Colonialism, Imperialism and Animal Liberation

Colonialism is not a thinking machine, nor a body endowed with reasoning faculties. It is violence in its natural state, and it will only yield when confronted with greater violence. – Frantz Fanon [1]

It is, in theory, not necessary to point out the brutality and violence permeating the colonial and imperialist projects of various societies as they have come and gone throughout history. The arcs on which these events are documented are, as Marx said of capitalism, dripping from head to foot, from every pore, with blood and dirt. But in practice, the only danger lies in not retelling this story enough rather than in telling it too often.

Whether we are talking about Africans, enslaved and brought to the Americas as a tool for imperialist interests, native Americans robbed of their land, their freedom and ultimately their lives, the utter misery in Kongo under Belgian rule, or British imperialism in India, the underlying themes share a striking similarity. The bodies of the conquered were objectified as machines to do the work of their new masters, the land and riches were confiscated while the cultures and societies, in many cases, torn apart and destroyed. To accomplish this, an entire philosophy of domination was applied through a brutal and multilayered web of racism, sexism, religious persecution and cultural universalism strictly from the perspective of the conquerors. The cultures and practices of the natives were vilified and demonized (sometimes literally, as in the form of witch hunts), while atrocious behavior on the part of the invading empires – both at home and in their new colonies – was often explained as justified or even necessary.

It is no wonder, then, that anarchism is by very definition opposed to these practices of domination and that anarchists are among the foremost critics of this process and its lingering effects. This is very much the case also for anarchists engaged in the animal liberation struggle, as several parallels can be drawn in the way that the highly diminished status of non-human animals could be used as a platform to dehumanize and delegitimize the conquered populations and their cultures. With animals already neatly fit into the narrative of being mere tools and objects for human exploitation, labeling the colonized populations as animals immediately brought to life the desired associations.

Despite this, some would like to fit the animal liberation struggle into the imperialist project, as a form of cultural imperialism, turning such anarchists or other animal liberation activists into proponents of one of the things they abhor the most. It is often the strong advocacy for total abstention from animal exploitation – veganism – that results in accusations of racism and imperialism. How dare we force western values upon indigenous cultures and societies?

This is a serious accusation, and one understandably perceived as insulting for many engaged in the anti-speciesist struggle. But ultimately it is one worth dealing with, because doing so sheds some light on some of the implicit assumptions within the accusation itself. To start with, imperialism, and all its destructive tools, was a means of dominating others, and asserting one culture above another. Veganism, in this sense, is acultural. It doesn’t apply double standards by letting something slide in one place but not the other, it doesn’t try to establish cultural hierarchies and it is not looking to establish domination. On the contrary, it is the dismantling of domination, in all its forms, that vegan anarchists seek. We wouldn’t accept cultural expressions involving slavery, patriarchy or economic exploitation – no matter what culture we are talking about – so why should we accept any additional forms of domination in one place but not the other? Gary L. Francione, an animal liberation proponent, answers this accusation succinctly:

Those in this group beg the question and assume that speciesism is justified. That is, their position amounts to the view that it is racist or culturally insensitive to seek to protect the interests of another marginalized and particularly vulnerable group, nonhuman animals. I would imagine that most of those who have this view would not object if the marginalized beings were other humans. But this is just another way of asserting human supremacy and exceptionalism. I find that as objectionable as asserting racial supremacy. [2]

If anything, vegan anarchists espouse values that are strongly in conflict with contemporary western culture, and most efforts are rightly aimed at western societies because this is where a significant part of the severe exploitation of non-human animals takes place. Not only that, it is in many cases western influence that increases – or at least exerts a cultural and economical pressure to do so – levels of animal exploitation in societies that peruse no or relatively small amounts of animal products, such as is the case in India and among Jainists in particular. No vegan anarchists want to take away people’s means of subsistence. The claim is rather that whoever has the practical prerequisites – economic, environmental, social – ought to choose not to harm sentient beings for nearly arbitrary reasons such as old habits and taste preferences.

In fact, by trying to apply imperialist connotations to proponents of veganism, one unwittingly positions western cultures as the subject, and indigenous cultures as the object. As if the western culture is dynamic, always changing and open to questioning, while the indigenous cultures are static and confined to the state in which colonial powers found them hundreds of years ago, unable to evolve and unable to challenge their own norms and thus develop. Indeed, as Margaret Robinson, a vegan of indigenous background, points out:

When veganism is constructed as white, First Nations people who choose a meatless diet are portrayed as sacrificing cultural authenticity. This presents a challenge for those of us who see our vegan diets as ethically, spiritually and culturally compatible with our indigenous traditions. [3]

The push against speciesist thinking should transcend cultural boundaries, as should any global struggle against oppression, thus uniting the participants across such divides. Questioning part of cultures on grounds of oppression – from within or without – is only hypocritical when done in the traditional guise of ignoring the same issues at home. But here vegans and anarchists are adamant, and emphasize the injustice in western culture as one of the large causes for the problem in the first place. In many of the indigenous legends, the use of animals was seen as a sacrifice, which was done out of necessity, not out of the ability to dominate. Many of these cultures have been pushed beyond such a relationship with nature, and as such can within their own spiritual and cultural heritage find arguments for moving beyond the objectified relationship with animals often imposed by imperialist conquest. In other words, when the material conditions no longer necessitate the exploitation of non-human animals for survival, the indigenous traditions can in many cases be seen as an argument for veganism, and not against it.

When people single out veganism for this type of critique, typically also calling it a form of consumerism, they mistake it for being promoted as the one and only solution to a problem. But I don’t have to think that abstaining from buying slaves, by itself, would stop the slave trade, to think that it would be unethical for me to participate in trading slaves. Consequently, activism and veganism are two components to reach one goal – the end of human domination of non-human animals.

While the activist component of animal liberation promotes agitation, direct action and similar activities, veganism is a way of already living in the now without being complicit in the perpetuation of the exploitation, which, besides showing that our ends can be our means, also shows that it is a viable alternative, and as such paves the way for others to follow suit. The burden of proof should be on the participants in the animal exploitation cycle to show that despite their participation, their choices have no negative net effect whatsoever on the well-being of sentient creatures. Because if their choices do have such consequences, and there is a practical alternative that doesn’t, then clearly that alternative is a better choice. This is especially true if said alternative synergizes with the wider struggle against domination.

There is a difference here between on the one hand anti-capitalist struggle and on the other hand anti-speciesist struggle. While capitalism permeates our entire society, and can be very hard or even counter-productive to fully distance oneself from, our domination of other animals is literally advertising its own presence wherever we face it and is often readily avoidable, so we don’t have to marginalize ourselves in society or act in highly impractical ways in order to withdraw from its perpetuation. Instead, a sharp critique of capitalist practices such as industrialized animal farming can be used as a launching point for a wholesale attack on capitalism as a system. There are synergies abound, comrades, and we should all support each other in building a strong, multi-faceted and vibrant movement that challenges the dominant ideologies of present society on all fronts on which they conflict with freedom and well-being.

Veganism, as an ethical choice, is thus a consistent complement to activism in the quest to end human domination over and exploitation of non-human animals. It transcends cultures, in the same way that other forms of oppression should be resisted no matter where they persist. All cultures are living and constantly evolving, and can from within their own cultural understanding find the tools and means through which speciesism, racism, sexism, capitalism or any other form of domination can be opposed. Everyone who opposes domination should find it within their interest to engage in or at least support the anti-speciesist struggle, for what more severe form of domination could we imagine than the notion that it is acceptable to harm and kill sentient beings because one likes their taste?


[1] The Wretched of the Earth – Frantz Fanon [PDF]

[2] Racism Versus Speciesism: A Moral Battleground? – Katrina Fox [link]

[3] Indigenous Veganism: Feminist Natives Do Eat Tofu – Margaret Robinson [link]

Love Your Life, Fuck Your Work

The late polish science-fiction writer Stanisław Lem who, alongside Ursula Le Guin, is one of my personal favorites in the genre, once wrote a short story in which the protagonist astronaut crashes on a planet inhabited by robots. To fit in, the astronaut disguises himself as a robot, but is eventually exposed. In an unexpected plot twist, it turns out that everyone on the planet was performing the same act – they were all humans pretending to be robots. This is a powerful statement concerning how ideology can be so strong that it is hard to penetrate, but when someone or something breaks the spell, it seems at once both empty and absurd. In many ways this resembles our relation to work today, or, even more profoundly, our very definition of what work is. And it doesn’t end there, as our concept of work necessarily spills over to our concept of free time.

“Free time is a euphemism for the peculiar way labor as a factor of production not only transports itself at its own expense to and from the workplace but assumes primary responsibility for its own maintenance and repair. Coal and steel don’t do that. Lathes and typewriters don’t do that. But workers do.” – Bob Black, The Abolition of Work

But since the workplace is such an important aspect of our lives under capitalism, it is a natural arena for struggle and organization against the system – by no means the only one, but rather one of many. We spend much of our time working, and the places we work at will be what we inherit when the capitalist class finally steps into the halls of extinction. That does not, however, necessitate an endorsement of the conditions or form that work or more specifically wage labor currently takes on. We want the abolition of capitalism, the end of states and hierarchies, equality and well-being for all. In that vision, there is no room for work as we find it today, and therefore our relation to this type of work must always remain one of antagonism. Seeing and understanding it for what it is can be an important step in liberating ourselves spatially, physically and temporally, and allowing ourselves to push on with the things necessary for a complete liberation. In taking action in the present world, we must never let go of our objectives, and we must never be tricked into accepting as ours values of the very system we wish to overthrow. As such, a critique of wage labor is not just a critique of the formal relations in the workplace, but also of the resulting conditions those relations lead to – internalizing the boss, alienating work, long work hours and ultimately the many ways in which our ideas, thoughts and expectations about life and work have been shaped by the rise and development of capitalism. The systems at play are so sophisticated that they often turn us into the guardians and overseers of our own exploitation. The chains we wear today are as much mental as they are material, and breaking them must begin in our minds.

“The morality of work is the morality of slaves, and the modern world has no need of slavery.” – Bertrand Russell, In Praise of Idleness

All of this can be seen as a synthesis. We can be actively pro-worker and anti-work at the same time, and as our struggles bear fruit, the apparent contradiction dissolves as the new social relations reshape the society – no more workers, and no more work as we know it.

Some of us, like those working in the manufacturing industries, feel the full force of the system’s effects. As appendages to machines, we have ourselves become machines in a modern Cartesian nightmare, where the advances of science have, in uniting the body and the mind, expelled the latter. We are all increasingly playing the roles of robots. We are being monitored, analyzed and picked apart. Every second, every step is scrutinized in the quest for increased productivity and, in the end, profits. Utilizing modern technology, workers in factories are often recorded on video. The video is then analyzed, and broken down into small fragments. Each movement is documented, each sub-task measured and ultimately, like a puzzle, fit into a time frame between the monotonous motions of machines. Time study, they call it. No wonder that we feel, as Marx said, only as ourselves outside our work, and in our work as outside ourselves.

For those of us lucky enough to work with things that interest us, this alienation is often hidden under the appearance of partial work satisfaction. But it cannot hide the fact that we might be doing the right thing for the wrong reasons. It cannot hide the fact that behind the veil, the same system lurks, working us for the sake of perpetual growth and profits. We risk our health, we get burned out due to too many work assignments, while outside our windows others can’t even find a job to sustain themselves. We don’t make the decisions in our work places and communities and are, at best, blissfully unaware of the system that uses us and that our work perpetuates.

To add insult to injury, many of the tasks we perform today fill no real purpose other than the accumulation of capital, they are often in themselves a means to pacify the public, and cause externalities such as environmental degradation or immense suffering for non-human animals. Since most of us depend on jobs, on any job really, those offered need not be the least appealing, and the more desperate one’s situation, the more alienated and appalling the working conditions. All of this is sold to us as an unfortunate but necessary consequence of the splendid process of progress. But what is that never-ending progress for, anyway, if those contributing to it work too hard to enjoy it and feel themselves out of place in the midst of it? How easy it is to forget that, at the time of its large scale introduction, wage labor was seen as a horrible fate.

“Such was the hatred that workers felt for waged labor that Gerrard Winstanley, the leader of the Diggers, declared that it did not make any difference whether one lived under the enemy or under one’s brother, if one worked for a wage. This explains the growth, in the wake of the enclosures […] of the number of ‘vagabonds’ and ‘masterless’ men, who preferred to take to the road and risk enslavement or death – as prescribed by the ‘bloody’ legislation passed against them – rather than work for a wage.” – Silvia Federici, Caliban and the Witch

If there is one thing I want to highlight in this text, it is the following. The social construct that puts shackles on us, that binds us to workplaces we don’t want and jobs we feel alienated from – you owe it nothing. It, in fact, owes its entire existence to you, your work and your energy, which it slowly siphons out of you. Don’t blame yourself for not complying or for cheating it. Don’t stress yourself out satisfying a system that knows no human feelings or needs. Don’t feel bad for always looking after your interests as well as those of your fellow beings first. This is one of the reasons the status quo should fear us. Because if we can break that spell, we can empower ourselves and be examples for others. If enough people no longer find themselves within the constraints imposed upon us, the powers that be have no choice but to admit defeat or expose their true colors by resorting to increased coercion and violence. Should that mask of civilized appearance fall, the dance of revolution can begin in earnest.

In our jobs, as in any social environment, we should generally be respectful towards the people we meet, unless given good reason otherwise. As much is granted. But for all of us there are fragments or sometimes entire episodes of our jobs that are not concerned with human relations or human well-being. Fragments when, simply put, we’re up against the system, in a more or less pure form. In these circumstances, where no other beings can suffer from it, when our decisions don’t directly affect others negatively, we shouldn’t feel ashamed to cut every corner we can. There is no point in performing these jobs the way they are intended, because they are not intended for the world we want. We should take every opportunity to prioritize ourselves and our co-workers or other people we meet in our professional roles, to the degree we feel we can do that without harming others or jeopardizing our own sustenance. But in doing this, we should never feel bad, never feel like we owe anything, because we are merely reasserting our humanity.

What could this mean, practically? Don’t get dragged into internalizing capitalist value systems. You are not a part of your workplace. Don’t work harder than you have to, don’t worry about business as if it was personal, as if it was a person. Distance yourself – not from the people, but from the system. Encourage, subtly, your co-workers to do the same. Think of your well-being first, just do what you need to do to get by. Naturally, it is hard to be specific here, because every job has its own characteristics, and only those performing a specific one know the intricate details. But the bottom line is, whenever you can identify those moments when it is you against the system, always pick yourself and don’t feel bad about it, because it is the right thing to do. How far you want to take it is also something that must be determined on a personal basis, from quiet everyday protests like slowing down the pace of work, to outright sabotage. But always remember, the point is not the hasty demise of your particular workplace (or more likely, just your employment there), but to subvert the system so that it works as much as possible in our own favor, while we organize and struggle towards its eventual abolition. To leech back a bit of what it takes from us in the first place.

This doesn’t mean we shouldn’t lose ourselves in activities or ambitiously pursue tasks for long hours. But if we do, those should be tasks we set aside for ourselves freely, tasks in which we feel ourselves as our own masters, and in which we find our own purpose, alone or in free associations with others. Given the opportunity to shape our own world, we should shape it in a way that makes the tasks necessary for our well-being as convenient and as playful as possible. When we then do these things, we no longer really work, as much as we express ourselves and fulfill ourselves. We become the animal, the being, which is currently caged inside a robot’s body under the false pretense of reason and discipline. As a cog in the capitalist machine.

In freeing our minds and our bodies from some of the stress of our current jobs, in freeing ourselves from those internalized value systems that make us physically and mentally exhausted, we save energy, nurture our health and make space for other projects. We must never forget that our struggle is not meant to devour us, and that we must try to live as full and free lives already under the present condition. By doing this, we fill our lives with more joy and harmony, and our struggles with determination and energy. We shouldn’t feel bad for refusing to become machines, for breaking laws that break us, ignoring regulations we haven’t agreed to or deviating from norms we find objectionable. We shouldn’t be proud of our wage labor, or love our wage labor. We should be proud of ourselves and love ourselves and each other. Thus the title, and mantra of this text: Love your life, fuck your work.

The Price of Money

Background
Why do we have money? Where does it come from? Do we need it?
When it comes to money, there are as many theories as there are kinds, and it is as tangible and hands-on as it is mysterious. The most common myth, from Aristotle, via Adam Smith to various schoolbooks, is the one concerned with how it came to be in the first place; people got together to exchange different goods, and they needed some way to compare their respective value and something that could facilitate the exchange. But this explanation hasn’t been thoroughly backed up by empirical evidence, and it is very likely that the reality was more complex and diverse.

Anthropologist David Graeber has studied this subject, and found that many societies had some form of debt before they had actual money. Exchange in those days, many thousands of years ago, often happened within highly egalitarian communities, in what is often referred to as gift economies. People would give something away, with a vague expectation of getting something in return at a later time. In many societies this formed an important social fabric, and it was considered as rude to return something of roughly the same value as what was earlier received – for this meant that you didn’t want any further relation with the recipient! Sometimes no return was expected, and giving a lot was a symbol of status and prestige. We can find examples of such cultural expressions even in our own time, for instance within research. Often, it is the dream of a given scientist to contribute as much as possible to their own field – by all means more than they have received. A similar tendency can be observed in the free software programming community. This clearly indicates that our propensity for being generous, as opposed to being egoistic, is often contingent on environmental factors rather than biological ones. In short, we seem to be capable of both, and how we shape our societies will affect which behavior will thrive. If early hunter-gatherer societies are anything to go by, our biology has been well suited for egalitarian forms of organization where mutual aid, rather than competition, is the operating principle.

Money as an actual tangible representation of value was thus predated by this type of socialized debt, and its early appearances can instead often be traced to armies, as a means to pay the soldiers. In this way areas where armies set up camp turned into ad-hoc markets. But it wasn’t until capitalism — with commodity production, wage labor and the division of labor — forced itself into the lives of the late feudal societies that money came to dominate almost all exchange between people.

The Arcane Obviousness
As we can see, not even the origin of money seems to be a simple and straightforward matter. Meanwhile, one of the big problems today is that we take money for granted without contemplating what it represents and how it affects society. We’re so used to being surrounded by it in our every-day lives that it becomes an inevitable – and therefore near invisible – fact. We say that money can’t buy happiness, or that money is freedom, but at the same time there are occasions when we’re delighted to get our hands on some of it, or feel trapped despite having a fortune. We often talk about money, but we rarely talk about money.

The significance of money and commodities, how they appear and what they hide beneath the surface, was something Karl Marx took great interest in, and he called this the money- and commodity-fetishism. This is not to be understood as a consumerist worship of money or commodities, but rather as the observation that the attributes we usually ascribe to these things aren’t really their own to start with. When we’re confronted with different commodities at the store, and compare their prices, what appears as relations between commodities, are really relations between the workers involved in the production and the work required for it.  We can say that one is more expensive than the other, but we don’t know how the people behind these commodities relate to each other. The social relations appear as relations between commodities, not people. What is worse, this realization in itself doesn’t help dispel the appearance – even though we’re aware of it, we’re nonetheless faced with prices and commodities, not the people, both in our roles as consumers and producers, and thus we can’t easily rid ourselves of this appearance.

Another way to put this is to imagine a game of chess, with the pieces all set up and ready, on a computer screen. We ask the computer how to most quickly remove all the pieces from the board, and the answer is that we need to perform an intricate series of moves to achieve this desired state. The computer is here under the fetish-like influence of the rule set of the chess game, and according to those rules, the explanation is reasonable. But we, intellectually unbound by these rules, realize that we could just remove all the chess pieces immediately without performing the tedious moves. The difference between this fictive chess world and our own reality is that, for us, the rule set is not just in a computer, but exists and manifests itself as the society we face as soon as we walk out our front door. We can thus, if we examine them, claim that these rules or relations between commodities are not universal, but we cannot escape relating to them in our everyday lives. We have to play chess, whether we like it or not.

But already this theoretical realization that the economy is not quite what it seems, hints at some interesting consequences. Imagine if, when justifying some economic consideration, instead of saying “there’s not enough money” for such or such important project, we’d have to say that the societal work was put towards golf clubs instead.

The first task of any serious discussion concerning money is thus unpacking this fact; money is a social construct, not a necessary prerequisite for a society. Consequently, an honest assessment must in turn begin by asking not how we best use money, but whether it is the right tool for the job at all.

Generally, such a discussion about money, to the limited extent it ever takes place, falls into two categories; money as an incentive for performance — the proverbial carrot and stick — and money as a means to signal what is needed and what is to be produced in a society.

The Carrot (and the Stick)
The more vulgar proponents of the current system sometimes indirectly refer to money as a carrot or stick by defending inequality on the basis that it spurs people to self-improvement. But even if we don’t start at inequality, there’s usually an intuition at play regarding reward mechanisms; surely, money-rewards motivate people to perform better? This was the question Daniel H. Pink asked at the outset of his meta-study on motivation. What he found was that not only does the research in this field tell a quite different story, it in fact often reports results diametrically opposed to this initial intuition.

In short, Pink argues, people are generally motivated by a number of intrinsic factors; autonomy – to be self-directed and have control over their own work; purpose – to perform something that is perceived as meaningful; mastery – to get better at and eventually master tasks. These factors are contrasted by extrinsic ones; the carrot and the stick. What the research showed was that the intrinsic factors were significantly stronger for any task involving above rudimentary cognitive skills (creativity, problem solving, abstract thinking). In fact, when we add extrinsic rewards for such tasks, the performance actually drops! When we’re no longer doing something because of our intrinsic motivation to do so, we tend to lose interest. And if the extrinsic motivator, in the shape of for instance a profit motive, gets even further decoupled from the intrinsic motivators, we get results that Pink succinctly characterizes as “just… not good stuff”.

The exception to this involved tasks of mechanical nature where extrinsic rewards worked as expected, and this is probably where that false intuition of how rewards work comes from. Anyone familiar with the production industry knows that pay-for-performance used to be quite common, and that this could be shown to cause an increase in productivity (not worker health though, of course). In these cases, with repetitive, mundane and alienating jobs, there is little or no intrinsic motivation to start with, and thus extrinsic motivators work as expected. Money can also act as a motivator in a somewhat different way; if people get paid too little, for instance in relation to co-workers, they feel like they’ve been treated unfairly. If they are paid enough not to experience such feelings, money loses its appeal as a motivator, and the intrinsic motivators take over.

When we think about all this, it shouldn’t really be that surprising. Most people we ask, even those that earn very much or work very hard, don’t do it for money. If we ask a doctor, an engineer or a scientist, we’ll usually get an answer that can be reduced to a combination of the intrinsic motivators; autonomy, purpose and mastery. And we don’t even need to ask nurses, teachers or various service workers to realize that they don’t do what they do because of the money reward, unless it is in the form of a stick – out of necessity to survive. Amusingly, the occupations where we might find people that do it for money, or at least claim so, usually include those that concern money in the first place, like finance. Or to quote Noam Chomsky answering this question during an interview: “You’d never get anyone from the university saying that [they wouldn’t work unless paid], except from an economics department.” [1] Inversely, there is ample evidence of how extrinsic motivators in large quantities can produce results of not only poor performance, but of a nature detrimental for society at large. Ted Nace explores some such examples concerning stock options for CEOs in his book about the rise of corporate power, called Gangs of America.

We can draw some practical conclusions from these findings. Jobs that pay a high wage are generally not jobs where extrinsic motivators work very well. Jobs where they do work are often low-pay. This would indicate that our remuneration system has more to do with a social expectation of what a job is worth, than with actual pay for performance. Further on, it’s easy to see how the carrot often turns into a stick. Since within a capitalist system there’s always people in desperate need of jobs to make ends meet, and because in that they are at the mercy of any job opportunity coming their way, they don’t have to be paid well, and there is no incentive to make the job interesting or agreeable to start with. This starts a vicious cycle where such jobs are frowned upon and get stigmatized as even less valuable. Not only do we feel above jobs such as cleaning toilets, despite the fact that it has to be done, but we also build up this social expectation that is later transformed into (even greater) differences in remuneration. One example is the degradation of the status of physical labor throughout history, despite the fact that our society still depends on a lot of it being done, and despite that it is both physically and psychologically beneficial to perform some such labor for most everyone. Instead, we look down on manual laborers, while hurrying to the gym to burn some calories on a treadmill. This devaluation of some professions is often also justified by unconsciously appealing to the fetishism described earlier. We point out that the product of someone’s labor is worth very little in the economy, and triumphantly explain that they thus have to receive a low wage. Instead of having to look said person in the eyes and take full responsibility for our entirely subjective opinion that they simply deserve less than someone else, we hide behind seemingly objective economic conditions; in other words, we refer to the rules of the chess game. Checkmate, minimum wage workers.

There are of course other mechanisms at play as well, but that doesn’t detract from the findings regarding how money, motivation and social expectations are tied together. Without money, the stigma surrounding many present-day jobs could be removed, and we’d have all the reason to improve, simplify, diversify, redistribute and generally make them more agreeable to start with.

Signal and Distribution
Money, in the form of prices on a market, can act as a way to allocate production. When supply is high, prices tend to drop, and this deters producers from further production. Inversely, high demand drives prices up, and attracts new producers. This is one way to manage the question of production, but it is not the only one. When discussing supply, demand and prices, a lot of people visualize a real-time scenario where these variables continuously affect each other. In fact, most prices are not set in this manner.

Let us look at a producer of sports souvenirs – shirts, hats etc. Each product is available for a number of teams, and the price will be the same. But the teams will not be equally popular! Some will sell better than others. These differences are usually counteracted by stock and production adjustments, not with price increases on the most popular team’s souvenirs. We can thus already identify a decoupling of the expected market forces, and can point out that such an arrangement could work entirely without prices, just by gauging demand and adjusting stock and production accordingly. [2]

An objection might be raised at this point; we may be able to adjust our production without price information in this isolated example, but how many items is it reasonable to produce? There might be a need for other things, maybe more important ones, as well. How do we prioritize?

While it is not the aim of this text to present a full-fledged alternative, but rather to point out that what we often see as inevitable is far from it, it might be worth hinting at how this could work. Before doing so, however, we might want to investigate how the production is currently allocated. First off, it is important to remember that demand in the context of a market is not simply a human need, but a human need that can be backed up by money. Specifically, this could for example mean that a rich person desiring some luxury good can signal a demand, while a poor person in need of food, medication or some other urgent and fundamental necessity cannot. But the consequences go far beyond such individual examples and are structural as well. Since money is not evenly distributed throughout society (doh!), and thus some groups have far more than others, these groups will have a bigger influence on how production is allocated within society. When there’s some specific product or company we have an issue with, we’re often told to “vote with our money” and go elsewhere with our business. This is an unwittingly honest assessment of the system, in the way democracy and money get mixed up. If a group of people voluntarily come together to resolve common matters, and we deem that democracy could be a useful tool to do so, shouldn’t it be one vote per person? Of course it should. But there’s nothing democratic about our economic system.

We’ve already seen that money is generally not a reward for performance in the current system. But even if we wish that this was the case, how would we assess the performance in the first place? Does the surgeon, who just saved a life, have a rightful claim to a larger portion of the social production than the miner that risked his own deep underground? Does the computer engineer, eagerly coding in a creative trance, have a natural right to greater material wealth than the librarian, who is partly on sick leave due to chronic pain, and for whom every work day is an endless torment? Why does household work, still predominantly performed by women, lack any value whatsoever? If we are primarily concerned with needs – which is what allocation should be all about – the current system leaves a lot to be desired.

Now back to the question of priorities, for which an answer has already been implied above. We already utilize tools such as democracy or consensus decision making in many areas of societal organization. There is nothing unique about the economy in this regard. What, how and in which quantities things should be produced ought to be the result of the different needs and preferences of those involved, and there is no better way to discern those needs and preferences than letting those involved speak up. Then we won’t risk producing golf clubs when we in fact need medicine, housing, schools or medical facilities.

Summary
This text has primarily dealt with money, which is just one part of what we know as the capitalist mode of production. Much more could be said about the detrimental effects of that system as a whole, but there is a time and place for everything.

Money is a materialized form of social power. It is part of a system that hides the actual relations in our society, and deprives us of the possibility to rationally allocate resources through deliberate community decisions. We’ve seen that our motivation for being creative and productive is not dependent on money rewards, but that such rewards in fact often hamper our intrinsic motivation. Human needs are entirely separate from our different economic capabilities and always vary between individuals, both qualitatively and quantitatively. Often, it is those that cannot accumulate much wealth that have the most urgent needs. Each and every one of us is their own best judge of how to contribute in a society, and what needs that ought to be fulfilled.

This is not just a matter of rich and poor. It is a matter of perceiving the social aspect as second to none, and creating a society for human beings, instead of human beings for a society¹. Can we imagine a society where decisions are taken democratically, by the people whom they concern, whether it is a matter of what to produce or how we organize our neighborhoods?

If we think we can, then I don’t think we need money. It doesn’t offer us enough to merit its price; our place as social beings in a social context.


1) An example from the US: The 40-hour work week of 1950 can be reproduced today in around 10 hours. However full-time workers work on average 47-hour weeks – which is more, not less, than they used to. What would people from 1950 say if they had the chance to jump to a hypothetical future where they could choose to work 47-hour weeks at an unknown, but better, standard of living, or work 10-hour weeks at their current standard? What would we say about the same alternatives today?

Related literature:
David Graeber – Debt: The First 5000 years

Daniel H. Pink – Drive: The Surprising Truth About What Motivates Us

Karl Marx – Capital, Vol 1

Ted Nace – Gangs of America [PDF]

Sources:
[1] Interview with Noam Chomsky, September 2011, Oslo:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kOTBGrrDeXg

[2] The Left-Libertarian, Critique of Austrian Price Formation
https://theleftlibertarian.wordpress.com/2013/10/15/critique-of-austrian-price-formation/

Animal Liberation

Words are funny in many ways, aren’t they? They can say a lot about ourselves just by the way they affect us. Combining a couple of them might cause an even greater upset. Animal Liberation is one such combination. Many wince when they hear it in a conversation or read it somewhere, and have a distinct preconception regarding what this phrase means. Oh, that. Which brings us to the funny part, because, why would anyone react with suspicion towards the notion of their own liberation? Humans are, after all, just another animal. Then again, many live their physically and mentally sheltered lives under the impression that no liberation is needed. Anarchists usually know better, but despite this fact, our initial reaction would often subconsciously construct the same dichotomy; animals, that’s them. We, we are humans.

We are, however, but one of many animals on this planet. We haven’t been around the longest, we’re not the most numerous, and we’re far from the most skilled at many things. We don’t know what it feels like to soar through the blue vastness of the the sky, with the strength of our wings and our skills in using them being the only things stopping us from plunging to the ground. We have no idea what it means to dive into the depths of the ocean for long periods of time, unaided but for a sleek and sturdy body. We can’t even begin to imagine the scenery so self-evident to a nocturnal being that sees with sound waves. Yet, ironically, one of our most notable features, is exactly to proclaim how special we are. We have much more in common with certain animals than they have with others, still we are part of one world and they of another. While many other animals fill an important niche in the ecosystem, we’re not only quite irrelevant, but actually the only species that threatens the well-being of the entire planet. Still, we continue to measure other animals by our own yardstick, and congratulate ourselves to our superiority. But what is sophisticated reasoning and modern technology worth if we cannot value a life?

We are of course also capable of doing good things. Anarchists know that it is not a new, better, human being we need, but a society that enables us to nourish our tendencies towards mutual aid, cooperation and individual autonomy. A society that doesn’t hide the consequences of our actions from us, doesn’t alienate us from ourselves and one another, doesn’t pit us against each other, and above all, a society that isn’t contingent on the perpetual oppression of some by others. This is the liberation we should strive for. The liberation of all those oppressed beings, all animals. This is the Animal Liberation.

The interconnectedness of our social lives today is mirrored in the interconnectedness of our struggles and the different forms of oppression we face. The capitalist mode of production, with its ability to hide the social relations behind its ruthless, commodified and mechanical search for profits, in this way hides the suffering and exploitation of both non-human and human animals. To see this connection makes us stronger, and our cause the more important. In the same way that women have been objectified, not only culturally but also as a tool to control the reproduction of the working class, the bodies of non-human animals have been objectified to forward the interests of capital. By analyzing these things separately, we miss the bigger picture. There are synergies between all forms of oppression, and a strike at one is incomplete without a strike at the other. When white Europeans traveled the world and discovered other cultures, and people of color, what was one of the main justifications for the brutal subjugation of these new-found societies? “They are not human. They are animals.” By devaluing the lives of non-human animals, the road was paved towards doing the same to anyone that was different from the narrow norm. It is also a well known fact that violence towards other animals is often a precursor of violence towards humans. This is true on an individual level, as is often the case for women stuck in violent relationships, but also in the way governments have fine tuned methods of warfare on non-human animals in laboratories or military facilities before unleashing them on other nations. In other words, we have all the reasons to look at the big picture because it helps us to form the best tactics going forward. The boundary we usually draw between ourselves and other animals misses the point, because it has nothing to do with their ability to suffer. In that, they are just like us, and as anarchists we should recognize their suffering and make sure it is recognized as a form of oppression that we need to dismantle.

At this point usually a few concerns are raised. Even though few, if any, anarchists would disagree with the notion that factory farming is an atrocity, various forms of the “class first” argument are brought forward to signal that this is not the time to particularly think about other animals. This largely used to be the case with feminism as well, but it is decreasingly so, and that for several good reasons. First, these different struggles rarely stand in any sort of practical opposition to each other. It is possible to engage in both of them, and the same is true regarding the issue of non-human animals. From the simplest things, such as making sure the food is vegan when hosting functions, to supporting activists involved in the animal liberation struggle and seriously engaging with these ideas theoretically.

Secondly, the various forms of oppression will affect different people in different ways. Often they will intersect. We cannot set aside the plight of others because in making such priorities we often presume too much and are biased towards our own perceived grievances. This not only shows a lack of solidarity, but even worse so, tends to divide us instead of giving us strength in numbers. Sure enough, we cannot expect non-human animals to partake actively in the process of liberation, but this is also true for groups of humans, which would never lead us to think they do not deserve our solidarity. There are also significant numbers of anarchists already engaged in animal liberation in various ways, and in that sense the divisiveness of such argumentation is as real here as in the case of feminism or racism. Besides, the suffering caused to non-human animals, largely through factory farming and other capitalist institutions, is of staggering proportions. Forgoing all but the end to capitalism itself in the struggle for the abolition of it seems like a very narrow-minded and far-fetched approach to an acute issue of great consequences here and now. Although state capitalism utilizes many forms of oppression to divide and conquer its subjects, most of those are not unique to this system, and as such we have no reason to assume they would resolve with the end of it without a deliberate effort.

The revolution cannot be some distant and abstract mirage on the horizon. It must start within us, before it can happen on a large scale in the material world. Our means must be our ends, because we will reap what we have sown. Of course, lifestylism by itself will never bring about a social revolution, but at the same time the social revolution will never happen unless we act it out in our everyday lives – or it will come and go, leaving those marginalized forms of oppression intact. Just like refraining from owning slaves didn’t really forward the abolitionist cause, it also didn’t in any way justify doing the opposite. And using animals for our own benefit – when not necessary, which it rarely is for most of us – is in the same way not a personal lifestyle choice; it is not like picking which shirt to wear. It has direct negative consequences, death and suffering, which to a large extent can be avoided.

Another thing that needs to be pointed out is that this is not aimed at those remote cultures dependent on traditional hunter-gatherer lifestyles for their survival. The absolute majority of the oppression of non-human animals takes place in industrial facilities where domesticated animals are exploited for food, clothing and vivisection. This is where our efforts should be aimed. The difference between us and those traditional cultures is also that we, willingly or not, have been pushed beyond such a relationship with nature. From here, we can only go forward, and with what we know, with what we can do, there is no reason to revert back to a way of life that in any way harms other animals. We already have an immense debt towards nature, and we can live immersed in its beauty without causing any more suffering.

Despite all this, it would be unrealistic to expect everyone – or even just all anarchists for that matter – to become vegans tomorrow. Everyone has their own capabilities and constraints, and only they can know how to best turn theory into practice. This is also not the aim of this text. Rather, it is a plea to take that first step by recognizing veganism as a natural extension of anarchism, to start engaging with the idea of a society free from all animal exploitation and to start finding ways to take steps in that direction in practice. We can draw experience, strength and courage from our overlapping struggles, instead of letting them divide us. But to do that, we must be uncompromising in our questioning of unjustified hierarchies, authority and violence, and be prepared to also listen to those whose voice is otherwise not heard. There is nothing unique about human suffering. There is nothing necessary about our exploitation of other animals.