gramsci
Dear friends,
Let’s take a voyage together through three understandings of class. This concept is becoming increasingly interesting to me, particularly in relationship to transformative movements. Across history a great many Marxists, and others who on occasion appropriated from Marx and Marxists (looking at you Bourdieu), have debated class as a (social/political/economic/determining) construct. The brackets, here, are worth some discussion but let’s first think about defining some key terms that will be useful for us as we progress through this discussion.
At the source class can be understood in terms of a person’s relative relationship to the means of production. The means of production ranges from: (1) the physical spaces where work happens (factories, farms, offices), (2) the tools and machinery used in production (from hammers to industrial equipment), (3) the raw materials that are used to make things (iron ore, cotton, oil — also referred to as the subjects of labour), to (4) the knowledge and technology required for production (know how, processes). For Marx, there is a cleaving of humanity in two: those who own these means of production (the capitalists or bourgeoisie) and those who must sell their labour (power) because they do not own these means (the working class or proletariat). Even partial ownership of any one of these categories of things places you in the capitalist class.
You might already viscerally feel the politics dripping from each of these sentences. This is a somewhat ‘orthodox’ view because it is shaped directly by Marx’s work in Capital. But many, if not all, theorists who have followed in the historical materialist tradition have engaged with class conceptually as it emerges (from where remains a debate). Much later on theoretically the base has been conceptualised as an ontological (real, physical) force which not only conditions how we live, but also how we might live, in a a way that is inescapable. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves, we’re concerned with class, not the nature of all things (or are we, I’m already lost).
Let me work an example with you, using this orthodoxy, and we’ll retain this example as we discuss a few historical materialist (Marxist in different words) conceptions of class. Let me introduce to you Fillipe, who works in a civil servant job as an administrator for the Department of Social Inclusion (this is not even a vaguely real person and I have little idea how DSI actually works — it’s just a context for our discussion). A civil servant working in social inclusion occupies a contradictory class position — okay, great, why are we starting here? Because boundaries make things interesting, and they are very real in our contempoary “late capitalist” context. Fillipe doesn’t (directly) own the means of production. Going by our definitions above this plants them in the working class. Sweet — job done? Not quite. They also don’t directly produce surplus value in the classical Marxist sense, as their labour isn’t directly involved in commodity production. You’re not directly involved in transmuting oil into plastic ergo some historical materialists argue that you are not, then, working class. Poulantzas, for instance, would argue, instead, that they are part of the “new middle class” or petit bourgeoisie. From here, let’s move to a contrasting perspective with elucidatory potential, and we’ll revisit Poulantzas in a moment.
For Gramsci, class formation is a historical process that goes beyond economic position. Two things are important here — the historical nature of class and class formation, and the role of economic position. The role of history in class formation is important, beyond mechanistic or formulaic notions of “class”, as it shows that the character of class is always predefined and carries the weight of generations: “[t]he tradition of all dead generations weighs like a nightmare on the brains of the living” [1]. Here, we begin to see some of the “organic” thinking Gramsci did which is, to me, more humanistic than Marx. While Gramsci maintains Marx’s core insight about the relationship to production, he sees, in parallel, classes as being formed through political and cultural processes. He is particularly interested in how different social groups come to understand their interests and organise themselves politically.
Gramsci introduces the concept of “organic intellectuals”, people who emerge from within social classes to articulate their interests and organise their political projects, and “traditional intellectuals”, professionals, civil servants, and others who see themselves as independent from class interests but actually play a crucial role in organising social life (for capitalism’s reproduction). These intellectuals, to Gramsci, are essential in understanding bourgeoisie and proletarian interests, and the social and cultural conditions that construct their class’s broader positioning. Theoretically this also introduces a level of nuance to the organisation of human behaviour atop the economic “base” which is helpful for understanding modern economic organisation. Let’s return to Fillipe, with particular interest in the intellectual position they might hold in this fictional representation.
Our civil servant occupies what Gramsci would call an intermediary position as a type of state intellectual. They’re not simply a “neutral administrator” but are involved in organising social relations and mediating between different class interests. What makes this position especially complex is that civil servants in social services sometimes come to see themselves as advocates for “subordinate groups” (subalterns) while simultaneously being part of the state apparatus that maintains existing social relations. Gramsci would be interested in how such officials might sometimes act as organic intellectuals for subaltern groups (advocating for their interests within the state) while simultaneously functioning as traditional intellectuals who help maintain social order. Where does this position Fillipe? Are they bourgeoisie? Are they proletarian? Are they sandwiched between?
Their class background would matter significantly in Gramsci’s analysis, but not in a simple deterministic way. He would be interested in how their background shapes their understanding of their role and their relationship to different social groups. A civil servant from a working class background will have different capacities to connect with and understand subaltern groups, but their position within the state apparatus would still shape how they can act on that understanding. This nuance, which I have argued on several occasions is fundamental to activist transformation, is what sets Gramscian understandings of class apart. Rather than troubling who is part of what class, and how the schema for understanding class is used, Gramsci holds with Marx’s “distance” notion, and offers fluidity for how human action is subsequently shaped (or not) by class and social (group) connection. The modern state creates its own social categories and class fractions through its bureaucratic structures — but fundamentally there remains the “owners” and the “workers”. Civil servants aren’t only members of pre-existing (historical) classes but part of what Gramsci saw as new social formations created by modern state institutions. The purpose of these formations is, naturally, dubious and may be exploited in identity politics, but coexists with and is informed in part by class origins in important ways that condition agency.
Poulantzas, contrastingly, spent a great deal of time building on and significantly developing Marxist class theory as a primary concern. He argues that class positions are determined not just by economic relations, but by the combined effects of economic, political, and ideological relations. This, in itself, is similar to how Gramsci conceptualised class and/or social group formations. For Poulantzas, classes only exist in class struggle. They are not fixed categories but dynamic relationships. He emphasises that class positions are objective – they exist independently of whether people are conscious of them – but they are also complex and can be contradictory. Great, thanks for that clarification Nicos. Let’s get clearer.
Poulantzas pays particular attention to what he calls the “new petty bourgeoisie”. This group is, to him, inclusive of technical workers, civil servants, and other white-collar employees. Unlike some Marxists who would fit these groups into traditional categories of workers or capitalists, Poulantzas saw them as occupying distinct class positions shaped by their role in organising and supervising labour, their position in ideological relations (like education and culture), and their relationship to state power. This is congruent with contemporary notions of a “middle class” which exists, primarily, to manage production and enforce the reproductive processes of capitalism broadly. Crucially, Poulantzas argues that the state isn’t exclusively a subservient domain of the ruling class but that it has relative autonomy. He suggests that state workers, including civil servants, occupy class places that are defined by their position in political and ideological relations, not just economic ones. This helps explain why state workers might sometimes act against the immediate interests of capital while still ultimately helping to reproduce capitalist social relations. This also gives us reasons why liberal reformism will never work, but that’s a topic for another day.
Let us be extremely clear that in Poulantzas’s view only those immediately located at the nexus of production without any ownership of the means of production can be considered working class. To me, this is an extremely limited view, but it doesn’t end here. Poulantzas also clearly notes that while there may be some autonomy in the roles of the petit bourgeoisie or rather, specifically, his nouveau petit bourgeoisie, their primary function and continued existence is dependent on utter subservience to capital. This self loathing positionality of inaction is another point of contribution to Marxist’s praxis stasis – but, again, a conversation for another day. Let’s spend a bit more time with Nicos before we wrap up.
A production line worker in a car factory might represent what Poulantzas sees as productive labour in its most direct sense. They are directly involved in producing surplus value through manual labor in the production process. Their position is defined by both their economic relationship (not owning means of production, selling labor power) and their place in the social division of labor (manual rather than mental labour). This gels directly with the orthodox Marxist understanding. A nurse in a public hospital presents a more complex case. While they perform essential labour, Poulantzas would classify this as unproductive labour in the strict economic sense since it doesn’t directly produce surplus value. However, their position involves both mental and manual labour aspects, and they are part of what he calls the social reproduction of labour power. This work of helping maintain the workforce that capitalism needs, or (re)producing the actual bodies to do the labour. You may also notice the entrance of gendered thinking as we move through some of this theorisation particularly around (re)production, even though we know this is the most fundamental part of human existence it is often marginalised or backgrounded in sexist and fundamentally unhelpful ways.
A software developer at a tech company shows another complexity. They’re engaged in mental labour rather than manual labour, which might suggest new petty bourgeoisie status. However, if they are directly involved in producing software as a commodity that generates surplus value, they might be considered productive workers despite not fitting traditional images of working-class labour. A retail worker at a chain store represents what Poulantzas would call commercial labour. While they’re clearly part of the working class in terms of their economic position (selling labour power, no ownership of means of production), they’re not directly producing surplus value but rather helping realise it through the sale of commodities. While some of this nuancing is helpful for specific analysis of class, the categorisation of anyone not working in a precious metals mine in the south of the African continent (almost literally by modern standards) is limiting and limited in thinking and analysis.
Through Poulantzas’s theoretical framework, Fillipe occupies a distinctively complex class position that exemplifies the intricate dynamics of state power reproduction — or, perhaps, considerable time wasting waiting for the revolution. As member of the nouveau petit bourgeoisie they are situated within a nexus of economic, political, and ideological relations that transcends productive categories. They are engaging in mental labour that organises and mediates class relations rather than directly generating surplus value. Their position within the state apparatus grants them relative autonomy while simultaneously embedding them in the reproduction of existing social relations, creating a profound contradiction where they both ameliorate and perpetuate class inequalities through their role in managing social cohesion. This structural position, determined by their place in the combined economic-political-ideological matrix rather than their class origin, would result in a petit bourgeoisie status and a static framing of state functionaries whose role, to Poulantzas, might be simultaneously to work addressing subordinate class conditions while directly helping to reproduce the system of class relations they seek to reform. “Reformism bad” is the productive message, but it is easy to read Poulantzas as effectively a capitalist realist with no potential for base transformation because of capitals capacity for transmutation.
Naturally, Gramsci is not without possibility for critique. Gramsci’s framework requires organic intellectuals who hold with their class origin and gain and wield sufficient power to genuinely create a collective which can transform systems of our very existence for radical and different ends. This heroism and frankly somewhat internally contradictory positioning of organic intellectuals for class transformation is difficult if not impossible. For instance, our civil servant will never be positioned as an organic intellectual for the communities which they seek to serve because they are not members of that social group — not in the originary sense. This, also, limits the possibility for transformative agency. And transformative agency, praxis, is what we’re most interested in here on mind reader. I should also log, at this juncture, that because Gramsci wrote from prison and was subject to significant censorship, as Anderson has discussed at length, social group, for example, may well have been code for class in his writing, but we will never truly know if this is categorically distinct from Marx’s definitions or if it is a direct evolution. But let’s end with hope and action from both understandings of class built on the work of Marx.
For Gramsci, our civil servant could potentially play a significant role in social transformation through their position as an intellectual within the state apparatus. Gramsci sees intellectuals as crucial organisers of social groups’ political projects. A civil servant in social inclusion, particularly one from a working-class background, might even function an organic intellectual. A person who can articulate and organise the interests of subaltern groups within state institutions. This could involve using their position to create spaces for subaltern voices, redirect resources, or challenge dominant interpretations of social problems.
However, Poulantzas would be more sceptical of this transformative potential. In his framework, the civil servant’s position within the state apparatus is structurally determined in ways that tend to reproduce existing class relations, regardless of individual intentions. Their role in managing social inclusion is part of what he sees as the state’s function in organising the political unity of the ruling class while disorganising subordinate classes. Even when they try to advocate for subaltern groups, they are still operating within structures that ultimately maintain class domination.
The key difference lies in how they understand the relationship between structure and agency (or myriad different words for this debate that are not central to our discussion). Gramsci sees more possibility for strategic action within existing institutions — importantly, though, not reformism. He believes that organic intellectuals, including potentially progressive civil servants, can help build counter-hegemonic forces from within the state apparatus. This could involve creating trenches, institutional positions from which to advance alternative social projects. A hopeful future in collective imagining and working.
Poulantzas, while not completely dismissive of individual agency, instead advances how class positions within the state apparatus create objective effects that operate regardless of subjective intentions. Our civil servant might sincerely want to advance subaltern interests, but their position within the mental/manual labour division and their role in managing rather than transforming social relations limits their capacity for genuine transformation. This, naturally, has practical implications for how we understand change and the potential for change. Following Gramsci, we might encourage civil servants to consciously connect their work to broader subaltern movements, using their institutional position to create spaces for genuine bottom-up participation and organisation — or flatly anti-authoritarian movements leveraging the apparatus of the state. This could involve finding ways to transfer real decision-making power to affected communities rather than just managing their inclusion. Following Poulantzas, we would be more focused on how structural transformation of the state apparatus itself is necessary for genuine social change. The civil servant’s role would be more about understanding and potentially helping to expose the contradictions in their position rather than trying to use it for progressive ends.
The latter position remains interesting to me, despite my own objections to Poulantzas’s theorisations. In an almost anarchist modality, Poulantzas nearly suggests burning it down through thinking. You can’t say that’s not somewhat appealing. Gramsci helps us see how individuals within institutions might contribute to transformative projects, while Poulantzas reminds us of the structural limitations of such efforts. Perhaps the most productive approach would be to combine these insights? Recognising both the possibilities and limitations of working within state institutions while maintaining a clear focus on the need for broader structural transformation.
Thanks for sticking through this (lengthy) one! More on this to come.
In solidarity,
Aidan
[Throughout] Poulantzas, N. (1975). Classes in contemporary capitalism (D. Fernbach, Trans.). NLB.; Poulantzas, N. (1973). Political power and social classes (T. O'Hagan, Trans.). NLB.; Gramsci, A. (2007). Selections from the prison notebooks of Antonio Gramsci (Q. Hoare & G. Nowell-Smith, Trans.; Reprinted). Lawrence and Wishart.; Gramsci, A. (with Bordiga, A., & Tasca, A.). (1977). Selections from political writings (1910-1920) (Q. Hoare & J. Mathews, Trans.). Lawrence and Wishart.
Dear friends,
I have been thinking about the how the corporate class, the bootlickers, the “upper middle class” and others utterly slavish to the capitalist simultaneously dehumanise themselves and others. A phenomenal piece of mental trickery: contortion, gaslighting and betrayal. Those who fancy themselves stable and wealthy (an ever treacherous position to claim), and often profess it so by engaging in “high culture” activities (themselves equal parts immoral and despicable) which range incredibly broadly from horse racing, to stock market investing, or apparently lately cryptocurrency market gambling. This, to me, is a fundamentally interesting group of “people”. Let’s think on it.
In the imperial core — conceptually a useful imaginary space for us to consider in theorisation about “wealth” and culture — there are opportunities for multi-generational “middle classes” to establish themselves. However, there are no “middle classes” only capitalists and workers. So a false segregation has emerged similar to other divisions around identity. Except, differently to identity politics, the middle class often intentionally serves the capitalist class in their promotion of capital’s ideals. Indeed, we’ve seen recently post the CEO-killing (which Rupert Murdoch is very very unhappy about — lol) the clamouring of the middle class to attempt to protect and vanguard capital and its mistakes. And, almost as though it were natural, shift blame for the problems in society onto a perceived “lower class” (working class, but probably blue-collar and underemployed people).
So, within imperial core countries (majority white, western, largely european, and the “white” diaspora) there is a growing fat middle class that asserts to be different from those “lowly workers”. Beside the obvious snobbery, as mentioned, this is a false division. There is perhaps 1:10,000,000 chance that a member of the so called middle class could ever accumulate enough wealth that they be considered a capitalist. Particularly as the capitalist class currently hold so much wealth that they control more moneys than all the worlds governments combined. And often with a great deal more liquidity. The top 1% hold an absolutely unconscionable and utterly unrecognisable volume of capital such that their entire social organisation, purpose for being, and very existence is different to the 99%.
We might actually, to better understand this, consider that even if we combined all the wealth of people living on Kaurna Country (Adelaide, Australia) that this wealth would be less than Jeff Bezos pays himself in an hour. A. Single. Hour. Combine the wealth of Australia for ten financial years of extreme productivity and you might come close to the wealth of the empire that is Amazon, but it would be very close. Millionaires cosplaying that their wealth makes them a capitalist are a huge part of the problem of reinforcing this exploitative system. Even though they are still subject to a great many of the terrible conditions that the rest of us experience every day. Importantly, anyone whose accumulation overs $1m is highly unlikely to hold solidarity with the rest of the working class, but millionaires are no longer wealthy, and they experience class struggle (albeit at a deeply atrophied rate to the rest of us). But I promised some cultural exploration, we know we are being exploited and that these people have a very active role in it, so let’s get exploring what this does, culturally, to this group of people.
Guilt.
Just bucketloads of guilt. Deeply internalised, highly processed, and almost intangible. But there is palpable guilt, fear and a sense of anxiety that runs so deep amongst class traitors that they will be: recognised as imposers and thrown to the lower class “wolves”, seen for what they are as enabling deep and unhinged violence against the working class, or ousted as incompatible with those they admire — the capitalists — because their godheads reject them. Interestingly, to me, the last of these is not unlikely. Actual capitalists, the strategists behind the human and planetary torment that is our existence, are psychopaths in the clinical sense. They have no recognition of the value of humans, have very little connection with humanity, and feel, experience and engage with the world in a way utterly different to the rest of us. Compassion is not in the dictionary. And the middle classes see this is as the ultimate “sacrifice” to the altar of capital and seek to emulate the violent despotism of their masters upon anyone around them, including their so-called friends.
Grim assessment? Yes, but there’s no other way of thinking of this. Class ascendancy is a sociopolitical process that is tied to inequitable and deeply unethical behaviour. We can characterise two major features of ascendancy that enable the process of stripping the humanity from the ascendant: first, an economic accumulation which, at minimum, undermines and exploits the skilled labour of coal-face workers; second, a social process of utterly re conceptualising humanity as a workforce to be enslaved. This has deep implications for socialisation, culture, and participation in “high society” not least of which is Gatsbyesque political circus and backstabbing.
The capitalist class exists in what we might term a “parallel society”, one which operates with fundamentally different temporal, spatial, and social coordinates than the world inhabited by workers. Their leisure practices aren’t merely more expensive versions of working-class recreation, but rather constitute an entirely distinct mode of being-in-the-world that systematically reproduces their class position. Consider how their relationship to time itself differs fundamentally from wage labourers — they experience neither the tyranny of the clock nor the anxious relationship to future security that characterises working class existence. Their leisure isn’t carved out from work time but rather represents their primary mode of existence, with “work” (in the form of capital management) seamlessly integrated into social activities.
This manifests in spaces of exclusive socialisation — private clubs, invitation-only events, closed “philanthropic” circles — where the real work of class reproduction occurs through what C. Wright Mills termed the power elite network. Here, marriages are arranged (let’s not even get into how deeply sexist and misogynistic these people are), business deals are conceived, and perhaps most importantly, the psychological and cultural foundations of ruling class consciousness are maintained through constant reinforcement of shared values and perspectives. Their children are socialised from birth, at a distance, into this parallel world through private schools, exclusive summer camps, and carefully curated social circles that ensure they never meaningfully encounter or understand the lived reality of the working class. This creates what we might term an epistemic bubble that renders the violence of capitalism natural to its beneficiaries such that it “always was”, allowing them to conceptualise their position as natural and deserved rather than the product of systemic exploitation. The result is a form of class consciousness that is simultaneously highly developed in terms of protecting class interests and profoundly unconscious of its own conditions of possibility and exploitation.
The interplay between ruling class consciousness and middle-class aspiration creates a self-reinforcing system of social reproduction that extends far beyond mere economic relations into the very fabric of cultural and psychological existence. There is a deeply broken nature to this relation, not only naturalising violence, extraction, inequity, inhumanity, and exploitation, but making those suffering most feel worst about their own suffering. Understanding this through hegemony gives some hope. The system perpetuates itself not primarily through direct coercion but through the active participation of its subjects in their own domination — particularly the middle classes who, despite their material position as workers, function as the most zealous defenders of capitalist social relations, perhaps more than the capitalists themselves. Their desperate performance of ruling class values, combined with their anxious policing of class boundaries, serves to maintain an epistemological fortress of capital (it hurt me not to write solitude), where the violence of exploitation is rendered simultaneously invisible and natural.
This process of class reproduction operates through a tripartite of alienation: first, the fundamental alienation from labour that Marx identified; second, the alienation from class consciousness that results from the middle class’s false identification with capital; and third, the profound alienation from human solidarity that characterises the ruling class’s parallel society. Each level of this alienation reinforces the others, creating a totalising system where the very possibility of alternative social relations becomes utterly unthinkable. Hello, capitalist realism. The ruling class’s complete detachment from working class reality, maintained through their distinct temporal and spatial existence, isn’t a symptom of wealth inequality but rather a fundamentally necessary condition for the continuation of capitalist exploitation. One that the middle class desperately tries to emulate even as it ensures their own continued subordination.
The path forward requires more than recognition of these mechanisms - it demands a fundamental rupture in the reproduction of class relations at both material and ideological levels. See, I’m doing the hope thing from the last post. This rupture must begin with the recognition that the middle class’s position as capital’s loyal foot soldiers is fundamentally untenable, both materially and psychologically. Their guilt, their anxiety, their desperate performance of ruling class values — these are not individual psychological phenomena but rather structural features of a system that requires their active participation in their own exploitation. Only through the development of what Gramsci termed organic intellectual leadership, combined with practical solidarity across the working class (broadly defined), can we begin to imagine and construct alternative forms of social organisation that don’t require the systematic dehumanisation. The challenge, then, is not only to critique these mechanisms but to actively construct new forms of consciousness and solidarity that can break the cycle of class reproduction and create possibilities for genuine human emancipation.
The answer is quite literally compassion.
In solidarity,
Aidan.
Dear friends,
I have been thinking about optimism and despair. Actually, I’ve been reading on optimism over despair [1] and thinking about an analytical pattern that might help us mobilise this kind of thought in the way we discuss contemporaneous issues on mind reader. So, yes, this post is a meta post about being meta, what else have you come to expect from me? I’m going to talk in abstract about both the reason for optimism, and for despair, and how we might mobilise these against the way they are mobilised by the capitalist class. Because what’s better than human emotion, passion, feeling and process against something so fundamentally inhuman, nonhuman, non-human as capitalism. Let’s get into it...
Chomsky uses a pattern of explanatory critique that comprises his own unique theoretical positioning. I suspect, to label him as a “Marxist theorist” is to do him disservice given the expansive cannon of his texts over the decades. But, and gee can you tell I’m a fan, there is a tangible pattern to a great deal of his writing that offers not just critique, explication, and contextualisation of thinking, theorising, politics and more, but also a movement. This movement, I think, is what is often missing from other contemporary Marxist theory. In my own work, I reflect, that following Gramscian notions of praxis — rather than, say, theorisation for theorisations sake — I have been able to portray a sense of change or at least the desire for change. This, I have been told, demonstrates immeasurable optimism in the face of challenges. Cool. I’m in this meta and ... I guess I like it?
Chomsky, particularly in his recent books combining letters and correspondence on contemporary politics, shows a pattern of writing and thinking. It looks something like this:
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Offer a clear-eyed analysis of serious problems. This includes contemporary and sometimes even reactionary (in the Marxist sense) political moments, anything from the climate crisis to nuclear threats and recently robust explanation of democratic decay.
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Contextualise through examination of historical parallels where collective action achieved meaningful change despite seemingly insurmountable odds. This, in particular, is useful for understanding modes “out of” our current crises (or reactions, and so on).
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Offer identification of current opportunities and levers for change. Weaving the topic of concern, into a historical mesh that explains both how a given phenomena may be understood through an anti-capitalist lens, while offering possibility and momentum. But more specifically, directing people to protestation that holds precedent.
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Finally, subtle emphasis on how despair serves power by making resistance seem futile. This is where, I think, we all need a reminder. When we allow in-fighting, degradation of comradery, and separation from our causes (qua collapse into arbitrary battles instead of fighting the ruling class) we are giving into the despair which sees individualism rise, narcissistic solutions to big problems, and failures of solidarity from all parties involved.
This pattern, expanded loosely here, intriguingly follows form with some of the mind reader posts shared, but not all. And I think, when we stray from this trajectory, we do each other a disservice. My last post, admittedly not my best, showed a way to respond to reactionary politics — engagement with discourse, personalisation of opinion, sharing of commentary, and so on. But it didn’t follow the trajectory of this pattern. Something I’m looking to do a better job of moving forward — without binding myself to a formula that puts everyone to sleep. If we re-frame the pattern explored above as a movement:
Despair -> (Analysis -> Ideation ->) Optimism
We can see collectivised analysis — work in the ballpark of this project (said humbly) — as advancing hope. I don’t know about you, but I find engaging with news, mainstream journalism, incredibly difficult. Particularly on days where I feel down about things. And partly this is my own filter, bringing such disdain for the cancer that is our onto-economic system, tarnishing news celebrating billionaires’ newfound oligopoly. And partly it’s the nature of hegemonic media offering no relief from the ontic primacy of capitalism. It’s one of those “once you see it” moments — once you know how to identify how anti-human capitalism is, you see the values, attitudes and approach everywhere. It’s gross. Not to mention racist, sexist, classist, ableist, and so much more — and liberal notions of “inclusion” do not quell the rage for the bullshit that is this way of life... But the answer isn’t (only) rage, just as it cannot be despair. Rather it’s salient, theoretical analysis, closed by calls for action that are actualised, contextualised, or meaningful. Instead, I want to offer hope or at least optimistic naivete.
Some days, of course, you just feel done. And that’s okay too, we all need a bitch, cry, or meditation every now and then, but I hope we can collectively, readers, writers, thinkers, activists, change makers and those unable to “unsee” capitalism’s exploitation find the collective space to move towards an optimistic future. Because otherwise we’re advancing values that both support capitalism’s exploitation, and we’re feeding our own death and destruction.
That’s not optimism, though. Let me take my own medicine so that we may be hopeful about the future.
We are in a time where forces of evil — literal fascists — vie for power in a system designed for the destruction of 99% of humans, and 100% of the environment for the benefit of less than 1%. The optimism, though, is in the numbers. Time and again, workers of all varieties have come together to transform this system for the better. To resist the attacks, undermining, and lateral violence of a system that knows no bounds. Even when we have shit day after shit day, the environment suffers catastrophic losses, human rights take a backslide, or our own personal circumstances seem helpless we still collectively hold a spirit of recovery, change, revitalisation, and energy. We have a fundamentally human value of hope. A human value of optimism.
We have the power to change our trajectory. And this is demonstrable in analyses by countless thinkers. Shown in the wins of activists, unionists, and independent radicals the world over. And time and again we (humans) have shown that we can come together. And we can change the world. We do this in myriad ways. Not just activism. Not just theory. Not just governance. Not just solidarity. Not one mode — because there is no such thing as one size fits all. We all change the world in small ways, and through our collective thought, care, and values we can reassert something fundamentally different that moves us to optimistic spaces.
Here’s feeling. We must continue to assert that change is possible. We collectivise optimism. We need to find ways to unite. Because it is every. single. one. of. us. in the 99% against the Musks, Trumps, Zuccs, Cooks, and so on. Let’s do better, be better, and rise above attacking each other. “The workers united will never be defeated”. Not as an excuse to ignore the intersectional needs of our friends, neighbours, and comrades — actually, quite the opposite. Learn about intersectional causes. Find allyship. Move forward in respectful and reciprocal ways. And above all, stay hopeful, optimistic, and moving towards a brighter future, because at the moment that’s really all we’ve got — anything is better than this deeply troubling and very real global return to fascism.
With love, optimism, and respect,
Aidan
Chomsky, N., & Polychroniou, C. (2017). Optimism over despair: On capitalism, empire and social change. Penguin Books. ↩︎