Mas'ud Zavarzadeh
"One
thing is clear; the Middle Ages could not live on Catholicism, nor
could the ancient world on politics. On the contrary, it is the manner
in which they gained their livelihood which explains why in one case
politics, in the other case Catholicism, played the chief part".
Marx, Capital,
1
'abstractions
reflect nature more deeply, truly and completely"
Lenin,
"Conspectus of Hegel's The Science of Logic"
1
One
of the signs of the collapse of contemporary U.S. pedagogy is the
interpretation the majority of Americans make of the "event"
that is now marked by the cultural sign of "9/11". To them, the "event" was (and remains) proof that
"'they' hate 'us'". The only way, in other words, most
Americans brought up in the U.S. educational system could make sense of
the "event" was affective. Any attempt to introduce even a
mildly analytical "why" ("Why
do you think 'they' hate
Americans?") was (and is) taken as the height of emotional
crudeness and intellectual vulgarity if not outright anti-Americanism.
Having
reduced the "event" to a "trauma", the reaction to
the "trauma" was (and remains) also "traumatic".
In the days following the "event", waves of violence by
ordinary people, the FBI, the police, the INS, the local militia and
neighborhood vigilantes were unleashed towards the "other" and
those who had the "same" look as the "other".
With a sentimental and equally violent patriotism the U.S. flag
was (and is) used to more decisively sort the world out into lovers and
haters of "our way of life".
U.S. pedagogy has so paralyzed people's critique-al
consciousness, most are now helpless witnesses to the emergence of a
national security state ("The Patriot Act") and the preemptive
class aggressions of the empire.
The
teach-ins and forums which were held about the "event" were
only slightly more layered expressions of the affective. Most were
sessions in talking trauma which, following the trauma theory now
popular in many cultural circles, dissolved history into the
unrepresentable affect (Shoshana Felman, The Juridical Unconscious:
Trials and Traumas in the Twentieth Century; Lyotard, The
Differed; Dominick LaCapra, Writing History, Writing Trauma;
Cathy Caruth, ed. Trauma: Exploration in Memory).
The teach-ins became occasions for displacing an analytical
grasping of history by an ecumenical sentimentality for the suffering.
Michael
Berube's essay in The Chronicle of Higher Education
(October 5, 2001, B-5) is
exemplary of the lessons in empathy to avoid the analytical.
It is rhetorically a masterful lesson in the erasure of all
traces of thinking about the "event" in part because it
preemptively announces itself as an intervention in ignorance ("Ignorance
Is a Luxury We Cannot Afford").
After describing how he had shelved "the course
assignments" in his classes to devote "most of the rest of the
week…to a discussion of [students's] reactions to the attack", he
narrates a range of readings of the "event" and concludes that
the "most troubling" analyses of the "event" were
from
the political left, some of which were coming uncomfortably close to
justifying the indiscriminate slaughter of innocents.
Many students immediately connected the attack to various
American operations in the Middle East, and I wanted them to be very
careful about how they made those connections. Of course, I said, of course
the attacks must be placed in the broader context of the history of U.S.
foreign policy in Asia and the Middle East. But any analysis that did
not start from a position of solidarity with, and compassion for, the
victims, their families, and the extraordinary rescue workers in New
York and Washington was an analysis not worth time and attention (B-5).
What
Berube's teaching seeks is moral clarity, which has become the
conservative touchstone in reading the "event" (William J.
Bennett, Why We Fight: Moral Clarity and the War on Terrorism)
not analytical critique. Berube moves quickly to block by
"clarification" any attempt at such a critique by saturating
the session with details (what he calls "background
information"): "Very well, some students replied, but what
does it mean to 'place the attacks in the broader context of U.S.
foreign policy'? Here, not surprisingly, what my students wanted and
needed most was basic background information" (B-5).
What
follows, in the name of curing ignorance, are stories about U.S. foreign
policy but no conceptual analysis:
Was
it true, they asked, that the CIA once financed and trained bin Laden?
Well, yes, I said, but at the time, in the 1980s, we financed just about
anyone who showed up and offered to drive the Soviets out of
Afghanistan. No, we didn't have the same kind of relationship to bin
Laden that we had to Noriega or Pinochet or the Shah or Somoza or any of
the other dictators we'd propped up in the course of waging the cold
war.
The
"story" in contemporary pedagogy (which has opportunistically
concluded that knowledge is a story and all concepts are tropes)
performs an essential ideological task: it offers a non-explanatory
explanation and thus constructs an "enlightened false
consciousness" in the classroom (Peter Sloterdijk, Critique of
Cynical Reason, 5-6). Teaching by stories produces knowingness not
knowledge and consequently cultivates a savvy cynicism about ideas,
analysis, and explanation. It rejects causal explanations (in fact it
dismisses the very idea of "cause-effect") and puts in its
place vaguely plotted details that hint at moving but have no analytical
yield: the pleasures of stories replace the cognitive.
This is important because no
account of the "event" can forget the CIA. However, most
accounts of the "event", evoke the CIA to obscure its role by
telling CIA stories of high intrigue in exotic lands and thus divert
attention from the other CIA whose role is crucial in understanding the
"event". The CIA which is openly discussed and critiqued to
obtain radical credentials for the story-teller is, as Berube's tale
demonstrates, a political agency of the US Government. The other
CIA—the one that is covered up by these narrative details—is only
officially a political agency of the State. In practice, it is the
gendarme of American capitalism: it is an economic not a political
outfit.
Berube's
lesson obscures this CIA which is an extension of U.S. corporations and
whose task is to wage a clandestine class war against the working people
of the world to keep the world safe for U.S. investment. There is no
hint in his teaching of the event that the CIA's actions might be
symptoms of the systematic aggression of market forces against the
workers and that the "event" might be an outcome of market
forces. In his teaching, the CIA becomes a story machine producing
absorbing stories that circle around personalities, places, and actions
but lead nowhere. They build an illusion of knowing. Analysis of the
economic role of the CIA (which produces material knowledge of global
relations) is obstructed by details that have no analytical effect. Why,
for instance, did the CIA fight to drive the Soviets out of Afghanistan?
Berube's "waging
the cold war" seems to imply that the dynamics of the conflict is
"ideology". The
U.S. and the Soviets simply had two different "political"
systems and cultures. Thus, in Berube's version of history, it is
natural that the CIA wanted to drive the Soviets out of Afghanistan and
increase the U.S.'s sphere of political and cultural "power"
in the region. The conflict
between the Soviet Union and the United States is, in other words, a
clash of ideas.
Underling
his pedagogy is, in other words a view of history as an expansionism of
"power" (Michael Hardt and Antonio Negri, Empire) and
as conflicts of "ideologies" (Francis Fukuyama, The End of
History and the Last Man). It is based on the notion that
"discourse" and "ideas" shape the world since
ultimately, history itself is the discursive journey of the Soul towards
a cultural and spiritual resolution of material contradictions. This
theory mystifies history by displacing "class" (labor) with
"ideas" and "discourse" and consequently produces
world history as a "clash of civilizations" (Samuel P.
Huntington, The Clash of Civilizations and the Remaking of the World
Order) that re-writes the world in the interest of the Euroamerican
capitalism. According to the clash theory (which is the most popular
interpretive axis of "9/11"), people do what they do because
of their "culture" not because they exploit the labor of
others (and live in comfort), or their labor is exploited by others (and
therefore they live in abject poverty).
"9/11", in other words, is an instance of the clash of
civilization: culture ("values", "language",
"religion", the "affective") did it.
"They" hate "our" way of life ("Their 'values'
clash with Our 'values'). Since "values" are transhistorical,
the clash is spiritual, not material.
But culture, didn't do it. Contrary to contemporary dogma (Stuart
Hall, "The Centrality of Culture: Notes on the Cultural Revolution
of Our Time"), culture is not autonomous; it is the bearer of
economic interests. Cultural "values" are, to be clear,
inversive: they are a spiritualization of material interests. Culture
cannot solve the contradictions that develop at the point of production;
it merely suspends them. Material
contradictions can be solved only materially, namely by the class
struggles that would end the global regime of wage labor.
"9/11" is an unfolding of a material contradiction not a clash
of civilizations. If teaching the "event" does not at least
raise the possibility of a class understanding of it, the teaching is
not pedagogy, it is ideology (as I outline it in part 5 of this essay).
To be
more precise: the CIA fought the Soviets (and then the Taliban) because
U.S. capitalism needs to turn Afghanistan into a "new silk
road". The conquest of
Afghanistan, in other words, was planned long before the
"event", and its goal was neither liberation of the Afghani
people nor what the CIA calls "democratization". It was simply aimed at turning the country into a huge
pipeline station. In his testimony before the "House Committee on
International Relations Subcommittee on Asia and the Pacific" on
February 12, 1998 (three years before "9/11"), John J. Maresca,
the Vice-President for International Relations of Unocal Corporation,
stated that
The
Caspian region contains tremendous untapped hydrocarbon reserves, much
of them located in the Caspian Sea basin itself. Proven natural gas
reserves within Azerbaijan, Uzbekistan, Turkmenistan and Kazakhstan
equal more than 236 trillion cubic feet. The region's total oil reserves
may reach more than 60 billion barrels of oil—enough to service
Europe's oil needs for 11 years. Some estimates are as high as 200
billion barrels. In 1995, the region was producing only 870,000 barrels
per day (44 million tons per year [Mt/y])" (Monthly Review,
December 2001).
The
problem for U.S. capital was how to get the energy to the market.
The safest and most profitable way to get the energy to the West
was, Maresca testified, by building "A commercial corridor, a 'new'
Silk Road" through Afghanistan. Developing "cost-effective,
profitable and efficient export routes for Central Asia", according
to Maresca, is the point of converging "U.S. commercial interests
and U.S. foreign policy": Afghanistan
had to be liberated to build the "new" silk road not because
of a "clash of civilizations".
Teaching
that brings up the "event" in the classroom has a pedagogical
responsibility to at least raise these issues: to limit
"knowledge" to "background information" and then
substitute CIA stories for conceptual analysis of material causes is not
curing ignorance but legitimating it. Attributing the causes of the
"event" to culture, therefore, is to obscure the world class
relations and the fact that their "hatred" is not the effect
of an immanent evil in their "religion" or
"language" or "values" but the brutal exploitations
of capital that has torn apart "their" way of life to build
new "silk roads" all over "their" world. The silk
road always and ultimately leads to "events".
To blame other "cultures" as Berube does when he refers
to "searing images of cheering Palestinian children", is to
let capitalism off the hook. It is a practice that produces a "false
consciousness" in students so that they make sense of the world
through spiritualistic "values" that marginalize the actual
struggles over the surplus labor of the "other"—which is,
what makes their own life comfortable. This is not curing ignorance; it
is the corporate pedagogy of a flag-waving nationalism.
The
pedagogy of affect piles up details and warns students against
attempting to relate them structurally because any structural analysis
will be a causal explanation, and all causal explanations, students are
told, are reductive. Teaching thus becomes a pursuit of floating
details—a version of games in popular culture. Students
"seem" to know but have no knowledge. This is exactly the kind
of education capital requires for its "new" workforce: workers
who are educated but nonthinking; skilled at detailed jobs but unable to
grasp the totality of the system— energetic localists, ignorant
globalists.
This
pedagogy provides instruction not in knowledge but in savviness—a
knowing that knows what it knows is an illusion but is undeluded about
that illusion; it integrates the illusion, and thus makes itself immune
to critique. Savviness is "enlightened false
consciousness"—a consciousness that knows it is false but its
"falseness is already reflexively buffered" (Peter Sloterdijk,
Critique of Cynical Reason, 5). The effect of this reflexive
falseness is that "one knows the falsehood very well, one is well
aware of the particular interest hidden behind an ideological
universality, but one still does not renounce it" (Slavoj Zizek, The
Sublime Object of Ideology, 29).
What a
pedagogy of savviness teaches is knowing with a wink. In fact, the
"wink" places such knowledge on the borderlines of what
Sloterdijk calls "kynicism" (217-218)—absorbing the
falseness by an ironic, tongue-in-cheek pedagogy that completely
abolishes the conceptual for the pleasures of the story. The story is
represented as liberating the concrete of daily life from the conceptual
totalitarianism of abstractions. (I will use "totalitarian"
and "totalitarianism" in their sanctioned "liberal"
senses because I do not have the space for a critique of liberal
vocabularies and their concealed economic assumptions).
"Totalitarian" and its derivations, however, have always been
used by liberals to guarantee "liberal-democratic hegemony,
dismissing the leftist critique of liberal democracy as the obverse, the
"twin" of the Right Fascist dictatorship" Slavoj Zizek, Did
Somebody Say Totalitarianism?). Story-pedagogy consequently becomes
lessons in politics as desire, affect and unsurpassable experience as in
the writings of Marjorie Garber (Symptoms of Culture), Elaine
Showalter ("The Professor Wore Prada"), Nestor Garcia
Canclini (Consumers and Citizens: Globalization and Multiculturalism),
and Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick (Touching Feeling: Affect, Pedagogy, Performativity).
These
pedagogues theorize desire, the affective, trauma, feelings, and
experience, which are all effects of class relations, as spontaneous
reality and deploy them in teaching to outlaw lessons in conceptual
analysis of the social totality—which is aimed at producing class
consciousness in the student (the future worker). The classroom is then
constituted as the scene of desire where the student is interpellated as
the subject of his affects, which, in their assumed inimitability,
ascribe to him an imaginary, matchless individuality. The un-said
exceptionality of affect in the classroom of desire becomes an
ideological alibi for the negation of collectivity grounded in objective
class interests, and the student is taught to "wage a war on
totality" by activating "the differences", and in
"the honor of the name" identify with himself as an
unsurpassable singularity that exceeds all representations
(Lyotard, Postmodern Condition, 82).
The pedagogy of totality is the negation of the negation.
Berube's
stories of a political CIA are narratives of capitalist desire aimed at
fragmenting the internationalism of class connectedness among working
people by dehistoricizing and localizing affects (suffering of the same
and cheering of the other). However, the "event" has a history
and, as an objective materiality, cannot be understood without placing
it in the world-historical class struggles. But in the classroom of
"enlightened false consciousness" constituted by
desire, class has no place. Any explanations of the "event" as
a moment in the unfolding of the international class struggles; as a
moment in which "two great classes" (the rich and the poor)
are finally "directly
facing each other" (Marx and Engels, Manifesto of the Communist
Party, 41) is suspended in silence.
To put
"class" back into teaching of the "event" is to move
beyond dissipating history through "trauma" and anecdotes of
affect and thus put an end to the teaching of savviness, which
masquerades as a curing of ignorance.
The task of the pedagogy of totality is to teach the abstract
relations that structure the concrete material reality and not be
distracted by the details of appearance because "abstractions reflect nature more deeply, truly and
completely" and bring the student closer to grasping social
totality: "the relations of production in their totality"
(Marx, Wage-Labour and Capital, 29), which is constituted by
class antagonism, and therefore its unity is a "unity of
opposites" (Lenin, "On the Question of Dialectics", 358).
The hostility to conceptual analysis and particularly to class
critique in contemporary pedagogy goes well beyond the teach-ins on the
"event". It is the fundamental dogma of "radical"
bourgeois pedagogy. Henry Giroux, for example, wipes out class from
pedagogy on the grounds that "class" is part of what he calls
"totalizing" politics (Impure
Acts
25-26). To be so totally opposed to totalizing is, of course, itself a
totalization. But totalizing in opposing totalization does not seem to
bother Giroux and other anti-totalizing pedagogues because the issue,
ultimately, is really not epistemological ("totalizing") but
economic (class). In contemporary pedagogy "totalizing" is an
epistemological cover for the class cleansing of pedagogy.
[…]
Pedagogy
is most effective when its lessons are situated in the conceptual
analysis of objective social totality and grounded in historical
materialist critique. Totalization is essential to transformative
pedagogy because it is through totalization that the student—the
future worker—is enabled to "see society from the center, as a
coherent whole" and therefore "act in such a way as to change
reality" (Lukacs, History and Class Consciousness, 69).
Changing reality in a sustained way, requires knowing it historically
and objectively, that is, conceptually as a totality in structure and
not simply reacting to it as a galaxy of signifiers (as textualists have
done); as the working of power in networks of discourses (Foucault), or
as a spontaneous reality that is available to us in its full immediacy
(as activists have done with eclecticism and sentimentality). Pedagogy,
in other words, is always partisan and the only question is whose side
(in the great class struggles) it takes and why: "Who does
not know that talk about this or that institution being non-partisan is
generally nothing but the humbug of the ruling classes, who want to
gloss over the fact that existing institutions are already imbued, in
ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, with a very definite political
spirit?" (Lenin, "The Tasks of the Revolutionary Youth").
Criticism
of totality as a closural space that excludes "difference" and
thus leads to "totalitarianism" is based on an
anti-materialist reading of difference as "contingency"
(Richard Rorty, Contingency, Irony, and Solidarity, 3-69);
as "hybridity" (Homi Bhabha, The Location of Culture); as "differance"—the play of
"traces" in the differing and deferral of the sign
(Derrida, "Differance"); or the performativity of identity
(Judith Butler, Bodies That Matter: On the Discursive Limits
of "Sex"). These
and other versions of difference (Anthony Giddens, Runaway World: How
Globalization is Reshaping Our Lives) in contemporary pedagogy, are
based on cultural heterogeneities that deflect the difference
that makes all the differences: the social division of labor under
capitalism. The pedagogy of
totality writes the foundational difference of class, which explains all
these differences, back into teaching and foregrounds it not as aleatory
signs (which is the epistemology of all these differences) but as a
historical necessity for capital, which divides people with rigid
clarity in the regime of wage labor (Marx and Engels, Manifesto of
the Communist Party, 40-60). Social totality, as I have suggested,
is a totality with a materialist (class) difference. It is a resistance
against the ferocity of "contingency",
"performativity", "hybridity", and
"differance" which, with the spiritual aroma of
religion, have re-written the world in cynicism, in pathos, and
ironically but always in the interest of the transnational bourgeoisie.
[…]
A
pedagogy that understand class—as an objectivity—will be able to
contribute to its transformation. Without
teaching for ending class, which is possible only through understanding
it as objective, all acts of pedagogy become
acts of cultural adjustment to the dominant social conditions—acts of
learning "how power works" (Giroux, Impure Acts, 139)
in order to manipulate it and make it work for them. Giroux calls the
arts and crafts of manipulating power, "critical pedagogy" and
call its manipulators "critical citizens". This is a
citizenry, however, that is always concerned with how power works on
"them", through "them" and for "them" (not
the collective). It is
obsessed with "power" and never concerned with
"exploitation". It is, in the language of bourgeois
stratification, an "upper middle class" citizenry for whom the
question of poverty (exploitation) is non-existent, and the only
question is the question of personal liberty (power), as Giroux makes
even more clear in his stories in Breaking into the Movies:
Film and the Culture of Politics;
Public Spaces, Private Lives.
In
the name of a "pedagogy without guarantees" (Impure Acts,
12)—which legitimates the right-wing ideology of "equality of
opportunity" but not outcome and the bourgeois obsession with
"self-definition and social responsibility" (12) as if these
were simply matters of "contingency and contextuality"
(12)—Giroux opposes a pedagogy of totality and rejects class as
"the totalizing politics of class struggle" (Impure Acts,
25). Indeterminate, non-totalizing cultural interpretations
("producing a language", 12) in pedagogy displace explanatory
class critique, and consequently all structural material contradictions
are re-written as contingent cultural excess that surpasses all
structures. Consequently,
racism, in Giroux's contingent pedagogy of adjustment is not the effect
of structural economic compulsion (Marx,
Capital, 1, 899) but
a cultural oppression: the "legacy of white supremacy" (Impure
Acts, 66).
Giroux and other critical pedagogues always criticize
capitalism and regard their pedagogy to be a resistance against it.
Their criticism, however, is, in practice a radical complicity with
capital because it always erases the fundamental material contradiction
of capitalism (the appropriation of products from its producers) and
instead focuses on such matters as race, sexuality, gender, and the
environment as autonomous sites of the exercise of power. When their
teacherly criticism approaches capitalism as an economic system, it is
finance capital that is their object of attention. Focusing on finance
capital, however, represents money itself ("interest") as the
source of wealth. In doing so, it marginalizes labor as the source of
value and class as the marker of relations of property and exploitation.
Replacing capitalism as wage labor with capitalism as finance capital
has been the political goal in the writings of such post-al writers as
Derrida (Specters of Marx), Deleuze and Guattari (Anti-Oedipus:
Capitalism and Schizophrenia) and Bataille, The Accursed Share.
"In a sense", write Deleuze and Guattari,
"[I]t
is the bank that controls the whole system and the investment of desire.
One of Keynes's contributions was the reintroduction of desire into the
problem of money; it is this that must be subject to the requirements of
Marxist analysis. That is why it is unfortunate that Marxist economics
too often dwell on considerations concerning the mode of production, and
on the theory of money as the general equivalent as found in the first
section of Capital, without attaching enough importance to
banking practice, to financial operations, and to specific circulation
of credit money—which would be the meaning of a return to Marixst
theory of money". (Anti-Oedipus 230).
Focusing on banking effectively diverts attention away
from how "money" is obtained at the point of production and
instead focuses on the institutions of its distribution, as in Fredric
Jameson's "Culture and Finance Capital". In the manner in
which Felski and others substitute class affect for class economics, in
the left discussion of capitalism, the conceptual analysis of labor as
the source of wealth and wage labor as the structure of exploitation are
displaced by empathy for those who suffer at the hands of financial
institutions such as the IMF and World Bank, as in Amitava Kumar's World
Bank Literature—a book of pedagogical mourning and melancholia.
The grounding premise of "Culture and Finance Capital", World Bank
Literature and other contemporary left writings on capitalism is
that it is possible to have capitalism without oppression, namely
capitalism as a compassionate exploitation of people by people. Capitalism is for
them always and ultimately cultural.
It is, as Kumar writes, a web of
"power relations" and "cultural practices".
In Kumar's affective politics, banks are criticized in order to
reform capitalism not to overthrow it.
The popularity of "bank writing" in bourgeois left
circles now is, in part, grounded in the writings of Pierre Bourdieu who
theorizes "capital" as a form of wealth—a resource—which
produces power (The Field of Cultural Production, 74-141).
Capital is, of course, not a thing but rather a social relation (Marx, Wage-Labour
and Capital, 28-30; Capital, 3, 953-0954) that is clearly
recognized as such in revolutionary writings on banks
(Fidel Castro "Abolish The IMF" (Capitalism in
Crisis 288-292). Capitalism is not about "money", it is
about the social relations of property: class. Class is not lifestyle,
income or job. Nor is it life-chances in the market (Weber), a state of
mind or a matter of social prestige or status.
Classes
are large groups of people differing from each other by the place they
occupy in a historically determined system of social production, by
their relation (in most cases fixed and formulated in law) to the means
of production, by their role in the social organization of labour, and,
consequently, by the dimensions of the share of social wealth of which
they dispose and the mode of acquiring it. Classes are groups of people
one of which can appropriate the labour of another owing to the
different places they occupy in a definite system of social economy.
(Lenin, "A Great Beginning: Heroism of the Workers in the Rear.
'Communist Subbotniks'" 421).
Class is, fundamentally, the relation of the subject of labor to ownership of the means of production; it is the objective social relations of property, not a story of desire, affect or power.
This is a short excerpt from Mas'ud Zavarzadeh's essay, "The Pedagogy of Totality" which appears in full in the Journal of Advanced Composition Theory (JAC) (23.1-2003).
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