Showing posts with label left. Show all posts
Showing posts with label left. Show all posts
Friday 5 March 2021
Monday 8 February 2021
Saturday 6 February 2021
Monday 18 January 2021
Understanding Populism
Nadeem F Paracha in The Dawn
In a March 7, 2010 essay for the New York Times, the American linguist and author Ben Zimmer writes, “When politicians fret about the public perception of a decision more than the substance of the decision itself, we’re living in a world of optics.”
On the other hand, according to Deborah Johnson in the June 2017 issue of Attorney at Law, a politician may have the best interests of his constituents in mind, but he or she doesn’t come across smoothly because optics are bad, even though the substance is good. Johnson writes that things have increasingly slid from substance to optics.
Optics in this context have always played a prominent role in politics. Yet, it is also true that their usage has grown manifold with the proliferation of electronic and social media, and, especially, of ‘populism.’ Populists often travel with personal photographers so that they can be snapped and proliferate images that are positively relevant to their core audience.
Pakistan’s PM Imran Khan relies heavily on such optics. He is also considered to be a populist. But then why did he so stubbornly refuse to meet the mourning families of the 11 Hazara Shia miners who were brutally murdered in Quetta? Instead, the optics space in this case was filled by opposition leaders, Maryam Nawaz and Bilawal Bhutto.
Nevertheless, this piece is not about why an optics-obsessed PM such as Khan didn’t immediately occupy the space that was eventually filled by his opponents. It is more about exploring whether Khan really is a populist? For this we will have to first figure out what populism is.
According to the American sociologist, Bart Bonikowski, in the 2019 anthology When Democracy Trumps Populism, populism poses to be ‘anti-establishment’ and ‘anti-elite.’ It can emerge from the right as well as the left, but during its most recent rise in the last decade, it has mostly come up from the right.
According to Bonikowski, populism of the right has stark ethnic or religious nationalist tendencies. It draws and popularises a certain paradigm of ‘authentic’ racial or religious nationalism and claims that those who do not have the required features to fit in this paradigm are outsiders and, therefore, a threat to the ‘national body.’ It also lashes out against established political forces and state institutions for being ‘elitist,’ ‘corrupt’ and facilitators of pluralism that is usurping the interests of the authentic members of the national body in a bid to undermine the ‘silent majority.’ Populism aspires to represent this silent majority, claiming to empower it.
Simply put, all this, in varying degrees, is at the core of populist regimes that, in the last decade or so, began to take shape in various countries — especially in the US, UK, India, Brazil, Turkey, Philippines, Hungary, Poland, Russia, Czech Republic and Pakistan. Yet, if anti-establishmentarian action and rhetoric is a prominent feature of populism, then what about populist regimes that are not only close to certain powerful state institutions, but were or are actually propped up by them? Opposition parties in Pakistan insist that Imran Khan’s party is propped up by the country’s military establishment, which is aiding it to remain afloat despite it failing on many fronts. The same is the case with the populist regime in Brazil.
Does this mean such regimes are not really populist? No. According to the economist Pranab Bardhan (University of California, Berkeley), even though populists share many similarities, populism’s shape can shift from region to region. Bardhan writes that characteristics of populism are qualitatively different in developed countries from those in developing countries. For example, whereas globalisation is seen in a negative light by populists in Europe and the US, a November 2016 survey published in The Economist shows that the people of 18 developing countries saw it positively, believing it gave their countries’ economies the opportunity to assert themselves.
Secondly, according to Bardhan, survey evidence suggests that much of the support for populist politics in developed countries is coming from less-educated, blue-collar workers, and from the rural backwaters. Populists in developing countries, by contrast, are deriving support mainly from the rising middle classes and the aspirational youth in urban areas. To Bardhan, in India, Pakistan, Turkey, Poland and Russia, symbols of ‘illiberal religious resurgence’ have been used by populist leaders to energise the upwardly-mobile or arriviste social groups.
He also writes that, in developed countries, populism is at loggerheads with the centralising state and political institutions, because it sees them as elitist, detached and a threat to local communities. But in developing countries, the populists have tried to centralise power and weaken local communities. To populists in developing countries, the main villains are not the so-called cold and detached state institutions, but ‘corrupt’ civilian parties. Ironically, while populism in the US is against welfare programmes, such programmes remain important to populists in developing countries.
Keeping this in mind, one can conclude that PM Khan is a populist, quite like his populist contemporaries in other developing countries. Despite nationalist rhetoric and his condemnatory understanding of colonialism, globalisation that promises foreign investment in the country is welcomed. His main base of support remains aspirational and upwardly-mobile urban middle-class segments. He often uses religious symbology and exhibitions of piety to energise this segment, providing religious context to what are actually Western ideas of state, governance, economics and nationalism. For example, the Scandinavian idea of the welfare state that he admires is defined as Riyasat-i-Madina (State of Madina).
Unlike populism in Europe and the US, populism in developing countries embraces the ‘establishment’ and, instead, turns its guns towards established political parties which it describes as being ‘corrupt.’ Khan is no different. He admires the Chinese system of central planning and economy and dreams of a centralised system that would seamlessly merge the military, the bureaucracy and his government into a single ruling whole. His urban middle-class supporters often applaud this ‘vision.’
In a March 7, 2010 essay for the New York Times, the American linguist and author Ben Zimmer writes, “When politicians fret about the public perception of a decision more than the substance of the decision itself, we’re living in a world of optics.”
On the other hand, according to Deborah Johnson in the June 2017 issue of Attorney at Law, a politician may have the best interests of his constituents in mind, but he or she doesn’t come across smoothly because optics are bad, even though the substance is good. Johnson writes that things have increasingly slid from substance to optics.
Optics in this context have always played a prominent role in politics. Yet, it is also true that their usage has grown manifold with the proliferation of electronic and social media, and, especially, of ‘populism.’ Populists often travel with personal photographers so that they can be snapped and proliferate images that are positively relevant to their core audience.
Pakistan’s PM Imran Khan relies heavily on such optics. He is also considered to be a populist. But then why did he so stubbornly refuse to meet the mourning families of the 11 Hazara Shia miners who were brutally murdered in Quetta? Instead, the optics space in this case was filled by opposition leaders, Maryam Nawaz and Bilawal Bhutto.
Nevertheless, this piece is not about why an optics-obsessed PM such as Khan didn’t immediately occupy the space that was eventually filled by his opponents. It is more about exploring whether Khan really is a populist? For this we will have to first figure out what populism is.
According to the American sociologist, Bart Bonikowski, in the 2019 anthology When Democracy Trumps Populism, populism poses to be ‘anti-establishment’ and ‘anti-elite.’ It can emerge from the right as well as the left, but during its most recent rise in the last decade, it has mostly come up from the right.
According to Bonikowski, populism of the right has stark ethnic or religious nationalist tendencies. It draws and popularises a certain paradigm of ‘authentic’ racial or religious nationalism and claims that those who do not have the required features to fit in this paradigm are outsiders and, therefore, a threat to the ‘national body.’ It also lashes out against established political forces and state institutions for being ‘elitist,’ ‘corrupt’ and facilitators of pluralism that is usurping the interests of the authentic members of the national body in a bid to undermine the ‘silent majority.’ Populism aspires to represent this silent majority, claiming to empower it.
Simply put, all this, in varying degrees, is at the core of populist regimes that, in the last decade or so, began to take shape in various countries — especially in the US, UK, India, Brazil, Turkey, Philippines, Hungary, Poland, Russia, Czech Republic and Pakistan. Yet, if anti-establishmentarian action and rhetoric is a prominent feature of populism, then what about populist regimes that are not only close to certain powerful state institutions, but were or are actually propped up by them? Opposition parties in Pakistan insist that Imran Khan’s party is propped up by the country’s military establishment, which is aiding it to remain afloat despite it failing on many fronts. The same is the case with the populist regime in Brazil.
Does this mean such regimes are not really populist? No. According to the economist Pranab Bardhan (University of California, Berkeley), even though populists share many similarities, populism’s shape can shift from region to region. Bardhan writes that characteristics of populism are qualitatively different in developed countries from those in developing countries. For example, whereas globalisation is seen in a negative light by populists in Europe and the US, a November 2016 survey published in The Economist shows that the people of 18 developing countries saw it positively, believing it gave their countries’ economies the opportunity to assert themselves.
Secondly, according to Bardhan, survey evidence suggests that much of the support for populist politics in developed countries is coming from less-educated, blue-collar workers, and from the rural backwaters. Populists in developing countries, by contrast, are deriving support mainly from the rising middle classes and the aspirational youth in urban areas. To Bardhan, in India, Pakistan, Turkey, Poland and Russia, symbols of ‘illiberal religious resurgence’ have been used by populist leaders to energise the upwardly-mobile or arriviste social groups.
He also writes that, in developed countries, populism is at loggerheads with the centralising state and political institutions, because it sees them as elitist, detached and a threat to local communities. But in developing countries, the populists have tried to centralise power and weaken local communities. To populists in developing countries, the main villains are not the so-called cold and detached state institutions, but ‘corrupt’ civilian parties. Ironically, while populism in the US is against welfare programmes, such programmes remain important to populists in developing countries.
Keeping this in mind, one can conclude that PM Khan is a populist, quite like his populist contemporaries in other developing countries. Despite nationalist rhetoric and his condemnatory understanding of colonialism, globalisation that promises foreign investment in the country is welcomed. His main base of support remains aspirational and upwardly-mobile urban middle-class segments. He often uses religious symbology and exhibitions of piety to energise this segment, providing religious context to what are actually Western ideas of state, governance, economics and nationalism. For example, the Scandinavian idea of the welfare state that he admires is defined as Riyasat-i-Madina (State of Madina).
Unlike populism in Europe and the US, populism in developing countries embraces the ‘establishment’ and, instead, turns its guns towards established political parties which it describes as being ‘corrupt.’ Khan is no different. He admires the Chinese system of central planning and economy and dreams of a centralised system that would seamlessly merge the military, the bureaucracy and his government into a single ruling whole. His urban middle-class supporters often applaud this ‘vision.’
Thursday 14 January 2021
Saturday 9 January 2021
Sunday 19 July 2020
India: Where does one turn when law, political parties and the state turn their back on justice?
P B Mehta in The Indian Express
Anand Teltumbde, one of India’s important and courageous thinkers, just turned 70 in prison. He, along with Sudha Bharadwaj and others, is being held in the Bhima Koregaon case. They are being repeatedly denied bail. Varavara Rao, poet and Maoist intellectual, contracted COVID and has been subject to degrading and humiliating conditions at the age of 80. The overwhelming power that the Unlawful Activities (Prevention) Act gives to the state, the sheer impunity with which government can treat this group of accused, the Kafkaesque role of the judiciary in denying bail and making procedural safeguards ineffective, and the deafening political silence on their detention, all warrant deeper reflection. The accused in the Bhima Koregaon case are not the first to be victimised in this way; and they will not be the last. The UAPA is being used to target protest from Assam to Delhi.
Anand Teltumbde’s work, particularly “Republic of Caste”, presciently forecast his own condition. He, like the others, has drawn support from the usual petition-writing crowd of intellectuals. But his case provides a disturbing window on the political loneliness of a genuine intellectual in Indian conditions.
Here is a well-known Dalit intellectual being put in prison and yet no serious political protest, even from Dalit politicians. Teltumbde had, in another context written, “When Sudhir Dhawale, a Dalit activist, was arrested in 2011 on the trumped up charge of being a Naxalite and incarcerated for nearly four years, there was hardly any protest from the community.” This phenomenon of figures like Teltumbde not drawing broader political support requires some reflection. Teltumbde himself, in part, attributed this to divisions amongst Dalits, and their greater faith in the state. But his work points towards a subtler reason.
For all of India’s handwringing, that we need to escape identity politics, there is a great antipathy to anyone who tries to escape it. Teltumbde is one of those rare figures who argued that the Left and liberals failed to take caste seriously, and caste mobilisation failed to take class and economics seriously. But the result is a kind of suspension in between two constructions: Most of society does not get outraged because he is often reduced to being a Dalit intellectual; Dalits don’t get outraged because he becomes a “Left” intellectual. The blunt truth is that, if we leave the rarefied world of petitions, the only modality of protest that is politically effective is the one that has the imprimatur of community mobilisation behind it. If you can show a community identity is affected, all hell will break loose; without it, there is no political protest.
Teltumbde was also prescient about the way the term “Left” is used in India. Teltumbde himself is closer to the Left in his economic imagination. But the rhetorical function of the “Left” in India is not to describe the contest over the free market versus the state. The rhetorical function of the “Left” is to describe any ideological or political current that, while recognising the importance of identity, wants to escape its compulsory or simplistic character; so any broadly liberal position or a position that distances itself from “my community right or wrong” also becomes Left. For Hindutva, anyone who resists or transcends the narcissisms of collective identity becomes “Left.” But the same is increasingly true of other identities — Maratha, Jat, Dalit, Rajput. “Left” is anyone who complicates identity claims. That, rather than secular versus communal, is the big chasm in Indian politics. But the result is that if you are labelled “Left” in this way, you will have no political protection.
The charge of Maoism is the hyper version of this “Left” in the context of Adivasi mobilisation. Which is why the entire political class, and so much of India’s discursive space, keeps invoking the “Left” spectre. And Teltumbde was insightful in thinking that once you had been labelled Left in India, it was easy to secure a diminution in your legal and cultural standing. Even the Courts will turn off their thinking cap. It is in this that the genuine intellectual enterprise is a lonely one, whose disastrous political consequences Teltumbde is facing.
The Bhima Koregaon cases also throw a spotlight on so many state institutions. The UAPA, and its ubiquitous use is a travesty in a liberal democracy. The lawyer, Abhinav Sekhri, has, in a recent article (“How the UAPA is perverting the Idea of Justice”, Article14.com) pointed out two basic issues with the law. The law is designed in a way that it makes the question of innocence or guilt almost irrelevant. It can, in effect, inflict punishment without guilt. The idea that people like Teltumbde or the exemplary Bharadwaj cannot even get bail underscores this point. And second, the safeguards of our criminal justice process work unevenly at the best of times. But in the case of the UAPA, the courts have often, practically, suspended serious scrutiny of the state. What legitimises this conduct of the court is two things: The broader ideological construction of the “Left” as an existential threat. And the impatience of society with procedural safeguards. The UAPA has in some senses become the judicial version of the encounter — where the suspension of the normal meaning of the rule of law is itself seen as a kind of justice.
The state has been going after Varavara Rao for his entire life. He is a complicated figure. He is an extraordinarily powerful poet who made visible the exploitative skeins of Indian society; his poetry, even in translation, cannot fail to move you out of a complacent slumber. He was formidable in consciousness raising. Of this group, his ideological excusing of horrendous Maoist excesses, has been indefensible and disturbing. His moral stance once promoted a deeply meditative critique on the morality of revolutionary violence by Apoorvanand (“‘Our’ Violence Versus ‘Their’ Violence”, Kafila.online).
But the farce that the Indian state is enacting in pursuing Varavara Rao in the Bhima Koregaon prosecutions is proving him correct in two ways. First, in his insistence that what is known as bourgeois law is a sham in its own terms; the rule of law indeed is rule by law. And second, that repression and degradation is indeed the argument of a despotic state. Where does one turn when law, political parties and the state turn their back on justice?
Anand Teltumbde, one of India’s important and courageous thinkers, just turned 70 in prison. He, along with Sudha Bharadwaj and others, is being held in the Bhima Koregaon case. They are being repeatedly denied bail. Varavara Rao, poet and Maoist intellectual, contracted COVID and has been subject to degrading and humiliating conditions at the age of 80. The overwhelming power that the Unlawful Activities (Prevention) Act gives to the state, the sheer impunity with which government can treat this group of accused, the Kafkaesque role of the judiciary in denying bail and making procedural safeguards ineffective, and the deafening political silence on their detention, all warrant deeper reflection. The accused in the Bhima Koregaon case are not the first to be victimised in this way; and they will not be the last. The UAPA is being used to target protest from Assam to Delhi.
Anand Teltumbde’s work, particularly “Republic of Caste”, presciently forecast his own condition. He, like the others, has drawn support from the usual petition-writing crowd of intellectuals. But his case provides a disturbing window on the political loneliness of a genuine intellectual in Indian conditions.
Here is a well-known Dalit intellectual being put in prison and yet no serious political protest, even from Dalit politicians. Teltumbde had, in another context written, “When Sudhir Dhawale, a Dalit activist, was arrested in 2011 on the trumped up charge of being a Naxalite and incarcerated for nearly four years, there was hardly any protest from the community.” This phenomenon of figures like Teltumbde not drawing broader political support requires some reflection. Teltumbde himself, in part, attributed this to divisions amongst Dalits, and their greater faith in the state. But his work points towards a subtler reason.
For all of India’s handwringing, that we need to escape identity politics, there is a great antipathy to anyone who tries to escape it. Teltumbde is one of those rare figures who argued that the Left and liberals failed to take caste seriously, and caste mobilisation failed to take class and economics seriously. But the result is a kind of suspension in between two constructions: Most of society does not get outraged because he is often reduced to being a Dalit intellectual; Dalits don’t get outraged because he becomes a “Left” intellectual. The blunt truth is that, if we leave the rarefied world of petitions, the only modality of protest that is politically effective is the one that has the imprimatur of community mobilisation behind it. If you can show a community identity is affected, all hell will break loose; without it, there is no political protest.
Teltumbde was also prescient about the way the term “Left” is used in India. Teltumbde himself is closer to the Left in his economic imagination. But the rhetorical function of the “Left” in India is not to describe the contest over the free market versus the state. The rhetorical function of the “Left” is to describe any ideological or political current that, while recognising the importance of identity, wants to escape its compulsory or simplistic character; so any broadly liberal position or a position that distances itself from “my community right or wrong” also becomes Left. For Hindutva, anyone who resists or transcends the narcissisms of collective identity becomes “Left.” But the same is increasingly true of other identities — Maratha, Jat, Dalit, Rajput. “Left” is anyone who complicates identity claims. That, rather than secular versus communal, is the big chasm in Indian politics. But the result is that if you are labelled “Left” in this way, you will have no political protection.
The charge of Maoism is the hyper version of this “Left” in the context of Adivasi mobilisation. Which is why the entire political class, and so much of India’s discursive space, keeps invoking the “Left” spectre. And Teltumbde was insightful in thinking that once you had been labelled Left in India, it was easy to secure a diminution in your legal and cultural standing. Even the Courts will turn off their thinking cap. It is in this that the genuine intellectual enterprise is a lonely one, whose disastrous political consequences Teltumbde is facing.
The Bhima Koregaon cases also throw a spotlight on so many state institutions. The UAPA, and its ubiquitous use is a travesty in a liberal democracy. The lawyer, Abhinav Sekhri, has, in a recent article (“How the UAPA is perverting the Idea of Justice”, Article14.com) pointed out two basic issues with the law. The law is designed in a way that it makes the question of innocence or guilt almost irrelevant. It can, in effect, inflict punishment without guilt. The idea that people like Teltumbde or the exemplary Bharadwaj cannot even get bail underscores this point. And second, the safeguards of our criminal justice process work unevenly at the best of times. But in the case of the UAPA, the courts have often, practically, suspended serious scrutiny of the state. What legitimises this conduct of the court is two things: The broader ideological construction of the “Left” as an existential threat. And the impatience of society with procedural safeguards. The UAPA has in some senses become the judicial version of the encounter — where the suspension of the normal meaning of the rule of law is itself seen as a kind of justice.
The state has been going after Varavara Rao for his entire life. He is a complicated figure. He is an extraordinarily powerful poet who made visible the exploitative skeins of Indian society; his poetry, even in translation, cannot fail to move you out of a complacent slumber. He was formidable in consciousness raising. Of this group, his ideological excusing of horrendous Maoist excesses, has been indefensible and disturbing. His moral stance once promoted a deeply meditative critique on the morality of revolutionary violence by Apoorvanand (“‘Our’ Violence Versus ‘Their’ Violence”, Kafila.online).
But the farce that the Indian state is enacting in pursuing Varavara Rao in the Bhima Koregaon prosecutions is proving him correct in two ways. First, in his insistence that what is known as bourgeois law is a sham in its own terms; the rule of law indeed is rule by law. And second, that repression and degradation is indeed the argument of a despotic state. Where does one turn when law, political parties and the state turn their back on justice?
Monday 8 June 2020
We often accuse the right of distorting science. But the left changed the coronavirus narrative overnight
Racism is a health crisis. But poverty is too – yet progressives blithely accepted the costs of throwing millions of people like George Floyd out of work writes Thomas Chatterton Williams in The Guardian
‘Less than two weeks ago, the enlightened position was to exercise extreme caution. Many of us went further, taking to social media to shame others for insufficient social distancing.’ Photograph: Devon Ravine/AP
When I reflect back on the extraordinary year of 2020 – from, I hope, some safer, saner vantage – one of the two defining images in my mind will be the surreal figure of the Grim Reaper stalking the blazing Florida shoreline, scythe in hand, warning the sunbathing masses of imminent death and granting interviews to reporters. The other will be a prostrate George Floyd, whose excruciating Memorial Day execution sparked a global protest movement against racism and police violence.
Less than two weeks after Floyd’s killing, the American death toll from the novel coronavirus has surpassed 100,000. Rates of infection, domestically and worldwide, are rising. But one of the few things it seems possible to say without qualification is that the country has indeed reopened. For 13 days straight, in cities across the nation, tens of thousands of men and women have massed in tight-knit proximity, with and without personal protective equipment, often clashing with armed forces, chanting, singing and inevitably increasing the chances of the spread of contagion.
Scenes of outright pandemonium unfold daily. Anyone claiming to have a precise understanding of what is happening, and what the likely risks and consequences may be, should be regarded with the utmost skepticism. We are all living in a techno-dystopian fantasy, the internet-connected portals we rely on rendering the world in all its granular detail and absurdity like Borges’s Aleph. Yet we know very little about what it is we are watching.
I open my laptop and glimpse a rider on horseback galloping through the Chicago streets like Ras the Destroyer in Ralph Ellison’s Invisible Man; I scroll down further and find myself in Los Angeles, as the professional basketball star JR Smith pummels a scrawny anarchist who smashed his car window. I keep going and encounter a mixed group of business owners in Van Nuys risking their lives to defend their businesses from rampaging looters; the black community members trying to help them are swiftly rounded up by police officers who mistake them for the criminals. In Buffalo, a 75-year-old white man approaches a police phalanx and is immediately thrown to the pavement; blood spills from his ear as the police continue to march over him. Looming behind all of this chaos is a reality-TV president giddily tweeting exhortations to mass murder, only venturing out of his bunker to teargas peaceful protesters and stage propaganda pictures.
George Floyd wasn’t merely killed for being black – he was also killed for being poor
But this virus – for which we may never even find a vaccine – knows and respects none of this socio-political context. Its killing trajectory isn’t rational, emotional, or ethical – only mathematical. And just as two plus two is four, when a flood comes, low-lying areas get hit the hardest. Relatively poor, densely clustered populations with underlying conditions suffer disproportionately in any environment in which Covid-19 flourishes. Since the virus made landfall in the US, it has killed at least 20,000 black Americans.
After two and a half months of death, confinement, and unemployment figures dwarfing even the Great Depression, we have now entered the stage of competing urgencies where there are zero perfect options. Police brutality is a different if metaphorical epidemic in an America slouching toward authoritarianism. Catalyzed by the spectacle of Floyd’s reprehensible death, it is clear that the emergency in Minneapolis passes my own and many peoples’ threshold for justifying the risk of contagion.
But poverty is also a public health crisis. George Floyd wasn’t merely killed for being black – he was also killed for being poor. He died over a counterfeit banknote. Poverty destroys Americans every day by means of confrontations with the law, disease, pollution, violence and despair. Yet even as the coronavirus lockdown threw 40 million Americans out of work – including Floyd himself – many progressives accepted this calamity, sometimes with stunning blitheness, as the necessary cost of guarding against Covid-19.
The new, “correct” narrative about public health – that one kind of crisis has superseded the other – grows shakier as it spans out from Minnesota, across America to as far as London, Amsterdam and Paris – cities that have in recent days seen extraordinary manifestations of public solidarity against both American and local racism, with protesters in the many thousands flooding public spaces.
Consider France, where I live. The country has only just begun reopening after two solid months of one of the world’s severest national quarantines, and in the face of the world’s fifth-highest coronavirus body count. As recently as 11 May, it was mandatory here to carry a fully executed state-administered permission slip on one’s person in order to legally exercise or go shopping. The country has only just begun to flatten the curve of deaths – nearly 30,000 and counting – which have brought its economy to a standstill. Yet even here, in the time it takes to upload a black square to your Instagram profile, those of us who move in progressive circles now find ourselves under significant moral pressure to understand that social distancing is an issue of merely secondary importance.
This feels like gaslighting. Less than two weeks ago, the enlightened position in both Europe and America was to exercise nothing less than extreme caution. Many of us went much further, taking to social media to castigate others for insufficient social distancing or neglecting to wear masks or daring to believe they could maintain some semblance of a normal life during coronavirus. At the end of April, when the state of Georgia moved to end its lockdown, the Atlantic ran an article with the headline “Georgia’s Experiment in Human Sacrifice”. Two weeks ago we shamed people for being in the street; today we shame them for not being in the street.
As a result of lockdowns and quarantines, many millions of people around the world have lost their jobs, depleted their savings, missed funerals of loved ones, postponed cancer screenings and generally put their lives on hold for the indefinite future. They accepted these sacrifices as awful but necessary when confronted by an otherwise unstoppable virus. Was this or wasn’t this all an exercise in futility?
“The risks of congregating during a global pandemic shouldn’t keep people from protesting racism,” NPR suddenly tells us, citing a letter signed by dozens of American public health and disease experts. “White supremacy is a lethal public health issue that predates and contributes to Covid-19,” the letter said. One epidemiologist has gone even further, arguing that the public health risks of not protesting for an end to systemic racism “greatly exceed the harms of the virus”.
The climate-change-denying right is often ridiculed, correctly, for politicizing science. Yet the way the public health narrative around coronavirus has reversed itself overnight seems an awful lot like … politicizing science.
What are we to make of such whiplash-inducing messaging? Merely pointing out the inconsistency in such a polarized landscape feels like an act of heresy. But “‘Your gatherings are a threat, mine aren’t,’ is fundamentally illogical, no matter who says it or for what reason,” as the author of The Death of Expertise, Tom Nichols, put it. “We’ve been told for months to stay as isolated as humanely possible,” Suzy Khimm, an NBC reporter covering Covid-19, noted, but “some of the same public officials and epidemiologists are [now] saying it’s OK to go to mass gatherings – but only certain ones.”
Public health experts – as well as many mainstream commentators, plenty of whom in the beginning of the pandemic were already incoherent about the importance of face masks and stay-at-home orders – have hemorrhaged credibility and authority. This is not merely a short-term problem; it will constitute a crisis of trust going forward, when it may be all the more urgent to convince skeptical masses to submit to an unproven vaccine or to another round of crushing stay-at-home orders. Will anyone still listen?
Seventy years ago Camus showed us that the human condition itself amounts to a plague-like emergency – we are only ever managing our losses, striving for dignity in the process. Risk and safety are relative notions and never strictly objective. However, there is one inconvenient truth that cannot be disputed: more black Americans have been killed by three months of coronavirus than the number who have been killed by cops and vigilantes since the turn of the millennium. We may or may not be willing to accept that brutal calculus, but we are obligated, at the very least, to be honest.
When I reflect back on the extraordinary year of 2020 – from, I hope, some safer, saner vantage – one of the two defining images in my mind will be the surreal figure of the Grim Reaper stalking the blazing Florida shoreline, scythe in hand, warning the sunbathing masses of imminent death and granting interviews to reporters. The other will be a prostrate George Floyd, whose excruciating Memorial Day execution sparked a global protest movement against racism and police violence.
Less than two weeks after Floyd’s killing, the American death toll from the novel coronavirus has surpassed 100,000. Rates of infection, domestically and worldwide, are rising. But one of the few things it seems possible to say without qualification is that the country has indeed reopened. For 13 days straight, in cities across the nation, tens of thousands of men and women have massed in tight-knit proximity, with and without personal protective equipment, often clashing with armed forces, chanting, singing and inevitably increasing the chances of the spread of contagion.
Scenes of outright pandemonium unfold daily. Anyone claiming to have a precise understanding of what is happening, and what the likely risks and consequences may be, should be regarded with the utmost skepticism. We are all living in a techno-dystopian fantasy, the internet-connected portals we rely on rendering the world in all its granular detail and absurdity like Borges’s Aleph. Yet we know very little about what it is we are watching.
I open my laptop and glimpse a rider on horseback galloping through the Chicago streets like Ras the Destroyer in Ralph Ellison’s Invisible Man; I scroll down further and find myself in Los Angeles, as the professional basketball star JR Smith pummels a scrawny anarchist who smashed his car window. I keep going and encounter a mixed group of business owners in Van Nuys risking their lives to defend their businesses from rampaging looters; the black community members trying to help them are swiftly rounded up by police officers who mistake them for the criminals. In Buffalo, a 75-year-old white man approaches a police phalanx and is immediately thrown to the pavement; blood spills from his ear as the police continue to march over him. Looming behind all of this chaos is a reality-TV president giddily tweeting exhortations to mass murder, only venturing out of his bunker to teargas peaceful protesters and stage propaganda pictures.
George Floyd wasn’t merely killed for being black – he was also killed for being poor
But this virus – for which we may never even find a vaccine – knows and respects none of this socio-political context. Its killing trajectory isn’t rational, emotional, or ethical – only mathematical. And just as two plus two is four, when a flood comes, low-lying areas get hit the hardest. Relatively poor, densely clustered populations with underlying conditions suffer disproportionately in any environment in which Covid-19 flourishes. Since the virus made landfall in the US, it has killed at least 20,000 black Americans.
After two and a half months of death, confinement, and unemployment figures dwarfing even the Great Depression, we have now entered the stage of competing urgencies where there are zero perfect options. Police brutality is a different if metaphorical epidemic in an America slouching toward authoritarianism. Catalyzed by the spectacle of Floyd’s reprehensible death, it is clear that the emergency in Minneapolis passes my own and many peoples’ threshold for justifying the risk of contagion.
But poverty is also a public health crisis. George Floyd wasn’t merely killed for being black – he was also killed for being poor. He died over a counterfeit banknote. Poverty destroys Americans every day by means of confrontations with the law, disease, pollution, violence and despair. Yet even as the coronavirus lockdown threw 40 million Americans out of work – including Floyd himself – many progressives accepted this calamity, sometimes with stunning blitheness, as the necessary cost of guarding against Covid-19.
The new, “correct” narrative about public health – that one kind of crisis has superseded the other – grows shakier as it spans out from Minnesota, across America to as far as London, Amsterdam and Paris – cities that have in recent days seen extraordinary manifestations of public solidarity against both American and local racism, with protesters in the many thousands flooding public spaces.
Consider France, where I live. The country has only just begun reopening after two solid months of one of the world’s severest national quarantines, and in the face of the world’s fifth-highest coronavirus body count. As recently as 11 May, it was mandatory here to carry a fully executed state-administered permission slip on one’s person in order to legally exercise or go shopping. The country has only just begun to flatten the curve of deaths – nearly 30,000 and counting – which have brought its economy to a standstill. Yet even here, in the time it takes to upload a black square to your Instagram profile, those of us who move in progressive circles now find ourselves under significant moral pressure to understand that social distancing is an issue of merely secondary importance.
This feels like gaslighting. Less than two weeks ago, the enlightened position in both Europe and America was to exercise nothing less than extreme caution. Many of us went much further, taking to social media to castigate others for insufficient social distancing or neglecting to wear masks or daring to believe they could maintain some semblance of a normal life during coronavirus. At the end of April, when the state of Georgia moved to end its lockdown, the Atlantic ran an article with the headline “Georgia’s Experiment in Human Sacrifice”. Two weeks ago we shamed people for being in the street; today we shame them for not being in the street.
As a result of lockdowns and quarantines, many millions of people around the world have lost their jobs, depleted their savings, missed funerals of loved ones, postponed cancer screenings and generally put their lives on hold for the indefinite future. They accepted these sacrifices as awful but necessary when confronted by an otherwise unstoppable virus. Was this or wasn’t this all an exercise in futility?
“The risks of congregating during a global pandemic shouldn’t keep people from protesting racism,” NPR suddenly tells us, citing a letter signed by dozens of American public health and disease experts. “White supremacy is a lethal public health issue that predates and contributes to Covid-19,” the letter said. One epidemiologist has gone even further, arguing that the public health risks of not protesting for an end to systemic racism “greatly exceed the harms of the virus”.
The climate-change-denying right is often ridiculed, correctly, for politicizing science. Yet the way the public health narrative around coronavirus has reversed itself overnight seems an awful lot like … politicizing science.
What are we to make of such whiplash-inducing messaging? Merely pointing out the inconsistency in such a polarized landscape feels like an act of heresy. But “‘Your gatherings are a threat, mine aren’t,’ is fundamentally illogical, no matter who says it or for what reason,” as the author of The Death of Expertise, Tom Nichols, put it. “We’ve been told for months to stay as isolated as humanely possible,” Suzy Khimm, an NBC reporter covering Covid-19, noted, but “some of the same public officials and epidemiologists are [now] saying it’s OK to go to mass gatherings – but only certain ones.”
Public health experts – as well as many mainstream commentators, plenty of whom in the beginning of the pandemic were already incoherent about the importance of face masks and stay-at-home orders – have hemorrhaged credibility and authority. This is not merely a short-term problem; it will constitute a crisis of trust going forward, when it may be all the more urgent to convince skeptical masses to submit to an unproven vaccine or to another round of crushing stay-at-home orders. Will anyone still listen?
Seventy years ago Camus showed us that the human condition itself amounts to a plague-like emergency – we are only ever managing our losses, striving for dignity in the process. Risk and safety are relative notions and never strictly objective. However, there is one inconvenient truth that cannot be disputed: more black Americans have been killed by three months of coronavirus than the number who have been killed by cops and vigilantes since the turn of the millennium. We may or may not be willing to accept that brutal calculus, but we are obligated, at the very least, to be honest.
Friday 15 May 2020
I am more left than you think
Jaggi Vasudev in The Indian Express
I am far more “left” than people can imagine, but I am not crazy left, where you make sure people are left out of all development and all possibilities. My idea of left is a more fair and just administration. I say “more” because there is no such thing as an absolutely fair and just society. All we can create is a society where things are largely happening in a fair manner, and if people are not equal, at least they have equal opportunity.
What left means is your life is not about yourself; your life is about the community. The Isha Yoga Center is a commune — in a way, it is a communist arrangement. Nobody is asking how much you have, your religion, caste, where you come from, who your father is. We will treat you like we treat everyone else. If you rise and show some special qualities, we will honour that as well. Communism means everyone is sharing and living together. For instance, you are willing to give away your phone to someone who does not have one, or at least share it with your neighbour because, after all, you are a party member. In the Yoga Center we do such things effortlessly. This is absolute left.
But the people who claim they are “left” are not living like that. Many are just living in their own home, talking left philosophy. Their lifestyle, opinions and attitude do not show that they are left or liberal. One aspect of this is that they feel only they should have freedom of speech and nobody else. Liberal means whatever is in my heart I will speak, and you should listen and tell me what is wrong with it.
You cannot point out one thing and just say, “No, I do not like it.” That will not work.
If you believe that your opinion is much more sacred than the people’s will in a democratic society, then you have a fundamental problem. When a majority of the people elect a government, even if you do not personally like it, it is still your government. It is not someone else’s government. For me, this is India’s government and I will support it. Not because I am someone’s fan or because of any political ideology, but simply because I am a citizen of India. The country is offering a certain order, facilities and fundamentals for us to live and work. For that, I will abide by whatever the government says by law.
You can vote against a Bill in Parliament, you can express what you think is wrong with it. If we have some concerns about a certain law, we can say, “this is our concern, please fix it”. But it is still the government’s choice whether they want to fix it or go ahead with it. So then you say: “I will take to the streets — my right to protest.” You have the right to protest for sure, but you do not have the right to disrupt even one citizen’s life. You have no right to block the road, cut off the water or electricity or whatever else. You must ask for permission, find an area, sit there and protest. The democratic process has enough proper platforms where you can protest.
If you do not agree with the law, there is a court where you can go. If it is in any way illegal, it will get knocked down.
But if it is legal and you still do not like it, you must strive hard to win the next election — that is the only way you can do it in a democratic country. Many people are not able to digest this simple fact. They do not have the necessary commitment to work for five years and somehow win the election next time. They just want to sit at home, wine and dine all their life but protest about everything that the government does. You cannot lose the election and pass the laws. If the losers want to pass laws and carry the trophy, it is not fair.
I am far more “left” than people can imagine, but I am not crazy left, where you make sure people are left out of all development and all possibilities. My idea of left is a more fair and just administration. I say “more” because there is no such thing as an absolutely fair and just society. All we can create is a society where things are largely happening in a fair manner, and if people are not equal, at least they have equal opportunity.
What left means is your life is not about yourself; your life is about the community. The Isha Yoga Center is a commune — in a way, it is a communist arrangement. Nobody is asking how much you have, your religion, caste, where you come from, who your father is. We will treat you like we treat everyone else. If you rise and show some special qualities, we will honour that as well. Communism means everyone is sharing and living together. For instance, you are willing to give away your phone to someone who does not have one, or at least share it with your neighbour because, after all, you are a party member. In the Yoga Center we do such things effortlessly. This is absolute left.
But the people who claim they are “left” are not living like that. Many are just living in their own home, talking left philosophy. Their lifestyle, opinions and attitude do not show that they are left or liberal. One aspect of this is that they feel only they should have freedom of speech and nobody else. Liberal means whatever is in my heart I will speak, and you should listen and tell me what is wrong with it.
You cannot point out one thing and just say, “No, I do not like it.” That will not work.
If you believe that your opinion is much more sacred than the people’s will in a democratic society, then you have a fundamental problem. When a majority of the people elect a government, even if you do not personally like it, it is still your government. It is not someone else’s government. For me, this is India’s government and I will support it. Not because I am someone’s fan or because of any political ideology, but simply because I am a citizen of India. The country is offering a certain order, facilities and fundamentals for us to live and work. For that, I will abide by whatever the government says by law.
You can vote against a Bill in Parliament, you can express what you think is wrong with it. If we have some concerns about a certain law, we can say, “this is our concern, please fix it”. But it is still the government’s choice whether they want to fix it or go ahead with it. So then you say: “I will take to the streets — my right to protest.” You have the right to protest for sure, but you do not have the right to disrupt even one citizen’s life. You have no right to block the road, cut off the water or electricity or whatever else. You must ask for permission, find an area, sit there and protest. The democratic process has enough proper platforms where you can protest.
If you do not agree with the law, there is a court where you can go. If it is in any way illegal, it will get knocked down.
But if it is legal and you still do not like it, you must strive hard to win the next election — that is the only way you can do it in a democratic country. Many people are not able to digest this simple fact. They do not have the necessary commitment to work for five years and somehow win the election next time. They just want to sit at home, wine and dine all their life but protest about everything that the government does. You cannot lose the election and pass the laws. If the losers want to pass laws and carry the trophy, it is not fair.
Monday 11 March 2019
We exclude the Labour left from British politics at our peril
Jeremy Corbyn’s project could solve Britain’s problems. But we will never know if we focus only on its flaws, not its policies writes Andy Beckett in The Guardian
The wilderness years: how Labour’s left survived to conquer
Yet the unforgiving standards by which he is judged are also applied to the Labour left as a whole. Despite Corbyn’s two enormous democratic mandates, the left is endlessly said to have “taken over” the party; to be a “sect”, a “cult”, an alien “virus”. The language has become so commonplace, it is rarely pointed out how loaded it is. The Labour left has been othered.
Many people in the rest of the party, and wider British politics and the media, don’t consider the left to be a legitimate Labour tribe, let alone legitimate rulers of the party, let alone a legitimate potential government. This is rarely stated explicitly. Excluding a large and currently vibrant group from mainstream politics can be an awkward argument to make in a democracy – especially when the radical right of the Conservative party has never been othered in the same way. Instead, starting with Margaret Thatcher, it has often run the country. But once you appreciate the implacable hostility the Labour left arouses, it explains a lot of otherwise puzzling British political phenomena.
In recent weeks, MPs at a meeting of the parliamentary Labour party have reportedly applauded the Independent Group breakaway, despite the immense damage it has done to the chances of a Labour government. Tom Watson, in theory Corbyn’s loyal deputy, has said things that could end up on Tory election posters, such as “I love this [Labour] party but sometimes I no longer recognise it.” He has also set up the Future Britain group, scheduled to meet for the first time on Monday night , for “social democratic” Labour MPs to assert themselves against “doctrinaire utopianism”, which sounds like none-to-subtle code for the left.
Meanwhile, as ever, seasoned political journalists, who spent decades tolerating the dark arts of Alastair Campbell and New Labour’s other arm-twisters, have declared themselves horrified at the “bullying” of opponents by Corbynistas. Tom Bower, biographer of Gordon Brown and a dozen other bruisers, gives his current book on Corbyn the subtitle Corbyn’s Ruthless Plot for Power. Corbyn supporters may be tempted to reply: we should be so lucky.
Despite, or, rather, partly because of, all the panics about the Labour left, it has rarely been dominant in the party. The last leftwing leader before Corbyn was George Lansbury, in the 1930s, another relatively elderly London radical, who lasted three years before being forced to resign by more centrist figures who did not like his pacifism. The fact that Labour’s leader in the early 1980s, Michael Foot, is also often regarded as a leftwinger, when he actually spent much of his tenure frustrating and arguing with the left, and its key player Tony Benn in particular, is a sign of how exaggerated the conventional picture of the Labour left’s strength can be.
“Labour leaders tremble at the relentless advance of Benn’s army,” warned the Express in May 1981, after Benn launched his famous bid for the party’s deputy leadership. And yet, in large part because the press othered him so effectively, as a kind of foreign demagogue – “Ayatollah Benn”, according to the Sun, after Iran’s revolutionary leader, Ayatollah Khomeini – he did not win.
Poverty and climate more important than Brexit, says Corbyn
Labour centrists often talk about the need for the party to be “a broad church”. Rather less often, they accept that control of it ought to alternate between its different tribes, in a roughly representative way. Eight years ago David Owen, the former Labour minister and SDP co-founder, told the New Statesman that after the defeat of Jim Callaghan’s centrist government (in which Owen served) at the 1979 general election: “It was not unreasonable for those on the left to try to shift the balance of power in the party closer to their views.”
But back in the 80s Owen was rather less willing to let the left have its turn. He co-founded the SDP partly to block it. The SDP’s founding document, the 1981 Limehouse declaration, which he helped draw up, denounced “the drift towards extremism in the Labour party”, supposedly being led by Benn, as “not compatible” with the party’s “democratic traditions”. Last month, at the launch of the Independent Group, Leslie caricatured Corbynism in almost exactly the same way. Labour, he said, had been “hijacked” by “the hard left”.
Does it matter that so many people don’t want British politics to include a left of any significance? Even if you’re not at all leftwing, recent British history suggests it does. Between the fading of Benn’s influence in the mid-80s and Corbyn’s leadership win in 2015, the Labour parliamentary left – effectively the entire Commons left – dwindled to a few dozen MPs, occasionally admired, more often patronised and derided, almost always marginal to the making of government policy. Meanwhile more mainstream, supposedly more realistic politicians gave us Thatcherism, frequently disastrous wars, the financial crisis, austerity, and an increasingly dysfunctional version of free-market capitalism.
Now that we are living with the aftermath of all that – with a Conservative right promising further destructive experiments; and a Labour centre-left that has come up with almost no fresh ideas since the heyday of Blairism, two decades ago – it seems an odd time to decide that British politics can do without a leftwing alternative. Corbyn’s Labour project is rickety, incomplete and overambitious. It may be easier to concentrate on its flaws and scandals than to evaluate its policies, and then decide whether any of them are solutions to the country’s multiple crises. But if Britain could, somehow, finally, stop questioning whether the Labour left belongs in mainstream politics, it may even discover that the left has things to offer.
Photograph: Andrew Milligan/PA
Jeremy Corbyn’s leadership is on borrowed time. That assumption has hung over it throughout his three and a half years in charge. It’s there during every Labour crisis. It’s there before every perilous election – such as the local polls this May. And after every bad or even so-so Labour result the end of Corbyn’s leadership is there in the minds of his many enemies, of many commentators, of many anxious Corbynistas.
When the party is doing better under him, such as during and immediately after the 2017 election, this sense that he is on perpetual probation recedes, but never completely and never for long. In June 2017, two days after Labour had won its largest general election vote since Tony Blair’s 1997 landslide, the then Labour MP Chris Leslie told BBC Radio 4’s Today programme: “We shouldn’t pretend that this is a famous victory. It is good … but it’s not going to be good enough.” Twenty months later, without waiting to see if his scepticism about Corbynism’s electoral potential was justified, he left the party to co-found the Independent Group.
Some of the temporary, besieged feel of the current Labour regime is down to Corbyn himself: his initial reluctance to fill Labour’s leadership vacuum, his relative lack of conventional political skills, his advanced age for a modern British party leader. He will turn 70 in May, shortly after the local elections, which will be handy for his political obituarists if Labour does as poorly as polls currently suggest.
Jeremy Corbyn’s leadership is on borrowed time. That assumption has hung over it throughout his three and a half years in charge. It’s there during every Labour crisis. It’s there before every perilous election – such as the local polls this May. And after every bad or even so-so Labour result the end of Corbyn’s leadership is there in the minds of his many enemies, of many commentators, of many anxious Corbynistas.
When the party is doing better under him, such as during and immediately after the 2017 election, this sense that he is on perpetual probation recedes, but never completely and never for long. In June 2017, two days after Labour had won its largest general election vote since Tony Blair’s 1997 landslide, the then Labour MP Chris Leslie told BBC Radio 4’s Today programme: “We shouldn’t pretend that this is a famous victory. It is good … but it’s not going to be good enough.” Twenty months later, without waiting to see if his scepticism about Corbynism’s electoral potential was justified, he left the party to co-found the Independent Group.
Some of the temporary, besieged feel of the current Labour regime is down to Corbyn himself: his initial reluctance to fill Labour’s leadership vacuum, his relative lack of conventional political skills, his advanced age for a modern British party leader. He will turn 70 in May, shortly after the local elections, which will be handy for his political obituarists if Labour does as poorly as polls currently suggest.
The wilderness years: how Labour’s left survived to conquer
Yet the unforgiving standards by which he is judged are also applied to the Labour left as a whole. Despite Corbyn’s two enormous democratic mandates, the left is endlessly said to have “taken over” the party; to be a “sect”, a “cult”, an alien “virus”. The language has become so commonplace, it is rarely pointed out how loaded it is. The Labour left has been othered.
Many people in the rest of the party, and wider British politics and the media, don’t consider the left to be a legitimate Labour tribe, let alone legitimate rulers of the party, let alone a legitimate potential government. This is rarely stated explicitly. Excluding a large and currently vibrant group from mainstream politics can be an awkward argument to make in a democracy – especially when the radical right of the Conservative party has never been othered in the same way. Instead, starting with Margaret Thatcher, it has often run the country. But once you appreciate the implacable hostility the Labour left arouses, it explains a lot of otherwise puzzling British political phenomena.
In recent weeks, MPs at a meeting of the parliamentary Labour party have reportedly applauded the Independent Group breakaway, despite the immense damage it has done to the chances of a Labour government. Tom Watson, in theory Corbyn’s loyal deputy, has said things that could end up on Tory election posters, such as “I love this [Labour] party but sometimes I no longer recognise it.” He has also set up the Future Britain group, scheduled to meet for the first time on Monday night , for “social democratic” Labour MPs to assert themselves against “doctrinaire utopianism”, which sounds like none-to-subtle code for the left.
Meanwhile, as ever, seasoned political journalists, who spent decades tolerating the dark arts of Alastair Campbell and New Labour’s other arm-twisters, have declared themselves horrified at the “bullying” of opponents by Corbynistas. Tom Bower, biographer of Gordon Brown and a dozen other bruisers, gives his current book on Corbyn the subtitle Corbyn’s Ruthless Plot for Power. Corbyn supporters may be tempted to reply: we should be so lucky.
Despite, or, rather, partly because of, all the panics about the Labour left, it has rarely been dominant in the party. The last leftwing leader before Corbyn was George Lansbury, in the 1930s, another relatively elderly London radical, who lasted three years before being forced to resign by more centrist figures who did not like his pacifism. The fact that Labour’s leader in the early 1980s, Michael Foot, is also often regarded as a leftwinger, when he actually spent much of his tenure frustrating and arguing with the left, and its key player Tony Benn in particular, is a sign of how exaggerated the conventional picture of the Labour left’s strength can be.
“Labour leaders tremble at the relentless advance of Benn’s army,” warned the Express in May 1981, after Benn launched his famous bid for the party’s deputy leadership. And yet, in large part because the press othered him so effectively, as a kind of foreign demagogue – “Ayatollah Benn”, according to the Sun, after Iran’s revolutionary leader, Ayatollah Khomeini – he did not win.
Poverty and climate more important than Brexit, says Corbyn
Labour centrists often talk about the need for the party to be “a broad church”. Rather less often, they accept that control of it ought to alternate between its different tribes, in a roughly representative way. Eight years ago David Owen, the former Labour minister and SDP co-founder, told the New Statesman that after the defeat of Jim Callaghan’s centrist government (in which Owen served) at the 1979 general election: “It was not unreasonable for those on the left to try to shift the balance of power in the party closer to their views.”
But back in the 80s Owen was rather less willing to let the left have its turn. He co-founded the SDP partly to block it. The SDP’s founding document, the 1981 Limehouse declaration, which he helped draw up, denounced “the drift towards extremism in the Labour party”, supposedly being led by Benn, as “not compatible” with the party’s “democratic traditions”. Last month, at the launch of the Independent Group, Leslie caricatured Corbynism in almost exactly the same way. Labour, he said, had been “hijacked” by “the hard left”.
Does it matter that so many people don’t want British politics to include a left of any significance? Even if you’re not at all leftwing, recent British history suggests it does. Between the fading of Benn’s influence in the mid-80s and Corbyn’s leadership win in 2015, the Labour parliamentary left – effectively the entire Commons left – dwindled to a few dozen MPs, occasionally admired, more often patronised and derided, almost always marginal to the making of government policy. Meanwhile more mainstream, supposedly more realistic politicians gave us Thatcherism, frequently disastrous wars, the financial crisis, austerity, and an increasingly dysfunctional version of free-market capitalism.
Now that we are living with the aftermath of all that – with a Conservative right promising further destructive experiments; and a Labour centre-left that has come up with almost no fresh ideas since the heyday of Blairism, two decades ago – it seems an odd time to decide that British politics can do without a leftwing alternative. Corbyn’s Labour project is rickety, incomplete and overambitious. It may be easier to concentrate on its flaws and scandals than to evaluate its policies, and then decide whether any of them are solutions to the country’s multiple crises. But if Britain could, somehow, finally, stop questioning whether the Labour left belongs in mainstream politics, it may even discover that the left has things to offer.
Saturday 29 December 2018
Tuesday 3 July 2018
There’s nothing the Modi government can do if the opposition doesn’t want him to
Jawed Naqvi in The Dawn
INDIA’S opposition parties must quickly deal with two problems ahead of the next election. One stems from an irrational fear of Prime Minister Modi, of what tricks he might have up his sleeve and so forth to outsmart the opposition in 2019. This problem is rooted in low self-belief and a battered self-esteem, which by habit doubts the hugely positive ground reality.
The other problem the opposition must overcome is the addiction of some, not all, to the gambling casino that a group of croupiers has turned Indian elections into. The croupiers use everything they have — tantric amulets, charms, horoscopes and the inviolable right to throw the dice — to turn their political quarries into addicts and junkies. The croupiers took a call one day that Narasimha Rao would save the country. They were applauded by punters like Harshad Mehta and cheered by the gang that destroyed a dilapidated mosque to change the discourse from issues important to the people.
The croupiers took the view another day that Sonia Gandhi was a foreigner hence not entitled to lead India. Then they decided that Modi was just right for the country. The casino runners have already reaped more than they invested in the 2014 campaign. And yet, the croupiers run the establishment, which currently is a right-wing establishment. Sadly for them though, the soul of India resides on the left. This is not lazy ideological bumpf but the plain truth, beyond the grasp of TV channels and social media.
What constitutes India’s left and right? If anyone’s agenda is to stop the suicides of farmers they cannot be right wing. If the agenda is to stop the loot of the banks, which were nationalised to prevent them from looting the people, farmers mostly, it cannot be right wing. The constitution in its spirit is a leftist document. It harnessed the spirit of socialism and secularism even before the two words were added in the preamble. Defend it and you are through.
So what’s the antidote to the right-wing establishment the croupiers favour?
A recent answer, a compelling one, may lie in New York. The primary defeat last week of top-ranking House Democrat Joe Crowley at the hands of a 28-year-old political rookie named Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez can be and has been replicated in India. It started in recent memory with Arvind Kejriwal and flourished with Jignesh Mewani and Hardik Patel. It can only consolidate into a great force if Rahul Gandhi and H.D. Kumarswamy forget about seat arrangements and focus on saving the country from an obscurantist establishment. Ocasio-Cortez defied the croupiers, and Indian opposition parties can easily replicate her feat.
We are told that Modi has imposed his rule in blood-drenched Kashmir to influence the course of the coming elections. That’s the fear the best of my liberal and leftist friends have expressed. Will there be a televised stand-off on the borders? Anyone can see the steady evidence to the contrary — from Churchill to Manmohan Singh — that wars don’t win elections while peace often fetches electoral dividends. With all the images of body bags flashed on TV during the Kargil collision, Atal Behari Vajpayee barely scraped through in the 1999 polls, leaving his claims of military victory somewhat undermined.
Vajpayee’s BJP secured 23.8 per cent of the vote, pointedly below its 25.5pc in 1998. Worse, it suffered its biggest setback in electorally crucial Uttar Pradesh. The BJP won only 29 of the state’s 85 parliamentary seats, down from the 57 seats it won in the pre-Kargil contest of 1998.
In the United States, Bush Jr gained an embarrassingly narrow lead over John Kerry despite the claims of victory in Iraq and Afghanistan. Besides, Vajpayee never explained what president Clinton meant when he claimed in an address to the Indian parliament that it was the US that saved the day for India by pummelling Pakistan with a diplomatic démarche served on an utterly perplexed Nawaz Sharif.
Row back in time. While Vajpayee’s vote percentage had dropped despite televised jingoism, in Pakistan, the Kargil goof-up required a military coup to mask the embarrassing endgame. And those who have won popular support since were parties who promised peace with India. It was the same with the Mumbai terror strike. In 2009, shortly after the carnage, amid calls for revenge, Manmohan Singh won his second consecutive term without lifting a finger. It was the Indian people’s less-discussed endorsement of his understated, phlegmatic response to Pakistan. This the croupiers and their in-house media will not discuss.
Instead, the blue-turbaned prime minister headed off to Sharm al-Sheikh to agree on a comprehensive path to peace with his difficult and troubled western neighbour. When Singh lost in 2014 after 10 years in office, it was on account of a weakened control on his own coalition partners.
Therefore, editorial writers and worried experts who warn of a Modi plot in the recent events in Kashmir need to calm down. There’s nothing the Modi government can do to win in 2019 if the opposition doesn’t want him to. The ground reality in India has changed from the day he defeated a divided opposition.
The coming together of arch rivals Mayawati and Akhilesh Yadav in Uttar Pradesh has shown that the opposition holds all the aces. Even in Srinagar, if the National Conference and Peoples Democratic Party can bury the hatchet and invite the Hurriyat to work out a durable end to the self-wounding bloodbath, there is nothing that Modi or his hawkish advisers can do to take the initiative from them. The blood of innocent lives will not go waste if Kashmir can find a solution that undermines the croupiers and elevates the chances for a battered and abused region to join the global quest for peace and justice.
INDIA’S opposition parties must quickly deal with two problems ahead of the next election. One stems from an irrational fear of Prime Minister Modi, of what tricks he might have up his sleeve and so forth to outsmart the opposition in 2019. This problem is rooted in low self-belief and a battered self-esteem, which by habit doubts the hugely positive ground reality.
The other problem the opposition must overcome is the addiction of some, not all, to the gambling casino that a group of croupiers has turned Indian elections into. The croupiers use everything they have — tantric amulets, charms, horoscopes and the inviolable right to throw the dice — to turn their political quarries into addicts and junkies. The croupiers took a call one day that Narasimha Rao would save the country. They were applauded by punters like Harshad Mehta and cheered by the gang that destroyed a dilapidated mosque to change the discourse from issues important to the people.
The croupiers took the view another day that Sonia Gandhi was a foreigner hence not entitled to lead India. Then they decided that Modi was just right for the country. The casino runners have already reaped more than they invested in the 2014 campaign. And yet, the croupiers run the establishment, which currently is a right-wing establishment. Sadly for them though, the soul of India resides on the left. This is not lazy ideological bumpf but the plain truth, beyond the grasp of TV channels and social media.
What constitutes India’s left and right? If anyone’s agenda is to stop the suicides of farmers they cannot be right wing. If the agenda is to stop the loot of the banks, which were nationalised to prevent them from looting the people, farmers mostly, it cannot be right wing. The constitution in its spirit is a leftist document. It harnessed the spirit of socialism and secularism even before the two words were added in the preamble. Defend it and you are through.
So what’s the antidote to the right-wing establishment the croupiers favour?
A recent answer, a compelling one, may lie in New York. The primary defeat last week of top-ranking House Democrat Joe Crowley at the hands of a 28-year-old political rookie named Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez can be and has been replicated in India. It started in recent memory with Arvind Kejriwal and flourished with Jignesh Mewani and Hardik Patel. It can only consolidate into a great force if Rahul Gandhi and H.D. Kumarswamy forget about seat arrangements and focus on saving the country from an obscurantist establishment. Ocasio-Cortez defied the croupiers, and Indian opposition parties can easily replicate her feat.
We are told that Modi has imposed his rule in blood-drenched Kashmir to influence the course of the coming elections. That’s the fear the best of my liberal and leftist friends have expressed. Will there be a televised stand-off on the borders? Anyone can see the steady evidence to the contrary — from Churchill to Manmohan Singh — that wars don’t win elections while peace often fetches electoral dividends. With all the images of body bags flashed on TV during the Kargil collision, Atal Behari Vajpayee barely scraped through in the 1999 polls, leaving his claims of military victory somewhat undermined.
Vajpayee’s BJP secured 23.8 per cent of the vote, pointedly below its 25.5pc in 1998. Worse, it suffered its biggest setback in electorally crucial Uttar Pradesh. The BJP won only 29 of the state’s 85 parliamentary seats, down from the 57 seats it won in the pre-Kargil contest of 1998.
In the United States, Bush Jr gained an embarrassingly narrow lead over John Kerry despite the claims of victory in Iraq and Afghanistan. Besides, Vajpayee never explained what president Clinton meant when he claimed in an address to the Indian parliament that it was the US that saved the day for India by pummelling Pakistan with a diplomatic démarche served on an utterly perplexed Nawaz Sharif.
Row back in time. While Vajpayee’s vote percentage had dropped despite televised jingoism, in Pakistan, the Kargil goof-up required a military coup to mask the embarrassing endgame. And those who have won popular support since were parties who promised peace with India. It was the same with the Mumbai terror strike. In 2009, shortly after the carnage, amid calls for revenge, Manmohan Singh won his second consecutive term without lifting a finger. It was the Indian people’s less-discussed endorsement of his understated, phlegmatic response to Pakistan. This the croupiers and their in-house media will not discuss.
Instead, the blue-turbaned prime minister headed off to Sharm al-Sheikh to agree on a comprehensive path to peace with his difficult and troubled western neighbour. When Singh lost in 2014 after 10 years in office, it was on account of a weakened control on his own coalition partners.
Therefore, editorial writers and worried experts who warn of a Modi plot in the recent events in Kashmir need to calm down. There’s nothing the Modi government can do to win in 2019 if the opposition doesn’t want him to. The ground reality in India has changed from the day he defeated a divided opposition.
The coming together of arch rivals Mayawati and Akhilesh Yadav in Uttar Pradesh has shown that the opposition holds all the aces. Even in Srinagar, if the National Conference and Peoples Democratic Party can bury the hatchet and invite the Hurriyat to work out a durable end to the self-wounding bloodbath, there is nothing that Modi or his hawkish advisers can do to take the initiative from them. The blood of innocent lives will not go waste if Kashmir can find a solution that undermines the croupiers and elevates the chances for a battered and abused region to join the global quest for peace and justice.
Tuesday 29 August 2017
'I am drowning and you are describing the water' - A critique of India's liberals
Javed Naqvi in The Dawn
“THEY have the president. They have the vice president. They have both houses of Congress. They have the supreme court too. But, wait a minute, we have the majority.” That was Michael Moore speaking to his audience recently in his one-man show at Broadway about the political equation in Trump’s America.
Moore’s reference was to an encouraging fact that Donald Trump won the election but lost the popular vote. What is sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander. The equation applies to Modi’s India too, even if the opposition, rather mysteriously, I feel, doesn’t seem to want to acknowledge it. What did Mr Modi’s fabled popularity in 2014 amount to? He got 52 per cent seats with 31pc votes! Will the Indian opposition heed Moore?
There are understated problems, of course. In America, the opposition comes from the people, militantly united if required or peacefully persevering where it works. The agitators in India are scattered into caste, regional and linguistic pursuits if they are not in the meantime falling at the feet of some fraudulent spiritual guru. As some say, it is a big failure for India’s left that the masses who should be better educated in the 70 years of independence are turning to spurious god men for false hope.
Another pervasive problem is that people almost religiously believe that a court of law can address all the challenges to democracy. “Court-aat bhetu ya,” is a familiar Maharashtrian challenge to an adversary. See you in the court. People are not listening to what Michael Moore knows otherwise.
Fascists are usually better equipped to advance their planned and coordinated objectives by wrecking the legal compact, by hollowing out democracy’s beams and pillars.
Kondratiev waves of high and low emotions have thus stalked too many of my friends over the years, nearly always to do with Indian courts and their rulings and the government’s response or absence of it. The legal defeat of the nefarious privacy bill brought joy beyond belief. Edward Snowden would be smiling. As he would see it, the state already knows far more about its subjects than it perhaps wants to know.
Moreover, how long would it take for an intrusive government to overturn any court ruling, say, by presidential decree? If it won’t do that, it doesn’t need to do that. The creeping fascist challenge comes from overwhelming street power where courts have little say and virtually no control.
Fascists can use instruments of law, of course, to torment their opponents — as they did with the legendary artist M.F. Husain. Recently they commandeered the law against student leaders of rare spunk, while putting a 90pc crippled professor in jail, convincing the courts that the wheelchair-bound man’s freedom was a threat to Indian security.
Fascists are usually better equipped to advance their planned and coordinated objectives by wrecking the legal compact, by hollowing out democracy’s beams and pillars. If they have their way with the constitution they will rewrite it. If not, they will subvert it anyway.
One doesn’t have to look too hard to divine the pattern. People gaping with disbelief at the government’s apparent connivance with a convicted rapist the other day forgot that the Babri Masjid was destroyed only after snubbing the supreme court. Remember how senior politicians thumbed their noses at the court’s restraining orders against changing the status quo in Ayodhya.
Nobody was punished for the outrage. In fact, stalwarts among the accused became powerful ministers. Recently, the supreme court ordered the expediting of cases against men and women involved in the destruction of the mediaeval mosque. The court has set a two-year deadline for a non-stop trial followed by an early verdict. That would roughly coincide with the 2019 general elections.
In the heads-I-win-tails-you-lose equation between Indian fascists and the opposition, the fascists will be inevitably heading the victory celebrations. They will either claim vindication of their false innocence or they would play the martyr. As the dice seems loaded, the opposition, including our liberal friends, doesn’t have a trick to give it succour. Their joy could come by turning a collective if scattered majority into a winning showdown with Prime Minister Modi in two years. The judicial route to retrieve democracy can at best be a palliative, not a cure. Even the judges know that.
Ideologues of fascism are running the government and they are running the parallel government through the lynch mobs. The violent ban imposed by right-wing groups with the connivance of the state on interfaith marriages they nefariously call love jihad, and their intrusion into people’s eating habits and so forth, became possible only by tossing the law books out of the window.
A recent decoy that sent the liberals brimming with joy was the supreme court’s ban on triple talaq, reference to instant divorce by Muslim husbands. Look again, triple talaq was banned in Pakistan in 1961. So why did Tehmina Durrani published My Feudal Lord in 1991? Read it. Among other searing challenges, in which triple talaq comes low down the order, married women in a feudal society struggle to even secure a divorce from a man they didn’t want to live with.
Ms Durrani’s marriage to an eminent political figure turned into a nightmare. Violently possessive and pathologically jealous, the husband cut her off from the outside world. When she decided to rebel, as a Muslim woman seeking a divorce, she signed away all financial support, lost the custody of her four children, and found herself alienated from her friends and disowned by her parents.
We are not even beginning to discuss bride burning and honour killings that stalk women in South Asia with impunity. Banning instant divorce was important, not the celebrations it triggered. “I am drowning, and you are describing the water,” complained Jack Nicholson in As Good As It Gets. He may have been critiquing the liberal Indians.
“THEY have the president. They have the vice president. They have both houses of Congress. They have the supreme court too. But, wait a minute, we have the majority.” That was Michael Moore speaking to his audience recently in his one-man show at Broadway about the political equation in Trump’s America.
Moore’s reference was to an encouraging fact that Donald Trump won the election but lost the popular vote. What is sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander. The equation applies to Modi’s India too, even if the opposition, rather mysteriously, I feel, doesn’t seem to want to acknowledge it. What did Mr Modi’s fabled popularity in 2014 amount to? He got 52 per cent seats with 31pc votes! Will the Indian opposition heed Moore?
There are understated problems, of course. In America, the opposition comes from the people, militantly united if required or peacefully persevering where it works. The agitators in India are scattered into caste, regional and linguistic pursuits if they are not in the meantime falling at the feet of some fraudulent spiritual guru. As some say, it is a big failure for India’s left that the masses who should be better educated in the 70 years of independence are turning to spurious god men for false hope.
Another pervasive problem is that people almost religiously believe that a court of law can address all the challenges to democracy. “Court-aat bhetu ya,” is a familiar Maharashtrian challenge to an adversary. See you in the court. People are not listening to what Michael Moore knows otherwise.
Fascists are usually better equipped to advance their planned and coordinated objectives by wrecking the legal compact, by hollowing out democracy’s beams and pillars.
Kondratiev waves of high and low emotions have thus stalked too many of my friends over the years, nearly always to do with Indian courts and their rulings and the government’s response or absence of it. The legal defeat of the nefarious privacy bill brought joy beyond belief. Edward Snowden would be smiling. As he would see it, the state already knows far more about its subjects than it perhaps wants to know.
Moreover, how long would it take for an intrusive government to overturn any court ruling, say, by presidential decree? If it won’t do that, it doesn’t need to do that. The creeping fascist challenge comes from overwhelming street power where courts have little say and virtually no control.
Fascists can use instruments of law, of course, to torment their opponents — as they did with the legendary artist M.F. Husain. Recently they commandeered the law against student leaders of rare spunk, while putting a 90pc crippled professor in jail, convincing the courts that the wheelchair-bound man’s freedom was a threat to Indian security.
Fascists are usually better equipped to advance their planned and coordinated objectives by wrecking the legal compact, by hollowing out democracy’s beams and pillars. If they have their way with the constitution they will rewrite it. If not, they will subvert it anyway.
One doesn’t have to look too hard to divine the pattern. People gaping with disbelief at the government’s apparent connivance with a convicted rapist the other day forgot that the Babri Masjid was destroyed only after snubbing the supreme court. Remember how senior politicians thumbed their noses at the court’s restraining orders against changing the status quo in Ayodhya.
Nobody was punished for the outrage. In fact, stalwarts among the accused became powerful ministers. Recently, the supreme court ordered the expediting of cases against men and women involved in the destruction of the mediaeval mosque. The court has set a two-year deadline for a non-stop trial followed by an early verdict. That would roughly coincide with the 2019 general elections.
In the heads-I-win-tails-you-lose equation between Indian fascists and the opposition, the fascists will be inevitably heading the victory celebrations. They will either claim vindication of their false innocence or they would play the martyr. As the dice seems loaded, the opposition, including our liberal friends, doesn’t have a trick to give it succour. Their joy could come by turning a collective if scattered majority into a winning showdown with Prime Minister Modi in two years. The judicial route to retrieve democracy can at best be a palliative, not a cure. Even the judges know that.
Ideologues of fascism are running the government and they are running the parallel government through the lynch mobs. The violent ban imposed by right-wing groups with the connivance of the state on interfaith marriages they nefariously call love jihad, and their intrusion into people’s eating habits and so forth, became possible only by tossing the law books out of the window.
A recent decoy that sent the liberals brimming with joy was the supreme court’s ban on triple talaq, reference to instant divorce by Muslim husbands. Look again, triple talaq was banned in Pakistan in 1961. So why did Tehmina Durrani published My Feudal Lord in 1991? Read it. Among other searing challenges, in which triple talaq comes low down the order, married women in a feudal society struggle to even secure a divorce from a man they didn’t want to live with.
Ms Durrani’s marriage to an eminent political figure turned into a nightmare. Violently possessive and pathologically jealous, the husband cut her off from the outside world. When she decided to rebel, as a Muslim woman seeking a divorce, she signed away all financial support, lost the custody of her four children, and found herself alienated from her friends and disowned by her parents.
We are not even beginning to discuss bride burning and honour killings that stalk women in South Asia with impunity. Banning instant divorce was important, not the celebrations it triggered. “I am drowning, and you are describing the water,” complained Jack Nicholson in As Good As It Gets. He may have been critiquing the liberal Indians.
Thursday 24 August 2017
No alternative to austerity? That lie has now been nailed
Owen Jones in The Guardian
Ever since the banks plunged the western world into economic chaos, we have been told that only cuts offer economic salvation. When the Conservatives and the Lib Dems formed their austerity coalition in 2010, they told the electorate – in apocalyptic tones – that without George Osborne’s scalpel, Britain would go the way of Greece. The economically illiterate metaphor of a household budget was relentlessly deployed – you shouldn’t spend more if you’re personally in debt, so why should the nation? – to popularise an ideologically driven fallacy.
Greek debt crisis: ‘People can’t see any light at the end of any tunnel’
But now, thanks to Portugal, we know how flawed the austerity experiment enforced across Europe was. Portugal was one of the European nations hardest hit by the economic crisis. After a bailout by a troika including the International Monetary Fund, creditors demanded stringent austerity measures that were enthusiastically implemented by Lisbon’s then conservative government. Utilities were privatised, VAT raised, a surtax imposed on incomes, public sector pay and pensions slashed and benefits cut, and the working day was extended.
In a two-year period, education spending suffered a devastating 23% cut. Health services and social security suffered too. The human consequences were dire. Unemployment peaked at 17.5% in 2013; in 2012, there was a 41% jump in company bankruptcies; and poverty increased. All this was necessary to cure the overspending disease, went the logic.
At the end of 2015, this experiment came to an end. A new socialist government – with the support of more radical leftwing parties – assumed office. The prime minister, António Costa, pledged to “turn the page on austerity”: it had sent the country back three decades, he said. The government’s opponents predicted disaster – “voodoo economics”, they called it. Perhaps another bailout would be triggered, leading to recession and even steeper cuts.
There was a precedent, after all: Syriza had been elected in Greece just months earlier, and eurozone authorities were in no mood to allow this experiment to succeed. How could Portugal possibly avoid its own Greek tragedy?
In 2016 – a year after taking power – the government could boast of a 13% jump in corporate investment
The economic rationale of the new Portuguese government was clear. Cuts suppressed demand: for a genuine recovery, demand had to be boosted. The government pledged to increase the minimum wage, reverse regressive tax increases, return public sector wages and pensions to their pre-crisis levels – the salaries of many had plummeted by 30% – and reintroduce four cancelled public holidays. Social security for poorer families was increased, while a luxury charge was imposed on homes worth over €600,000 (£550,000).
The promised disaster did not materialise. By the autumn of 2016 – a year after taking power – the government could boast of sustained economic growth, and a 13% jump in corporate investment. And this year, figures showed the deficit had more than halved, to 2.1% – lower than at any time since the return of democracy four decades ago. Indeed, this is the first time Portugal has ever met eurozone fiscal rules. Meanwhile, the economy has now grown for 13 successive quarters.
Ever since the banks plunged the western world into economic chaos, we have been told that only cuts offer economic salvation. When the Conservatives and the Lib Dems formed their austerity coalition in 2010, they told the electorate – in apocalyptic tones – that without George Osborne’s scalpel, Britain would go the way of Greece. The economically illiterate metaphor of a household budget was relentlessly deployed – you shouldn’t spend more if you’re personally in debt, so why should the nation? – to popularise an ideologically driven fallacy.
Greek debt crisis: ‘People can’t see any light at the end of any tunnel’
But now, thanks to Portugal, we know how flawed the austerity experiment enforced across Europe was. Portugal was one of the European nations hardest hit by the economic crisis. After a bailout by a troika including the International Monetary Fund, creditors demanded stringent austerity measures that were enthusiastically implemented by Lisbon’s then conservative government. Utilities were privatised, VAT raised, a surtax imposed on incomes, public sector pay and pensions slashed and benefits cut, and the working day was extended.
In a two-year period, education spending suffered a devastating 23% cut. Health services and social security suffered too. The human consequences were dire. Unemployment peaked at 17.5% in 2013; in 2012, there was a 41% jump in company bankruptcies; and poverty increased. All this was necessary to cure the overspending disease, went the logic.
At the end of 2015, this experiment came to an end. A new socialist government – with the support of more radical leftwing parties – assumed office. The prime minister, António Costa, pledged to “turn the page on austerity”: it had sent the country back three decades, he said. The government’s opponents predicted disaster – “voodoo economics”, they called it. Perhaps another bailout would be triggered, leading to recession and even steeper cuts.
There was a precedent, after all: Syriza had been elected in Greece just months earlier, and eurozone authorities were in no mood to allow this experiment to succeed. How could Portugal possibly avoid its own Greek tragedy?
In 2016 – a year after taking power – the government could boast of a 13% jump in corporate investment
The economic rationale of the new Portuguese government was clear. Cuts suppressed demand: for a genuine recovery, demand had to be boosted. The government pledged to increase the minimum wage, reverse regressive tax increases, return public sector wages and pensions to their pre-crisis levels – the salaries of many had plummeted by 30% – and reintroduce four cancelled public holidays. Social security for poorer families was increased, while a luxury charge was imposed on homes worth over €600,000 (£550,000).
The promised disaster did not materialise. By the autumn of 2016 – a year after taking power – the government could boast of sustained economic growth, and a 13% jump in corporate investment. And this year, figures showed the deficit had more than halved, to 2.1% – lower than at any time since the return of democracy four decades ago. Indeed, this is the first time Portugal has ever met eurozone fiscal rules. Meanwhile, the economy has now grown for 13 successive quarters.
During the years of cuts, charities warned of a “social emergency”. Now the Portuguese government can offer itself as a model to the rest of the continent. “Europe chose the line of austerity and had much worse results,” declared the economy minister Manuel Caldeira Cabral. “What we are showing is that with a policy that restitutes income to the people in a moderate way, people get more confidence and investment returns.”
Portugal has increased public investment, reduced the deficit, slashed unemployment and sustained economic growth. We were told this was impossible and, frankly, delusional. And so British workers endured the longest squeeze in wages since the 19th century, while the coalition did not even come close to meeting its commitment to eradicate the deficit by 2015. Why? In part, because low pay means workers paying less tax, receiving more in-work benefits, and spending less money. Portugal is increasing demand; the Tories suppressed it.
Portugal’s success is both inspiring and frustrating. All that human misery in Europe – and for what? What of Greece, where over half of young people languished in unemployment, where health services were decimated, where infant mortality and suicide increased? What of Spain, where hundreds of thousands were evicted from their homes? What of France, where economic insecurity fuelled the rise of the far right?
Portugal and Britain offer lessons for social democracy too. In the aftermath of the bankers’ crash, social democratic parties embraced austerity. The result? Political collapse. In Spain, support for the socialists fell from 44% to the low 20s as the radical left Podemos ate into their vote. In Greece, Pasok almost disappeared as a political force. In France, the Socialists achieved little over 6% in the first round of this year’s presidential elections. And in the Netherlands this year, the Labour party slumped from a quarter of the vote to less than 6%.
By contrast, the two social democratic parties that have broken with austerity – in Portugal and Britain – are now performing better than almost all their sister parties. Indeed, polls show Portugal’s Socialists now 10 points clear of the country’s rightwing party.
Europe’s austerity has been justified with the mantra “there is no alternative”, intended to push the population into submission: we have to be grownups, and live in the real world, after all.
Portugal offers a powerful rebuke. Europe’s left should use the Portuguese experience to reshape the European Union and bring austerity across the eurozone to a halt. In Britain, Labour can feel more emboldened in breaking with the Tories’ economic order.
Throughout Europe’s lost decade, millions of us held that there was indeed an alternative. Now we have the proof.
Portugal has increased public investment, reduced the deficit, slashed unemployment and sustained economic growth. We were told this was impossible and, frankly, delusional. And so British workers endured the longest squeeze in wages since the 19th century, while the coalition did not even come close to meeting its commitment to eradicate the deficit by 2015. Why? In part, because low pay means workers paying less tax, receiving more in-work benefits, and spending less money. Portugal is increasing demand; the Tories suppressed it.
Portugal’s success is both inspiring and frustrating. All that human misery in Europe – and for what? What of Greece, where over half of young people languished in unemployment, where health services were decimated, where infant mortality and suicide increased? What of Spain, where hundreds of thousands were evicted from their homes? What of France, where economic insecurity fuelled the rise of the far right?
Portugal and Britain offer lessons for social democracy too. In the aftermath of the bankers’ crash, social democratic parties embraced austerity. The result? Political collapse. In Spain, support for the socialists fell from 44% to the low 20s as the radical left Podemos ate into their vote. In Greece, Pasok almost disappeared as a political force. In France, the Socialists achieved little over 6% in the first round of this year’s presidential elections. And in the Netherlands this year, the Labour party slumped from a quarter of the vote to less than 6%.
By contrast, the two social democratic parties that have broken with austerity – in Portugal and Britain – are now performing better than almost all their sister parties. Indeed, polls show Portugal’s Socialists now 10 points clear of the country’s rightwing party.
Europe’s austerity has been justified with the mantra “there is no alternative”, intended to push the population into submission: we have to be grownups, and live in the real world, after all.
Portugal offers a powerful rebuke. Europe’s left should use the Portuguese experience to reshape the European Union and bring austerity across the eurozone to a halt. In Britain, Labour can feel more emboldened in breaking with the Tories’ economic order.
Throughout Europe’s lost decade, millions of us held that there was indeed an alternative. Now we have the proof.
Thursday 10 August 2017
Prime Minister Corbyn would face his own very British coup
The left underestimates the establishment backlash there would be if Corbyn were to reach No 10. They need to be ready
Owen Jones in The Guardian
‘In the 1970s, plots against Harold Wilson’s Labour government abounded.’ Photograph: Popperfoto/Getty Images
As the Sunday Times political editor Tim Shipman put it to me, Theresa May is clinging on “because the Tories are genuinely fearful of a Corbyn government to a degree that goes far beyond usual opposition to Labour”. This panic is shared by other centres of economic and media power. It’s not simply Labour’s policy prospectus they fear. Three decades of neoliberalism – which promotes lower taxes on top earners and big business, privatisation, deregulation and weakened unions – has left them high on triumphalism. They find the prospect of even the most modest challenge to this order intolerable.
And unlike, say, the Attlee government, Labour’s leaders believe that political and social change cannot simply happen in parliament: people must be mobilised in their communities and workplaces to transform the social order. That, frankly, terrifies elite circles. Labour’s opposition to US dominance and a reorientation of Britain’s foreign policy is also viewed as simply unacceptable.
Here are threats to a Labour government to consider. First, undercover police officers. I’ve interviewed women who had relationships with undercover police officers with fake identities. They were climate change activists: the police had recruited individuals willing to sacrifice years of their lives and violate women to keep tabs on the environmental and direct action movements. If they were keeping tabs on small groups of activists, what of a movement with a genuine chance of assuming political power? Then there is the role of the civil service. Thatcherism transformed the attitudes of Britain’s state bureaucracy, particularly in the Treasury: the principles of free-market economics are treated by many senior civil servants as objective facts of life. One former Labour minister told me how, in the late 1990s, civil servants “informed” them that the Human Rights Act forbade controls on private rents. Those officials went on to propose benefit cuts that the Tories would later implement.
Every drop in the pound, every fall in the stock exchange will be hailed as a sign of economic chaos and ruin
Civil servants will tell Labour ministers that their policies are unworkable and must be watered down or discarded. Rather than blocking proposals, they will simply try to postpone them, hold never-ending reviews, call for limited trials – and then hope they are forgotten about. It will require savvy, streetfighting ministers to drive their agenda through.
Finally, those media outlets that cheered on Brexit and accused remainers of hysteria about the consequences, from day one of a Labour government will portray Britain as being in a state of chaos. Every drop in the pound, every fall in the stock exchange will be hailed as a sign of economic chaos and ruin. Demands for U-turns and a moderated agenda will become increasingly vociferous and backed by certain Labour MPs. The hope will be to disorientate, disillusion and divide Labour’s base.
All of these challenges can be overcome, but only by a formidable and permanently mobilised movement. An enthusiastic and inspired grassroots has already succeeded in depriving the Tories of their majority. It will play a critical role if Labour wins. International solidarity – particularly with the US and European left – will prove essential. Such a government will depend on a movement that constantly campaigns in local communities and workplaces. And yes, this is a column that will be dismissed as a tinfoil hat conspiracy. The British establishment has no interest in allowing a government that challenges its very existence to prove a success. These are the people in power whoever is in office, and they will bitterly resist any attempt to redistribute their wealth and influence. Better prepare, then – because an epic struggle for Britain’s future beckons.
Owen Jones in The Guardian
‘The British establishment has no interest in allowing a government that challenges its very existence to prove a success.’ Photograph: Justin Tallis/AFP/Getty Images
‘Do you really think the British state would just stand back and let Jeremy Corbyn be prime minister?” This was recently put to me by a prominent Labour figure, and must now be considered. Happily for me – as a Corbyn supporter who ended up fearing the project faced doom – this long-marginalised backbencher has a solid chance of entering No 10. If he makes it – and yes, the Tories are determined to cling on indefinitely to prevent it from happening – the establishment will wage a war of attrition in a determined effort to subvert his policy agenda and bring his government down.
You are probably imagining me hunched over my computer with a tinfoil hat. So consider this: there is a precedent for conspiracies against an elected British government, it is not so long ago, and it was waged against an administration that represented a significantly smaller threat to the existing order than that offered by Jeremy Corbyn’s Labour.
In the 1970s, plots against Harold Wilson’s Labour government abounded. The likes of Sir James Goldsmith and Lord Lucan believed Britain was in the grip of a leftwing conspiracy; while General Sir Walter Walker, the former commander of allied forces in northern Europe, was among those wanting to form anti-communist private armies. A plot, in which it is likely former intelligence officers and serving military officers were involved, went like this: Heathrow, the BBC and Buckingham Palace would be seized, Lord Mountbatten would be made interim prime minister, and the crown would publicly back such a regime to restore order. At the time, Wilson and his own private secretary were convinced about such a plot culminating in their arrest along with the rest of the cabinet. In Spycatcher, ex-MI5 assistant director Peter Wright openly wrote about a MI5-CIA plot against Wilson.
No, I do not believe a military coup against a Corbyn is plausible, although in 2015, a senior serving general did suggest “people would use whatever means possible, fair or foul”, including a “mutiny”, to block his defence plans. But there will be a determined operation to stop Corbyn ever becoming prime minister. The plots against Wilson were intertwined with cold war politics, and an establishment fear that Britain could defect from the western alliance. In the 1980s, the former Labour minister Chris Mullin wrote the novel A Very British Coup, inspired by the plots against Wilson, which explored an establishment campaign of destabilisation against a leftwing government. Mullin believes “MI5 has been cleared of dead wood” who would drive such plots. Maybe.
There is currently a plot to create a new “centrist” party that would secure a derisory vote share but potentially split the vote enough to keep the Tories in power. In an election campaign, the Tories will struggle with attack lines: “coalition of chaos” is now null and void, and the vitriol of the “get Corbyn” onslaught backfired. But expect a hysterical campaign of fear centred around warnings of economic Armageddon and corporate titans threatening to flee Britain’s shores.
‘Do you really think the British state would just stand back and let Jeremy Corbyn be prime minister?” This was recently put to me by a prominent Labour figure, and must now be considered. Happily for me – as a Corbyn supporter who ended up fearing the project faced doom – this long-marginalised backbencher has a solid chance of entering No 10. If he makes it – and yes, the Tories are determined to cling on indefinitely to prevent it from happening – the establishment will wage a war of attrition in a determined effort to subvert his policy agenda and bring his government down.
You are probably imagining me hunched over my computer with a tinfoil hat. So consider this: there is a precedent for conspiracies against an elected British government, it is not so long ago, and it was waged against an administration that represented a significantly smaller threat to the existing order than that offered by Jeremy Corbyn’s Labour.
In the 1970s, plots against Harold Wilson’s Labour government abounded. The likes of Sir James Goldsmith and Lord Lucan believed Britain was in the grip of a leftwing conspiracy; while General Sir Walter Walker, the former commander of allied forces in northern Europe, was among those wanting to form anti-communist private armies. A plot, in which it is likely former intelligence officers and serving military officers were involved, went like this: Heathrow, the BBC and Buckingham Palace would be seized, Lord Mountbatten would be made interim prime minister, and the crown would publicly back such a regime to restore order. At the time, Wilson and his own private secretary were convinced about such a plot culminating in their arrest along with the rest of the cabinet. In Spycatcher, ex-MI5 assistant director Peter Wright openly wrote about a MI5-CIA plot against Wilson.
No, I do not believe a military coup against a Corbyn is plausible, although in 2015, a senior serving general did suggest “people would use whatever means possible, fair or foul”, including a “mutiny”, to block his defence plans. But there will be a determined operation to stop Corbyn ever becoming prime minister. The plots against Wilson were intertwined with cold war politics, and an establishment fear that Britain could defect from the western alliance. In the 1980s, the former Labour minister Chris Mullin wrote the novel A Very British Coup, inspired by the plots against Wilson, which explored an establishment campaign of destabilisation against a leftwing government. Mullin believes “MI5 has been cleared of dead wood” who would drive such plots. Maybe.
There is currently a plot to create a new “centrist” party that would secure a derisory vote share but potentially split the vote enough to keep the Tories in power. In an election campaign, the Tories will struggle with attack lines: “coalition of chaos” is now null and void, and the vitriol of the “get Corbyn” onslaught backfired. But expect a hysterical campaign of fear centred around warnings of economic Armageddon and corporate titans threatening to flee Britain’s shores.
‘In the 1970s, plots against Harold Wilson’s Labour government abounded.’ Photograph: Popperfoto/Getty ImagesAs the Sunday Times political editor Tim Shipman put it to me, Theresa May is clinging on “because the Tories are genuinely fearful of a Corbyn government to a degree that goes far beyond usual opposition to Labour”. This panic is shared by other centres of economic and media power. It’s not simply Labour’s policy prospectus they fear. Three decades of neoliberalism – which promotes lower taxes on top earners and big business, privatisation, deregulation and weakened unions – has left them high on triumphalism. They find the prospect of even the most modest challenge to this order intolerable.
And unlike, say, the Attlee government, Labour’s leaders believe that political and social change cannot simply happen in parliament: people must be mobilised in their communities and workplaces to transform the social order. That, frankly, terrifies elite circles. Labour’s opposition to US dominance and a reorientation of Britain’s foreign policy is also viewed as simply unacceptable.
Here are threats to a Labour government to consider. First, undercover police officers. I’ve interviewed women who had relationships with undercover police officers with fake identities. They were climate change activists: the police had recruited individuals willing to sacrifice years of their lives and violate women to keep tabs on the environmental and direct action movements. If they were keeping tabs on small groups of activists, what of a movement with a genuine chance of assuming political power? Then there is the role of the civil service. Thatcherism transformed the attitudes of Britain’s state bureaucracy, particularly in the Treasury: the principles of free-market economics are treated by many senior civil servants as objective facts of life. One former Labour minister told me how, in the late 1990s, civil servants “informed” them that the Human Rights Act forbade controls on private rents. Those officials went on to propose benefit cuts that the Tories would later implement.
Every drop in the pound, every fall in the stock exchange will be hailed as a sign of economic chaos and ruin
Civil servants will tell Labour ministers that their policies are unworkable and must be watered down or discarded. Rather than blocking proposals, they will simply try to postpone them, hold never-ending reviews, call for limited trials – and then hope they are forgotten about. It will require savvy, streetfighting ministers to drive their agenda through.
Finally, those media outlets that cheered on Brexit and accused remainers of hysteria about the consequences, from day one of a Labour government will portray Britain as being in a state of chaos. Every drop in the pound, every fall in the stock exchange will be hailed as a sign of economic chaos and ruin. Demands for U-turns and a moderated agenda will become increasingly vociferous and backed by certain Labour MPs. The hope will be to disorientate, disillusion and divide Labour’s base.
All of these challenges can be overcome, but only by a formidable and permanently mobilised movement. An enthusiastic and inspired grassroots has already succeeded in depriving the Tories of their majority. It will play a critical role if Labour wins. International solidarity – particularly with the US and European left – will prove essential. Such a government will depend on a movement that constantly campaigns in local communities and workplaces. And yes, this is a column that will be dismissed as a tinfoil hat conspiracy. The British establishment has no interest in allowing a government that challenges its very existence to prove a success. These are the people in power whoever is in office, and they will bitterly resist any attempt to redistribute their wealth and influence. Better prepare, then – because an epic struggle for Britain’s future beckons.
Tuesday 9 May 2017
Why do Dalits support BJP?
Jawed Naqvi in The Dawn
AS a Dalit student from Maharashtra who became a Buddhist, my friend Chandan Kamble was curiously sceptical of Marxism. My Marxist friends on the leftist campus were equally sceptical of Chandan with his Afro hair and his perpetually smiling, piercing gaze.
He was sinfully prankish and was never bereft of a wild observation about anyone, perfect strangers included. He was at his acerbic best when within earshot of a dyed-in-the-wool communist. “In capitalism, man exploits man. In communism, it’s the other way around.” The kindergarten lines were deliberately parcelled and farmed out depending on the moment, and Chandan was a practitioner of precision timing, like a jester in a serious play.
The words may not be his, but they gained currency on the campus because of his love for political banter. At the same time, he got excellent grades from the MPhil tutor in international studies. “A politician is someone who knows which side his bread is buttered.” The banal words are suddenly making sense.
I have no idea where Chandan has disappeared. We were in the same hostel at Jawaharlal Nehru University. A common JNU friend in Princeton said he last saw him years ago in a US university campus, possibly Harvard. Why am I suddenly thinking of the missing Mahar friend whose cryptic homilies on politics and Marxism, in particular, I indulged but disagreed with? A possible answer lies in the question itself.
Why did the Marxists shun Dalits as Dalits? They worked hard to get the Dalit students priority in admission and so forth. Yet there was a pronounced aloofness at an intellectual level, a palpable snobbery. Or was it because B.R. Ambedkar had poured vitriol on Indian Marxists in his great work on the revival of the Dalit cause? If that was so, why didn’t any comrade woo the lowest in the caste heap to his or her side, ignoring or critiquing Ambedkar if they had a valid argument?
What puzzles me equally is the shocking ability of the BJP to woo Dalits — in Gujarat, in Uttar Pradesh and so forth. It is perhaps this worry that has sent me cartwheeling into the past. Here is a perfectly casteist party, one that Ambedkar would have loathed. He had described Hinduism in no uncertain terms as a “chamber of horrors”. And Ambedkar’s followers are today marching mindlessly, one should add, self-destructively into the Hindutva fold.
Of course, there is Chanakya’s wily wisdom at play. Divide and rule, Emperor Chandragupta’s Brahmin counsellor had decreed, way before the advent of colonialism of any stripe. It worked in Uttar Pradesh last month. Jatav versus non-Jatav Dalits; Yadav versus non-Yadavs among the other backward castes; something similar with Muslims is afoot. That’s BJP. What about the Marxists?
Indian Marxists, like their comrades elsewhere, are a threatened species. The BJP is out to swallow their two remaining hubs — one in the tiny tribal state of Tripura and the other, of course, Kerala, the redoubtable communist bastion. One should have thought that the BJP was a cause for serious worry. But the Marxists seem to have different priorities. They look keener to bring down the Mamata Banerjee government in Bengal, possibly in cahoots with the Congress. The BJP would be only too happy to let them do its dirty work.
The thought is horrifying for the sheer lack of sensitivity. The Marxists took a lead in fighting Indira Gandhi’s emergency, and they were a source of strength to the movement that ended in the Janata Party experiment. The experiment included the BJP then called the Jan Sangh. And the first thing that the Janata Party government did was to ban school textbooks on history that were authored by Romila Thapar, R.S. Sharma and Bipan Chandra.
The ground was laid in 1978 for the assault on Wendy Doniger’s study of Hinduism and A.K. Ramanujan’s Three Hundred Ramanayas — a brilliant research of the diverse Rama legends. The Marxists didn’t give up here, as they again came together with the BJP to shore up an anti-Congress V.P. Singh government in 1989.
For better or worse, they then came up with the formula of supporting non-BJP, non-Congress parties and alliances. There are three that fit the bill. They are Mamata Banerjee in Bengal, the Lalu-Nitish coalition in Bihar and the Aam Aadmi Party in Delhi. All three are targeted by the BJP. The Congress too has joined the expedition in two, barring Bihar, where it is a junior partner in the state government. The Marxists set up candidates against all three.
The problem is that these three are the ones they count among the 59 per cent that didn’t vote for the BJP. The three are also those that stopped the BJP juggernaut. All three are accused of corruption by the BJP, a ruse that is seen as a first step towards their dismissal.
Any sane observer of the unfolding Indian scenario would have thought that it was time all opposition parties came together as they once came up against Mrs Gandhi. What is happening instead is that one by one the non-Congress and non-BJP governments, including the Left Front, are coming in the cross hairs of the Modi establishment. It’s almost like Germany in the 1930s to give an overused but relevant example. There the communists and the social democrats were taken out one by one.
Chandan Kamble is perhaps watching today’s denouement with concern. He had a habit of mixing up metaphors. “We are all sailing in the same soup,” he would say. Will the Marxists be able to untangle the jumbled aphorisms?
It is worrying that the main Marxist groups — and not to forget the Congress — seem to believe that the threat posed to India’s democracy by the BJP is comparable with Mamata Banerjee’s rule in Bengal and Arvind Kejriwal’s in Delhi. Could Chandan Kamble be right?
AS a Dalit student from Maharashtra who became a Buddhist, my friend Chandan Kamble was curiously sceptical of Marxism. My Marxist friends on the leftist campus were equally sceptical of Chandan with his Afro hair and his perpetually smiling, piercing gaze.
He was sinfully prankish and was never bereft of a wild observation about anyone, perfect strangers included. He was at his acerbic best when within earshot of a dyed-in-the-wool communist. “In capitalism, man exploits man. In communism, it’s the other way around.” The kindergarten lines were deliberately parcelled and farmed out depending on the moment, and Chandan was a practitioner of precision timing, like a jester in a serious play.
The words may not be his, but they gained currency on the campus because of his love for political banter. At the same time, he got excellent grades from the MPhil tutor in international studies. “A politician is someone who knows which side his bread is buttered.” The banal words are suddenly making sense.
I have no idea where Chandan has disappeared. We were in the same hostel at Jawaharlal Nehru University. A common JNU friend in Princeton said he last saw him years ago in a US university campus, possibly Harvard. Why am I suddenly thinking of the missing Mahar friend whose cryptic homilies on politics and Marxism, in particular, I indulged but disagreed with? A possible answer lies in the question itself.
Why did the Marxists shun Dalits as Dalits? They worked hard to get the Dalit students priority in admission and so forth. Yet there was a pronounced aloofness at an intellectual level, a palpable snobbery. Or was it because B.R. Ambedkar had poured vitriol on Indian Marxists in his great work on the revival of the Dalit cause? If that was so, why didn’t any comrade woo the lowest in the caste heap to his or her side, ignoring or critiquing Ambedkar if they had a valid argument?
What puzzles me equally is the shocking ability of the BJP to woo Dalits — in Gujarat, in Uttar Pradesh and so forth. It is perhaps this worry that has sent me cartwheeling into the past. Here is a perfectly casteist party, one that Ambedkar would have loathed. He had described Hinduism in no uncertain terms as a “chamber of horrors”. And Ambedkar’s followers are today marching mindlessly, one should add, self-destructively into the Hindutva fold.
Of course, there is Chanakya’s wily wisdom at play. Divide and rule, Emperor Chandragupta’s Brahmin counsellor had decreed, way before the advent of colonialism of any stripe. It worked in Uttar Pradesh last month. Jatav versus non-Jatav Dalits; Yadav versus non-Yadavs among the other backward castes; something similar with Muslims is afoot. That’s BJP. What about the Marxists?
Indian Marxists, like their comrades elsewhere, are a threatened species. The BJP is out to swallow their two remaining hubs — one in the tiny tribal state of Tripura and the other, of course, Kerala, the redoubtable communist bastion. One should have thought that the BJP was a cause for serious worry. But the Marxists seem to have different priorities. They look keener to bring down the Mamata Banerjee government in Bengal, possibly in cahoots with the Congress. The BJP would be only too happy to let them do its dirty work.
The thought is horrifying for the sheer lack of sensitivity. The Marxists took a lead in fighting Indira Gandhi’s emergency, and they were a source of strength to the movement that ended in the Janata Party experiment. The experiment included the BJP then called the Jan Sangh. And the first thing that the Janata Party government did was to ban school textbooks on history that were authored by Romila Thapar, R.S. Sharma and Bipan Chandra.
The ground was laid in 1978 for the assault on Wendy Doniger’s study of Hinduism and A.K. Ramanujan’s Three Hundred Ramanayas — a brilliant research of the diverse Rama legends. The Marxists didn’t give up here, as they again came together with the BJP to shore up an anti-Congress V.P. Singh government in 1989.
For better or worse, they then came up with the formula of supporting non-BJP, non-Congress parties and alliances. There are three that fit the bill. They are Mamata Banerjee in Bengal, the Lalu-Nitish coalition in Bihar and the Aam Aadmi Party in Delhi. All three are targeted by the BJP. The Congress too has joined the expedition in two, barring Bihar, where it is a junior partner in the state government. The Marxists set up candidates against all three.
The problem is that these three are the ones they count among the 59 per cent that didn’t vote for the BJP. The three are also those that stopped the BJP juggernaut. All three are accused of corruption by the BJP, a ruse that is seen as a first step towards their dismissal.
Any sane observer of the unfolding Indian scenario would have thought that it was time all opposition parties came together as they once came up against Mrs Gandhi. What is happening instead is that one by one the non-Congress and non-BJP governments, including the Left Front, are coming in the cross hairs of the Modi establishment. It’s almost like Germany in the 1930s to give an overused but relevant example. There the communists and the social democrats were taken out one by one.
Chandan Kamble is perhaps watching today’s denouement with concern. He had a habit of mixing up metaphors. “We are all sailing in the same soup,” he would say. Will the Marxists be able to untangle the jumbled aphorisms?
It is worrying that the main Marxist groups — and not to forget the Congress — seem to believe that the threat posed to India’s democracy by the BJP is comparable with Mamata Banerjee’s rule in Bengal and Arvind Kejriwal’s in Delhi. Could Chandan Kamble be right?
Thursday 4 May 2017
How strange that capitalism’s noisiest enemies are now on the right
Giles Fraser in The Guardian
Listening to Marine Le Pen attack Emmanuel Macron for being a creature of global finance is a reminder of a disturbing feature of modern political life: the extent to which the attack upon capitalism has migrated from the left to the right.
There was a time, not so very long ago, when it was widely accepted that the job of the left was to explain how free-market capitalism is bad for the poor and bad for social cohesion more generally. The left was supposed to show that in free markets, wealth doesn’t trickle down, it bubbles up. That trusting the invisible hand to spread wealth all round is like trusting bankers to share their bonuses with their neighbours. And, moreover, that inequalities of wealth created by the free-market system creates a society profoundly ill at ease with itself. This is why socialists have always believed in the public ownership of the means of production and of the major public services. Markets and money should exist to serve people, not the other way round. The importance of democratic socialism is that it uses the power of the ballot box to assert the will of people over the will of capital.
The EU debate, now breaking out all over Europe, has flushed out the extent to which the so-called left, now overrun by liberalism, has largely abandoned this historical position. In this country, the liberal left now believes that support for the single market and economic free trade is the very thing that distinguishes them from a so-called hard Tory Brexit. This is an astonishing change of position. It used to be obvious to democratic socialists that the terms of international trade should be set not by the market alone but also by democratically elected governments subject to the will of their electorates. But the liberal left, perhaps not trusting how ordinary people (as opposed to more enlightened economic “experts”) might vote, thinks that trade should be free of the irritating interventions of democratic accountability. They want it to be frictionless – an irritating euphemism that ultimately means: not subject to will of the people.
Jeremy Corbyn aside, one of the tragedies of the leftwing abandonment of its traditional suspicion of capitalism is that the far right has now filled the vacuum. It understands that the bubbling resentment of rundown estates and forgotten seaside towns can be harnessed and turned against foreigners and Islam as well as the liberal capitalist establishment. This, of course, only serves to secure in the minds of the liberal left how dangerous it was in the first place to challenge the basic premise of capitalism: the freedom of money to go where it will, unimpeded, untaxed, unbothered. What a topsy-turvy political world we now inhabit. Squint your eyes and it almost looks as though the left has become the right, and the right has become the left.
Perhaps a word about terminology is helpful, because liberalism is a slippery idea. Liberals are distinguished above all by their belief in freedom – the freedom to be who you want to be (social liberalism) and the freedom to make and keep as much money as you want (economic liberalism) existing on the same continuum. As much as possible, the state should not stand in the way of, or make any sort of judgment about, the wants and desires of free individuals. But what liberals don’t see, or don’t want to see, is that their little individual freedoms are also collectively responsible for the boarded-up shops of Walsall and the disintegration of communities such as mine in south London.
Even if you disagree with my take on liberalism, you might accept that this broad analysis leaves the Labour party in serious trouble, its traditional alliance between socialists and social liberals at an unhappy end. Like many failed marriages, it struggles on because each side fears the other will get control of the house. But for the good of the country, we need a party that represents the anger at what the City has done and freely continues to do to this country. Otherwise that anger will look for other places to express itself. And then, heaven help us, we will have our own Ms Le Pen.
Listening to Marine Le Pen attack Emmanuel Macron for being a creature of global finance is a reminder of a disturbing feature of modern political life: the extent to which the attack upon capitalism has migrated from the left to the right.
There was a time, not so very long ago, when it was widely accepted that the job of the left was to explain how free-market capitalism is bad for the poor and bad for social cohesion more generally. The left was supposed to show that in free markets, wealth doesn’t trickle down, it bubbles up. That trusting the invisible hand to spread wealth all round is like trusting bankers to share their bonuses with their neighbours. And, moreover, that inequalities of wealth created by the free-market system creates a society profoundly ill at ease with itself. This is why socialists have always believed in the public ownership of the means of production and of the major public services. Markets and money should exist to serve people, not the other way round. The importance of democratic socialism is that it uses the power of the ballot box to assert the will of people over the will of capital.
The EU debate, now breaking out all over Europe, has flushed out the extent to which the so-called left, now overrun by liberalism, has largely abandoned this historical position. In this country, the liberal left now believes that support for the single market and economic free trade is the very thing that distinguishes them from a so-called hard Tory Brexit. This is an astonishing change of position. It used to be obvious to democratic socialists that the terms of international trade should be set not by the market alone but also by democratically elected governments subject to the will of their electorates. But the liberal left, perhaps not trusting how ordinary people (as opposed to more enlightened economic “experts”) might vote, thinks that trade should be free of the irritating interventions of democratic accountability. They want it to be frictionless – an irritating euphemism that ultimately means: not subject to will of the people.
Jeremy Corbyn aside, one of the tragedies of the leftwing abandonment of its traditional suspicion of capitalism is that the far right has now filled the vacuum. It understands that the bubbling resentment of rundown estates and forgotten seaside towns can be harnessed and turned against foreigners and Islam as well as the liberal capitalist establishment. This, of course, only serves to secure in the minds of the liberal left how dangerous it was in the first place to challenge the basic premise of capitalism: the freedom of money to go where it will, unimpeded, untaxed, unbothered. What a topsy-turvy political world we now inhabit. Squint your eyes and it almost looks as though the left has become the right, and the right has become the left.
Perhaps a word about terminology is helpful, because liberalism is a slippery idea. Liberals are distinguished above all by their belief in freedom – the freedom to be who you want to be (social liberalism) and the freedom to make and keep as much money as you want (economic liberalism) existing on the same continuum. As much as possible, the state should not stand in the way of, or make any sort of judgment about, the wants and desires of free individuals. But what liberals don’t see, or don’t want to see, is that their little individual freedoms are also collectively responsible for the boarded-up shops of Walsall and the disintegration of communities such as mine in south London.
Even if you disagree with my take on liberalism, you might accept that this broad analysis leaves the Labour party in serious trouble, its traditional alliance between socialists and social liberals at an unhappy end. Like many failed marriages, it struggles on because each side fears the other will get control of the house. But for the good of the country, we need a party that represents the anger at what the City has done and freely continues to do to this country. Otherwise that anger will look for other places to express itself. And then, heaven help us, we will have our own Ms Le Pen.
Tuesday 14 February 2017
Jeremy Corbyn is vital to Labour’s future – whether he’s leader or not
Maya Goodfellow in The Guardian
Is Jeremy Corbyn’s inner circle plotting to replace him? Will he go before the 2020 election or will he stick it out? These questions may sound appealing, but do they miss the point of Corbyn? Is he the person who will take the Labour party to where many want it to be? Because Corbyn’s leadership isn’t solely about him: it’s about the left’s long-term goals of transforming Labour into a leftwing populist party. The kind of party many have long yearned for.
Over the weekend, rumours began to swirl about whether Corbyn’s departure was imminent when it emerged that Labour had been testing the appeal of frontbenchers in the north of England. Despite the tone of some of the reporting, it’s normal for political parties to try to get an idea of how people in different parts of the country perceive shadow ministers. But while these reports captured the headlines, another more telling piece of Labour news received far less attention: the fight over whether the “McDonnell clause” will pass at Labour conference.
Were someone from another wing of the party to take over as leader, the problems that plague Labour would remain
The clause is a change to the leadership rules that would lower the number of nominations leadership candidates need from MPs to get on the ballot paper – something the bulk of the parliamentary party opposes. Their efforts to stop a leftwing successor making it on to the ballot should Corbyn resign – thereby denying members the right to vote for such a candidate – were bolstered over the weekend through two internal elections for conference delegates. This is a struggle within the party that many activists see as far more important than the last two leadership contests; it’s one that will define Labour’s long-term future identity as either a party that manages the status quo or one that pushes for radical change.
----Also read
Jeremy's Anthem for 2017
-----
Corbyn’s victories in 2015 and 2016 were a symbol of a move towards a more progressive Labour party; he was saying things that my generation had never heard uttered by a mainstream, frontline politician. But his leadership has been spoken about as if it were some sort of power grab made possible by crazed Trotsky entryists. In his book on Corbyn’s move from the back to the front benches, Richard Seymour charts how this rise was made possible by Labour’s long-term decline and a wider crisis in parliamentary democracy.
Corbyn’s leadership must be set against a history of plummeting interest in parliamentary politics, and the rapidly expanding disconnect between the state and the people. This sense of disenfranchisement has been exploited by the far right and was made possible by New Labour’s years in power. Their aim wasn’t to transform the political system; they chose to ameliorate the symptoms of the free-market economy, which handed power to corporations at the expense of people, rather than try to change its structures. Similar policies across Europe have led to struggles for all social democratic parties – Corbyn offered an alternative route.
Recognising this context does not mean ignoring Labour’s current woes, not least their confused approach to Brexit. Take immigration. It’s one of the main issues dragging British politics to the right. While certain MPs have remained adamant that they must listen to voters’ “legitimate concerns” over immigration, even when those concerns are unfounded, Labour’s current leadership has not yet offered a strong pro-migration message. Many Corbyn supporters have been pressuring them to do so. The left’s aim isn’t to maintain an uncritical defence of Corbyn but to keep working at the project that was started when he was elected leader – that is, breaking with an economic consensus that breeds inequality, and crafting a leftwing form of populism that speaks to people without scapegoating migrants.
Were someone from another wing of the party to take over as leader, the problems that plague Labour would remain. The old tactics of managing the country’s problems, instead of trying to solve them, wouldn’t suffice.
Given the challenges facing Labour and Corbyn, there is a propensity for people on the left to fall into despair. But the long-term goal is transformation. While Corbyn’s election in 2015 and then again in 2016 felt like the way to achieve this, his supporters have realised it was only the beginning, and that Corbyn is an essential part of the journey as the left seeks to cement much-needed change within the Labour party.
Is Jeremy Corbyn’s inner circle plotting to replace him? Will he go before the 2020 election or will he stick it out? These questions may sound appealing, but do they miss the point of Corbyn? Is he the person who will take the Labour party to where many want it to be? Because Corbyn’s leadership isn’t solely about him: it’s about the left’s long-term goals of transforming Labour into a leftwing populist party. The kind of party many have long yearned for.
Over the weekend, rumours began to swirl about whether Corbyn’s departure was imminent when it emerged that Labour had been testing the appeal of frontbenchers in the north of England. Despite the tone of some of the reporting, it’s normal for political parties to try to get an idea of how people in different parts of the country perceive shadow ministers. But while these reports captured the headlines, another more telling piece of Labour news received far less attention: the fight over whether the “McDonnell clause” will pass at Labour conference.
Were someone from another wing of the party to take over as leader, the problems that plague Labour would remain
The clause is a change to the leadership rules that would lower the number of nominations leadership candidates need from MPs to get on the ballot paper – something the bulk of the parliamentary party opposes. Their efforts to stop a leftwing successor making it on to the ballot should Corbyn resign – thereby denying members the right to vote for such a candidate – were bolstered over the weekend through two internal elections for conference delegates. This is a struggle within the party that many activists see as far more important than the last two leadership contests; it’s one that will define Labour’s long-term future identity as either a party that manages the status quo or one that pushes for radical change.
----Also read
Jeremy's Anthem for 2017
-----
Corbyn’s victories in 2015 and 2016 were a symbol of a move towards a more progressive Labour party; he was saying things that my generation had never heard uttered by a mainstream, frontline politician. But his leadership has been spoken about as if it were some sort of power grab made possible by crazed Trotsky entryists. In his book on Corbyn’s move from the back to the front benches, Richard Seymour charts how this rise was made possible by Labour’s long-term decline and a wider crisis in parliamentary democracy.
Corbyn’s leadership must be set against a history of plummeting interest in parliamentary politics, and the rapidly expanding disconnect between the state and the people. This sense of disenfranchisement has been exploited by the far right and was made possible by New Labour’s years in power. Their aim wasn’t to transform the political system; they chose to ameliorate the symptoms of the free-market economy, which handed power to corporations at the expense of people, rather than try to change its structures. Similar policies across Europe have led to struggles for all social democratic parties – Corbyn offered an alternative route.
Recognising this context does not mean ignoring Labour’s current woes, not least their confused approach to Brexit. Take immigration. It’s one of the main issues dragging British politics to the right. While certain MPs have remained adamant that they must listen to voters’ “legitimate concerns” over immigration, even when those concerns are unfounded, Labour’s current leadership has not yet offered a strong pro-migration message. Many Corbyn supporters have been pressuring them to do so. The left’s aim isn’t to maintain an uncritical defence of Corbyn but to keep working at the project that was started when he was elected leader – that is, breaking with an economic consensus that breeds inequality, and crafting a leftwing form of populism that speaks to people without scapegoating migrants.
Were someone from another wing of the party to take over as leader, the problems that plague Labour would remain. The old tactics of managing the country’s problems, instead of trying to solve them, wouldn’t suffice.
Given the challenges facing Labour and Corbyn, there is a propensity for people on the left to fall into despair. But the long-term goal is transformation. While Corbyn’s election in 2015 and then again in 2016 felt like the way to achieve this, his supporters have realised it was only the beginning, and that Corbyn is an essential part of the journey as the left seeks to cement much-needed change within the Labour party.
Wednesday 1 February 2017
We need the state now more than ever. But our belief in it has gone
Aditya Chakrabortty in The Guardian
Zero-hours workers '£1,000 worse off a year' than employees
At the centre of the play is a 19-year-old whose life is already over. Tamsin Carmody’s mother has died, leaving her in charge of the family. That means looking after her brother, Dean, who has been almost broken by poor mental health. When things get too much, he’ll press his hand on to a burning hob.
To scrape by, Tamsin works on zero hours in a giant distribution warehouse, packing strawberry lube, Meat Loaf albums, bottles of gin. The grim details of how the 21st-century British labourer has been reduced to cheap commodity are all here: the work boots that leave Tamsin’s feet clenched balls of pain, the countless paper cuts from folding cardboard that never get time to heal, the pleading for more work each morning. Some of this derives from Soper’s own experience. The 25-year-old has done her own zero-hours stint in a packing plant where, after calling in sick for a shift, she turned up the next day only to be ordered home: she had already been replaced.
Then there’s Dean. The government reckons he’s fit for work, despite his inability to face strangers or venture out in daylight. He loses his disability benefits, and has to enact the farce of assembling a CV and applying over and over again for jobs he won’t get and could never hold down.
And here is where a play does what a newspaper can’t and a politician won’t: the siblings’ lives are laid side by side, and the state is revealed to be just as callous, unanswerable and punitive as the employer.
FacebookTwitterPinterest Erin Doherty (Tamsin Carmody) and Joseph Quinn (Dean Carmody) in Wish List. Photograph: Tristram Kenton for the Guardian
Illustration by Nicola Jennings
I left the Royal Court theatre a few days ago, feeling as though the writer had been rifling through my and other reporters’ notebooks. In Wish List, Katherine Soper has pinned down a theme central to today’s politics – but one I’ve yet to see in print or hear from an MP. To grasp it is to understand much of what drives support for both Brexit and Trump – and just why this is such a hostile climate for the left, be it in the form of Ed Miliband or Jeremy Corbyn, Bernie Sanders or Hillary Clinton.
I left the Royal Court theatre a few days ago, feeling as though the writer had been rifling through my and other reporters’ notebooks. In Wish List, Katherine Soper has pinned down a theme central to today’s politics – but one I’ve yet to see in print or hear from an MP. To grasp it is to understand much of what drives support for both Brexit and Trump – and just why this is such a hostile climate for the left, be it in the form of Ed Miliband or Jeremy Corbyn, Bernie Sanders or Hillary Clinton.
Zero-hours workers '£1,000 worse off a year' than employees
At the centre of the play is a 19-year-old whose life is already over. Tamsin Carmody’s mother has died, leaving her in charge of the family. That means looking after her brother, Dean, who has been almost broken by poor mental health. When things get too much, he’ll press his hand on to a burning hob.
To scrape by, Tamsin works on zero hours in a giant distribution warehouse, packing strawberry lube, Meat Loaf albums, bottles of gin. The grim details of how the 21st-century British labourer has been reduced to cheap commodity are all here: the work boots that leave Tamsin’s feet clenched balls of pain, the countless paper cuts from folding cardboard that never get time to heal, the pleading for more work each morning. Some of this derives from Soper’s own experience. The 25-year-old has done her own zero-hours stint in a packing plant where, after calling in sick for a shift, she turned up the next day only to be ordered home: she had already been replaced.
Then there’s Dean. The government reckons he’s fit for work, despite his inability to face strangers or venture out in daylight. He loses his disability benefits, and has to enact the farce of assembling a CV and applying over and over again for jobs he won’t get and could never hold down.
And here is where a play does what a newspaper can’t and a politician won’t: the siblings’ lives are laid side by side, and the state is revealed to be just as callous, unanswerable and punitive as the employer.
FacebookTwitterPinterest Erin Doherty (Tamsin Carmody) and Joseph Quinn (Dean Carmody) in Wish List. Photograph: Tristram Kenton for the Guardian
Tamsin can’t meet her impossible targets of packing 400 items an hour; Dean is in no state to fill in all his job applications. Tamsin’s boss shrugs that he’s following orders: “They just get the numbers in the red and they work out how to put them in the black.” Dean’s health assessor and welfare adviser are in the pay of a government following a busted austerity strategy that relies on cutting off money to the poor.
Both have to struggle through tick-boxes, euphemistic nonsense (Tamsin’s warehouse is a “fulfilment centre”; Dean’s disabilities make him “fit for work”) and a system that grabs a lot while giving a pittance.
We’re often told that the state and the market have entirely different roles. But meet any number of the people paying the price for Britain’s crash, and you’ll see that they play almost identical parts using similar language and similar bureaucracy. And far from protecting low-paid workers from the depredations of the market, the state wants to hurl more people into it under the pretence that they are shirkers.
None of this fits with how social democrats view the state. Having attended my fair share of Labour and other leftwing political meetings, I know that a staple feature is that some grey-haired man in a jumper will leap up towards the end and launch into a good-hearted defence of the state. Public investment, social security, industrial strategy: all will circle back to the state; all will be met with murmurs of approval.
This has happened without the pundits and politicians noticing
And all are a million miles away from the experiences I regularly hear while reporting. I think about Lisa Chapman in Northamptonshire frantically searching the internet in the small hours to protect the benefits of her husband, who has Parkinson’s. A few days after my trip to the theatre I saw a presentation from the head of a local Citizens Advice. One of the PowerPoint slides read: “For some people, there is no safety net any more.” There was a time, she explained, when if someone walked in penniless she could get on the blower and shout, and scream and get them some money from somewhere. Now? That was almost impossible.
And I think of the valleys of south Wales, and the replies I got when asking what would make things better in one of the poorest parts of western Europe. No one mentioned the government, either in Cardiff or in Westminster. When I mentioned the G-word – in this place, where Thatcher shut the mines while Labour just relied on its voters to carry on being good little sheep – the response was usually laughter.
At the end of 2015, a team of academics held a series of two-day discussions with small groups of members of the public across Europe. They were asked only one big question: what should the government do for your children’s generation? Of all the countries, the British were easily the most pessimistic about what could be done – behind even Slovenia.
The British liked the NHS and pensions, but thought both would be gone in a generation. They didn’t talk about the good things that could be done by government. Trade unions came up just once in the entire two days. “I found it quite shocking,” recalls Peter Taylor-Gooby, of the University of Kent. “Of all the groups we interviewed, the British had this mood of resigned, reluctant individualism.”
Thirty years ago, Ronald Reagan claimed the nine most terrifying in the English language were: “I’m from the government and I’m here to help.” He said it was a joke; it turned out to be a prophecy. Three decades of both right and left privatising, outsourcing and deregulating have shrunk the public imagination about what their representatives in government can achieve. Put that alongside the shattering of the working class, the smashing of trade unions, and the diminishment of so many other social institutions.
The need for the state and collective action hasn’t diminished, but the public belief in it has gone. The state is now either invisible or hostile. This has happened without the pundits and politicians noticing, but its consequences could shape politics for decades.
After Dean has received his latest brown envelope, Tamsin turns to him and begins a vow. “We’re gonna make it without them. OK? Fuck them … we can do this ourselves. We can – I can work, and …” Her voice breaks. “This isn’t fucking fair. I can’t keep doing this. I can’t.
“I’m so fucking tired.”
Both have to struggle through tick-boxes, euphemistic nonsense (Tamsin’s warehouse is a “fulfilment centre”; Dean’s disabilities make him “fit for work”) and a system that grabs a lot while giving a pittance.
We’re often told that the state and the market have entirely different roles. But meet any number of the people paying the price for Britain’s crash, and you’ll see that they play almost identical parts using similar language and similar bureaucracy. And far from protecting low-paid workers from the depredations of the market, the state wants to hurl more people into it under the pretence that they are shirkers.
None of this fits with how social democrats view the state. Having attended my fair share of Labour and other leftwing political meetings, I know that a staple feature is that some grey-haired man in a jumper will leap up towards the end and launch into a good-hearted defence of the state. Public investment, social security, industrial strategy: all will circle back to the state; all will be met with murmurs of approval.
This has happened without the pundits and politicians noticing
And all are a million miles away from the experiences I regularly hear while reporting. I think about Lisa Chapman in Northamptonshire frantically searching the internet in the small hours to protect the benefits of her husband, who has Parkinson’s. A few days after my trip to the theatre I saw a presentation from the head of a local Citizens Advice. One of the PowerPoint slides read: “For some people, there is no safety net any more.” There was a time, she explained, when if someone walked in penniless she could get on the blower and shout, and scream and get them some money from somewhere. Now? That was almost impossible.
And I think of the valleys of south Wales, and the replies I got when asking what would make things better in one of the poorest parts of western Europe. No one mentioned the government, either in Cardiff or in Westminster. When I mentioned the G-word – in this place, where Thatcher shut the mines while Labour just relied on its voters to carry on being good little sheep – the response was usually laughter.
At the end of 2015, a team of academics held a series of two-day discussions with small groups of members of the public across Europe. They were asked only one big question: what should the government do for your children’s generation? Of all the countries, the British were easily the most pessimistic about what could be done – behind even Slovenia.
The British liked the NHS and pensions, but thought both would be gone in a generation. They didn’t talk about the good things that could be done by government. Trade unions came up just once in the entire two days. “I found it quite shocking,” recalls Peter Taylor-Gooby, of the University of Kent. “Of all the groups we interviewed, the British had this mood of resigned, reluctant individualism.”
Thirty years ago, Ronald Reagan claimed the nine most terrifying in the English language were: “I’m from the government and I’m here to help.” He said it was a joke; it turned out to be a prophecy. Three decades of both right and left privatising, outsourcing and deregulating have shrunk the public imagination about what their representatives in government can achieve. Put that alongside the shattering of the working class, the smashing of trade unions, and the diminishment of so many other social institutions.
The need for the state and collective action hasn’t diminished, but the public belief in it has gone. The state is now either invisible or hostile. This has happened without the pundits and politicians noticing, but its consequences could shape politics for decades.
After Dean has received his latest brown envelope, Tamsin turns to him and begins a vow. “We’re gonna make it without them. OK? Fuck them … we can do this ourselves. We can – I can work, and …” Her voice breaks. “This isn’t fucking fair. I can’t keep doing this. I can’t.
“I’m so fucking tired.”
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