Slavoj Å½iÅ¾ek, in the London Review of Books, contemplates the peculiar position of today’s Left after the collapse of Communism.
One of the clearest lessons of the last few decades is that capitalism is indestructible. Marx compared it to a vampire, and one of the salient points of comparison now appears to be that vampires always rise up again after being stabbed to death. Even Maoâ€™s attempt, in the Cultural Revolution, to wipe out the traces of capitalism, ended up in its triumphant return.
Todayâ€™s Left reacts in a wide variety of ways to the hegemony of global capitalism and its political supplement, liberal democracy. …
The response of some critics on the postmodern Left to this predicament is to call for a new politics of resistance. Those who still insist on fighting state power, let alone seizing it, are accused of remaining stuck within the â€˜old paradigmâ€™: the task today, their critics say, is to resist state power by withdrawing from its terrain and creating new spaces outside its control. This is, of course, the obverse of accepting the triumph of capitalism. The politics of resistance is nothing but the moralising supplement to a Third Way Left.
Simon Critchleyâ€™s recent book, Infinitely Demanding, is an almost perfect embodiment of this position. For Critchley, the liberal-democratic state is here to stay. Attempts to abolish the state failed miserably; consequently, the new politics has to be located at a distance from it: anti-war movements, ecological organisations, groups protesting against racist or sexist abuses, and other forms of local self-organisation. It must be a politics of resistance to the state, of bombarding the state with impossible demands, of denouncing the limitations of state mechanisms. The main argument for conducting the politics of resistance at a distance from the state hinges on the ethical dimension of the â€˜infinitely demandingâ€™ call for justice: no state can heed this call, since its ultimate goal is the â€˜real-politicalâ€™ one of ensuring its own reproduction (its economic growth, public safety, etc). â€˜Of course,â€™ Critchley writes,
history is habitually written by the people with the guns and sticks and one cannot expect to defeat them with mocking satire and feather dusters. Yet, as the history of ultra-leftist active nihilism eloquently shows, one is lost the moment one picks up the guns and sticks. Anarchic political resistance should not seek to mimic and mirror the archic violent sovereignty it opposes.
So what should, say, the US Democrats do? Stop competing for state power and withdraw to the interstices of the state, leaving state power to the Republicans and start a campaign of anarchic resistance to it? And what would Critchley do if he were facing an adversary like Hitler? Surely in such a case one should â€˜mimic and mirror the archic violent sovereigntyâ€™ one opposes? Shouldnâ€™t the Left draw a distinction between the circumstances in which one would resort to violence in confronting the state, and those in which all one can and should do is use â€˜mocking satire and feather dustersâ€™? The ambiguity of Critchleyâ€™s position resides in a strange non sequitur: if the state is here to stay, if it is impossible to abolish it (or capitalism), why retreat from it? Why not act with(in) the state? Why not accept the basic premise of the Third Way? Why limit oneself to a politics which, as Critchley puts it, â€˜calls the state into question and calls the established order to account, not in order to do away with the state, desirable though that might well be in some utopian sense, but in order to better it or attenuate its malicious effectâ€™?
These words simply demonstrate that todayâ€™s liberal-democratic state and the dream of an â€˜infinitely demandingâ€™ anarchic politics exist in a relationship of mutual parasitism: anarchic agents do the ethical thinking, and the state does the work of running and regulating society. Critchleyâ€™s anarchic ethico-political agent acts like a superego, comfortably bombarding the state with demands; and the more the state tries to satisfy these demands, the more guilty it is seen to be. In compliance with this logic, the anarchic agents focus their protest not on open dictatorships, but on the hypocrisy of liberal democracies, who are accused of betraying their own professed principles. …
The big demonstrations in London and Washington against the US attack on Iraq a few years ago offer an exemplary case of this strange symbiotic relationship between power and resistance. Their paradoxical outcome was that both sides were satisfied. The protesters saved their beautiful souls: they made it clear that they donâ€™t agree with the governmentâ€™s policy on Iraq. Those in power calmly accepted it, even profited from it: not only did the protests in no way prevent the already-made decision to attack Iraq; they also served to legitimise it. Thus George Bushâ€™s reaction to mass demonstrations protesting his visit to London, in effect: â€˜You see, this is what we are fighting for, so that what people are doing here â€“ protesting against their government policy â€“ will be possible also in Iraq!â€™
The lesson here is that the truly subversive thing is not to insist on â€˜infiniteâ€™ demands we know those in power cannot fulfill. Since they know that we know it, such an â€˜infinitely demandingâ€™ attitude presents no problem for those in power: â€˜So wonderful that, with your critical demands, you remind us what kind of world we would all like to live in. Unfortunately, we live in the real world, where we have to make do with what is possible.â€™ The thing to do is, on the contrary, to bombard those in power with strategically well-selected, precise, finite demands, which canâ€™t be met with the same excuse.
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