicity of layers of Capital, an on-going task that is irreducible to the standard notion of interdisciplinary compartmentalization and dialogue, shall serve to mobilize it as an indispensable tool for any kind of initiative to critically recast the social sciences.
In very general terms, then, how is Capital to be approached in the aftermath of the 150th anniversary of the publication of its first volume? As Marcello Musto’s introduction to the composition of Marx’s critique of political economy attests, all three volumes of Capital should be viewed as crucial yet intermediary moments of an ever-moving and immensely self-critical scientific project. This is a project best described as “unfinished” (1): Marx’s critique of political economy displays a sequence of different versions, each with their peculiar internal organization, emphases, and degrees of conceptual rigour. Be it Marx’s constant revision of his categories/concepts in response to obstacles and the need for clarity in light of new material and evidence, his deteriorating health, financial problems, or time-consuming political duties, the critique of political economy was hampered by many interruptions. Its initial plans or ambitions do not match its hectic yet meticulous production. Perhaps, neither do Marx’s own attempts to explicitly formulate the distinguishing aspects of his own work.
The contemporary portrayal of Capital, manifested to differing degrees in this compilation, encourages one to revisit Marx’s work with an eye on its determinate contradictions as well as what Etienne Balibar calls its “bundle of strategic possibilities” (50) or tendencies inherent in the way in which Marx appropriates his object. Embracing the finitude of Marx’s enterprise reinforces a perspective that can acknowledge Marx’s specific theoretical object of investigation in Capital, the capitalist mode of production dominating different social formations. This approach also appreciates the limited character of this object and assesses the functioning of apparently divergent chapters trying to circumscribe its mechanisms and laws. Accordingly, one is allowed to “extend” (as the name of Part 2 of this compilation suggests), reconstruct, elaborate and resituate the levels of analyses that concern capitalism’s historically contingent presuppositions including its articulations with processes that remain at the frontier of Marx’s primary focus. In the following, I will briefly comment on the five contributions that make up the first part of the book as they exemplify some of the most crucial philosophical orientations in further working through the insights of Capital.
Balibar’s paper disentangles three possible readings – permanent revolutionist, biblical, and reformist – of Capital’s paradoxically displaced political conclusion, namely, the expropriation of the expropriators. Whereas the first two lead analysis into blind alleys and teleological closures resulting in an institution-less, amorphous politics exposed to the temptations of redemptive violence, the third reading anticipates a not-yet-construed historical force that shall make use of contemporary financial tools in conjunction with cooperative initiatives. From here, he goes on to define, and rightly so, another, much refined conception of historical tendencies and counter tendencies that ultimately structures Capital’s ‘political viewpoint’. The latter articulates “contradiction(s)” embedded in the self-assertion of capital with the contingent course of “antagonism” within conflicts and balance of forces (47). However – in a characteristically Balibarian move reflecting his extreme caution towards anything reminiscent of his old notion of a “new, [proletarian] practice of politics” 2 – he tends to privilege the radical expansion and deepening of rights, hence the regulated struggle of the working class through State legislations, as the sole feasible revolutionary trajectory that Capital might offer (48). Balibar’s conclusions rest on his argument that Marx’s concept of “real subsumption” of labour under capital, found in Volume 1’s unpublished 6th chapter, introduces a theoretically and politically dangerous possibility that paints a nihilistic/totalitarian picture of society where a “complete incorporation of the labour power in its own reproduction process” (49) takes place. To my mind, this interpretation fails to assess that the concept of “real subsumption” designates a provisional and therefore a contested historical tendency. Thereby, it downplays the analytical possibilities that “real subsumption” opens up in pointing out the revolutionary potentials of dissymmetric political forms, practices and ideologies rooted in the resistance to the prevailing capitalist organization and control of the labour processes. 3
Bob Jessop’s contribution discusses the way in which Marx draws on cell biology to begin Capital’s exposition with the commodity and its value form. That is, the form of generalized exchange, under which labour, operating as the substance of value, assumes an ex post social, and hence, abstract character, one posited by the very exploitation of labour power in the productive process. 4 This is assigned to be and treated as the “economic cell-form” of the capital relation. As such, Jessop proposes his own solution to the tricky question of an adequate starting point in Marx’s methodology. Jessop correctly underlines the possible risks of such borrowings by recalling Marx’s caution against any juxtaposition of his specific object with that of the natural sciences. Overall, Jessop presents the form-determined life of capital relations as inseparable from the conflict-ridden terrain of production. Nevertheless, his failure to specify his exact position regarding the question of Marx’s affinity to Hegel in Capital’s recourse to a dialectical method of presentation is likely to generate confusion. For, Jessop’s defence of the importance of the cell analogy for Capital’s argument could benefit from a more precise take on how Marx takes into account the limits of his own use of Hegelian dialectics.
Leo Panitch’s intervention starts by questioning the premise treating capitalism as a “mere passing stage” that has shaped various theories of crisis in the history of Marxism. He convincingly argues that the counter tendencies preventing capitalism’s much anticipated collapse are far from being accidental and that they cannot be divorced from the singular conditions and forms of class struggle. To Panitch, Marx’s underdeveloped “historical materialist theory of the capitalist State” (89) shall put in perspective the State’s mode of functioning in reproducing and regulating capitalist relations of domination, together with its capacity to display – at certain junctures in history – an “openness to democratic pressures and shifts in the balance of class forces” (87). Insisting on the term “capitalist State” may arguably engender more problems than it solves. However, this does not change the fact that it is a remarkable text for rethinking the necessarily manifold, democratic and strategic direction of a possible Marxian politics.
Moishe Postone insists on Marx’s continuing relevance in making sense of the historically new and specifically impersonal form of domination that the logic of valorisation entails. For Postone, the hold of socially necessary (abstract) time of labour traps productive activity into a “treadmill dynamic” (101) where no increase in the rate of productivity suffices to produce and extract the surplus value required to run the system. As he puts it, “the historical dynamic of capitalism, then, increasingly points beyond the necessity of proletarian labour while reconstituting that very necessity” (104). The problem remains, however, of incorporating into this framework the problem of democracy/political control of the process of production so as to give the emancipatory possibility of another social organization beyond value, and thus, the “self-abolition” (103) of the proletariat a satisfactory content.
Richard Wolff’s paper seems to be a good antidote to the shortcomings of Postone’s reading on this last point. Wolff claims the novelty of Capital’s understanding of class in terms of “class qua surplus” – rather than the widely used conceptions of “class qua property” and “class qua power” – which is primarily based on the relations of organization of the production, appropriation and distribution of the surplus output. Thanks to this relatively sound and accessible formulation, Wolff is able to offer multiple possibilities of tackling concrete class analyses of conjunctures with clear and explicit reference to class.
Above all, Marx’s way of specifying and explaining the dynamics of capitalism via the critique of political economy required him to proceed “from the critical use of the political economy to its categorical criticism”. 5 This highly significant but often misinterpreted turn: (1) displaces the meaning of what is classically understood as (political) economy by putting political domination and politics back at its centre; (2) builds a positive macroeconomic analysis of the laws of the development of its object from this new basis; and (3) accounts for the real causes of the mystifying forms of appearance of economic phenomena under capitalism responsible for the cognitive blockages of previous theorists. Notably, Jessop tends to operate with a clear understanding of Marx’s move into categorical criticism, when he claims that:
… the value form of the commodity as the economic cell-form of the capital relation is historically specific and its laws and tendencies are doubly tendential, in the sense that, they exist only to the extent that the contradiction-rife and crisis-prone capital relation is reproduced in and through social practices that are historically contingent and contested. (74–5)
To emphasize, I believe that the usefulness of further insights into the text of Capital in studying the current modifications of capitalism depend on our ability to articulate these three dimensions with each other. Notwithstanding the uneven distribution of emphasis on certain issues, almost inevitable in such broad compilations, the wide range of pressing topics covered by key authors makes this compilation a very valuable read.
Notes
1 Another example is Judith Dellheim and Frieder Otto Wolf, eds., The Unfinished System of Karl Marx: Critically Reading Capital as a Challenge for Our Times, 1st edition (New York, NY: Springer Berlin Heidelberg, 2018).
2 Balibar, Etienne. Cinq Études Du Matérialisme Historique. Paris: F. Maspero, 1974.
3 Jean Robelin, “Marx: Le Communisme et L’Analyse de La Classe Ouvrière,” in Étudier Marx, ed. Georges Labica (Paris: C.N.R.S. Editions, 1985), 101–38.

Categories
Journalism

Makan dari Rongsokan Logam: Refleksi tentang Wajah Lain Amerika

SEORANG pemuda tengah berjalan seorang diri di ruas jalan penghubung bandara dam pusat keramaian. Ia mengenakan baju olahraga—jenis yang biasanya bertuliskan nama tim basket atau berlambangkan bendera AS. Namun, baju yang satu ini menunjukkan satu kata dengan lima huruf: Black.

Saya menghampirinya untuk bercakap-cakap dan menanyakan di mana posisi saya tepatnya. Ia mengaku telah tinggal di sana sejak lahir. Pemandangan yang melatari percakapan kami tampak tidak biasa: saya belum pernah melihat yang seperti itu. Saya terus melihat ke sekeliling dan menyadari betapa semua yang telah saya baca tentang tempat ini sesuai kenyataan. Bangunan-bangunan kosong merentang panjang tanpa ujung. Pabrik-pabrik tua ditinggalkan lama selama puluhan tahun, dengan puing-puing raksasa yang tergerus oleh waktu. Bangunan-bangunan yang musnah, pecahan kaca, mesin-mesin yang diselimuti es dan salju. Tanah pembuangan yang hanya dihuni anjing liar, pecandu narkoba, tuna wisma, dan orang-orang pinggiran. Saya sedang berada di Detroit: kota hantu, salah satu contoh paling mengejutkan dari Amerika yang lain, yang tidak pernah ditayangkan dalam serial-serial televisi yang lokasi syutingnya berada di Manhattan atau film-film 3-D yang diproduksi di Hollywood.

Mereka Menyebutnya Motor City
Jika arkeologi industri menjadi bidang studi, Detroit jelas akan menjadi spesimen pertama yang akan dipelajari. Namun sejarahnya di masa lalu identik dengan pertumbuhan dan gemerlap kelimpahan. Baptised Motor City—yang juga jadi latar belakang nama Motown, perusahaan rekaman lagu-lagu soul-rhythm-blues—selama puluhan tahun merupakan pusat mobil di dunia. Pada 1902, kota ini menyambut kelahiran Cadillac, dan setahun berikutnya Henry Ford membuka pabrik yang pada 1908 akan melahirkan Model T, kendaraan pertama yang menjadi produk lini perakitan. Tak lama kemudian, General Motors didirikan pada tahun yang sama, diikuti Chrysler pada 1925. Pendeknya, segala serba-serbi industri mobil di AS berawal dari Detroit.

Kemajuan mengepakkan sayapnya lebar-lebar, demikian pula kota ini. Pada dekade kedua abad ke-20, populasi Detroit bertambah lebih dari dua kali lipat dan menjadikannya pusat penduduk terpadat nomor empat di AS. Proporsi terbesar pendatang berasal dari negara-negara bagian di Selatan – bagian dari rombongan Afro-Amerika (120.000 di Detroit saja) yang pergerakannya di kemudian hari dikenal sebagai ‘migrasi besar pertama’.

Ekspansi ini tidak hanya memengaruhi dunia roda-empat. Keterlibatan Amerika dalam Perang Dunia II mentransformasikan kota utama Michigan ini menjadi ‘gudang senjata demokrasi’, mengutip slogan Franklin Roosevelt. Sejumlah besar pekerja, baik laki-laki maupun perempuan, pindah ke Detroit yang saat itu tengah mengembangkan sektor persenjataan dan berkontribusi lebih dari kota-kota di AS lainnya bagi kerja-kerja dalam perang. Pertumbuhan ini berlanjut setelah 1945. Pada 1956 populasi Detroit mencapai puncak di angka 1.865.000. Para profesor ternama dan wartawan terhormat pada masa itu memuja-mujanya sebagai simbol akhir perjuangan kelas di Amerika, mengacu pada semakin banyak pekerja yang terangkat status ekonominya menjadi kelas menengah dan mulai menikmati kesenangan-kesenangan yang mengikutinya.

Berapa banyak air yang telah mengalir di kolong jembatan sejak itu! Kemerosotan dimulai pada 1960-an dan dipercepat setelah krisis minyak 1973 dan 1979. Hari ini Detroit berpenduduk kurang dari 700.000, angka terendah dalam kurun seratus tahun—dan kelihatannya akan terus turun. Dalam dekade pertama abad ke-21, kota ini kehilangan seperempat dari populasi totalnya. Setiap dua puluh menit ada keluarga yang mengumpulkan seluruh barang miliknya, mengirimkannya ke wilayah tujuan baru, dan mengucapkan selamat tinggal kepada Detroit.

Seratus Ribu Lahan Kosong
Selagi saya berjalan kaki di jalan-jalan kota tersebut, kesan tentang kota berhantu ini semakin kuat. Lebih dari seratus ribu lahan kosong dan rumah dicampakkan, mayoritasnya tinggal puing atau bangunan reyot yang tak aman. Sepuluh ribu di antaranya harus dirobohkan dalam empat tahun ke depan, namun dana operasinya tidak mencukupi. Ada kesan tentang kehancuran yang riil, karena seringkali hanya tersisa satu rumah berpenghuni dalam satu blok. Situasi yang sebelumnya sudah eksplosif menjadi makin dramatis berkat pandemi. Pengelola kota tengah mencoba untuk mengelompokkan penduduk di area-area tertentu dan mengubah sejumlah area lainnya menjadi lahan pertanian komersil. Namun, krisis yang sedang terjadi membuat gambarannya menjadi lebih muram daripada sebelumnya. Demi mengatasi kebangkrutan yang melilit, Detroit belakangan memotong layanan publik terakhirnya, termasuk bus (satu-satunya sarana transportasi bagi kelompok tak berpunya) dan penerangan malam hari di area-area terpencil.

Situasi sosial Detroit juga tidak kalah suram dari lingkungan sekitar. Di Detroit, satu dari tiga penduduknya hidup dalam kemiskinan, demikian pula lebih dari separuh kanak-kanak. Taraf segregasi rasial masih sangat tinggi: lebih dari 80 persen populasi adalah warga kulit hitam dan tinggal di pusat kota, sementara kelas pekerja ‘kulit putih’, atau sisa penduduk yang tidak bermigrasi, telah pindah ke pinggiran atau daerah sekitar pertokoan-pertokoan besar. Ini menunjukkan bahwa meskipun zaman telah berubah, rasisme yang menjadikan Detroit zona perang pada Juli 1967—ketika  Lyndon Johnson mengirimkan mobil-mobil berlapis baja yang menyebabkan 43 orang tewas, 7.200 manusia ditangkap, dan 2.000 bangunan dilumat habis—belum sepenuhnya dihapuskan. Tingkat kejahatan Detroit adalah salah satu yang tertinggi di seantero negeri. Ironisnya, ongkos asuransi kendaraan di tempat lahirnya industri mobil ini adalah yang paling mahal. Angka pengangguran mencapai 50 persen dan uang yang diinvestasikan di kasino raksasa di jalan utama hanya menghasilkan satu perubahan: jiwa-jiwa yang putus asa dan pahit, yang setiap malam antre untuk menghabiskan helai-helai terakhir dolar mereka, dan harapan terakhir mereka, di dahapan deretan panjang mesin judi.

Rongsokan Logam untuk Cina
Pada 2009, menindaklanjuti krisis, General Motors dan Chrysler mengajukan petisi kebangkrutan. Ford juga babak-belur terkena dampak krisis. Bantuan yang diterima oleh ketiga perusahaan besar pada akhir dekade lalu, baik dari pemerintahan Bush maupun Obama, mencapai 80 milyar dolar. ‘Restrukturisasi’ paralelnya—yang meliputi pemecatan, pemotongan gaji, dan kontrak kerja yang lebih rentan—mengikuti model yang direpresentasikan oleh American Axle & Manufacturing, yang didirikan pada 1994 untuk menyuplai komponen-komponen mobil yang lebih murah ke General Motors dan Chrysler. Faktanya, banyak karyawan perusahaan yang sejak awal sudah bekerja dengan kontrak per jam telah dipecat pada 2008, meski profit yang didulangnya sangat berlimpah. Dan mengikuti aksi mogok melawan pemotongan gaji dari 28 ke 14 dolar per jam, pabrik lain di Detroit memecat semua pekerjanya dan menutup pintu. Dengan nada filantrofis, salah satu bos pabrik menjelaskan bahwa, sama seperti pabrik-pabrik Axle & Manufacturing dibuka beberapa tahun sebelumnya di Meksiko, Brazil, dan Polandia, ‘prioritas utama kita adalah membangun Asia’. Bab berikutnya akan ditulis di Cina, dan benar bahwa perusahaan tersebut telah beroperasi di sana sejak 2009 dengan dua pabrik baru.

Bagaimanapun juga, Detroit tak hanya berbicara tentang abad keduapuluh; ia juga bersaksi tentang perubahan-perubahan yang terjadi hari ini dan menanti di masa depan. Ia menggarisbawahi sejauh mana kemiskinan dan pengangguran adalah hasil dari hubungan-hubungan ekonomi yang mencegah perkembangan teknologi dari pemanfaatannya untuk kemaslahatan orang banyak. Detroit menunjukkan bahwa pabrik-pabrik kosong melompong bukan karena tidak ada lagi kerja, tetapi karena produksi telah dialihkan ke tempat-tempat yang upah buruhnya lebih murah dan perjuangan untuk hak-hak sosialnya masih lemah.

Langit lekas gelap di Detroit pada musim dingin. Beberapa orang mengemis di dekat jalur keluar jalan tol. Dari kejauhan, tampak nyala api di lokasi yang dulunya adalah jantung kawasan industri. Sekelompok anak muda menyalakan api di reruntuhan pabrik, sembari berharap menemukan potongan logam yang akan dikirim ke Timur melalui laut. Potongan-potongan logam yang bernilai dua setengah dolar per ons ini adalah satu-satunya barang berharga yang tersisa untuk bertahan hidup. Potongan-potongan logam ini adalah salah satu barang ekspor utama AS ke Cina. Detroit memilikinya dalam jumlah terbesar dibanding seluruh kota lain di dunia. Di tempat lain, logam-logam rongsokan itu digunakan untuk membangun apa yang dulunya pernah ada di sini, untuk menciptakan infrastruktur yang memungkinkan para bos meraup laba yang lebih tinggi. Dalam kosakata dari masa yang lain: ‘Eksploitasi yang dihasilkan melalui tingkatan nilai-lebih yang lebih tinggi’

Tapi jangan salah: pelbagai konflik dan harapan baru akan muncul seiring munculnya pabrik-pabrik baru.

Categories
Book chapter

Alienation Redux

I. The origin of the concept
Alienation was one of the most important and widely debated themes of the 20th century, and Marx’s theorization played a key role in the discussions. Yet, contrary to what one might imagine, the concept itself did not develop in a linear manner, and the publication of previously unknown texts containing Marx’s reflections on alienation defined significant moments in the transformation and dissemination of the theory.

The meaning of the term changed several times over the centuries. In theological discourse it referred to the distance between man and God; in social contract theories, to loss of the individual’s original liberty; and in English political economy, to the transfer of property ownership. The first systematic philosophical account of alienation was in the work of G.W.F. Hegel (1770–1831), who in The Phenomenology of Spirit (1807) adopted the terms Entäusserung (literally self-externalization or renunciation) and Entfremdung (estrangement) to denote spirit’s becoming other than itself in the realm of objectivity. The whole question still featured prominently in the writings of the Hegelian Left, and Ludwig Feuerbach’s (1804–1872) theory of religious alienation – that is, of man’s projection of his own essence onto an imaginary deity – elaborated in the book The Essence of Christianity (1841), contributed significantly to the development of the concept.

Alienation subsequently disappeared from philosophical reflection, and none of the major thinkers of the second half of the 19th century paid it any great attention. Even Marx rarely used the term in the works published during his lifetime, and it was entirely absent from the Marxism of the Second International (1889–1914).

During this period, however, several thinkers developed concepts that were later associated with alienation. In his Division of Labour (1893) and Suicide (1897), Émile Durkheim (1858–1917) introduced the term ‘anomie’ to indicate a set of phenomena whereby the norms guaranteeing social cohesion enter into crisis following a major extension of the division of labour. Social trends concomitant with huge changes in the production process also lay at the basis of the thinking of German sociologists: Georg Simmel (1858–1918), in The Philosophy of Money (1900), paid great attention to the dominance of social institutions over individuals and to the growing impersonality of human relations; while Max Weber (1864–1920), in Economy and Society (1922), dwelled on the phenomena of ‘bureaucratization’ in society and ‘rational calculation’ in human relations, considering them to be the essence of capitalism. But these authors thought they were describing unstoppable tendencies, and their reflections were often guided by a wish to improve the existing social and political order – certainly not to replace it with a different one.

II. The rediscovery of alienation
The rediscovery of the theory of alienation occurred thanks to György Lukács (1885–1971), who in History and Class Consciousness (1923) referred to certain passages in Marx’s Capital (1867) – especially the section on ‘commodity fetishism’ [Der Fetischcharakter der Ware] – and introduced the term ‘reification’ [Verdinglichung, Versachlichung] to describe the phenomenon whereby labour activity confronts human beings as something objective and independent, dominating them through external autonomous laws. In essence, however, Lukács’s theory was still similar to Hegel’s, since he conceived of reification as an ‘central structural problem’. Much later, after the appearance of a French translation by Kostas Axelos (1924–2010) and Jacqueline Bois (?) had given this work a wide resonance among students and left-wing activists, Lukács decided to republish it together with a long self-critical preface (1967), in which he explained that ‘History and Class Consciousness follows Hegel in that it too equates alienation with objectification’.

Another author who focused on this theme in the 1920s was Isaak Rubin (1886–1937), whose Essays on Marx’s Theory of Value (1928) argued that the theory of commodity fetishism was ‘the basis of Marx’s entire economic system, and in particular of his theory of value’. In the view of this Russian author, the reification of social relations was ‘a real fact of the commodity-capitalist economy.’ It involved ‘‘materialization’ of production relations and not only ‘mystification’ or illusion. This is one of the characteristics of the economic structure of contemporary society. […] Fetishism is not only a phenomenon of social consciousness, but of social being.’ Despite these insights – prescient if we consider the period in which they were written – Rubin’s work did not promote a greater familiarity with the theory of alienation. Its reception in the West began only with its translation into English in 1972 and then from English into other languages.

The decisive event that finally revolutionized the diffusion of the concept of alienation was the appearance in 1932 of the Economic and Philosophic Manuscripts of 1844, a previously unpublished text from Marx’s youth. It rapidly became one of the most widely translated, circulated and discussed philosophical writings of the 20th century, revealing the central role that Marx had given to the theory of alienation during an important period for the formation of his economic thought: the discovery of political economy. For, with his category of alienated labour [entfremdete Arbeit], Marx not only widened the problem of alienation from the philosophical, religious and political sphere to the economic sphere of material production; he also showed that the economic sphere was essential to understanding and overcoming alienation in the other spheres. In the Economic and Philosophic Manuscripts of 1844, alienation is presented as the phenomenon through which the labour product confronts labour ‘as something alien, as a power independent of the producer’. For Marx,

the alienation [Entäusserung] of the worker in his product means not only that his labor becomes an object, an external existence, but that it exists outside him, independently, as something alien to him, and that it becomes a power on its own confronting him; it means that the life which he has conferred on the object confronts him as something hostile and alien.

Alongside this general definition, Marx listed four ways in which the worker is alienated in bourgeois society: 1) from the product of his labour, which becomes ‘an alien object that has power over him’; 2) in his working activity, which he perceives as ‘directed against himself’, as if it ‘does not belong to him’; 3) from ‘man’s species-being’, which is transformed into ‘a being alien to him’; and 4) from other human beings, and in relation to ‘the other man’s labour and object of labour.’

For Marx, in contrast to Hegel, alienation was not coterminous with objectification as such, but rather with a particular phenomenon within a precise form of economy: that is, wage labour and the transformation of labour products into objects standing opposed to producers. The political difference between these two positions is enormous. Whereas Hegel presented alienation as an ontological manifestation of labour, Marx conceived it as characteristic of a particular, capitalist, epoch of production, and thought it would be possible to overcome it through ‘the emancipation of society from private property’. He would make similar points in the notebooks containing extracts from James Mill’s (1773–1836) Elements of Political Economy (1821):

My work would be a free manifestation of life, hence an enjoyment of life. Presupposing private property, my work is an alienation of life, for I work in order to live, in order to obtain for myself the means of life. My work is not my life. Secondly, the specific nature of my individuality, therefore, would be affirmed in my labour, since the latter would be an affirmation of my individual life. Labour therefore would be true, active property. Presupposing private property, my individuality is alienated to such a degree that this activity is instead hateful to me, a torment, and rather the semblance of an activity. Hence, too, it is only a forced activity and one imposed on me only through an external fortuitous need, not through an inner, essential one.

So, even in these fragmentary and sometimes hesitant early writings, Marx always discussed alienation from a historical, not a natural, point of view.

III. The other conceptions of alienation
Much time would elapse, however, before a historical, non-ontological, conception of alienation could take hold. In the early 20th century, most authors who addressed the phenomenon considered it a universal aspect of human existence. In Being and Time (1927), for instance, Martin Heidegger (1889–1976) approached it in purely philosophical terms. The category he used for his phenomenology of alienation was ‘fallenness’ [Verfallen], that is the tendency of Being-There [Dasein] – which in Heidegger’s philosophy indicates the ontologically constituted human existence – to lose itself in the inauthenticity and conformism of the surrounding world.

For Heidegger, ‘fallenness into the world means an absorption in Being-with-one-another, in so far as the latter is guided by idle talk, curiosity, and ambiguity’ – something truly quite different from the condition of the factory worker, which was at the centre of Marx’s theoretical preoccupations. Moreover, Heidegger did not regard this ‘fallenness’ as a ‘bad and deplorable ontical property of which, perhaps, more advanced stages of human culture might be able to rid themselves’, but rather as an ontological characteristic, ‘an existential mode of Being-in-the-world’.

Herbert Marcuse (1898–1979), who, unlike Heidegger, knew Marx’s work well, identified alienation with objectification as such, not with its manifestation in capitalist relations of production. In an essay he published in 1933, he argued that ‘the burdensome character of labor’ could not be attributed merely to ‘specific conditions in the performance of labor, to the social-technical structuring of labor’, but should be considered as one of its fundamental traits:

in laboring, the laborer is always ‘with the thing’: whether one stands by a machine, draws technical plans, is concerned with organizational measures, researches scientific problems, instructs people, etc. In his activity he allows himself to be directed by the thing, subjects himself and obeys its laws, even when he dominates his object. […] In each case he is not ‘with himself’ […] he is with an ‘Other than himself’ – even when this doing fulfils his own freely assumed life. This externalization and alienation of human existence […] is ineliminable in principle.

For Marcuse, there was a ‘primordial negativity of laboring activity’ that belonged to the ‘very essence of human existence’. The critique of alienation therefore became a critique of technology and labour in general, and its supersession was considered possible only in the moment of play, when people could attain a freedom denied them in productive activity: ‘In a single toss of a ball, the player achieves an infinitely greater triumph of human freedom over objectification than in the most powerful accomplishment of technical labor.’

In Eros and Civilization (1955), Marcuse took an equally clear distance from Marx’s conception, arguing that human emancipation could be achieved only through the abolition of labour and the affirmation of the libido and play in social relations. He discarded any possibility that a society based on common ownership of the means of production might overcome alienation, on the grounds that labour in general, not only wage labour, was

work for an apparatus which they [the vast majority of the population] do not control, which operates as an independent power to which individuals must submit if they want to live. And it becomes the more alien the more specialized the division of labor becomes. […] They work […] in alienation [… in the] absence of gratification [and in] negation of the pleasure principle.

The cardinal norm against which people should rebel was the ‘performance principle’ imposed by society. For, in Marcuse’s eyes:

the conflict between sexuality and civilization unfolds with this development of domination. Under the rule of the performance principle, body and mind are made into instruments of alienated labor; they can function as such instruments only if they renounce the freedom of the libidinal subject-object which the human organism primarily is and desires. […] Man exists […] as an instrument of alienated performance.

Hence, even if material production is organized equitably and rationally, ‘it can never be a realm of freedom and gratification […] It is the sphere outside labor which defines freedom and fulfilment.’ Marcuse’s alternative was to abandon the Promethean myth so dear to Marx and to draw closer to a Dionysian perspective: the ‘liberation of eros’. In contrast to Sigmund Freud (1856–1939), who had maintained in Civilization and Its Discontents (1929) that a non-repressive organization of society would entail a dangerous regression from the level of civilization attained in human relations, Marcuse was convinced that, if the liberation of the instincts took place in a technologically advanced ‘free society’ in the service of humanity, it would not only favour the march of progress but create ‘new and durable work relations’.

In this evolution of his thinking, a significant influence was exerted by the ideas of Charles Fourier (1772–1837) who, in his Theory of the Four Movements (1808), opposed advocates of the ‘commercial system’, to whom he used in a derogatory way the epithet of ‘civilized people’, and maintained that society would be free only when all its components had returned to expressing their passions. These were far more important to him than reason, ‘in the name of which were perpetrated all the massacres that history remembers’. According to Fourier, the main error of the political regime of his age was the repression of human nature. ‘Harmony’ would only be possible only if the individuals could have unleashed, as when they were in their natural state, all their instincts.

As for Marcuse, and his belief to oppose the technological domain in general, his indications about how the new society might come about were rather vague and utopian. He ended up opposing technological domination in general, so that his critique of alienation was no longer directed against capitalist relations of production, and his reflections on social change were so pessimistic as to include the working class among the subjects that operated in defence of the system.

The two leading figures in the Frankfurt School, Max Horkheimer (1895–1973) and Theodor Adorno (1903–1965), also developed a theory of generalized estrangement resulting from invasive social control and the manipulation of needs by the mass media. In Dialectic of Enlightenment (1944) they argued that ‘a technological rationale is the rationale of domination itself. It is the coercive nature of society alienated from itself.’ This meant that, in contemporary capitalism, even the sphere of leisure time – free and outside of work – was absorbed into the mechanisms reproducing consensus.

After World War II, the concept of alienation also found its way into psychoanalysis. Those who took it up started from Freud’s theory that man is forced to choose between nature and culture, and that, to enjoy the securities of civilization, he must necessarily renounce his impulses. Some psychologists linked alienation with the psychoses that appeared in certain individuals as a result of this conflict-ridden choice, thereby reducing the whole vast problematic of alienation to a merely subjective phenomenon.

The author who dealt most with alienation from within psychoanalysis was Erich Fromm (1900–1980). Unlike most of his colleagues, he never separated its manifestations from the capitalist historical context; indeed, his books The Sane Society (1955) and Marx’s Concept of Man (1961) used the concept to try to build a bridge between psychoanalysis and Marxism. Yet Fromm likewise always put the main emphasis on subjectivity, and his concept of alienation, which he summarized as ‘a mode of experience in which the individual experiences himself as alien’, remained too narrowly focused on the individual. Moreover, his account of Marx’s concept based itself only on the Economic and Philosophic Manuscripts of 1844 and showed a deep lack of understanding of the specificity and centrality of alienated labour in Marx’s thought. This lacuna prevented Fromm from giving due weight to objective alienation (that of the worker in the labour process and in relation to the labour product) and led him to advance positions that appear disingenuous in their neglect of the underlying structural relations.

Marx believed that the working class was the most alienated class. [… He] did not foresee the extent to which alienation was to become the fate of the vast majority of people. […] If anything, the clerk, the salesman, the executive, are even more alienated today than the skilled manual worker. The latter’s functioning still depends on the expression of certain personal qualities like skill, reliability, etc., and he is not forced to sell his ‘personality’, his smile, his opinions in the bargain.

One of the principal non-Marxist theories of alienation is that associated with Jean-Paul Sartre (1905–1980) and the French existentialists. Indeed, in the 1940s, marked by the horrors of war and the ensuing crise de conscience, the phenomenon of alienation – partly under the influence of Alexandre Kojève’s (1902–1968) neo-Hegelianism – became a recurrent reference both in philosophy and in narrative literature. Once again, however, the concept is much more generic than in Marx’s thought, becoming identified with a diffuse discontent of man in society, a split between human individuality and the world of experience, and an insurmountable condition humaine. The existentialist philosophers did not propose a social origin for alienation, but saw it as inevitably bound up with all ‘facticity’ (no doubt the failure of the Soviet experience favoured such a view) and human otherness. In 1955, Jean Hippolyte (1907–1968) set out this position in one of the most significant works in this tendency:

[alienation] does not seem to be reducible solely to the concept of the alienation of man under capitalism, as Marx understands it. The latter is only a particular case of a more universal problem of human self-consciousness which, being unable to conceive itself as an isolated cogito, can only recognize itself in a word which it constructs, in the other selves which it recognizes and by whom it is occasionally disowned. But this manner of self-discovery through the Other, this objectification, is always more or less an alienation, a loss of self and a simultaneous self-discovery. Thus, objectification and alienation are inseparable, and their union is simply the expression of a dialectical tension observed in the very movement of history.

Marx helped to develop a critique of human subjugation, basing himself on opposition to capitalist relations of production. The existentialists followed an opposite trajectory, trying to absorb those parts of Marx’s work that they thought useful for their own approach, in a merely philosophical discussion devoid of a specific historical critique.

IV. The debate on the conception of alienation in Marx’s early writings
The alienation debate that developed in France frequently drew upon Marx’s theories. As the Second World War gave way to a sense of profound anguish resulting from the barbarities of Nazism and fascism, the theme of the condition and destiny of the individual in society acquired great prominence. A growing philosophical interest in Marx was apparent everywhere in Europe. Often, however, it referred only to the Economic and Philosophic Manuscripts of 1844; not even the sections of Capital that Lukács had used to construct his theory of reification were taken into consideration. Moreover, some sentences from the Economic and Philosophic Manuscripts of 1844 were taken out of context and transformed into sensational quotes supposedly proving the existence of a radically different ‘new Marx’, saturated with philosophy and free of the economic determinism that critics attributed to Capital – often without having read it. Again on the basis of the 1844 texts, the French existentialists laid by far the greatest emphasis on the concept of self-alienation [Selbstentfremdung], that is, the alienation of the worker from the human species and from others like himself – a phenomenon that Marx did discuss in his early writings, but always in connection with objective alienation.

The same error appears in a leading figure of post-war political theory, Hannah Arendt (1906–1975). In her The Human Condition (1958), she built her account of Marx’s concept of alienation around the Economic and Philosophic Manuscripts of 1844, even then isolating out only one of the types mentioned there by Marx: subjective alienation. This allowed her to claim:

expropriation and world alienation coincide, and the modern age, very much against the intentions of all the actors in the play, began by alienating certain strata of the population from the world. […] World alienation, and not self-alienation as Marx thought, has been the hallmark of the modern age.

Evidence of her scant familiarity with Marx’s mature work is the fact that, in conceding that Marx ‘was not altogether unaware of the implications of world alienation in capitalist economy’, she referred only to a few lines in his very early journalistic piece, ‘The Debates on the Wood Theft Laws’ (1842), not to the dozens of much more important pages in Capital and the preparatory manuscripts leading up to it. Her surprising conclusion was: ‘such occasional considerations play[ed] a minor role in his work, which remained firmly rooted in the modern age’s extreme subjectivism’. Where and how Marx prioritized ‘self-alienation’ in his analysis of capitalist society remains a mystery that Arendt never elucidated in her writings.

In the 1960s, the theory of alienation in the Economic and Philosophic Manuscripts of 1844 became the major bone of contention in the wider interpretation of Marx’s work. It was argued that a sharp distinction should be drawn between an ‘early Marx’ and a ‘mature Marx’ – an arbitrary and artificial opposition favoured both by those who preferred the early philosophical work and those for whom the only real Marx was the Marx of Capital (among them Louis Althusser (1918–1980) and the Russian scholars). Whereas the former considered the theory of alienation in the Economic and Philosophic Manuscripts of 1844 to be the most significant part of Marx’s social critique, the latter often exhibited a veritable ‘phobia of alienation’ and tried at first to downplay its relevance; or, when this strategy was no longer possible, the whole theme of alienation was written off as ‘a youthful peccadillo, a residue of Hegelianism’ that Marx later abandoned. Scholars in the first camp retorted that the 1844 manuscripts were written by a man of twenty-six just embarking on his major studies; but those in the second camp still refused to accept the importance of Marx’s theory of alienation, even when the publication of new texts made it clear that he never lost interest in it and that it occupied an important position in the main stages of his life’s work.

With the passage of time, successive supporters of the two positions engaged in lively debate, offering different answers concerning the ‘continuity’ of his thought. Were there in fact two distinct thinkers: an early Marx and a mature Marx? Or was there only one Marx, whose convictions remained substantially the same over the decades?

The opposition between these two views became ever sharper. The first, uniting Marxist-Leninist orthodoxy with those in Western Europe and elsewhere who shared its theoretical and political tenets, downplayed or dismissed altogether the importance of Marx’s early writings; they presented them as completely superficial in comparison with his later works and, in so doing, advanced a decidedly anti-humanist conception of his thought. The second view, advocated by a more heterogeneous group of authors, had as its common denominator a rejection of the dogmatism of official Communism and the correlation that its exponents sought to establish between Marx’s thought and the politics of the Soviet Union.

A couple of quotations from two major protagonists in the 1960s will do more than any possible commentary to elucidate the terms of the debate. For Althusser:

first of all, any discussion of Marx’s Early Works is a political discussion. Need we be reminded that Marx’s Early Works […] were exhumed by Social-Democrats and exploited by them to the detriment of Marxism-Leninism? […] This is the location of the discussion: the Young Marx. Really at stake in it: Marxism. The terms of the discussion: whether the Young Marx was already and wholly Marx.

Iring Fetscher (1922–2014), on the other hand, wrote that

the early writings of Marx centre so strongly on the liberation of man from every form of exploitation, domination and alienation, that a Soviet reader must have understood these comments as a criticism of his own situation under Stalinist domination. For this reason then, the early writings of Marx were never published in large, cheap editions in Russian. They were considered to be relatively insignificant works by the young Hegelian Marx who had not yet developed Marxism.

To argue, as so many did, that the theory of alienation in the Economic and Philosophic Manuscripts of 1844 was the central theme of Marx’s thought was so obviously wrong that it demonstrated no more than ignorance of his work. On the other hand, when Marx again became the most frequently discussed and quoted author in world philosophical literature because of his newly published pages on alienation, the silence from the Soviet Union on this whole topic, and on the controversies associated with it, provided a striking example of the instrumental use made of his writings in that country. For the existence of alienation in the Soviet Union and its satellites was dismissed out of hand, and any texts relating to the question were treated with suspicion. As Henri Lefebvre (1901–1991) put it, ‘in Soviet society, alienation could and must no longer be an issue. By order from above, for reasons of State, the concept had to disappear.’ Therefore, until the 1970s, very few authors in the ‘socialist camp’ paid any attention to the works in question.

A number of well-known Western authors also played down the complexity of the phenomenon. Lucien Goldmann (1913–1970), for instance, thought it possible to overcome alienation in the social-economic conditions of the time, and in his Dialectical Research (1959) argued that it would disappear, or recede, under the mere impact of planning. ‘Reification,’ he wrote, ‘is in fact a phenomenon closely bound up with the absence of planning and with production for the market’; Soviet socialism in the East and Keynesian policies in the West were resulting ‘in the first case in the elimination of reification, and in the second case in its progressive weakening’. History has demonstrated the faultiness of his predictions.

Whatever their academic discipline or political affiliation, interpreters of the Economic and Philosophic Manuscripts of 1844 may be divided into three groups. The first consists of all those who, in counterposing the Paris manuscripts to Capital, stress the theoretical pre-eminence of the former work. A second group attaches little significance in general to the manuscripts, while a third tends toward the thesis that there is a theoretical continuum between them and Capital.

Those who assumed a split between the ‘young’ and the ‘mature’ Marx, argued for the greater theoretical richness of the former, presented the Economic and Philosophic Manuscripts of 1844 as his most valuable text and sharply differentiated it from his later works. In particular, they tended to marginalize Capital often without studying it in any depth – a book altogether more demanding than the twenty odd pages on alienated labour in the Economic and Philosophic Manuscripts of 1844, about which almost all advanced various philosophical cogitations. In casting Marx’s thought as an ethical-humanist doctrine, these authors pursued the political objective of opposing the rigid orthodoxy of 1930s Soviet Marxism and contesting its hegemony within the workers’ movement. This theoretical offensive resulted in something very different, tending to enlarge the potential field of Marxist theory. Though the formulations were often hazy and generic, Marxism was no longer considered merely as an economic determinist theory and began to exert a greater attraction for large numbers of intellectuals and young people.

This approach began to make headway soon after the publication in 1932 of the Economic and Philosophic Manuscripts of 1844 and continued to win converts until the late 1950s, partly thanks to the explosive effect of a new text so unlike the dominant canon of Marxism. Its main sponsors were a motley group of heterodox Marxists, progressive Christians and existentialist philosophers, who interpreted Marx’s economic writings as a step back from what they saw as the centrality of the human person in his early theories.

The second group of interpreters, who regarded the Economic and Philosophic Manuscripts of 1844 as a transitional text of no special significance in the development of Marx’s thought. This was the most widely read account in the Soviet Union and its later satellite countries. The failure of the manuscripts to mention the ‘dictatorship of the proletariat’, together with the presence of themes such as human alienation and the exploitation of labour that highlighted some of the most glaring contradictions of ‘actually existing socialism’, led to their ostracization at the top of the ruling Communist parties. Not by chance were they excluded from editions of the works of Marx and Engels in various countries of the ‘socialist bloc’. Moreover, many of the authors in question wholly endorsed Vladimir Lenin’s (1870–1924) definition of the stages in the development of Marx’s thought – an approach later canonized by Marxism-Leninism, which, apart from being in many respects theoretically and politically questionable, made it impossible to account for Marx’s important work newly published for the first time eight years after the death of the Bolshevik leader.

As the influence of the Althusserian school grew in the 1960s, this reading also became popular in France and elsewhere in Western Europe. But, although its basic tenets are generally attributed to Althusser alone, the seeds were already there in Pierre Naville (1903–1993). He believed that Marxism was a science and that Marx’s early works, still imbued with the language and preoccupations of Left Hegelianism, marked a stage prior to the birth of a ‘new science’ in Capital. For Althusser, as we have seen, the Economic and Philosophic Manuscripts of 1844 represented the Marx most distant from Marxism.

A philologically unfounded contraposition of Marx’s early writings to the critique of political economy is shared by dissident or ‘revisionist’ Marxists eager to prioritize the former and by orthodox Communists focused on the ‘mature Marx’. Between them, they contributed to one of the principal misunderstandings in the history of Marxism: the myth of the ‘Young Marx’. This antagonism also gave rise to conflicts about the terminology and fundamental concepts of Marxian theory – for example, historical materialism versus historicism, or exploitation versus alienation.

The third and last group of interpreters of the Economic and Philosophic Manuscripts of 1844 consists of those who, from different political and theoretical standpoints, identified a substantive continuity in Marx’s work. The idea of an essential Marxian continuum, as opposed to a sharp theoretical break that completely discarded all that came before, was the inspiration for some of the best interpretations of the concept of alienation in the Economic and Philosophic Manuscripts of 1844. Even then, however, there were a number of errors of interpretation – most notably, in certain authors, an underestimation of Marx’s huge advances of the 1850s and 1860s in the field of political economy. This went together with a diffuse tendency to reconstruct Marx’s thought through collections of quotations, without taking any account of the different periods in which the source texts had been written. All too often, the result was an author assembled out of pieces corresponding to the interpreter’s particular vision, passing backwards and forwards from Economic and Philosophic Manuscripts of 1844 to Capital, as if Marx’s work were a single timeless and undifferentiated text.

To underline the importance of the concept of alienation in the Economic and Philosophic Manuscripts of 1844 for a better understanding of Marx’s development cannot involve drawing a veil of silence over the huge limits of this youthful text. Its author had scarcely begun to assimilate the basic concepts of political economy, and his conception of communism was no more than a confused synthesis of the philosophical studies he had undertaken until then. Captivating as they are, especially in the way they combine philosophical ideas of Hegel and Feuerbach with a critique of classical economic theory and a denunciation of working-class alienation, the Economic and Philosophic Manuscripts of 1844 are only a very first approximation, as is evident from their vagueness and eclecticism. They shed major light on the course Marx took, but an enormous distance still separates them from the themes and argument not only of the finished 1867 edition of Capital, Volume I, but also of the preparatory manuscripts for Capital, one of them published, that he drafted from the late 1850s on.

In contrast to analyses that either play up a distinctive ‘Young Marx’ or try to force a theoretical break in his work, the most incisive readings of the concept of alienation in the Economic and Philosophic Manuscripts of 1844 have known how to treat them as an interesting, but only initial, stage in Marx’s critical trajectory. Had he not continued his research but remained with the concepts of the Paris manuscripts, he would probably have been demoted to a place alongside Bruno Bauer (1809–1882) and Feuerbach in the sections of philosophy manuals devoted to the Hegelian Left.

V. The irresistible fascination of the theory of alienation
In the 1960s a real vogue began for theories of alienation, and hundreds of books and articles were published on it around the world. It was the age of alienation tout court. Authors from various political backgrounds and academic disciplines identified its causes as commodification, overspecialization, anomie, bureaucratization, conformism, consumerism, loss of a sense of self amid new technologies, even personal isolation, apathy, social or ethnic marginalization, and environmental pollution.

The concept of alienation seemed to express the spirit of the age to perfection, and indeed, in its critique of capitalist society, it became a meeting ground for anti-Soviet philosophical Marxism and the most democratic and progressive currents in the Catholic world. However, the popularity of the concept, and its indiscriminate application, created a profound terminological ambiguity. Within the space of a few years, alienation thus became an empty formula ranging right across the spectrum of human unhappiness – so all-encompassing that it generated the belief that it could never be modified.

With Guy Debord’s (1931–1994) book The Society of the Spectacle (1967), which became soon after its publication a veritable manifesto for the generation of students in revolt against the system, alienation theory linked up with the critique of immaterial production. Building on the theses of Horkheimer and Adorno, according to which the manufacturing of consent to the social order had spread to the leisure industry, Debord argued that the sphere of non-labour could no longer be considered separate from productive activity:

Whereas during the primitive stage of capitalist accumulation ‘political economy considers the proletarian only as a worker’, who only needs to be allotted the indispensable minimum for maintaining his labour power, and never considers him ‘in his leisure and humanity’, this ruling-class perspective is revised as soon as commodity abundance reaches a level that requires an additional collaboration from him. Once his workday is over, the worker is suddenly redeemed from the total contempt toward him that is so clearly implied by every aspect of the organization and surveillance of production, and finds himself seemingly treated like a grownup, with a great show of politeness, in his new role as a consumer. At this point the humanism of the commodity takes charge of the worker’s ‘leisure and humanity’ simply because political economy now can and must dominate those spheres.

For Debord, then, whereas the domination of the economy over social life initially took the form of a ‘degradation of being into having’, in the ‘present stage’ there had been a ‘general shift from having to appearing’. This idea led him to place the world of spectacle at the centre of his analysis: ‘The spectacle’s social function is the concrete manufacture of alienation’, the phenomenon through which ‘the fetishism of the commodity […] attains its ultimate fulfilment’. In these circumstances, alienation asserted itself to such a degree that it actually became an exciting experience for individuals, a new opium of the people that led them to consume and ‘identify with the dominant images’, taking them ever further from their own desires and real existence:

the spectacle is the stage at which the commodity has succeeded in totally colonizing social life. […] Modern economic production extends its dictatorship both extensively and intensively. […] With the ‘second industrial revolution’, alienated consumption has become just as much a duty for the masses as alienated production.

In the wake of Debord, Jean Baudrillard (1929–2007) has also used the concept of alienation to interpret critically the social changes that have appeared with mature capitalism. In The Consumer Society (1970), distancing himself from the Marxist focus on the centrality of production, he identified consumption as the primary factor in modern society. The ‘age of consumption’, in which advertising and opinion polls create spurious needs and mass consensus, was also ‘the age of radical alienation’.

Commodity logic has become generalized and today governs not only labour processes and material products, but the whole of culture, sexuality, and human relations, including even fantasies and individual drives. […] Everything is spectacularized or, in other words, evoked, provoked and orchestrated into images, signs, consumable models.

Baudrillard’s political conclusions, however, were rather confused and pessimistic. Faced with social ferment on a mass scale, he thought ‘the rebels of May 1968’ had fallen into the trap of ‘reifying objects and consumption excessively by according them diabolic value’; and he criticized ‘all the disquisitions on ‘alienation’, and all the derisive force of pop and anti-art’ as a mere ‘indictment [that] is part of the game: it is the critical mirage, the anti-fable which rounds off the fable’. Now a long way from Marxism, for which the working class is the social reference point for changing the world, he ended his book with a messianic appeal, as generic as it was ephemeral: ‘We shall await the violent irruptions and sudden disintegrations which will come, just as unforeseeably and as certainly as May 1968, to wreck this white Mass.’

VI. Alienation theory in North American sociology
In the 1950s, the concept of alienation also entered the vocabulary of North American sociology, but the approach to the subject there was quite different from the one prevailing in Europe at the time. Mainstream sociology treated alienation as a problem of the individual human being, not of social relations, and the search for solutions centred on the capacity of individuals to adjust to the existing order, not on collective practices to change society.

Here, too, there was a long period of uncertainty before a clear and shared definition took shape. Some authors considered alienation to be a positive phenomenon, a means of expressing creativity, which was inherent in the human condition in general. Another common view was that it sprang from the fissure between individual and society; Seymour Melman (1917–2004), for instance, traced alienation to the split between the formulation and execution of decisions, and considered that it affected workers and managers alike. In ‘A Measure of Alienation’ (1957), which inaugurated a debate on the concept in the American Sociological Review, Gwynn Nettler (1913–2007) used an opinion survey as a way of trying to establish a definition. But, in sharp contrast to the rigorous labour-movement tradition of investigations into working conditions, his questionnaire seemed to draw its inspiration more from the McCarthyite canons of the time than from those of scientific research. For in effect he identified alienation with a rejection of the conservative principles of American society: ‘consistent maintenance of unpopular and averse attitudes toward familism, the mass media and mass taste, current events, popular education, conventional religion and the telic view of life, nationalism, and the voting process’.

The conceptual narrowness of the American sociological panorama changed after the publication of Melvin Seeman’s (1918–2020) short article ‘On the Meaning of Alienation’ (1959), which soon became an obligatory reference for all scholars in the field. His list of the five main types of alienation – powerlessness, meaninglessness (that is, the inability to understand the events in which one is inserted), normlessness, isolation and self-estrangement – showed that he too approached the phenomenon in a primarily subjective perspective. Robert Blauner (1929–2016), in his book Alienation and Freedom (1964), similarly defined alienation as ‘a quality of personal experience which results from specific kinds of social arrangements’, even if his copious research led him to trace its causes to ‘employment in the large-scale organizations and impersonal bureaucracies that pervade all industrial societies’.

American sociology, then, generally saw alienation as a problem linked to the system of industrial production, whether capitalist or socialist, and mainly affecting human consciousness. This major shift of approach ultimately downgraded, or even excluded, analysis of the historical-social factors that determine alienation, producing a kind of hyper-psychologization that treated it not as a social problem but as a pathological symptom of individuals, curable at the individual level. Whereas in the Marxist tradition the concept of alienation had contributed to some of the sharpest criticisms of the capitalist mode of production, its institutionalization in the realm of sociology reduced it to a phenomenon of individual maladjustment to social norms. In the same way, the critical dimension that the concept had had in philosophy (even for authors who thought it a horizon that could never be transcended) now gave way to an illusory neutrality.

Another effect of this metamorphosis was the theoretical impoverishment of the concept. From a complex phenomenon related to man’s work activity and social and intellectual existence, alienation became a partial category divided up in accordance with academic research specializations. American sociologists argued that this methodological choice enabled them to free the study of alienation from any political connotations and to confer on it scientific objectivity. But, in reality, this a-political ‘turn’ had evident ideological implications, since support for the dominant values and social order lay hidden behind the banner of de-ideologization and value-neutrality.

So, the difference between Marxist and American sociological conceptions of alienation was not that the former were political and the latter scientific. Rather, Marxist theorists were bearers of values opposed to the hegemonic ones in American society, whereas the US sociologists upheld the values of the existing social order, skillfully dressed up as eternal values of the human species. In the American academic context, the concept of alienation underwent a veritable distortion and ended up being used by defenders of the very social classes against which it had for so long been directed.

VII. The concept of alienation in Capital and its preparatory manuscripts
Marx’s own writings played an important role for those seeking to counter this situation. The initial focus on the Economic and Philosophic Manuscripts of 1844 tended to shift after the publication of new texts and with them it was possible to reconstruct the path of his elaboration from the early writings to Capital.

In the second half of the 1840s, Marx no longer made frequent use of the term ‘alienation’. The main exceptions were The Holy Family (1845), The German Ideology (1845-46) and the Manifesto of the Communist Party (1848) all jointly authored with Engels.

In Wage-Labour and Capital (1849), a collection of articles based on lectures he gave to the German Workers’ League in Brussels in 1847, Marx returned to the theory of alienation. But the term itself did not appear in these texts, because it would have had too abstract a ring for his intended audience. He wrote that wage labour does not enter into the worker’s ‘own life activity’ but represents a ‘sacrifice of his life’. Labour-power is a commodity that the worker is forced to sell ‘in order to live’, and ‘the product of his activity, therefore, is not the aim of his activity’:

And the labourer who for twelve hours long, weaves, spins, bores, turns, builds, shovels, breaks stone, carries hods, and so on-is this twelve hours’ weaving, spinning, boring, turning, building, shovelling, stone-breaking, regarded by him as a manifestation of life, as life? Quite the contrary. Life for him begins where this activity ceases, at the table, at the tavern seat, in bed. The twelve hours’ work, on the other hand, has no meaning for him as weaving, spinning, boring, and so on, but only as earnings, which enable him to sit down at a table, to take his seat in the tavern, and to lie down in a bed. If the silk-warm’s object in spinning were to prolong its existence as caterpillar, it would be a perfect example of a wage-worker.

Until the late 1850s there were no more references to the theory of alienation in Marx’s work. Following the defeat of the 1848 revolutions, he was forced to go into exile in London; once there, he concentrated all his energies on the study of political economy and, apart from a few short works with a historical theme, did not publish another book. When he began to write about economics again, however, in the Foundations of the Critique of Political Economy (1857–58), better known as the Grundrisse, he more than once used the term ‘alienation’. This text recalled in many respects the analyses of the Economic and Philosophic Manuscripts of 1844, although nearly a decade of studies in the British Library had allowed him to make them considerably more profound:

The social character of activity, as well as the social form of the product, and the share of individuals in production here appear as something alien and objective, confronting the individuals, not as their relation to one another, but as their subordination to relations which subsist independently of them and which arise out of collisions between mutually indifferent individuals. The general exchange of activities and products, which has become a vital condition for each individual – their mutual interconnection – here appears as something alien to them, autonomous, as a thing. In exchange value, the social connection between persons is transformed into a social relation between things; personal capacity into objective wealth.

The account of alienation in the Grundrisse, then, is enriched by a greater understanding of economic categories and by more rigorous social analysis. The link it establishes between alienation and exchange-value is an important aspect of this. And, in one of the most dazzling passages on this phenomenon of modern society, Marx links alienation to the opposition between capital and ‘living labour-power’:

The objective conditions of living labour appear as separated, independent values opposite living labour capacity as subjective being. […] The objective conditions of living labour capacity are presupposed as having an existence independent of it, as the objectivity of a subject distinct from living labour capacity and standing independently over against it; the reproduction and realization, i.e. the expansion of these objective conditions, is therefore at the same time their own reproduction and new production as the wealth of an alien subject indifferently and independently standing over against labour capacity. What is reproduced and produced anew is not only the presence of these objective conditions of living labour, but also their presence as independent values, i.e. values belonging to an alien subject, confronting this living labour capacity. The objective conditions of labour attain a subjective existence vis-à-vis living labour capacity – capital turns into capitalist.

The Grundrisse was not the only text of Marx’s maturity to feature an account of alienation. Five years after it was composed, the ‘Results of the Immediate Process of Production’ – also known as ‘Capital, Volume I: Book 1, Chapter VI, unpublished’ (1863–64) – brought the economic and political analyses of alienation more closely together. ‘The rule of the capitalist over the worker,’ Marx wrote, ‘is the rule of things over man, of dead labour over the living, of the product over the producer.’ In capitalist society, by virtue of ‘the transposition of the social productivity of labour into the material attributes of capital’, there is a veritable ‘personification of things and reification of persons’, creating the appearance that ‘the material conditions of labour are not subject to the worker, but he to them’. In reality, he argued:

Capital is not a thing, any more than money is a thing. In capital, as in money, certain specific social relations of production between people appear as relations of things to people, or else certain social relations appear as the natural properties of things in society. Without a class dependent on wages, the moment individuals confront each other as free persons, there can be no production of surplus-value; without the production of surplus-value there can be no capitalist production, and hence no capital and no capitalist! Capital and wage-labour (it is thus we designate the labour of the worker who sells his own labour-power) only express two aspects of the self-same relationship. Money cannot become capital unless it is exchanged for labour-power, a commodity sold by the worker himself. Conversely, work can only be wage-labour when its own material conditions confront it as autonomous powers, alien property, value existing for itself and maintaining itself, in short as capital. If capital in its material aspects, i.e. in the use-values in which it has its being, must depend for its existence on the material conditions of labour, these material conditions must equally, on the formal side, confront labour as alien, autonomous powers, as value – objectified labour – which treats living labour as a mere means whereby to maintain and increase itself.

In the capitalist mode of production, human labour becomes an instrument of the valorization process of capital, which, ‘by incorporating living labour-power into the material constituents of capital, […] becomes an animated monster and […] starts to act as if consumed by love.’ This mechanism keeps expanding in scale, until co-operation in the production process, scientific discoveries and the deployment of machinery – all of them social processes belonging to the collective – become forces of capital that appear as its natural properties, confronting the workers in the shape of the capitalist order:

The productive forces […] developed [by] social labour […] appear as the productive forces of capitalism. […] Collective unity in co-operation, combination in the division of labour, the use of the forces of nature and the sciences, of the products of labour, as machinery – all these confront the individual workers as something alien, objective, ready-made, existing without their intervention, and frequently even hostile to them. They all appear quite simply as the prevailing forms of the instruments of labour. As objects they are independent of the workers whom they dominate. Though the workshop is to a degree the product of the workers’ combination, its entire intelligence and will seem to be incorporated in the capitalist or his understrappers, and the workers find themselves confronted by the functions of the capital that lives in the capitalist.

Through this process capital becomes something ‘highly mysterious’. ‘The conditions of labour pile up in front of the worker as social forces, and they assume a capitalized form.’

Beginning in the 1960s, the diffusion of ‘Capital, Volume I: Book 1, Chapter VI, unpublished’ and, above all, of the Grundrisse paved the way for a conception of alienation different from the one then hegemonic in sociology and psychology. It was a conception geared to the overcoming of alienation in practice – to the political action of social movements, parties and trade unions to change the working and living conditions of the working class. The publication of what, after the Economic and Philosophic Manuscripts of 1844 in the 1930s, may be thought of as the ‘second generation’ of Marx’s writings on alienation therefore provided not only a coherent theoretical basis for new studies of alienation, but above all an anti-capitalist ideological platform for the extraordinary political and social movement that exploded in the world during those years. Alienation left the books of philosophers and the lecture halls of universities, took to the streets and the space of workers’ struggles, and became a critique of bourgeois society in general.

VIII. Commodity fetishism
One of Marx’s best accounts of alienation is contained in the famous section of Capital on ‘The Fetishism of the Commodity and Its Secret’, where he shows that, in capitalist society, people are dominated by the products they have created . Here, the relations among them appear not ‘as direct social relations between persons […], but rather as material relations between persons and social relations between things’. As he famously wrote:

The mysterious character of the commodity-form consists […] in the fact that the commodity reflects the social characteristics of men’s own labour as objective characteristics of the products of labour themselves, as the socio-natural properties of these things. Hence it also reflects the social relation of the producers to the sum total of labour as a social relation between objects, a relation which exists apart from and outside the producers. Through this substitution, the products of labour become commodities, sensuous things which are at the same time supra-sensible or social. […] It is nothing but the definite social relation between men themselves which assumes here, for them, the fantastic form of a relation between things. In order, therefore, to find an analogy we must take flight into the misty realm of religion. There the products of the human brain appear as autonomous figures endowed with a life of their own, which enter into relations both with each other and with the human race. So, it is in the world of commodities with the products of men’s hands. I call this the fetishism which attaches itself to the products of labour as soon as they are produced as commodities, and is therefore inseparable from the production of commodities.

Two elements in this definition mark a clear dividing line between Marx’s conception of alienation and the one held by most of the other authors we have been discussing. First, Marx conceives of fetishism not as an individual problem but as a social phenomenon, not as an affair of the mind but as a real power, a particular form of domination, which establishes itself in market economy as a result of the transformation of objects into subjects. For this reason, his analysis of alienation does not confine itself to the disquiet of individual women and men, but extends to the social processes and productive activities underlying it. Second, for Marx fetishism manifests itself in a precise historical reality of production, the reality of wage labour; it is not part of the relation between people and things as such, but rather of the relation between man and a particular kind of objectivity: the commodity form.

As a consequence of this peculiarity of capitalism, individuals had value only as producers, and ‘human existence’ was subjugated to the act of the ‘production of commodities’. Hence ‘the process of production’ had ‘mastery over man, instead of being controlled by him’. Capital ‘care[d] nothing for the length of life of labour power’ and attached no importance to improvements in the living conditions of the proletariat. Capital ‘attains this objective by shortening the life of labour-power.’

In bourgeois society, human qualities and relations turn into qualities and relations among things. This theory of what Lukács would call reification illustrated alienation from the point of view of human relations, while the concept of fetishism treated it in relation to commodities. Pace those who deny that a theory of alienation is present in Marx’s mature work, we should stress that commodity fetishism did not replace alienation but was only one aspect of it.

The theoretical advance from the Economic and Philosophic Manuscripts of 1844 to Capital and its related materials does not, however, consist only in the greater precision of his account of alienation. There is also a reformulation of the measures that Marx considers necessary for it to be overcome. Whereas in 1844 he had argued that human beings would eliminate alienation by abolishing private production and the division of labour, the path to a society free of alienation was much more complicated in Capital and its preparatory manuscripts.

Marx held that capitalism was a system in which the workers were subject to capital and the conditions it imposed. Nevertheless, it had created the foundations for a more advanced society, and by generalizing its benefits humanity would be able to progress along the faster road of social development that it had opened up. One of Marx’s most analytic accounts of the positive effects of capitalist production is to be found towards the end of Capital, Volume I, in the section entitled ‘Historical Tendency of Capitalist Accumulation’. In the passage in question, he summarizes the six conditions generated by capitalism – particularly by its centralization – that constitute the basic prerequisites for the birth of communist society. These are: 1) the cooperative labour process; 2) the scientific-technological contribution to production; 3) appropriation of the forces of nature by production; 4) creation of machinery that workers can only operate in common; 5) the economizing of all means of production; and 6) the tendency to the creation of the world market. For Marx:

Hand in hand with this centralization, or this expropriation of many capitalists by a few, other developments take place on an ever-increasing scale, such as the growth of the co-operative form of the labour process, the conscious technical application of science, the planned exploitation of the soil, the transformation of the means of labour into forms in which they can only be used in common, the economizing of all means of production by their use as the means of production of combined, socialized labour, the entanglement of all peoples in the net of the world market, and, with this, the growth of the international character of the capitalist regime.

Marx well knew that the concentration of production in the hands of a small number of bosses increased ‘the mass of misery, oppression, slavery, degradation and exploitation’ for the working class, but he was also aware that ‘the co-operation of wage-labourers is entirely brought about by the capital that employs them.’ He was convinced that the extraordinary growth of the productive forces under capitalism, greater and faster than in all previously existing modes of production, had created the conditions to overcome the social-economic relations that capitalism had itself brought about – and therefore to achieve the transition to socialist society.

9. Communism, emancipation and freedom
According to Marx, a system that produced an enormous accumulation of wealth for the few and deprivation and exploitation for the general mass of workers must be replaced with an ‘association of free men, working with the means of production held in common, and expending their many different forms of labour-power in full self-awareness as one single social labour force.’ In Capital, Volume I, Marx explained that the ‘ruling principle’ of this ‘higher form of society’ would be ‘the full and free development of every individual’. In the Grundrisse he wrote that in communist society production would be ‘directly social’, ‘the offspring of association, which distributes labour internally’. It would be managed by individuals as their ‘common wealth’. The ‘social character of production’ [gesellschaftliche Charakter der Produktion] would ‘make the product into a communal, general product from the outset’; its associative character would be ‘presupposed’ and ‘the labour of the individual […] from the outset taken as social labour’. As Marx stressed in the Critique of the Gotha Programme (1875), in postcapitalist society ‘individual labour no longer exists in an indirect fashion but directly as a component part of the total labour.’ In addition, the workers would be able to create the conditions for the eventual disappearance of ‘the enslaving subordination of the individual to the division of labour’.

In Capital, Volume I, Marx highlighted that in communism, the conditions would be created for a form of ‘planned cooperation’ through which the worker ‘strips off the fetters of his individuality and develops the capabilities of his species’. In Capital, Volume II (1885), Marx pointed out that society would then be in a position to ‘reckon in advance how much labour, means of production and means of subsistence it can spend, without dislocation’, unlike in capitalism ‘where any kind of social rationality asserts itself only post festum’ and ‘major disturbances can and must occur constantly’.

This type of production would differ from wage labour because it would place its determining factors under collective governance, take on an immediately general character and convert labour into a truly social activity. This was a conception of society at the opposite pole from Thomas Hobbes’s (1588–1679) ‘war of all against all’. In referring to so-called free competition, or the seemingly equal positions of workers and capitalists on the market in bourgeois society, Marx stated that the reality was totally different from the human freedom exalted by apologists of capitalism. The system posed a huge obstacle to democracy, and he showed better than anyone else that the workers did not receive an equivalent for what they produced. In the Grundrisse, he explained that what was presented as an ‘exchange of equivalents’ was, in fact, appropriation of the workers’ ‘labour time without exchange’; the relationship of exchange ‘dropped away entirely, or it became a ‘mere semblance’. Relations between persons were ‘actuated only by self-interest’.

This ‘clash of individuals’ had been passed off as the ‘the absolute form of existence of free individuality in the sphere of production and exchange’. But for Marx ‘nothing could be further from the truth’, since ‘it is not individuals who are set free by free competition; it is, rather, capital which is set free’. In the Economic Manuscripts of 1863-67, he denounced the fact that ‘surplus labour is initially pocketed, in the name of society, by the capitalist’ – the surplus labour that is ‘the basis of society’s free time’ and, by virtue of this, the ‘material basis of its whole development and of civilization in general’. And in Capital, Volume I, he showed that the wealth of the bourgeoisie was possible only by ‘turning the whole lifetime of the worker and his family into labour-time’.

In the Grundrisse, Marx observed that in capitalism ‘individuals are subsumed under social production’, which ‘exists outside them as their fate’. This happens only through the attribution of exchange-value conferred on the products, whose buying and selling takes place post festum. Furthermore, ‘all social powers of production’ – including scientific discoveries, which appear as alien and external to the worker, are posited by capital. The very association of the workers, at the places and in the act of production, is ‘operated by capital’ and is therefore ‘only formal’. Use of the goods created by the workers ‘is not mediated by exchange between mutually independent labours or products of labour’, but rather ‘the social conditions of production within which the individual is active.’ Marx explained how productive activity in the factory ‘concerns only the product of labour, not labour itself’, since it ‘will occur initially only in a common location, under overseers, regimentation, greater discipline, regularity and the posited dependence in production itself on capital’.

In order to change these conditions, contrary to the view of many of Marx’s socialist contemporaries, a redistribution of consumption goods was not sufficient to reverse this state of affairs. A root-and-branch change in the productive assets of society was necessary. Thus, in the Grundrisse Marx noted that ‘the demand that wage labour be continued but capital suspended is self-contradictory, self-dissolving’. What was required was ‘dissolution of the mode of production and form of society based upon exchange value’. In the address published under the title Value, Price and Profit (1865), he called on workers to ‘inscribe on their banner’ not ‘the conservative motto: ‘A fair day’s wage for a fair day’s work!’ [but] the revolutionary watchword: ‘Abolition of the wages system!’’

Furthermore, the Critique of the Gotha Programme made the point that in the capitalist mode of production ‘the material conditions of production are in the hands of non-workers in the form of capital and land ownership, while the masses are only owners of the personal condition of production, of labour power’. Therefore, it was essential to overturn the property relations at the base of the bourgeois mode of production. In the Grundrisse, Marx recalled that ‘the laws of private property – liberty, equality, property – property in one’s own labour, and free disposition over it – tum into the worker’s propertylessness, and the dispossession of his labour, i.e. the fact that he relates to it as alien property and vice versa.’ And in 1869, in a report of the General Council of the International Working Men’s Association, he asserted that ‘private property in the means of production’ served to give the bourgeois class ‘the power to live without labour upon other people’s labour’. He repeated this point in another short political text, the Preamble to the Programme of the French Workers’ Party (1880), adding that ‘the producers cannot be free unless they are in possession of the means of production’ and that the goal of the proletarian struggle must be ‘the return of all the means of production to collective ownership’.

In Capital, Volume III (1894), Marx observed that when the workers had established a communist mode of production ‘private property of the earth by single individuals [would] appear just as absurd as private property of one human being by another’. He directed his most radical critique against the destructive possession inherent in capitalism, insisting that ‘even an entire society, a nation, or even all simultaneously existing societies taken together, are not the owners of the earth’. For Marx, human beings were ‘simply its possessors, its beneficiaries, and have to bequeath it in an improved state to succeeding generations, as good heads of the household [boni patres familias]’.

A different kind of ownership of the means of production would also radically change the life-time of society. In Capital, Volume I, Marx unfolded with complete clarity the reasons why in capitalism ‘the shortening of the working day is […] by no means what is aimed at in capitalist production, when labour is economized by increasing its productivity’. The time that the progress of science and technology makes available for individuals is in reality immediately converted into surplus value. The only aim of the dominant class is the ‘shortening of the labour-time necessary for the production of a definite quantity of commodities’. Its only purpose in developing the productive forces is the ‘shortening of that part of the working day in which the worker must work for himself, and the lengthening […] the other part […] in which he is free to work for nothing for the capitalist’. This system differs from slavery or the corvées due to the feudal lord, since ‘surplus labour and necessary labour are mingled together’ and make the reality of exploitation harder to perceive.

In the Grundrisse, Marx showed that ‘free time for a few’ is possible only because of this surplus labour time of the many. The bourgeoisie secures growth of its material and cultural capabilities only thanks to the limitation of those of the proletariat. The same happens in the most advanced capitalist countries, to the detriment of those on the periphery of the system. In the Economic Manuscript of 1861-63, Marx emphasized that the ‘free development’ of the dominant class is ‘based on the restriction of development’ among the working class’; ‘the surplus labour of the workers’ is the ‘natural basis of the social development of the other section’. The surplus labour time of the workers is not only the pillar supporting the ‘material conditions of life’ for the bourgeoisie; it also creates the conditions for its ‘free time, the sphere of [its] development’. Marx could not have put it better: ‘the free time of one section corresponds to the time in thrall to labour of the other section.’

For Marx communist society, by contrast, would be characterized by a general reduction in labour time. In the ‘Instructions for the Delegates of the Provisional General Council’, composed in August 1866 for the International Working Men’s Association , Marx wrote in forthright terms: ‘a preliminary condition, without which all further attempts at improvement and emancipation must prove abortive, is the limitation of the working day.’ It was needed not only ‘to restore the health and physical energies of the working class’ but also ‘to secure them the possibility of intellectual development, sociable intercourse, social and political action’.

Similarly, in Capital, Volume I, while noting that workers’ ‘time for education, for intellectual development, for the fulfilling of social functions, for social intercourse, for the free play of the vital forces of his body and his mind’ counted as pure ‘foolishness’ in the eyes of the capitalist class, Marx implied that these would be the basic elements of the new society. As he put it in the Grundrisse, a reduction in the hours devoted to labour – and not only labour to create surplus value for the capitalist class – would favour ‘the artistic, scientific etc. development of the individuals in the time set free, and with the means created, for all of them’.

On the basis of these convictions, Marx identified the ‘economy of time, along with the planned distribution of labour time among the various branches of production’ as ‘first economic law on the basis of communal production’. In Theories of Surplus Value (1862–63) he made it even clearer that ‘real wealth’ was nothing other than ‘disposable time’. In communist society, workers’ self-management would ensure that ‘a greater quantity of time’ was ‘not absorbed in direct productive labour but […] available for enjoyment, for leisure, thus giving scope for free activity and development’. In this text, so too in the Grundrisse, Marx quoted a short anonymous pamphlet entitled The Source and Remedy of the National Difficulties, Deduced from Principles of Political Economy, in a Letter to Lord John Russell (1821), whose definition of well-being he fully shared: that is, ‘truly wealthy a nation, if there is no interest or if the working day is 6 hours rather than 12’.

Wealth is not command over surplus labour time – the real wealth – ‘but disposable time, in addition to that employed in immediate production, for every individual and for the whole society.’ Elsewhere in the Grundrisse he asked rhetorically: ‘what is wealth other than the universality of individual needs, capacities, pleasures, productive forces […] the absolute working out of his creative potentialities?’ It is evident, then, that the socialist model in Marx’s mind did not involve a state of generalized poverty, but rather the attainment of greater collective wealth.

For Marx, living in a non-alienated society meant building a social organization in which a fundamental value was given to individual freedom. He attached a fundamental value to individual freedom, and his communism was radically different from the levelling of classes envisaged by his various predecessors or pursued by many of his epigones. In the Grundrisse however, he pointed to the ‘foolishness of those socialists (namely the French, who want to depict socialism as the realization of the ideals of bourgeois society articulated by the French revolution) who demonstrate that exchange and exchange value etc. are originally […] a system of universal freedom and equality, but that they have been perverted by money, capital’.

He labelled it an ‘absurdity’ to regard ‘free competition is the ultimate development of human freedom’; it was tantamount to a belief that ‘the rule of the bourgeoisie is the terminal point of world history’, which he mockingly described as ‘middle-class rule is the culmination of world history – certainly an agreeable thought for the parvenus of the day before yesterday’. In the same way, Marx contested the liberal ideology according to which ‘the negation of free competition [was] equivalent to the negation of individual freedom and of social production based upon individual freedom’. In bourgeois society, the only possible ‘free development’ was ‘on the limited basis of the domination of capital’. But that ‘type of individual freedom’ was, at the same time, ‘the most sweeping abolition of all individual freedom and the complete subjugation of individuality to social conditions which assume the form of objective powers, indeed of overpowering objects […] independent of the individuals relating to one another.’ As he wrote in Capital, Volume III:

The realm of freedom really begins only where labour determined by necessity and external expediency ends; it lies by its very nature beyond the sphere of material production proper. Just as the savage must wrestle with nature to satisfy his needs, to maintain and reproduce his life, so must civilized man, and he must do so in all forms of society and under all possible modes of production. This realm of natural necessity expands with his development, because his needs do too; but the productive forces to satisfy these expand at the same time.

Freedom, in this sphere, can consist only in this, that socialized man, the associated producers, govern the human metabolism with nature in a rational way, bringing it under their collective control instead of being dominated by it as a blind power; accomplishing it with the least expenditure of energy and in conditions most worthy and appropriate for their human nature. But this always remains a realm of necessity. The true realm of freedom, the development of human powers as an end in itself, begins beyond it, though it can only flourish with this realm of necessity as its basis. The reduction of the working day is the basic prerequisite.

This post-capitalist system of production, together with scientific-technological progress and a consequent reduction of the working day, creates the possibility for a new social formation in which the coercive, alienated labour imposed by capital and subject to its laws is gradually replaced with conscious, creative activity beyond the yoke of necessity, and in which complete social relations take the place of random, undifferentiated exchange dictated by the laws of commodities and money . It is no longer the realm of freedom for capital but the realm of genuine human freedom.

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