Those Who Want To Build, Those Who Want To Fight: The World Social Forum with a North African Twist

[Logo of the 2015 World Social Forum. Image via Wikimedia Commons.] [Logo of the 2015 World Social Forum. Image via Wikimedia Commons.]

Those Who Want To Build, Those Who Want To Fight: The World Social Forum with a North African Twist

By : Cihan Tugal

Holding the World Social Forum (WSF) in Tunisia, for the second time, is doubly significant. It is right on target, since Tunisians have toppled a neoliberal dictator. It is also a painful reminder of capitalism’s power, as Tunisian neoliberalism (along with the dictator’s entourage) is still intact. Not only are the main contours of Ben Ali’s policies still in place, his top bureaucrats are in command. Moreover, they have come back through elections. Voters replaced them for a secular liberal-Islamic coalition, partially due to worries regarding increasing conservatism and a deteriorating security situation. That coalition was also deeply neoliberal. In short, Tunisians got rid of a neoliberal tyrant so that they could choose between his neoliberal companions and their more conservative mirror images.

“What alternative did they have?” you may ask. That is the question. There are two, interconnected faces of the malaise. The first is political. The Popular Front and its constituent parties and movements, which were quite active during the revolution, could not amass the legitimacy to compete with the two main contenders (the old regime forces and the Islamists). Even though there were hopeful moments, one election after another frustrated the Front’s hopes. The other face of the malaise is economic. Even if the anti-neoliberal Front were able to come to power, would it be able to implement a working, efficient, alternative economic policy? The answer is far from clear. That uncertainty is among the reasons why it never came close to replacing the neoliberal twins (authoritarian secularists and liberalized Islamists). But more broadly, the Tunisian situation again demonstrates that a brave new world does not fall from the sky, even when neoliberalism miserably fails.

The Wide, but Bridgeable, Gap

The World Social Forum is one of the venues in which organizations, activists, and ordinary people dissatisfied with neoliberalism come together to exchange ideas, build networks, and discuss techniques. Settings like this one are indispensable to concretize paths out of disasters fostered by neoliberalization.

This year, seventy thousand people participated in the WSF. There were around a thousand panels. The WSF’s charter clearly states that the participating groups and movements are anti-neoliberal. The reality on the ground, however, is a little more complex—a complexity that is not necessarily, but could become a weakness.

Over the last twelve years, many things have been said about the WSF, and I do not want to repeat all of those (celebratory and critical) points here. Rather, I will focus on one slice of this complex reality: the 2015 WSF debates around building alternative economies in North Africa, and more specifically Tunisia. My comments are based on the ten panels I attended on this and related issues (five more panels on the topic were canceled and there were overlapping panels of interest I could not attend).

What was most striking about the panels organized under the broad title “The Economy and Alternatives Square” was the wide (but not unbridgeable) gap between those who wanted to fight and those who wanted to build. Especially among WSF organizers, it was taken for granted that transnational capital is the name of the evil and it has to be fought until the very end. “No negotiations,” many said. The panels they presented (and their audience too) were informed by political economy and Marxist vocabulary. The speakers were mostly European, North American, and South American (though some participants from India seemed to be on the same page too).

Yet when it came to North African speakers, the tone was often much more cautious. Their presentations were mostly about how to build economic alternatives on the ground. Some put the emphasis on negotiating with companies and governments to make them more accountable. I did not have a chance to attend the more politically oriented panels on citizenship, migration, youth, transitional justice, etc. It is quite likely that the North African tone was much more revolutionary on these panels. Yet, when it came to the economy, many seemed to find it out of place to reject the global structure out of hand. As one Tunisian professor told me after a panel, we could agree on broad anti-neoliberal principles (a British speaker had just listed these as common ownership, popular sovereignty, and social production), but Tunisia faces immediate problems such as sluggish growth, inflation, and corruption at the moment. Who would want big business to pack up and leave right now?

Other North African speakers (from Egypt, Tunisia, and Morocco) similarly pointed to the possibility of capital flight (for example when I posed, at another panel, the question of why the revolutionary energy of 2011-2013 was not directly targeted at the transnationals, the harm of which they had elegantly described throughout their panel). These are legitimate concerns. Those who want to fight capitalism cannot win these activists over without laying out a concrete plan of what Tunisians (and others) will do if capital leaves them in the middle of the road (or chooses to punish them through other means, as it is in the course of doing in Greece).

But this plan cannot be a list of abstract ideas. People have to see, even partially experience, the alternatives before switching paths. Such an experience occasionally occurs during revolutions, but there is a lot that can be done in less revolutionary times too. We certainly cannot accomplish the task of building an alternative economy under the current conditions, but we can begin.

Cooperatives

One possible starting point for building an alternative economy is through cooperatives. The idea has a long history. One of the important turning points in that history is the debate between Marx and some of the socialists of his time. Marxist polemics (and ultimately Stalin’s fateful turn to collectivization) were among the factors that buried hopes of building an alternative world through these organizations. Tito’s Yugoslavia, however, revived the practice and made it the cornerstone of a self-governing socialism. Yugoslavian cooperatives directly influenced the early Tunisian republic. Several of (the republican founder) Bourguiba’s ministers were from the Union Générale Tunisienne du Travail (UGTT), a trade union that had an active role in furthering the cooperative movement. The centrality of a trade union within the old regime is unique to Tunisia in the region. However, after 1969 the regime took a market-friendly turn. Cooperatives stopped playing a major role in the economy (though the UGTT retained its centrality).

Today, cooperatives have a hard time flourishing because of legal barriers and credit shortages. A few networks and organizations are working on spreading the practice in the countryside, but new generations of Tunisian peasants are unaware of the possibilities. The UGTT is negotiating with the regime to open up more space for cooperatives, while other organizations and networks (some of them affiliated with the Popular Front) are putting more emphasis on autonomy. They point out that the major problem with the cooperatives of the 1960s was the lack of free adhesion of the peasants to these institutions.

Cooperatives are much more widespread and institutionalized in nearby Morocco. Yet these are not necessarily alternatives against capitalism. They work in conjunction with the current Moroccan regime and hence are compatible with neoliberal capitalism. Still, their experiences can provide important clues for those organizing cooperatives elsewhere in the region (and they are indeed collaborating with cooperative movements of different colors outside of Morocco). Scholars, not only activists, have been debating for a long time whether rural cooperatives are a form of peasant self-organization or, rather, extensions of the state (and/or market capitalism). Today, as autonomy becomes the catchword, there is more opportunity to push for self-organization-based cooperatives in the countryside.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                              The NGO Universe

But what about the towns and cities? Here is where the NGOs come in. In urban Tunisia, there is very little cooperative organization, and it is mostly restricted to the artisanal sector. There also seems to be, unfortunately, a generational divide. The youth concentrates on NGO work (the mean age at the cooperative panels was rather high). As in much of the rest of the world, NGOs talk of themselves as a “third” sector. Some Tunisian NGOs gather around the trope of a “collaborative economy.” They provide free or cheap transportation, food, education, and access to other goods (including musical instruments). Yet other North African NGOs negotiate with international institutions and governments to limit the damage of neoliberalization. Their activities include, for example, procuring compensation for transnational capital’s environmental damage to local communities. Nevertheless, these NGO activists are aware that their partial victories (for instance, legislation regulating free trade) usually lead to capital flight.

How do these organizations fit into the general framework of the WSF? When I asked whether their activities constitute alternatives to capitalism, some were truly disturbed. They underlined that transnational companies and (neoliberal) governments were their “partners,” not enemies. Some organizations, however, were internally divided on this topic. Some members of a collaborative economy NGO (which gratuitously incorporated neoliberal discourse through an emphasis on governance, mutual trust, management, etc.) expressed the worry that their work might be helping capitalism survive. Others in the same organization, however, objected that it should not be their concern whether the (neoliberal) regime falls or not (isqat an-nizam was the shared slogan of the 2011-2013 Arab uprisings). It would fall when the time came. Their work, moreover, would undermine capitalism not by fighting it, but making it unnecessary, one of the representatives argued.

Such collaborative efforts are indeed important. It is also true that one dimension of our work should be rendering bosses unnecessary. Yet we also need to be aware of the limits of this kind of work (every effort has its limits). We can recall here one of Marx’s points against cooperative-based socialism (not to bury “utopianism” once again, but to be aware of its limits): the problem of scale. Marx’s anti-utopian criticism can be easily applied to NGOs: how can the uncoordinated collaborative work of a few people here and there undermine the power of giant companies, which are today much bigger than in Marx’s time? To look at the same issue from another angle: in a world where a small percent of the global population controls an immense part of the whole world’s wealth, any effort that will put their privileges in question risks being marginalized, repressed, or incorporated. Building alternatives to the world they have built needs to go hand in hand with efforts to redistribute their wealth. I cannot imagine that happening without a fight. And I cannot imagine the big fish leaving us alone if we don’t spread out the wealth they have monopolized.

The limits of both negotiation and building small-scale alternatives, in short, are much starker in the era of globalization. Statism is an easy, but misleading, response to these limits.

Statism

In one exceptional panel, the calls to fight against capitalism and to build alternatives to it were combined. The generational divide that marked other North African presentations was not there either. People of all ages, men and women, quite energetically participated, not only through questions, but often by intervening (kindly or rudely) in the presentation. Loud, messy, angry, not always efficient, but extremely informative and clear-cut—this was one of my favorite panels. It would have been even better if the sole male speaker had been accompanied by a female speaker as assertive and well-informed (most other panels exhibited more gender balance). The presenter was a professor affiliated with the Popular Front. He frequently switched back and forth between French and Arabic (without always waiting for the consecutive translation), despite loud protests from the Francophone audience. In his long speech, he first provided a detailed picture of the Tunisian political economy and then offered a statist way out. “The state needs to be the motor of development,” he asserted. It should directly invest in the productive sectors, especially industry and technology, which have been forsaken by the market-oriented developmental model of the past four decades. It should protect agriculture. Energy, transportation, and mines should be state property. All resources should be nationalized.

The cross-generational and cross-cultural energy in this room was both promising and frustrating. It demonstrated the presence of a feisty spirit ready to confront transnational capital and shoulder the burden of replacing it with a concrete alternative. But it was disappointing in that the alleged alternative was not really one. I asked: “Why should the state be the motor of development?” We have seen in the past that statism can be as oppressive and inegalitarian as capitalism. Why put all our eggs in one basket again? In response, the speaker modified his sentence by saying “the state should be one motor of development among others.” This is a nice answer, but in practice, it is very likely that the state will be the motor if capitalism is toppled, especially given the political energy in this room and the lack of political commitment in other discussions that focused on alternatives (The NGO panels were quite energetic, but lacked a political bite). Our way out of this impasse passes through a politicization of the “third sector.” The state can become a non-oppressive motor of development only if its activities are subordinated to a self-organizing society.

An Alternative Economy or Barbarism

Our earth faces an imminent danger. In a few decades, our sources of nourishment and energy will be depleted. If we do not create an alternative path, food and water riots, civil and international wars over basic necessities, and similar events will be the order of the day. Even free market capitalism cannot survive such unfavorable conditions. In that sense, a badge I saw at the WSF summed up the situation pretty neatly: “Another world is inevitable.” If we do not build a more egalitarian and ecologically sustainable world soon, savagery (rather than neoliberalism) will be the victor. The rise of ISIS after decades of free ride(s) for business is only one harbinger of the coming world. Freedom through the market will no longer be possible in the foreseeable future. Either humanity creates another way to experience freedom, or we plunge head on into ecological dictatorships, statisms, warlord states, and walled, fearful city-states.

The creation of that path can be debated at forums and assemblies, but can only be realized through testing, living, and experiencing alternative models of production and exchange. The work of “those who want to build” is essential. But without massive upheavals, their work is bound to remain a whisper. As long as we depend on the state or on capital to produce at a mass scale, these small experiments will remain marginal, or worse, will get incorporated into market or state mechanisms. The NGO activists might be uninterested in anti-capitalism, but only at their own peril (at their own peril as NGO activists—certainly, there will always be more lucrative careers in a neoliberalized NGO universe). For the survival and generalization of the principles that many (if not all) NGOs hold dear (sharing, reciprocity, equity), we need a new economy at both the regional and global levels. This is impossible without fighting transnational capital (and national big business), which would be the big loser(s) of such a transition, and would therefore deploy all possible resources to block it.

The WSF has been around for more than a decade, and so has public criticism that lays bare the ills of neoliberalism. If most (even relatively more non-neoliberal) NGOs can still flirt with neoliberal techniques and discourse, this shows propaganda and direct action are not enough. Anti-capitalists too have to engage new venues to win these fence-sitters over. Today, many NGOs have an array of practices and discourses that could go well with both neoliberalism and an alternative economy. They will be decisively won over, not through words or demonstrations, but through the creation of new social economy techniques and practices that more clearly break away with the neoliberal mantra. Cooperatives that self-identify as post-capitalist might be one of the keys. If coordinated with the work of such cooperatives, NGOs could also move in a more non-capitalist direction. But this is easier said than done. And of course, even such relatively more anti-capitalist organizations will always walk on slippery ground, always facing the danger of incorporation into the market or the state. What can keep them on a non-capitalist path?

Here we come full circle to our starting point. Revolutionary mobilization is necessary not only to sweep away the meanest enemies of alternative economies, but also to keep alternative organizations free from marketization and bureaucratization. Revolution is no silver bullet. Some exceptional revolutions can create new forms of economic organization, but even those organizations cannot survive as alternatives without ongoing, autonomous, alternative work. We therefore need revolutions not in order to resolve all of our problems, but to remove the most merciless impediments to the alternative economy and to keep the alternative economic organizations in line with their higher ideals.

The WSF has, over the years, clearly communicated the message that the source of the problem is neoliberal capitalism. What needs to be done next, globally, is getting out the message regarding what counter-globalization activists are for, not just what they are against. What will replace capital and the market as the organizations and principles guiding production and exchange? Organizations based on the free association of workers, peasants, and professionals as a replacement for capital; reciprocity and the Commons as a replacement for the market—these can be our beginning points. Taking fears regarding capital flight and other forms of market punishment seriously, we need to convince the fence-sitters (even before the broader masses) that we don’t need big business; we can do it ourselves. Still, these vague principles mean nothing if we do not live them, embody them, and put them into practice as of today.

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Occupy Gezi as Politics of the Body

Since the Gezi resistance started with bloodshed on 31 May, it has had an “anti-depressant” effect, as a friend of mine puts it, as much as it has been nerve-racking. During this period where each day has been prone to new crises and normalcy was completely disrupted, we simultaneously experienced the peaks of ecstasy and the depths of sorrow.

Analyzing such an intense event naturally requires taking some distance. Pending systematization, however, the vivid memory of each day impels one to put on paper multifarious ideas that resonate well with the resistance. Each morning, many bodies with sleep deprived eyes wake up in Istanbul, Ankara, Antakya, Urfa, and Denizli to take to the streets once again, after having quickly checked the latest news in the social media. They are astonished and impressed that they can still walk, run, stand up, and carry provisions for those in the parks. Exhausted bodies rejuvenate with every new threat that the government utters, and with thousands, tens of thousands of others they begin flowing to Taksim, Kızılay, Kuğulu Park, Gündoğdu, Abbasoğlu, and Yeniköy Park carrying home-made gas masks, swimmer goggles, anti-acid solutions, and whistles.

No one does or can govern these bodies. The masses that gather in public spaces are not formed by virtue of transferring tax money into the wallets of partisans. No one provides shuttle buses for them; no one gives them flags, or feeds them with sandwiches. No one assigns them the slogans they shout out during the demonstrations. Bodies that take heart from knowing that they are not alone do not count, or count on, numbers to meet with others in communal or virtual spaces. One standing man suffices for thousands of others to take to the streets. After all, “one” is also a number…

The government, whose tactlessness prompts these resisting and standing bodies to convene again and again every single day, could not have missed the significance of this body politics. These bodies naturally do have a language, even a few languages that are at times congruent and at others incongruent; however, as a whole, they constitute a politics of the body. The rage and dreams that have been embodied in tweets and graffiti since 31 May turn into material realities through the physical existence, visibility, and endurance of the bodies. If history is being rewritten, then its subject is the body.

Four of these bodies lost their lives during this war that the government has waged on society. Thousands of bodies have been beaten up: some lost their eyes, some received irretrievable injuries. Skins were burnt under the water from the cannons, “laced” with chemicals for maximum harm; lungs were choked with tear gas. Pounded arms, legs, and heads got crushed and broken. The long-term effects of the tons of chemicals dumped on bodies are still unknown. What is known, however, is that these chemicals killed hundreds of cats, dogs, and birds, and that they did harm to countless insects, butterflies, and other smaller organisms.

The apparatuses of the state, and the vehicles of death that responded to Gezi’s politics of the body, attempted to imitate the life force that they failed to extort. In response to the huge numbers that filled the parks and squares and astonished everyone without exception, they hoped to gather partisans together in scripted rallies. They began comparing head counts; they calculated representative percentages. When the calculations did not match, they increased the number of police in body armor and helmets and moved them from protest to protest. They built walls of flesh and steel against the wave of resisting flesh. When that did not work, they offered these bodies—which have been in contact with each other physically and virtually through meetings, banners, and tweets—a mise en scène of dialogue, the conditions of which were more or less already determined. They could not even wait for this attempt to yield fruit; two warnings and a command were enough to launch an assault to remove the bodies that produced an alternative sociability from the park, from the space in which physical resistance could be transformed into a life style. They freed the public space of the public. They collected all the banners, pictures, and colors one by one to erase them from social memory. They stripped all the trees, each dedicated to victims of state violence; they appropriated the barricades that were named after tens of people who had undergone physical and psychological torture, and they tore them to tatters. They destroyed the efforts to keep alive the memories of Fikret Encü, who was a victim of Roboski; Metin Göktepe, who was tortured and killed in detention; Dicle Koğacoğlu, who could not take all the sorrow inherent in this society any more; and the Surp Hagop Armenian Cemetery, which was destroyed by Turkish racism.

The only thing that remains is a politics of the body—but the bodies that produce this politics differ from what Giorgio Agamben calls “bare life.” They are not “mere” bodies that the arbitrary will of a sovereign can isolate from society, oppress unceremoniously, or push to the margins of the symbolic world. Rather, they evoke what Ernst Bloch calls “the upright man,” the collective Prometheus. Bloch writes:

Nothing is more fortifying than the call to begin from the beginning. It is youthful as long as it is; to it there belongs a young and aspiring class. It is innocent of the bad things that have happened, for it has never had a real opportunity to be guilty. When this happens, justice has the effect of a morning; it opposes itself to that eternal sickness which was handed down before it. Beginning anew is freshness through and through; it is a first if it appears completely ahistorical, and if it seems to lead back to the beginning of history….It carries the image of the pastoral mood, of the shepherd, of the simple and upright man; one can play with it even in the dark.[1]

Gezi is the struggle of disorderly bodies, those who do not have any dispositif other than their own bodies, against the death machines. If the machines are regulatory instances that follow commands and extort public spaces of mobility with force and violence, then the force they face is the resistance of life itself. Life flourishes at the most unexpected moments and places, just like weeds that crack the concrete and spring out of it. No apparatus of the state can succeed in dominating life absolutely.

The state seeks order; it can control only those whom it orders. It cannot cope with the demand of "freedom"; it has to ask questions such as “freedom for whom,” “freedom for what,” or “freedom under what circumstances” in order to tuck freedom into neat boxes. Order draws borders, fixes identities, and defines. It attempts to establish a hierarchy. By telling parents to take their daughters and sons home from the park, it both brands the resisting bodies as "children" and tries to trigger into action the nucleus of society: family. Through its rhetoric of security, it attributes the risks of its own making to the resisting bodies. It hangs its own flag or banner on the bodies that it prefers knocking down rather than protecting. It punishes those who do not obey; it uses punishment as retaliation. It operates through censorship, threats, and propaganda.

Life, on the other hand, is a constant flux. It challenges borders and moves beyond them. It opens up to circulation those spaces that are closed off due to construction; it paints such destructive vehicles as bulldozers pink; it transforms steps into tribunes, pieces of iron into wish trees, and trees destined to be cut down into monuments. It walks on highways and bridges that are closed to pedestrians. It does not like the empty and the sterile; it covers them up with banners, slogans, tents. It leaves its mark on every surface. It disrupts silence at times with pots and pans, and at other times with a tune from a piano. It plays with identities and definitions; it makes them fluid; it renders them indistinguishable. It can make fun of both itself and the established order thanks to its humor. By changing one single letter in a word, it can ridicule the heaviest of symbolisms. When the state apparatus sends a riot-intervention vehicle to pour tear gas on it, life stops to catch its breath for a while and goes right back to resisting. When a body grows tired, it gets replaced by a reinvigorated one. Life turns into thousands of fingers that tweet and take photographs when the state apparatus sends down vehicles of propaganda. It stops its wheelchair to grab the flag that fell on the ground while escaping from tear gas. It apologizes when it steps on someone`s foot while running; it calms down those who panic.

It is obvious that these bodies that fascism wants to militarize will not assume any ideological identity. When they do not drink alcohol, they ridicule conservatism; when they lie under a TOMA, they make fun of liberalism, which claims that life is the most valuable good. Orthodox Marxism cannot decide under which class struggle these "çapulcu" bodies are to be subsumed. As long as they stay in physical contact, as long as they remain as collective Prometheuses, as long as they—have to—continue the resistance, they grow accustomed to each other`s colors, languages, and genders. They disrupt the behavioral rules that ideologies and institutions expect from them. The natural or moral instinct of protection that has been attributed to mothers loses ground when female bodies participate in the resistance alongside their children. The nationalist and the Kurd exchange anti-acid solutions in gas-filled hotel lobbies. The upper-class college kid drinks the water handed over by the kid with an Anonymous mask without needing to ask what neighborhood he’s from. Soccer fans save their curses for the police rather than for their rivals.

What comes out of all this is trust, not chaos. That`s why the bodies multiply with every gush of tear gas, spaces expand with every police attack, and the quality of contact among the bodies increases with every propaganda speech. The life woven together by bodies born in Gezi is so tenacious that the government is right in fearing it. The power of these bodies stems from their capacity to mutualize endurance, rather than vulnerability (as Judith Butler envisioned they would). One would need to look into the extensive interstices of this politics of the body, rather than into macro-level discourses, to begin deciphering it.

NOTES

[1] Ernst Bloch, Natural Right and Human Dignity (Cambridge: MIT Press, 1987), 61.

[An earlier version of this article was published on 26 June 2013 on BIA ("Independent Communication Network"). The link to that version can be found here. This article was translated from Turkish by Gülfer Göze.]