An army colonel is about to start the morning briefing to his staff. While waiting for the coffee to be prepared, the colonel says he didn’t sleep much the night before because his wife had been a bit frisky. He asks everyone: How much of sex is ‘work’ and how much is ‘pleasure’? A Major votes 75-25% in favor of work. A Captain says 50-50%. A lieutenant responds with 25-75% in favor of pleasure, depending on how much he’s had to drink. There being no consensus, the colonel turns to the enlisted man in charge of making the coffee. What does he think? With no hesitation, the young soldier replies, ‘Sir, it has to be 100% pleasure.’ The surprised colonel asks why. ‘Well, sir, if there was any work involved, the officers would have me doing it for them.’
Perhaps because he is the youngest, the soldier considers only the pleasure that sex represents, while the older men know a lot more is going on. They may have a better grasp of the fact that sex is the work that puts in motion the machine of human reproduction. Biology and medical texts present the mechanical facts without any mention of possible ineffable experiences or feelings (pleasure, in other words), as sex is reduced to wiggly sperm fighting their way towards waiting eggs. The divide between the feelings and sensations involved and the cold facts is vast.
The officers probably also have in mind the work involved in keeping a marriage going, apart from questions of lust and satisfaction. They might say that sex between people who are in love is special (maybe even sacred), but they also know sex is part of the partnership of getting through life together and has to be considered pragmatically as well. Even people in love do not have identical physical and emotional needs, with the result that sex takes different forms and means more or less on different occasions.
This little story shows a few of the ways that sex can be considered work. When we say sex work nowadays the focus is immediately on commercial exchanges, but in this article I mean more than that and question our ability to distinguish clearly when sex involves work (as well as other things) and sex work (which involves all sorts of things). Most of the moral uproar surrounding prostitution and other forms of commercial sex asserts that the difference between good or virtuous sex and bad or harmful sex is obvious. Efforts to repress, condemn, punish and rescue women who sell sex rest on the claim that they occupy a place outside the norm and the community, can be clearly identified and therefore acted on by people who Know Better how they should live. To show this claim to be false discredits this neocolonialist project.
“With all life on Planet Earth in the process of being consumed by capitalism, the literal belief in otherworldly magic is something that concerned citizens should be very worried about.”
Curtis White rightly concludes that plutocratic philanthropoids are primarily in the business of “risk management.” Indeed, the institutionalized tax evasion that enables beneficent elites to replenish their philanthropies provides them with the ideal means of undermining the government’s already limited provision of public welfare, and for “managing and limiting the ambitions” of grassroots activists to boot.
Unfortunately though, White fails to point out the central role that such philanthropic elites have played in nurturing supernatural sensibilities within their environmental grantees: an issue of magical dimensions that will be explored in this essay by scrutinizing the philanthropic communities ties to the original commissioning (and then decommissioning) source for his article, Orion Magazine.
Orion has long been a favorite fixture for environmentalists of a deep-ecological bent, which makes it all the more astonishing that so many capitalists support this crusading magazine — a particularly notable one being Google. Likewise for a magazine that regularly publishes the work of anarcho-primitivist Derrick Jensen (Jensen prefers the term anarcho-indigenist) — an individual who forthrightly advocates the necessity of violent action to bring an end to capitalism and modern civilization — it is ironic that they benefit from a philanthropic trust derived from the wealth of the the most infamous of all robber barons, Henry Clay Frick (that is, the plutocrat whom the anarchist Alexander Berkman attempted to assassinate in 1892).
Are we done yet? Do we have to endure another full day of self-congratulation at Obama’s personal endorsement of same-sex marriage? His announcement was heralded with as much praise as last summer’s legalization of gay marriage in New York. And that was, you know, actual legislation.
This is hardly surprising given the fact that marriage equality is designed to distract liberal consciences and give Democrats political cover to gut social services. While the passage of gay marriage enjoyed the support of prominent campaign donors, it was directly preceded by cuts to homeless shelters for queer youth. It’s a campaign season bait-and-switch — winning votes without making real concessions.
Case in point: Bloomberg commended Obama for joining a legacy of “courageous stands that so many Americans have taken over the years on behalf of equal rights for gay and lesbian Americans, stretching back to the Stonewall Inn in Greenwich Village.” This days after slashing youth homeless shelter funding by $7 million, in a city where 40% of homeless youth are LGBT.
It’s far to soon to say what the elections in France and Greece mean for the future of austerity in Europe. François Hollande may turn out to be a meek Sarkozy-lite—or he may be pushed in that direction by the German government, the bond markets, and the European Central Bank. Greece, meanwhile, is still in a state of flux, although the rise of the radical-left Syriza is encouraging (even as the sectarianism of the Greek Communist Party is dispiriting). Greece may be looking at another round of elections, and the rise in support for the fascist Golden Dawn party suggests that things could get dangerous if the left isn’t able to come together in coalition. In any case, I’m certainly not the one to make expert pronouncements on all this, and I’d direct you instead to my Jacobin comrade Seth Ackerman.
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I can see why Tim Barker thinks that my career as a contrarian is over. Here I am defending consumer culture—in his terms, “the culture of capitalism”—so how can I be speaking truth to power? As he knows, the power to which I have been speaking all these years is the left-liberal historiographical establishment, not the imperialist warmongers (although, for the record, I have tried in my own diffident, academic way to criticize both capitalism and imperialism). My goal, all along, has been to unsettle the assumptions that regulate the thinking of the academic and the larger Left, to let us see capitalism, socialism, consumerism, and democracy—also pragmatism, feminism, and the corporation—differently. Not complacently, differently. But now, in this trade book, I’ve become just another shill for corporate capitalism and its cultural attendants?
It seems so. To judge from Barker’s review, I’ve unsettled nothing; at any rate none of his leftist assumptions were dislodged or even remotely disturbed by my polemic. So I have to wonder why his review is so forgiving, so benign, so friendly. This is the journal called Jacobin, where the harmless Ezra Klein gets flogged for being a liberal, right? Why then doesn’t the young radical excoriate the old apologist, the guy who’s “defending the culture of capitalism”? I’m not begging for punishment, mind you, although I have a professional interest in male masochism (no, really). I just want to know why Barker lets me off the hook.
There are three possible explanations of this clemency. First, I’ve got some residual left-wing credentials. It’s true, I remain something of a Marxist, and go beyond David Harvey or Robert Brenner by “claiming that the re-investment of profits is no longer even necessary for economic growth,” and arguing for redistribution on these unique grounds, where capitalists and their criteria are simply superfluous; it’s also true that I have urged the Left to adopt FUCK WORK as its slogan; finally, it’s true that I’m an enthusiastic supporter of and occasional participant in Occupy Wall Street. Second, I do “address the argument that consumerism is a barrier to social change,” apparently to Barker’s satisfaction because he doesn’t contest my conclusions. Third, I am “uncannily optimistic,” and so cannot be blamed for my political idiocies, not any more than a naive bandmate can be blamed for his unrealistic dreams of a record contract.
But still. Who on the Left is not in favor of income redistribution? To be sure, most of you urge this policy as a moral imperative in the name of the poor, whereas I see it as an eminently practical and necessary corrective to the problem of surplus capital in the hands of clueless CEOs—by my accounting, the 99% has a long-term economic interest rather than an immediate moral stake in turning the oligarchs into public servants. But wait, poor Ezra Klein is Keynesian enough to oppose austerity, and to recommend a more equitable distribution of income, yet nobody at Jacobin is letting him off the hook. Why me? And who cares where I stand on OWS? Its core constituency has much less in common with me than with Kalle Lasn (Adbusters), Chris Hedges (War Is a Force That Gives Us Meaning), and David Graeber (Debt: The First Five Thousand Years)—who, like Barker and almost every other leftist out there, see unbridled consumerism as the gravest threat to the environment, and, accordingly, to their souls. Again, why does Barker grant me clemency?
Don’t miss our special section on the state of the European left in the new Jacobin – including Seth Ackerman’s massive introduction on the deeper historical and economic background that lie behind today’s votes in France and Greece:
The default mode of left politics in Europe in the past four decades has been a steady narrowing of political horizons, a lowering of expectations. But Europe today is witnessing developments that may soon bring an end to the last forty years’ trajectory of steady left decline; whether what comes next will be a revival or a final collapse will be determined by events that lie closer than we think.
I’ll blame my recent silence on the fact that I was moving again—as of Tuesday, I’m back in the Grand Duchy. Clearly either the spirits of the Haymarket martyrs or the exploited employees of British Airways were punishing me for traveling on May Day, because I ended up spending the better part of 24 hours waiting in lines, being redirected to unexpected cities, and having my luggage lost. Consider that lesson learned.
I’ve once again managed to return to Europe just as things are getting interesting in the U.S., with Occupy-aligned activists pulling off some impressive Mayday actions. But you can get plenty of reporting and analysis on that from Jacobin honcho Bhaskar Sunkara, from his new perch at the In These Times “Uprising” blog.
Meanwhile, I’ve had a few new things appear recently that I haven’t mentioned here. I neglected to plug the latest issue of Jacobin, which is full of great stuff as usual. It also includes my essay on post-work politics, centered around Kathi Weeks’ book The Problem With Work, which I’ve mentioned here before. See also Mike Beggs on “Keynes’ Jetpack” and Tim Barker reviewing James Livington’s Against Thrift, which cover closely related themes.
This week DC Comics re-launched an obscure superhero title called Dial H for Hero. The original series ran from 1966-1968 as a feature in DC’s House of Mystery. Its premise was that each time the precocious teenager Robby Reed dialed the letters O-R-E-H into a mystical rotary dial telephone, he became a new and different superhero for a few hours, each time with a new name, powers, and costume. The series had two reboots in 1981 and 2003 that were even shorter-lived than the original. Admittedly, it’s a comic only the dorkiest of the dorky have cared about. But its third reboot has a distinctly radical flavor.
What makes the new Dial H exciting is that its left-wing science fiction and fantasy author China Miéville’s first foray into the world of comics. Miéville describes himself as an “actual, genuine Trotskyist,” has served on the central committee of the British Socialist Workers Party, and stood as a candidate for Parliament on a left unity ticket in 2001. And while these particular sectarian credentials might naturally lead many of us to skepticism, he’s actually quite young and hip.
… and what’s the difference between it and a “day of action”? It may seem pedantic, but the terminology has already caused significant debate.
A general strike has traditionally been defined as a work stoppage by a critical mass of labor in a given location. The daily processes of accumulation are stopped and neglected political questions come to the forefront of public debate.
Anti-austerity movements in Europe and elsewhere have recently seen such strikes, with millions in the street, mustering support for threatened social services. In the past, workers have similarly mobilized over a host of issues in the United States. General strikes took place in Saint Louis in 1877, New Orleans in 1892, Seattle in 1919, San Francisco in 1934, and Oakland in 1946. All were visible demonstrations of capital’s dependence on labor.
By now it is becoming hard to remember that, at the peak of its popularity and influence, classical music carried with it an undeniable intellectual and even moral authority, qualities which would rub off on composers and performers such as Aaron Copland, Leonard Bernstein, Albert Schweitzer, Pierre Boulez, Van Cliburn and Igor Stravinsky, all of whom would, in different ways, play leading roles within the social and cultural landscape of the cold war period.
In one respect, not so much has changed in the years since: musicians with large, loyal and enthusiastic followings continue to have an outsized influence, frequently recruited for initiatives ranging from animal rights to medical marijuana to environmental justice. The songs of Bruce Springsteen, Johnny Cash, Smokey Robinson and Garth Brooks (to take a few names at random) have been staples at candidates’ rallies for decades, their endorsements actively sought out by political figures. Musicians have also served in various political positions in recent years, among them Congressmen John Hall (of the seventies rock band Orleans) and Sonny Bono, author of landmark copyright legislation. In Latin America, Gilberto Gil and Suzanne Baca have been appointed as Ministers of Culture in Brazil and Peru respectively, positions of substantial power and influence.
That those just mentioned are all pop musicians is indicative of a widely recognized, albeit infrequently discussed, development: classical music’s precipitous loss of prestige and cultural authority over the past two or three decades. The reasons for this are a larger topic than what I will examine here. Rather I will focus on one corner of the classical music world where the fall from grace has been particularly dramatic — namely, what used to be called “contemporary” or “modern” music, but which now, insofar as it is recognized as a distinct genre, requires an additional generic qualifier: contemporary classical music.
Before I do so, I will concede that in the scheme of things, whether one or another kind of music gets subsidized, composed, and performed, is not a matter of much significance. What is significant and revealing is the basic outline of the collapse: an elite sanctioned enterprise is challenged, loses its capacity to claim expertise and, ultimately, its privileged status. This trajectory was recapitulated on many occasions outside of the world of music and the arts. Carried to its extreme, elite privilege and impunity is at the core of why many of us now find ourselves on the streets. And so the larger drama which is now being played out is more than a little familiar to composers of my generation, as the brief recapitulation of that which I will call our nakba will reveal.
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