Europe is wrong to take a sledgehammer to Big Google
Evgeny Morozov

It is the continent’s favourite hobby, and even the European Parliament cannot resist: having a pop at the world’s biggest search engine. In a recent and largely symbolic vote, representatives urged that Google search should be separated from its other services — demanding, in essence, that the company be broken up.

This would benefit Google’s detractors but not, alas, European citizens. Search, like the social networking sector dominated by Facebook, appears to be a natural monopoly. The more Google knows about each query — who is making it, where and why — the more relevant its results become. A company that has organised, say, 90 per cent of the world’s information would naturally do better than a company holding just one-tenth of that information.

But search is only a part of Google’s sprawling portfolio. Smart thermostats and self-driving cars are information businesses, too. Both draw on Google’s bottomless reservoirs of data, sensors such as those embedded in hardware, and algorithms. All feed off each other.

Policy makers do not yet grasp the dilemma. To unbundle search from other Google services is to detach them from the context that improves their accuracy and relevance. But to let Google operate as a natural monopoly is to allow it to invade other domains.

Facebook presents a similar dilemma. If you want to build a service around your online persona — be it finding new music or sharing power tools with neighbours — its identity gateway comes in handy. Mapping our interests and social connections, Facebook is the custodian of our reputations and consumption profiles. It makes our digital identity available to other businesses and, when we interact with those businesses, Facebook itself learns even more.

Given that data about our behaviour might hold the key to solving problems from health to climate change, who should aggregate them? And should they be treated as a commodity and traded at all?

Imagine if such data could accrue to the citizens who actually generate them, in a way that favoured its communal use. So a community could visualise its precise travel needs and organise flexible and efficient bus services — never travelling too empty or too full — to rival innovative transport start-up Uber. Taxis ordered through Uber (in which Google is an investor) can now play songs passengers have previously “liked” on music-streaming service Spotify (Facebook is an ally), an indication of what becomes possible once our digital identity lies at the heart of service provision. But to leave these data in the hands of the Google-
Facebook clan is to preclude others from finding better uses for it.

We need a data system that is radically decentralised and secure; no one should be able to obtain your data without permission, and no one but you should own it. Stripped of privacy-compromising identifiers, however, they should be pooled into a common resource. Any aspiring innovator or entrepreneur — not just Google and Facebook — should be able to gain ac­cess to that data pool to build their own app. This would bring an abundance of unanticipated features and services.

What Europe needs is not an Airbus to Google’s Boeing but thousands of nimble enterprises that operate on a level playing field with big American companies. This will not happen until we treat certain types of data as part of a common infrastructure, open to all. Imagine the outrage if a large company bought every copy of a particular book, leaving none for the libraries. Why would we accept such a deal with our data?

Basic searches — “Who wrote War and Peace?” — do not require Google’s sophistication and can be provided for free. Unable to hoard user data for advertising purposes, Google could still provide advanced search services, perhaps for a fee (not necessarily charged to citizens). The bill for finding books or articles related to the one you are reading could be picked up by universities, libraries or even your employer.

America will not abandon the current model of centralised, advertising-funded services; its surveillance state needs them. Russia and China have lessened their dependence on Google and Facebook, only to replace them with local equivalents.

Europe should know better. It has a modicum of respect for data protection. Its citizens are uneasy with the rapaciousness of Silicon Valley. But this is no reason to return to the not-so-distant past, when data were expensive and hard to aggregate. European politicians should take a longer term view. The problem with Google is not that it is too big but that it hoovers up data that does not belong to it.

As this dystopian election campaign has unfolded, my mind keeps being tugged by a passage in Plato’s Republic. It has unsettled — even surprised — me from the moment I first read it in graduate school. The passage is from the part of the dialogue where Socrates and his friends are talking about the nature of different political systems, how they change over time, and how one can slowly evolve into another. And Socrates seemed pretty clear on one sobering point: that “tyranny is probably established out of no other regime than democracy.” What did Plato mean by that? Democracy, for him, I discovered, was a political system of maximal freedom and equality, where every lifestyle is allowed and public offices are filled by a lottery. And the longer a democracy lasted, Plato argued, the more democratic it would become. Its freedoms would multiply; its equality spread. Deference to any sort of authority would wither; tolerance of any kind of inequality would come under intense threat; and multiculturalism and sexual freedom would create a city or a country like “a many-colored cloak decorated in all hues.”

This rainbow-flag polity, Plato argues, is, for many people, the fairest of regimes. The freedom in that democracy has to be experienced to be believed — with shame and privilege in particular emerging over time as anathema. But it is inherently unstable. As the authority of elites fades, as Establishment values cede to popular ones, views and identities can become so magnificently diverse as to be mutually uncomprehending. And when all the barriers to equality, formal and informal, have been removed; when everyone is equal; when elites are despised and full license is established to do “whatever one wants,” you arrive at what might be called late-stage democracy. There is no kowtowing to authority here, let alone to political experience or expertise.

The very rich come under attack, as inequality becomes increasingly intolerable. Patriarchy is also dismantled: “We almost forgot to mention the extent of the law of equality and of freedom in the relations of women with men and men with women.” Family hierarchies are inverted: “A father habituates himself to be like his child and fear his sons, and a son habituates himself to be like his father and to have no shame before or fear of his parents.” In classrooms, “as the teacher ... is frightened of the pupils and fawns on them, so the students make light of their teachers.” Animals are regarded as equal to humans; the rich mingle freely with the poor in the streets and try to blend in. The foreigner is equal to the citizen.

And it is when a democracy has ripened as fully as this, Plato argues, that a would-be tyrant will often seize his moment.

He is usually of the elite but has a nature in tune with the time — given over to random pleasures and whims, feasting on plenty of food and sex, and reveling in the nonjudgment that is democracy’s civil religion. He makes his move by “taking over a particularly obedient mob” and attacking his wealthy peers as corrupt. If not stopped quickly, his appetite for attacking the rich on behalf of the people swells further. He is a traitor to his class — and soon, his elite enemies, shorn of popular legitimacy, find a way to appease him or are forced to flee. Eventually, he stands alone, promising to cut through the paralysis of democratic incoherence. It’s as if he were offering the addled, distracted, and self-indulgent citizens a kind of relief from democracy’s endless choices and insecurities. He rides a backlash to excess—“too much freedom seems to change into nothing but too much slavery” — and offers himself as the personified answer to the internal conflicts of the democratic mess. He pledges, above all, to take on the increasingly despised elites. And as the people thrill to him as a kind of solution, a democracy willingly, even impetuously, repeals itself.

And so, as I chitchatted over cocktails at a Washington office Christmas party in December, and saw, looming above our heads, the pulsating, angry televised face of Donald Trump on Fox News, I couldn’t help but feel a little nausea permeate my stomach. And as I watched frenzied Trump rallies on C-SPAN in the spring, and saw him lay waste to far more qualified political peers in the debates by simply calling them names, the nausea turned to dread. And when he seemed to condone physical violence as a response to political disagreement, alarm bells started to ring in my head. Plato had planted a gnawing worry in my mind a few decades ago about the intrinsic danger of late-democratic life. It was increasingly hard not to see in Plato’s vision a murky reflection of our own hyperdemocratic times and in Trump a demagogic, tyrannical character plucked directly out of one of the first books about politics ever written.

Could it be that the Donald has emerged from the populist circuses of pro wrestling and New York City tabloids, via reality television and Twitter, to prove not just Plato but also James Madison right, that democracies “have ever been spectacles of turbulence and contention … and have in general been as short in their lives as they have been violent in their deaths”? Is he testing democracy’s singular weakness — its susceptibility to the demagogue — by blasting through the firewalls we once had in place to prevent such a person from seizing power? Or am I overreacting?

Perhaps. The nausea comes and goes, and there have been days when the news algorithm has actually reassured me that “peak Trump” has arrived. But it hasn’t gone away, and neither has Trump. In the wake of his most recent primary triumphs, at a time when he is perilously close to winning enough delegates to grab the Republican nomination outright, I think we must confront this dread and be clear about what this election has already revealed about the fragility of our way of life and the threat late-stage democracy is beginning to pose to itself.

Plato, of course, was not clairvoyant. His analysis of how democracy can turn into tyranny is a complex one more keyed toward ancient societies than our own (and contains more wrinkles and eddies than I can summarize here). His disdain for democratic life was fueled in no small part by the fact that a democracy had executed his mentor, Socrates. And he would, I think, have been astonished at how American democracy has been able to thrive with unprecedented stability over the last couple of centuries even as it has brought more and more people into its embrace. It remains, in my view, a miracle of constitutional craftsmanship and cultural resilience. There is no place I would rather live. But it is not immortal, nor should we assume it is immune to the forces that have endangered democracy so many times in human history.

Part of American democracy’s stability is owed to the fact that the Founding Fathers had read their Plato. To guard our democracy from the tyranny of the majority and the passions of the mob, they constructed large, hefty barriers between the popular will and the exercise of power. Voting rights were tightly circumscribed. The president and vice-president were not to be popularly elected but selected by an Electoral College, whose representatives were selected by the various states, often through state legislatures. The Senate’s structure (with two members from every state) was designed to temper the power of the more populous states, and its term of office (six years, compared with two for the House) was designed to cool and restrain temporary populist passions. The Supreme Court, picked by the president and confirmed by the Senate, was the final bulwark against any democratic furies that might percolate up from the House and threaten the Constitution. This separation of powers was designed precisely to create sturdy firewalls against democratic wildfires.

Over the centuries, however, many of these undemocratic rules have been weakened or abolished. The franchise has been extended far beyond propertied white men. The presidency is now effectively elected through popular vote, with the Electoral College almost always reflecting the national democratic will. And these formal democratic advances were accompanied by informal ones, as the culture of democracy slowly took deeper root. For a very long time, only the elites of the political parties came to select their candidates at their quadrennial conventions, with the vote largely restricted to party officials from the various states (and often decided in, yes, smoke-filled rooms in large hotel suites). Beginning in the early 1900s, however, the parties began experimenting with primaries, and after the chaos of the 1968 Democratic convention, today’s far more democratic system became the norm.

Direct democracy didn’t just elect Congress and the president anymore; it expanded the notion of who might be qualified for public office. Once, candidates built a career through experience in elected or Cabinet positions or as military commanders; they were effectively selected by peer review. That elitist sorting mechanism has slowly imploded. In 1940, Wendell Willkie, a businessman with no previous political office, won the Republican nomination for president, pledging to keep America out of war and boasting that his personal wealth inoculated him against corruption: “I will be under obligation to nobody except the people.” He lost badly to Franklin D. Roosevelt, but nonetheless, since then, nonpolitical candidates have proliferated, from Ross Perot and Jesse Jackson, to Steve Forbes and Herman Cain, to this year’s crop of Ben Carson, Carly Fiorina, and, of course, Donald J. Trump. This further widening of our democracy — our increased openness to being led by anyone; indeed, our accelerating preference for outsiders — is now almost complete.

The barriers to the popular will, especially when it comes to choosing our president, are now almost nonexistent. In 2000, George W. Bush lost the popular vote and won the election thanks to Electoral College math and, more egregiously, to a partisan Supreme Court vote. Al Gore’s eventual concession spared the nation a constitutional crisis, but the episode generated widespread unease, not just among Democrats. And this year, the delegate system established by our political parties is also under assault. Trump has argued that the candidate with the most votes should get the Republican nomination, regardless of the rules in place. It now looks as if he won’t even need to win that argument — that he’ll bank enough delegates to secure the nomination uncontested — but he’s won it anyway. Fully half of Americans now believe the traditional nominating system is rigged.

Many contend, of course, that American democracy is actually in retreat, close to being destroyed by the vastly more unequal economy of the last quarter-century and the ability of the very rich to purchase political influence. This is Bernie Sanders’s core critique. But the past few presidential elections have demonstrated that, in fact, money from the ultrarich has been mostly a dud. Barack Obama, whose 2008 campaign was propelled by small donors and empowered by the internet, blazed the trail of the modern-day insurrectionist, defeating the prohibitive favorite in the Democratic primary and later his Republican opponent (both pillars of their parties’ Establishments and backed by moneyed elites). In 2012, the fund-raising power behind Mitt Romney — avatar of the one percent — failed to dislodge Obama from office. And in this presidential cycle, the breakout candidates of both parties have soared without financial support from the elites. Sanders, who is sustaining his campaign all the way to California on the backs of small donors and large crowds, is, to put it bluntly, a walking refutation of his own argument. Trump, of course, is a largely self-funding billionaire — but like Willkie, he argues that his wealth uniquely enables him to resist the influence of the rich and their lobbyists. Those despairing over the influence of Big Money in American politics must also explain the swift, humiliating demise of Jeb Bush and the struggling Establishment campaign of Hillary Clinton. The evidence suggests that direct democracy, far from being throttled, is actually intensifying its grip on American politics.

None of this is necessarily cause for alarm, even though it would be giving the Founding Fathers palpitations. The emergence of the first black president — unimaginable before our more inclusive democracy — is miraculous, a strengthening, rather than weakening, of the system. The days when party machines just fixed things or rigged elections are mercifully done with. The way in which outsider candidates, from Obama to Trump and Sanders, have brought millions of new people into the electoral process is an unmitigated advance. The inclusion of previously excluded voices helps, rather than impedes, our public deliberation. But it is precisely because of the great accomplishments of our democracy that we should be vigilant about its specific, unique vulnerability: its susceptibility, in stressful times, to the appeal of a shameless demagogue.

What the 21st century added to this picture, it’s now blindingly obvious, was media democracy — in a truly revolutionary form. If late-stage political democracy has taken two centuries to ripen, the media equivalent took around two decades, swiftly erasing almost any elite moderation or control of our democratic discourse. The process had its origins in partisan talk radio at the end of the past century. The rise of the internet — an event so swift and pervasive its political effect is only now beginning to be understood — further democratized every source of information, dramatically expanded each outlet’s readership, and gave everyone a platform. All the old barriers to entry — the cost of print and paper and distribution — crumbled.

So much of this was welcome. I relished it myself in the early aughts, starting a blog and soon reaching as many readers, if not more, as some small magazines do. Fusty old-media institutions, grown fat and lazy, deserved a drubbing. The early independent blogosphere corrected facts, exposed bias, earned scoops. And as the medium matured, and as Facebook and Twitter took hold, everyone became a kind of blogger. In ways no 20th-century journalist would have believed, we all now have our own virtual newspapers on our Facebook newsfeeds and Twitter timelines — picking stories from countless sources and creating a peer-to-peer media almost completely free of editing or interference by elites. This was bound to make politics more fluid. Political organizing — calling a meeting, fomenting a rally to advance a cause — used to be extremely laborious. Now you could bring together a virtual mass movement with a single webpage. It would take you a few seconds.

The web was also uniquely capable of absorbing other forms of media, conflating genres and categories in ways never seen before. The distinction between politics and entertainment became fuzzier; election coverage became even more modeled on sportscasting; your Pornhub jostled right next to your mother’s Facebook page. The web’s algorithms all but removed any editorial judgment, and the effect soon had cable news abandoning even the pretense of asking “Is this relevant?” or “Do we really need to cover this live?” in the rush toward ratings bonanzas. In the end, all these categories were reduced to one thing: traffic, measured far more accurately than any other medium had ever done before.

And what mainly fuels this is precisely what the Founders feared about democratic culture: feeling, emotion, and narcissism, rather than reason, empiricism, and public-spiritedness. Online debates become personal, emotional, and irresolvable almost as soon as they begin. Godwin’s Law — it’s only a matter of time before a comments section brings up Hitler — is a reflection of the collapse of the reasoned deliberation the Founders saw as indispensable to a functioning republic.

Yes, occasional rational points still fly back and forth, but there are dramatically fewer elite arbiters to establish which of those points is actually true or valid or relevant. We have lost authoritative sources for even a common set of facts. And without such common empirical ground, the emotional component of politics becomes inflamed and reason retreats even further. The more emotive the candidate, the more supporters he or she will get.

Politically, we lucked out at first. Obama would never have been nominated for the presidency, let alone elected, if he hadn’t harnessed the power of the web and the charisma of his media celebrity. But he was also, paradoxically, a very elite figure, a former state and U.S. senator, a product of Harvard Law School, and, as it turned out, blessed with a preternaturally rational and calm disposition. So he has masked, temporarily, the real risks in the system that his pioneering campaign revealed. Hence many Democrats’ frustration with him. Those who saw in his campaign the seeds of revolutionary change, who were drawn to him by their own messianic delusions, came to be bitterly disappointed by his governing moderation and pragmatism.

The climate Obama thrived in, however, was also ripe for far less restrained opportunists. In 2008, Sarah Palin emerged as proof that an ardent Republican, branded as an outsider, tailor-made for reality TV, proud of her own ignorance about the world, and reaching an audience directly through online media, could also triumph in this new era. She was, it turned out, a John the Baptist for the true messiah of conservative populism, waiting patiently and strategically for his time to come.

Trump, we now know, had been considering running for president for decades. Those who didn’t see him coming — or kept treating him as a joke — had not yet absorbed the precedents of Obama and Palin or the power of the new wide-open system to change the rules of the political game. Trump was as underrated for all of 2015 as Obama was in 2007 — and for the same reasons. He intuitively grasped the vanishing authority of American political and media elites, and he had long fashioned a public persona perfectly attuned to blast past them.

Despite his immense wealth and inherited privilege, Trump had always cultivated a common touch. He did not hide his wealth in the late-20th century — he flaunted it in a way that connected with the masses. He lived the rich man’s life most working men dreamed of — endless glamour and women, for example — without sacrificing a way of talking about the world that would not be out of place on the construction sites he regularly toured. His was a cult of democratic aspiration. His 1987 book, The Art of the Deal, promised its readers a path to instant success; his appearances on “The Howard Stern Show” cemented his appeal. His friendship with Vince McMahon offered him an early entrée into the world of professional wrestling, with its fusion of sports and fantasy. He was a macho media superstar.

One of the more amazing episodes in Sarah Palin’s early political life, in fact, bears this out. She popped up in the Anchorage Daily News as “a commercial fisherman from Wasilla” on April 3, 1996. Palin had told her husband she was going to Costco but had sneaked into J.C. Penney in Anchorage to see … one Ivana Trump, who, in the wake of her divorce, was touting her branded perfume. “We want to see Ivana,” Palin told the paper, “because we are so desperate in Alaska for any semblance of glamour and culture.”

Trump assiduously cultivated this image and took to reality television as a natural. Each week, for 14 seasons of The Apprentice, he would look someone in the eye and tell them, “You’re fired!” The conversation most humane bosses fear to have with an employee was something Trump clearly relished, and the cruelty became entertainment. In retrospect, it is clear he was training — both himself and his viewers. If you want to understand why a figure so widely disliked nonetheless powers toward the election as if he were approaching a reality-TV-show finale, look no further. His television tactics, as applied to presidential debates, wiped out rivals used to a different game. And all our reality-TV training has conditioned us to hope he’ll win — or at least stay in the game till the final round. In such a shame-free media environment, the assholes often win. In the end, you support them because they’re assholes.

In Eric Hoffer’s classic 1951 tract, The True Believer, he sketches the dynamics of a genuine mass movement. He was thinking of the upheavals in Europe in the first half of the century, but the book remains sobering, especially now. Hoffer’s core insight was to locate the source of all truly mass movements in a collective sense of acute frustration. Not despair, or revolt, or resignation — but frustration simmering with rage. Mass movements, he notes (as did Tocqueville centuries before him), rarely arise when oppression or misery is at its worst (say, 2009); they tend to appear when the worst is behind us but the future seems not so much better (say, 2016). It is when a recovery finally gathers speed and some improvement is tangible but not yet widespread that the anger begins to rise. After the suffering of recession or unemployment, and despite hard work with stagnant or dwindling pay, the future stretches ahead with relief just out of reach. When those who helped create the last recession face no consequences but renewed fabulous wealth, the anger reaches a crescendo.

The deeper, long-term reasons for today’s rage are not hard to find, although many of us elites have shamefully found ourselves able to ignore them. The jobs available to the working class no longer contain the kind of craftsmanship or satisfaction or meaning that can take the sting out of their low and stagnant wages. The once-familiar avenues for socialization — the church, the union hall, the VFW — have become less vibrant and social isolation more common. Global economic forces have pummeled blue-collar workers more relentlessly than almost any other segment of society, forcing them to compete against hundreds of millions of equally skilled workers throughout the planet. No one asked them in the 1990s if this was the future they wanted. And the impact has been more brutal than many economists predicted. No wonder suicide and mortality rates among the white working poor are spiking dramatically.

“It is usually those whose poverty is relatively recent, the ‘new poor,’ who throb with the ferment of frustration,” Hoffer argues. Fundamentalist religion long provided some emotional support for those left behind (for one thing, it invites practitioners to defy the elites as unholy), but its influence has waned as modernity has penetrated almost everything and the great culture wars of the 1990s and 2000s have ended in a rout. The result has been a more diverse mainstream culture — but also, simultaneously, a subculture that is even more alienated and despised, and ever more infuriated and bloody-minded.

This is an age in which a woman might succeed a black man as president, but also one in which a member of the white working class has declining options to make a decent living. This is a time when gay people can be married in 50 states, even as working-class families are hanging by a thread. It’s a period in which we have become far more aware of the historic injustices that still haunt African-Americans and yet we treat the desperate plight of today’s white working ­class as an afterthought. And so late-stage capitalism is creating a righteous, revolutionary anger that late-stage democracy has precious little ability to moderate or constrain — and has actually helped exacerbate.

For the white working class, having had their morals roundly mocked, their religion deemed primitive, and their economic prospects decimated, now find their very gender and race, indeed the very way they talk about reality, described as a kind of problem for the nation to overcome. This is just one aspect of what Trump has masterfully signaled as “political correctness” run amok, or what might be better described as the newly rigid progressive passion for racial and sexual equality of outcome, rather than the liberal aspiration to mere equality of opportunity.

Much of the newly energized left has come to see the white working class not as allies but primarily as bigots, misogynists, racists, and homophobes, thereby condemning those often at the near-bottom rung of the economy to the bottom rung of the culture as well. A struggling white man in the heartland is now told to “check his privilege” by students at Ivy League colleges. Even if you agree that the privilege exists, it’s hard not to empathize with the object of this disdain. These working-class communities, already alienated, hear — how can they not? — the glib and easy dismissals of “white straight men” as the ultimate source of all our woes. They smell the condescension and the broad generalizations about them — all of which would be repellent if directed at racial minorities — and see themselves, in Hoffer’s words, “disinherited and injured by an unjust order of things.”

And so they wait, and they steam, and they lash out. This was part of the emotional force of the tea party: not just the advancement of racial minorities, gays, and women but the simultaneous demonization of the white working-class world, its culture and way of life. Obama never intended this, but he became a symbol to many of this cultural marginalization. The Black Lives Matter left stoked the fires still further; so did the gay left, for whom the word magnanimity seems unknown, even in the wake of stunning successes. And as the tea party swept through Washington in 2010, as its representatives repeatedly held the government budget hostage, threatened the very credit of the U.S., and refused to hold hearings on a Supreme Court nominee, the American political and media Establishment mostly chose to interpret such behavior as something other than unprecedented. But Trump saw what others didn’t, just as Hoffer noted: “The frustrated individual and the true believer make better prognosticators than those who have reason to want the preservation of the status quo.”

Mass movements, Hoffer argues, are distinguished by a “facility for make-believe … credulity, a readiness to attempt the impossible.” What, one wonders, could be more impossible than suddenly vetting every single visitor to the U.S. for traces of Islamic belief? What could be more make-believe than a big, beautiful wall stretching across the entire Mexican border, paid for by the Mexican government? What could be more credulous than arguing that we could pay off our national debt through a global trade war? In a conventional political party, and in a rational political discourse, such ideas would be laughed out of contention, their self-evident impossibility disqualifying them from serious consideration. In the emotional fervor of a democratic mass movement, however, these impossibilities become icons of hope, symbols of a new way of conducting politics. Their very impossibility is their appeal.

But the most powerful engine for such a movement — the thing that gets it off the ground, shapes and solidifies and entrenches it — is always the evocation of hatred. It is, as Hoffer put it, “the most accessible and comprehensive of all unifying elements.” And so Trump launched his campaign by calling undocumented Mexican immigrants a population largely of rapists and murderers. He moved on to Muslims, both at home and abroad. He has now added to these enemies — with sly brilliance — the Republican Establishment itself. And what makes Trump uniquely dangerous in the history of American politics — with far broader national appeal than, say, Huey Long or George Wallace — is his response to all three enemies. It’s the threat of blunt coercion and dominance.

And so after demonizing most undocumented Mexican immigrants, he then vowed to round up and deport all 11 million of them by force. “They have to go” was the typically blunt phrase he used — and somehow people didn’t immediately recognize the monstrous historical echoes. The sheer scale of the police and military operation that this policy would entail boggles the mind. Worse, he emphasized, after the mass murder in San Bernardino, that even the Muslim-Americans you know intimately may turn around and massacre you at any juncture. “There’s something going on,” he declaimed ominously, giving legitimacy to the most hysterical and ugly of human impulses.

To call this fascism doesn’t do justice to fascism. Fascism had, in some measure, an ideology and occasional coherence that Trump utterly lacks. But his movement is clearly fascistic in its demonization of foreigners, its hyping of a threat by a domestic minority (Muslims and Mexicans are the new Jews), its focus on a single supreme leader of what can only be called a cult, and its deep belief in violence and coercion in a democracy that has heretofore relied on debate and persuasion. This is the Weimar aspect of our current moment. Just as the English Civil War ended with a dictatorship under Oliver Cromwell, and the French Revolution gave us Napoleon Bonaparte, and the unstable chaos of Russian democracy yielded to Vladimir Putin, and the most recent burst of Egyptian democracy set the conditions for General el-Sisi’s coup, so our paralyzed, emotional hyperdemocracy leads the stumbling, frustrated, angry voter toward the chimerical panacea of Trump.

His response to his third vaunted enemy, the RNC, is also laced with the threat of violence. There will be riots in Cleveland if he doesn’t get his way. The RNC will have “a rough time” if it doesn’t cooperate. “Paul Ryan, I don’t know him well, but I’m sure I’m going to get along great with him,” Trump has said. “And if I don’t? He’s gonna have to pay a big price, okay?” The past month has seen delegates to the Cleveland convention receiving death threats; one of Trump’s hatchet men, Roger Stone, has already threatened to publish the hotel rooms of delegates who refuse to vote for Trump.

And what’s notable about Trump’s supporters is precisely what one would expect from members of a mass movement: their intense loyalty. Trump is their man, however inarticulate they are when explaining why. He’s tough, he’s real, and they’ve got his back, especially when he is attacked by all the people they have come to despise: liberal Democrats and traditional Republicans. At rallies, whenever a protester is hauled out, you can almost sense the rising rage of the collective identity venting itself against a lone dissenter and finding a catharsis of sorts in the brute force a mob can inflict on an individual. Trump tells the crowd he’d like to punch a protester in the face or have him carried out on a stretcher. No modern politician who has come this close to the presidency has championed violence in this way. It would be disqualifying if our hyper­democracy hadn’t already abolished disqualifications.

And while a critical element of 20th-century fascism — its organized street violence — is missing, you can begin to see it in embryonic form. The phalanx of bodyguards around Trump grows daily; plainclothes bouncers in the crowds have emerged as pseudo-cops to contain the incipient unrest his candidacy will only continue to provoke; supporters have attacked hecklers with sometimes stunning ferocity. Every time Trump legitimizes potential violence by his supporters by saying it comes from a love of country, he sows the seeds for serious civil unrest.

Trump celebrates torture — the one true love of tyrants everywhere — not because it allegedly produces intelligence but because it has a demonstration effect. At his rallies he has recounted the mythical acts of one General John J. Pershing when confronted with an alleged outbreak of Islamist terrorism in the Philippines. Pershing, in Trump’s telling, lines up 50 Muslim prisoners, swishes a series of bullets in the corpses of freshly slaughtered pigs, and orders his men to put those bullets in their rifles and kill 49 of the captured Muslim men. He spares one captive solely so he can go back and tell his friends. End of the terrorism problem.

In some ways, this story contains all the elements of Trump’s core appeal. The vexing problem of tackling jihadist terror? Torture and murder enough terrorists and they will simply go away. The complicated issue of undocumented workers, drawn by jobs many Americans won’t take? Deport every single one of them and build a wall to stop the rest. Fuck political correctness. As one of his supporters told an obtuse reporter at a rally when asked if he supported Trump: “Hell yeah! He’s no-bullshit. All balls. Fuck you all balls. That’s what I’m about.” And therein lies the appeal of tyrants from the beginning of time. Fuck you all balls. Irrationality with muscle.

The racial aspect of this is also unmissable. When the enemy within is Mexican or Muslim, and your ranks are extremely white, you set up a rubric for a racial conflict. And what’s truly terrifying about Trump is that he does not seem to shrink from such a prospect; he relishes it.

For, like all tyrants, he is utterly lacking in self-control. Sleeping a handful of hours a night, impulsively tweeting in the early hours, improvising madly on subjects he knows nothing about, Trump rants and raves as he surfs an entirely reactive media landscape. Once again, Plato had his temperament down: A tyrant is a man “not having control of himself [who] attempts to rule others”; a man flooded with fear and love and passion, while having little or no ability to restrain or moderate them; a “real slave to the greatest fawning,” a man who “throughout his entire life ... is full of fear, overflowing with convulsions and pains.” Sound familiar? Trump is as mercurial and as unpredictable and as emotional as the daily Twitter stream. And we are contemplating giving him access to the nuclear codes.

Those who believe that Trump’s ugly, thuggish populism has no chance of ever making it to the White House seem to me to be missing this dynamic. Neo-fascist movements do not advance gradually by persuasion; they first transform the terms of the debate, create a new movement based on untrammeled emotion, take over existing institutions, and then ruthlessly exploit events. And so current poll numbers are only reassuring if you ignore the potential impact of sudden, external events — an economic downturn or a terror attack in a major city in the months before November. I have no doubt, for example, that Trump is sincere in his desire to “cut the head off” ISIS, whatever that can possibly mean. But it remains a fact that the interests of ISIS and the Trump campaign are now perfectly aligned. Fear is always the would-be tyrant’s greatest ally.

And though Trump’s unfavorables are extraordinarily high (around 65 percent), he is already showing signs of changing his tune, pivoting (fitfully) to the more presidential mode he envisages deploying in the general election. I suspect this will, to some fools on the fence, come as a kind of relief, and may open their minds to him once more. Tyrants, like mob bosses, know the value of a smile: Precisely because of the fear he’s already generated, you desperately want to believe in his new warmth. It’s part of the good-cop-bad-cop routine that will be familiar to anyone who has studied the presidency of Vladimir Putin.

With his appeal to his own base locked up, Trump may well also shift to more moderate stances on social issues like abortion (he already wants to amend the GOP platform to a less draconian position) or gay and even transgender rights. He is consistent in his inconsistency, because, for him, winning is what counts. He has had a real case against Ted Cruz — that the senator has no base outside ideological-conservative quarters and is even less likely to win a general election. More potently, Trump has a worryingly strong argument against Clinton herself — or “crooked Hillary,” as he now dubs her.

His proposition is a simple one. Remember James Carville’s core question in the 1992 election: Change versus more of the same? That sentiment once elected Clinton’s husband; it could also elect her opponent this fall. If you like America as it is, vote Clinton. After all, she has been a member of the American political elite for a quarter-century. Clinton, moreover, has shown no ability to inspire or rally anyone but her longtime loyalists. She is lost in the new media and has struggled to put away a 74-year-old socialist who is barely a member of her party. Her own unfavorables are only 11 points lower than Trump’s (far higher than Obama’s, John Kerry’s, or Al Gore’s were at this point in the race), and the more she campaigns, the higher her unfavorables go (including in her own party). She has a Gore problem. The idea of welcoming her into your living room for the next four years can seem, at times, positively masochistic.

It may be that demographics will save us. America is no longer an overwhelmingly white country, and Trump’s signature issue — illegal immigration — is the source of his strength but also of his weakness. Nonetheless, it’s worth noting how polling models have consistently misread the breadth of his support, especially in these past few weeks; he will likely bend over backward to include minorities in his fall campaign; and those convinced he cannot bring a whole new swath of white voters back into the political process should remember 2004, when Karl Rove helped engineer anti-gay-marriage state constitutional amendments that increased conservative voter turnout. All Trump needs is a sliver of minority votes inspired by the new energy of his campaign and the alleged dominance of the Obama coalition could crack (especially without Obama). Throughout the West these past few years, from France to Britain and Germany, the polls have kept missing the power of right-wing insurgency.

Were Trump to win the White House, the defenses against him would be weak. He would likely bring a GOP majority in the House, and Republicans in the Senate would be subjected to almighty popular fury if they stood in his way. The 4-4 stalemate in the Supreme Court would break in Trump’s favor. (In large part, of course, this would be due to the GOP’s unprecedented decision to hold a vacancy open “for the people to decide,” another massive hyperdemocratic breach in our constitutional defenses.) And if Trump’s policies are checked by other branches of government, how might he react? Just look at his response to the rules of the GOP nomination process. He’s not interested in rules. And he barely understands the Constitution. In one revealing moment earlier this year, when asked what he would do if the military refused to obey an illegal order to torture a prisoner, Trump simply insisted that the man would obey: “They won’t refuse. They’re not going to refuse, believe me.” He later amended his remark, but it speaks volumes about his approach to power. Dick Cheney gave illegal orders to torture prisoners and coerced White House lawyers to cook up absurd “legal” defenses. Trump would make Cheney’s embrace of the dark side and untrammeled executive power look unambitious.

In his 1935 novel, It Can’t Happen Here, Sinclair Lewis wrote a counterfactual about what would happen if fascism as it was then spreading across Europe were to triumph in America. It’s not a good novel, but it remains a resonant one. The imagined American fascist leader — a senator called Buzz Windrip — is a “Professional Common Man … But he was the Common Man ­twenty-times-magnified by his oratory, so that while the other Commoners could understand his every purpose, which was exactly the same as their own, they saw him towering among them, and they raised hands to him in worship.”

He “was vulgar, almost illiterate, a public liar easily detected, and in his ‘ideas’ almost idiotic.” “ ‘I know the Press only too well,’ ” Windrip opines at one point. “ ‘Almost all editors hide away in spider-dens, men without thought of Family or Public Interest … plotting how they can put over their lies, and advance their own positions and fill their greedy pocketbooks.’ ”

He is obsessed with the balance of trade and promises instant economic success: “ ‘I shall not be content till this country can produce every single thing we need … We shall have such a balance of trade as will go far to carry out my often-criticized yet completely sound idea of from $3000 to $5000 per year for every single family.’ ” However fantastical and empty his promises, he nonetheless mesmerizes the party faithful at the nominating convention (held in Cleveland!): “Something in the intensity with which Windrip looked at his audience, looked at all of them, his glance slowly taking them in from the highest-perched seat to the nearest, convinced them that he was talking to each individual, directly and solely; that he wanted to take each of them into his heart; that he was telling them the truths, the imperious and dangerous facts, that had been hidden from them.”

And all the elites who stood in his way? Crippled by their own failures, demoralized by their crumbling stature, they first mock and then cave. As one lone journalist laments before the election (he finds himself in a concentration camp afterward): “I’ve got to keep remembering … that Windrip is only the lightest cork on the whirlpool. He didn’t plot all this thing. With all the justified discontent there is against the smart politicians and the Plush Horses of Plutocracy — oh, if it hadn’t been one Windrip, it’d been another … We had it coming, we Respectables.”

And, 81 years later, many of us did. An American elite that has presided over massive and increasing public debt, that failed to prevent 9/11, that chose a disastrous war in the Middle East, that allowed financial markets to nearly destroy the global economy, and that is now so bitterly divided the Congress is effectively moot in a constitutional democracy: “We Respectables” deserve a comeuppance. The vital and valid lesson of the Trump phenomenon is that if the elites cannot govern by compromise, someone outside will eventually try to govern by popular passion and brute force.

But elites still matter in a democracy. They matter not because they are democracy’s enemy but because they provide the critical ingredient to save democracy from itself. The political Establishment may be battered and demoralized, deferential to the algorithms of the web and to the monosyllables of a gifted demagogue, but this is not the time to give up on America’s near-unique and stabilizing blend of democracy and elite responsibility. The country has endured far harsher times than the present without succumbing to rank demagoguery; it avoided the fascism that destroyed Europe; it has channeled extraordinary outpourings of democratic energy into constitutional order. It seems shocking to argue that we need elites in this democratic age — especially with vast inequalities of wealth and elite failures all around us. But we need them precisely to protect this precious democracy from its own destabilizing excesses.

And so those Democrats who are gleefully predicting a Clinton landslide in November need to both check their complacency and understand that the Trump question really isn’t a cause for partisan Schadenfreude anymore. It’s much more dangerous than that. Those still backing the demagogue of the left, Bernie Sanders, might want to reflect that their critique of Clinton’s experience and expertise — and their facile conflation of that with corruption — is only playing into Trump’s hands. That it will fall to Clinton to temper her party’s ambitions will be uncomfortable to watch, since her willingness to compromise and equivocate is precisely what many Americans find so distrustful. And yet she may soon be all we have left to counter the threat. She needs to grasp the lethality of her foe, moderate the kind of identity politics that unwittingly empowers him, make an unapologetic case that experience and moderation are not vices, address much more directly the anxieties of the white working class—and Democrats must listen.

More to the point, those Republicans desperately trying to use the long-standing rules of their own nominating process to thwart this monster deserve our passionate support, not our disdain. This is not the moment to remind them that they partly brought this on themselves. This is a moment to offer solidarity, especially as the odds are increasingly stacked against them. Ted Cruz and John Kasich face their decisive battle in Indiana on May 3. But they need to fight on, with any tactic at hand, all the way to the bitter end. The Republican delegates who are trying to protect their party from the whims of an outsider demagogue are, at this moment, doing what they ought to be doing to prevent civil and racial unrest, an international conflict, and a constitutional crisis. These GOP elites have every right to deploy whatever rules or procedural roadblocks they can muster, and they should refuse to be intimidated.

And if they fail in Indiana or Cleveland, as they likely will, they need, quite simply, to disown their party’s candidate. They should resist any temptation to loyally back the nominee or to sit this election out. They must take the fight to Trump at every opportunity, unite with Democrats and Independents against him, and be prepared to sacrifice one election in order to save their party and their country.

For Trump is not just a wacky politician of the far right, or a riveting television spectacle, or a Twitter phenom and bizarre working-class hero. He is not just another candidate to be parsed and analyzed by TV pundits in the same breath as all the others. In terms of our liberal democracy and constitutional order, Trump is an extinction-level event. It’s long past time we started treating him as such.

It seems we’re entering another of those stupid seasons humans impose on themselves at fairly regular intervals. I am sketching out here opinions based on information, they may prove right, or may prove wrong, and they’re intended just to challenge and be part of a wider dialogue.
My background is archaeology, so also history and anthropology. It leads me to look at big historical patterns. My theory is that most peoples’ perspective of history is limited to the experience communicated by their parents and grandparents, so 50–100 years. To go beyond that you have to read, study, and learn to untangle the propaganda that is inevitable in all telling of history. In a nutshell, at university I would fail a paper if I didn’t compare at least two, if not three opposing views on a topic. Taking one telling of events as gospel doesn’t wash in the comparative analytical method of research that forms the core of British academia. (I can’t speak for other systems, but they’re definitely not all alike in this way).
So zooming out, we humans have a habit of going into phases of mass destruction, generally self imposed to some extent or another. This handy list shows all the wars over time. Wars are actually the norm for humans, but every now and then something big comes along. I am interested in the Black Death, which devastated Europe. The opening of Boccaccio’s Decameron describes Florence in the grips of the Plague. It is as beyond imagination as the Somme, Hiroshima, or the Holocaust. I mean, you quite literally can’t put yourself there and imagine what it was like. For those in the midst of the Plague it must have felt like the end of the world.
But a defining feature of humans is their resilience. To us now it seems obvious that we survived the Plague, but to people at the time it must have seemed incredible that their society continued afterwards. Indeed, many takes on the effects of the Black Death are that it had a positive impact in the long term. Well summed up here: “By targeting frail people of all ages, and killing them by the hundreds of thousands within an extremely short period of time, the Black Death might have represented a strong force of natural selection and removed the weakest individuals on a very broad scale within Europe,“ …In addition, the Black Death significantly changed the social structure of some European regions. Tragic depopulation created the shortage of working people. This shortage caused wages to rise. Products prices fell too. Consequently, standards of living increased. For instance, people started to consume more food of higher quality.”
But for the people living through it, as with the World Wars, Soviet Famines, Holocaust, it must have felt inconceivable that humans could rise up from it. The collapse of the Roman Empire, Black Death, Spanish Inquisition, Thirty Years War, War of the Roses, English Civil War… it’s a long list. Events of massive destruction from which humanity recovered and move on, often in better shape.
At a local level in time people think things are fine, then things rapidly spiral out of control until they become unstoppable, and we wreak massive destruction on ourselves. For the people living in the midst of this it is hard to see happening and hard to understand. To historians later it all makes sense and we see clearly how one thing led to another. During the Centenary of the Battle of the Somme I was struck that it was a direct outcome of the assassination of an Austrian Arch Duke in Bosnia. I very much doubt anyone at the time thought the killing of a minor European royal would lead to the death of 17 million people.
My point is that this is a cycle. It happens again and again, but as most people only have a 50–100 year historical perspective they don’t see that it’s happening again. As the events that led to the First World War unfolded, there were a few brilliant minds who started to warn that something big was wrong, that the web of treaties across Europe could lead to a war, but they were dismissed as hysterical, mad, or fools, as is always the way, and as people who worry about Putin, Brexit, and Trump are dismissed now.
Then after the War to end all Wars, we went and had another one. Again, for a historian it was quite predictable. Lead people to feel they have lost control of their country and destiny, people look for scapegoats, a charismatic leader captures the popular mood, and singles out that scapegoat. He talks in rhetoric that has no detail, and drums up anger and hatred. Soon the masses start to move as one, without any logic driving their actions, and the whole becomes unstoppable.
That was Hitler, but it was also Mussolini, Stalin, Putin, Mugabe, and so many more. Mugabe is a very good case in point. He whipped up national anger and hatred towards the land owning white minority (who happened to know how to run farms), and seized their land to redistribute to the people, in a great populist move which in the end unravelled the economy and farming industry and left the people in possession of land, but starving. See also the famines created by the Soviet Union, and the one caused by the Chinese Communists last century in which 20–40 million people died. It seems inconceivable that people could create a situation in which tens of millions of people die without reason, but we do it again and again.
But at the time people don’t realise they’re embarking on a route that will lead to a destruction period. They think they’re right, they’re cheered on by jeering angry mobs, their critics are mocked. This cycle, the one we saw for example from the Treaty of Versaille, to the rise of Hitler, to the Second World War, appears to be happening again. But as with before, most people cannot see it because:

1. They are only looking at the present, not the past or future
2. They are only looking immediately around them, not at how events connect globally
3. Most people don’t read, think, challenge, or hear opposing views
   Trump is doing this in America. Those of us with some oversight from history can see it happening. Read this brilliant, long essay in the New York magazine to understand how Plato described all this, and it is happening just as he predicted. Trump says he will Make America Great Again, when in fact America is currently great, according to pretty well any statistics. He is using passion, anger, and rhetoric in the same way all his predecessors did — a charismatic narcissist who feeds on the crowd to become ever stronger, creating a cult around himself. You can blame society, politicians, the media, for America getting to the point that it’s ready for Trump, but the bigger historical picture is that history generally plays out the same way each time someone like him becomes the boss.
   On a wider stage, zoom out some more, Russia is a dictatorship with a charismatic leader using fear and passion to establish a cult around himself. Turkey is now there too. Hungary, Poland, Slovakia are heading that way, and across Europe more Trumps and Putins are waiting in the wings, in fact funded by Putin, waiting for the popular tide to turn their way.
   We should be asking ourselves what our Archduke Ferdinand moment will be. How will an apparently small event trigger another period of massive destruction. We see Brexit, Trump, Putin in isolation. The world does not work that way — all things are connected and affecting each other. I have pro-Brexit friends who say ‘oh, you’re going to blame that on Brexit too??’ But they don’t realise that actually, yes, historians will trace neat lines from apparently unrelated events back to major political and social shifts like Brexit.
   Brexit — a group of angry people winning a fight — easily inspires other groups of angry people to start a similar fight, empowered with the idea that they may win. That alone can trigger chain reactions. A nuclear explosion is not caused by one atom splitting, but by the impact of the first atom that splits causing multiple other atoms near it to split, and they in turn causing multiple atoms to split. The exponential increase in atoms splitting, and their combined energy is the bomb. That is how World War One started and, ironically how World War Two ended.
   An example of how Brexit could lead to a nuclear war could be this:
   Brexit in the UK causes Italy or France to have a similar referendum. Le Pen wins an election in France. Europe now has a fractured EU. The EU, for all its many awful faults, has prevented a war in Europe for longer than ever before. The EU is also a major force in suppressing Putin’s military ambitions. European sanctions on Russia really hit the economy, and helped temper Russia’s attacks on Ukraine (there is a reason bad guys always want a weaker European Union). Trump wins in the US. Trump becomes isolationist, which weakens NATO. He has already said he would not automatically honour NATO commitments in the face of a Russian attack on the Baltics.
   With a fractured EU, and weakened NATO, Putin, facing an ongoing economic and social crisis in Russia, needs another foreign distraction around which to rally his people. He funds far right anti-EU activists in Latvia, who then create a reason for an uprising of the Russian Latvians in the East of the country (the EU border with Russia). Russia sends ‘peace keeping forces’ and ‘aid lorries’ into Latvia, as it did in Georgia, and in Ukraine. He annexes Eastern Latvia as he did Eastern Ukraine (Crimea has the same population as Latvia, by the way).
   A divided Europe, with the leaders of France, Hungary, Poland, Slovakia, and others now pro-Russia, anti-EU, and funded by Putin, overrule calls for sanctions or a military response. NATO is slow to respond: Trump does not want America to be involved, and a large part of Europe is indifferent or blocking any action. Russia, seeing no real resistance to their actions, move further into Latvia, and then into Eastern Estonia and Lithuania. The Baltic States declare war on Russia and start to retaliate, as they have now been invaded so have no choice. Half of Europe sides with them, a few countries remain neutral, and a few side with Russia. Where does Turkey stand on this? How does ISIS respond to a new war in Europe? Who uses a nuclear weapon first?
   This is just one Arch Duke Ferdinand scenario. The number of possible scenarios are infinite due to the massive complexity of the many moving parts. And of course many of them lead to nothing happening. But based on history we are due another period of destruction, and based on history all the indicators are that we are entering one.
   It will come in ways we can’t see coming, and will spin out of control so fast people won’t be able to stop it. Historians will look back and make sense of it all and wonder how we could all have been so naïve. How could I sit in a nice café in London, writing this, without wanting to run away. How could people read it and make sarcastic and dismissive comments about how pro-Remain people should stop whining, and how we shouldn’t blame everything on Brexit. Others will read this and sneer at me for saying America is in great shape, that Trump is a possible future Hitler (and yes, Godwin’s Law. But my comparison is to another narcissistic, charismatic leader fanning flames of hatred until things spiral out of control). It’s easy to jump to conclusions that oppose pessimistic predictions based on the weight of history and learning. Trump won against the other Republicans in debates by countering their claims by calling them names and dismissing them. It’s an easy route but the wrong one.
   Ignoring and mocking the experts , as people are doing around Brexit and Trump’s campaign, is no different to ignoring a doctor who tells you to stop smoking, and then finding later you’ve developed incurable cancer. A little thing leads to an unstoppable destruction that could have been prevented if you’d listened and thought a bit. But people smoke, and people die from it. That is the way of the human.
   So I feel it’s all inevitable. I don’t know what it will be, but we are entering a bad phase. It will be unpleasant for those living through it, maybe even will unravel into being hellish and beyond imagination. Humans will come out the other side, recover, and move on. The human race will be fine, changed, maybe better. But for those at the sharp end — for the thousands of Turkish teachers who just got fired, for the Turkish journalists and lawyers in prison, for the Russian dissidents in gulags, for people lying wounded in French hospitals after terrorist attacks, for those yet to fall, this will be their Somme.
   What can we do? Well, again, looking back, probably not much. The liberal intellectuals are always in the minority. See Clay Shirky’s Twitter Storm on this point. The people who see that open societies, being nice to other people, not being racist, not fighting wars, is a better way to live, they generally end up losing these fights. They don’t fight dirty. They are terrible at appealing to the populace. They are less violent, so end up in prisons, camps, and graves. We need to beware not to become divided (see: Labour party), we need to avoid getting lost in arguing through facts and logic, and counter the populist messages of passion and anger with our own similar messages. We need to understand and use social media. We need to harness a different fear. Fear of another World War nearly stopped World War 2, but didn’t. We need to avoid our own echo chambers. Trump and Putin supporters don’t read the Guardian, so writing there is just reassuring our friends. We need to find a way to bridge from our closed groups to other closed groups, try to cross the ever widening social divides.
   (Perhaps I’m just writing this so I can be remembered by history as one of the people who saw it coming.)

I am only a small minnow in the technology ocean, but since it is my natural habitat, I want to make an effort to describe it to you.

As computer programmers, our formative intellectual experience is working with deterministic systems that have been designed by other human beings. These can be very complex, but the complexity is not the kind we find in the natural world. It is ultimately always tractable. Find the right abstractions, and the puzzle box opens before you.

The feeling of competence, control and delight in discovering a clever twist that solves a difficult problem is what makes being a computer programmer sometimes enjoyable.

But as anyone who's worked with tech people knows, this intellectual background can also lead to arrogance. People who excel at software design become convinced that they have a unique ability to understand any kind of system at all, from first principles, without prior training, thanks to their superior powers of analysis. Success in the artificially constructed world of software design promotes a dangerous confidence.

Today we are embarked on a great project to make computers a part of everyday life. As Marc Andreessen memorably frames it, "software is eating the world". And those of us writing the software expect to be greeted as liberators.

Our intentions are simple and clear. First we will instrument, then we will analyze, then we will optimize. And you will thank us.

But the real world is a stubborn place. It is complex in ways that resist abstraction and modeling. It notices and reacts to our attempts to affect it. Nor can we hope to examine it objectively from the outside, any more than we can step out of our own skin.

The connected world we're building may resemble a computer system, but really it's just the regular old world from before, with a bunch of microphones and keyboards and flat screens sticking out of it. And it has the same old problems.

Approaching the world as a software problem is a category error that has led us into some terrible habits of mind.

BAD MENTAL HABITS

First, programmers are trained to seek maximal and global solutions. Why solve a specific problem in one place when you can fix the general problem for everybody, and for all time? We don't think of this as hubris, but as a laudable economy of effort. And the startup funding culture of big risk, big reward encourages this grandiose mode of thinking. There is powerful social pressure to avoid incremental change, particularly any change that would require working with people outside tech and treating them as intellectual equals.

Second, treating the world as a software project gives us a rationale for being selfish. The old adage has it that if you are given ten minutes to cut down a tree, you should spend the first five sharpening your axe. We are used to the idea of bootstrapping ourselves into a position of maximum leverage before tackling a problem.

In the real world, this has led to a pathology where the tech sector maximizes its own comfort. You don't have to go far to see this. Hop on BART after the conference and take a look at Oakland, or take a stroll through downtown San Francisco and try to persuade yourself you're in the heart of a boom that has lasted for forty years. You'll see a residential theme park for tech workers, surrounded by areas of poverty and misery that have seen no benefit and ample harm from our presence. We pretend that by maximizing our convenience and productivity, we're hastening the day when we finally make life better for all those other people.

Third, treating the world as software promotes fantasies of control. And the best kind of control is control without responsibility. Our unique position as authors of software used by millions gives us power, but we don't accept that this should make us accountable. We're programmers—who else is going to write the software that runs the world? To put it plainly, we are surprised that people seem to get mad at us for trying to help.

Fortunately we are smart people and have found a way out of this predicament. Instead of relying on algorithms, which we can be accused of manipulating for our benefit, we have turned to machine learning, an ingenious way of disclaiming responsibility for anything. Machine learning is like money laundering for bias. It's a clean, mathematical apparatus that gives the status quo the aura of logical inevitability. The numbers don't lie.

Of course, people obsessed with control have to eventually confront the fact of their own extinction. The response of the tech world to death has been enthusiastic. We are going to fix it. Google Ventures, for example, is seriously funding research into immortality. Their head VC will call you a "deathist" for pointing out that this is delusional.

Such fantasies of control come with a dark side. Witness the current anxieties about an artificial superintelligence, or Elon Musk's apparently sincere belief that we're living in a simulation. For a computer programmer, that's the ultimate loss of control. Instead of writing the software, you are the software.

We obsess over these fake problems while creating some real ones.

In our attempt to feed the world to software, techies have built the greatest surveillance apparatus the world has ever seen. Unlike earlier efforts, this one is fully mechanized and in a large sense autonomous. Its power is latent, lying in the vast amounts of permanently stored personal data about entire populations.

We started out collecting this information by accident, as part of our project to automate everything, but soon realized that it had economic value. We could use it to make the process self-funding. And so mechanized surveillance has become the economic basis of the modern tech industry.

SURVEILLANCE CAPITALISM

Surveillance capitalism has some of the features of a zero-sum game. The actual value of the data collected is not clear, but it is definitely an advantage to collect more than your rivals do. Because human beings develop an immune response to new forms of tracking and manipulation, the only way to stay successful is to keep finding novel ways to peer into people's private lives. And because much of the surveillance economy is funded by speculators, there is an incentive to try flashy things that will capture the speculators' imagination, and attract their money.

This creates a ratcheting effect where the behavior of ever more people is tracked ever more closely, and the collected information retained, in the hopes that further dollars can be squeezed out of it.

Just like industrialized manufacturing changed the relationship between labor and capital, surveillance capitalism is changing the relationship between private citizens and the entities doing the tracking. Our old ideas about individual privacy and consent no longer hold in a world where personal data is harvested on an industrial scale.

Those who benefit from the death of privacy attempt to frame our subjugation in terms of freedom, just like early factory owners talked about the sanctity of contract law. They insisted that a worker should have the right to agree to anything, from sixteen-hour days to unsafe working conditions, as if factory owners and workers were on an equal footing.

Companies that perform surveillance are attempting the same mental trick. They assert that we freely share our data in return for valuable services. But opting out of surveillance capitalism is like opting out of electricity, or cooked foods—you are free to do it in theory. In practice, it will upend your life.

Many of you had to obtain a US visa to attend this conference. The customs service announced yesterday it wants to start asking people for their social media profiles. Imagine trying to attend your next conference without a LinkedIn profile, and explaining to the American authorities why you are so suspiciously off the grid.

The reality is, opting out of surveillance capitalism means opting out of much of modern life.

We're used to talking about the private and public sector in the real economy, but in the surveillance economy this boundary doesn't exist. Much of the day-to-day work of surveillance is done by telecommunications firms, which have a close relationship with government. The techniques and software of surveillance are freely shared between practitioners on both sides. All of the major players in the surveillance economy cooperate with their own country's intelligence agencies, and are spied on (very effectively) by all the others.

As a technologist, this state of affairs gives me the feeling of living in a forest that is filling up with dry, dead wood. The very personal, very potent information we're gathering about people never goes away, only accumulates. I don't want to see the fire come, but at the same time, I can't figure out a way to persuade other people of the great danger.

So I try to spin scenarios.

THE INEVITABLE LIST OF SCARY SCENARIOS

One of the candidates running for President this year has promised to deport eleven million undocumented immigrants living in the United States, as well as block Muslims from entering the country altogether. Try to imagine this policy enacted using the tools of modern technology. The FBI would subpoena Facebook for information on every user born abroad. Email and phone conversations would be monitored to check for the use of Arabic or Spanish, and sentiment analysis applied to see if the participants sounded "nervous". Social networks, phone metadata, and cell phone tracking would lead police to nests of hiding immigrants.

We could do a really good job deporting people if we put our minds to it.

Or consider the other candidate running for President, the one we consider the sane alternative, who has been a longtime promoter of a system of extrajudicial murder that uses blanket surveillance of cell phone traffic, email, and social media to create lists of people to be tracked and killed with autonomous aircraft. The system presumably includes points of human control (we don't know because it's secret), but there's no reason in principle it could not be automated. Get into the wrong person's car in Yemen, and you lose your life.

That this toolchain for eliminating enemies of the state is only allowed to operate in poor, remote places is a comfort to those of us who live elsewhere, but you can imagine scenarios where a mass panic would broaden its scope.

Or imagine what the British surveillance state, already the worst in Europe, is going to look like in two years, when it's no longer bound by the protections of European law, and economic crisis has driven the country further into xenophobia.

Or take an example from my home country, Poland. Abortion has been illegal in Poland for some time, but the governing party wants to tighten restrictions on abortion by investigating every miscarriage as a potential crime. Women will basically be murder suspects if they lose their baby. Imagine government agents combing your Twitter account, fitness tracker logs, credit card receipts and private communications for signs of potential pregnancy, with the results reported to the police to proactively protect your unborn baby.

We tend to imagine dystopian scenarios as one where a repressive government uses technology against its people. But what scares me in these scenarios is that each one would have broad social support, possibly majority support. Democratic societies sometimes adopt terrible policies.

When we talk about the moral economy of tech, we must confront the fact that we have created a powerful tool of social control. Those who run the surveillance apparatus understand its capabilities in a way the average citizen does not. My greatest fear is seeing the full might of the surveillance apparatus unleashed against a despised minority, in a democratic country.

What we've done as technologists is leave a loaded gun lying around, in the hopes that no one will ever pick it up and use it.

CONCLUSION

The first step towards a better tech economy is humility and recognition of limits. It's time to hold technology politically accountable for its promises. I am very suspicious of attempts to change the world that can't first work on a local scale. If after decades we can't improve quality of life in places where the tech élite actually lives, why would we possibly make life better anywhere else?

We should not listen to people who promise to make Mars safe for human habitation, until we have seen them make Oakland safe for human habitation. We should be skeptical of promises to revolutionize transportation from people who can't fix BART, or have never taken BART. And if Google offers to make us immortal, we should check first to make sure we'll have someplace to live.

Techies will complain that trivial problems of life in the Bay Area are hard because they involve politics. But they should involve politics. Politics is the thing we do to keep ourselves from murdering each other. In a world where everyone uses computers and software, we need to exercise democratic control over that software.

Second, the surveillance economy is way too dangerous. Even if you trust everyone spying on you right now, the data they're collecting will eventually be stolen or bought by people who scare you. We have no ability to secure large data collections over time.

The goal should be not to make the apparatus of surveillance politically accountable (though that is a great goal), but to dismantle it. Just like we don't let countries build reactors that produce plutonium, no matter how sincere their promises not to misuse it, we should not allow people to create and indefinitely store databases of personal information. The risks are too high.

I think a workable compromise will be to allow all kinds of surveillance, but limit what anyone is allowed to store or sell.

More broadly, we have to stop treating computer technology as something unprecedented in human history. Not every year is Year Zero. This is not the first time an enthusiastic group of nerds has decided to treat the rest of the world as a science experiment. Earlier attempts to create a rationalist Utopia failed for interesting reasons, and since we bought those lessons at a great price, it would be a shame not to learn them.

There is also prior art in attempts at achieving immortality, limitless wealth, and Galactic domination. We even know what happens if you try to keep dossiers on an entire country.

If we're going to try all these things again, let's at least learn from our past, so we can fail in interesting new ways, instead of failing in the same exasperating ways as last time.

IN A sense, this is a golden age for free speech. Your smartphone can call up newspapers from the other side of world in seconds. More than a billion tweets, Facebook posts and blog updates are published every single day. Anyone with access to the internet can be a publisher, and anyone who can reach Wikipedia enters a digital haven where America’s First Amendment reigns.

However, watchdogs report that speaking out is becoming more dangerous—and they are right. As our report shows, curbs on free speech have grown tighter. Without the contest of ideas, the world is timid and ignorant.

In this section
Under attack
Don’t cave in, Mr Hollande
Basically flawed
Of banks and bureaucrats
Between Bentonville and Bezos
Cleaning up
Reprints
Related topics
Europe
Russia
Rwanda
Burundi
Vladimir Putin
Free speech is under attack in three ways. First, repression by governments has increased. Several countries have reimposed cold-war controls or introduced new ones. After the collapse of the Soviet Union, Russia enjoyed a free-for-all of vigorous debate. Under Vladimir Putin, the muzzle has tightened again. All the main television-news outlets are now controlled by the state or by Mr Putin’s cronies. Journalists who ask awkward questions are no longer likely to be sent to labour camps, but several have been murdered.

China’s leader, Xi Jinping, ordered a crackdown after he took over in 2012, toughening up censorship of social media, arresting hundreds of dissidents and replacing liberal debate in universities with extra Marxism. In the Middle East the overthrow of despots during the Arab spring let people speak freely for the first time in generations. This has lasted in Tunisia, but Syria and Libya are more dangerous for journalists than they were before the uprisings; and Egypt is ruled by a man who says, with a straight face: “Don’t listen to anyone but me.”

Words, sticks and stones
Second, a worrying number of non-state actors are enforcing censorship by assassination. Reporters in Mexico who investigate crime or corruption are often murdered, and sometimes tortured first. Jihadists slaughter those they think have insulted their faith. When authors and artists say anything that might be deemed disrespectful of Islam, they take risks. Secular bloggers in Bangladesh are hacked to death in the street (see article); French cartoonists are gunned down in their offices. The jihadists hurt Muslims more than any others, not least by making it harder for them to have an honest discussion about how to organise their societies.

Third, the idea has spread that people and groups have a right not to be offended. This may sound innocuous. Politeness is a virtue, after all. But if I have a right not to be offended, that means someone must police what you say about me, or about the things I hold dear, such as my ethnic group, religion, or even political beliefs. Since offence is subjective, the power to police it is both vast and arbitrary.

Nevertheless, many students in America and Europe believe that someone should exercise it. Some retreat into the absolutism of identity politics, arguing that men have no right to speak about feminism nor whites to speak about slavery. Others have blocked thoughtful, well-known speakers, such as Condoleezza Rice and Ayaan Hirsi Ali, from being heard on campus (see article).

Concern for the victims of discrimination is laudable. And student protest is often, in itself, an act of free speech. But university is a place where students are supposed to learn how to think. That mission is impossible if uncomfortable ideas are off-limits. And protest can easily stray into preciousness: the University of California, for example, suggests that it is a racist “micro-aggression” to say that “America is a land of opportunity”, because it could be taken to imply that those who do not succeed have only themselves to blame.

The inconvenient truth
Intolerance among Western liberals also has wholly unintended consequences. Even despots know that locking up mouthy but non-violent dissidents is disreputable. Nearly all countries have laws that protect freedom of speech. So authoritarians are always looking out for respectable-sounding excuses to trample on it. National security is one. Russia recently sentenced Vadim Tyumentsev, a blogger, to five years in prison for promoting “extremism”, after he criticised Russian policy in Ukraine. “Hate speech” is another. China locks up campaigners for Tibetan independence for “inciting ethnic hatred”; Saudi Arabia flogs blasphemers; Indians can be jailed for up to three years for promoting disharmony “on grounds of religion, race...caste...or any other ground whatsoever”.

The threat to free speech on Western campuses is very different from that faced by atheists in Afghanistan or democrats in China. But when progressive thinkers agree that offensive words should be censored, it helps authoritarian regimes to justify their own much harsher restrictions and intolerant religious groups their violence. When human-rights campaigners object to what is happening under oppressive regimes, despots can point out that liberal democracies such as France and Spain also criminalise those who “glorify” or “defend” terrorism, and that many Western countries make it a crime to insult a religion or to incite racial hatred.

One strongman who has enjoyed tweaking the West for hypocrisy is Recep Tayyip Erdogan, president of Turkey. At home, he will tolerate no insults to his person, faith or policies. Abroad, he demands the same courtesy—and in Germany he has found it. In March a German comedian recited a satirical poem about him “shagging goats and oppressing minorities” (only the more serious charge is true). Mr Erdogan invoked an old, neglected German law against insulting foreign heads of state. Amazingly, Angela Merkel, the German chancellor, has let the prosecution proceed. Even more amazingly, nine other European countries still have similar laws, and 13 bar insults against their own head of state.

Opinion polls reveal that in many countries support for free speech is lukewarm and conditional. If words are upsetting, people would rather the government or some other authority made the speaker shut up. A group of Islamic countries are lobbying to make insulting religion a crime under international law. They have every reason to expect that they will succeed.

So it is worth spelling out why free expression is the bedrock of all liberties. Free speech is the best defence against bad government. Politicians who err (that is, all of them) should be subjected to unfettered criticism. Those who hear it may respond to it; those who silence it may never find out how their policies misfired. As Amartya Sen, a Nobel laureate, has pointed out, no democracy with a free press ever endured famine.

In all areas of life, free debate sorts good ideas from bad ones. Science cannot develop unless old certainties are queried. Taboos are the enemy of understanding. When China’s government orders economists to offer optimistic forecasts, it guarantees that its own policymaking will be ill-informed. When American social-science faculties hire only left-wing professors, their research deserves to be taken less seriously.

The law should recognise the right to free speech as nearly absolute. Exceptions should be rare. Child pornography should be banned, since its production involves harm to children. States need to keep some things secret: free speech does not mean the right to publish nuclear launch codes. But in most areas where campaigners are calling for enforced civility (or worse, deference) they should be resisted.

Blasphemy laws are an anachronism. A religion should be open to debate. Laws against hate speech are unworkably subjective and widely abused. Banning words or arguments which one group finds offensive does not lead to social harmony. On the contrary, it gives everyone an incentive to take offence—a fact that opportunistic politicians with ethnic-based support are quick to exploit.

Incitement to violence should be banned. However, it should be narrowly defined as instances when the speaker intends to goad those who agree with him to commit violence, and when his words are likely to have an immediate effect. Shouting “Let’s kill the Jews” to an angry mob outside a synagogue qualifies. Drunkenly posting “I wish all the Jews were dead” on an obscure Facebook page probably does not. Saying something offensive about a group whose members then start a riot certainly does not count. They should have responded with words, or by ignoring the fool who insulted them.

In volatile countries, such as Rwanda and Burundi, words that incite violence will differ from those that would do so in a stable democracy. But the principles remain the same. The police should deal with serious and imminent threats, not arrest every bigot with a laptop or a megaphone. (The governments of Rwanda and Burundi, alas, show no such restraint.)

Areopagitica online
Facebook, Twitter and other digital giants should, as private organisations, be free to decide what they allow to be published on their platforms. By the same logic, a private university should be free, as far as the law is concerned, to enforce a speech code on its students. If you don’t like a Christian college’s rules against swearing, pornography and expressing disbelief in God, you can go somewhere else. However, any public college, and any college that aspires to help students grow intellectually, should aim to expose them to challenging ideas. The world outside campus will often offend them; they must learn to fight back using peaceful protests, rhetoric and reason.

These are good rules for everyone. Never try to silence views with which you disagree. Answer objectionable speech with more speech. Win the argument without resorting to force. And grow a tougher hide.

Violences policières, Notre-Dame-des-Landes, Front national, Nuit debout mais aussi écologie, Pierre Rabhi, spiritualité et zapatisme… la rappeuse marseillaise Keny Arkana a accordé à Reporterre un entretien. Redoutant une guerre civile, elle souhaite une ouverture des consciences à la bienveillance.
Keny Arkana a grandi à Marseille. Militante altermondialiste, elle a confondé le collectif La Rage du peuple et réalisé Un autre monde est possible (2006), documentaire tourné au fil de ses voyages au Brésil, au Mali, au Mexique et en France. Son nouvel album, État d’urgence, est disponible en ligne à prix libre.

Reporterre — Ton nouvel opus s’intitule «  État d’urgence  ». Parles-tu de l’état d’urgence du gouvernement, de l’état d’urgence social, de l’état d’urgence écologique  ?
Keny Arkana — En vérité, j’aurais pu l’appeler «  hymne à la paix  ». J’ai écrit ces textes suite aux événements de novembre, dans le contexte de la mise en place de l’état d’urgence. C’est un état d’urgence national mais aussi mondial. Depuis le 11 Septembre, il y a eu toute cette conjoncture de lois liberticides et antiterroristes, et puis la France est partie en guerre, ça fait 15 ans maintenant. Mais la guerre, c’est dans les deux sens : c’est facile de la faire du haut de ton avion, en envoyant des missiles et en tuant plein de gens. Mais, à un moment donné, on se la mange en retour, et c’est toujours des innocents qui payent. Pour moi, il y a vraiment un avant et un après 11 Septembre  et on vit cette continuité, avec notre  11 Septembre  à nous aussi.

Le 13 novembre, c’est un 11 Septembre français   ?
Certains diront Charlie Hebdo, d’autres le 13 novembre, mais ce qui est sûr, c’est que tout le monde est dans la peur maintenant, on cherche des coupables tout le temps, on est dans la division et la haine, on se communautarise à fond. On en est arrivé à des pensées hyper-violentes, la majorité des gens serait presque pour la peine de mort maintenant  ! Mais comme on est représenté par Sarko ou Valls, qui sont eux-mêmes hyper-violents et hyper-bas… Peut-être qu’on a les représentants qu’on mérite, mais je trouve qu’on tombe dans une vague d’obscurantisme.
Et pour moi, c’est devenue une urgence de se poser les bonnes questions. Je crois qu’il est important de canaliser cette violence et d’insuffler un peu de paix. Il faut qu’on arrive à faire un effort de bienveillance, parce que sinon, ce n’est pas la révolution qui nous attend, mais la guerre civile.

Violence d’État, policières, politiques : le climat s’est dégradé ces derniers mois.
Plus il y aura cette escalade de la violence, plus il y aura des lois ultrasécuritaires qui donneront justement raison à cette violence-là. Bien sûr que je comprends les manifestants qui n’en peuvent plus de toutes ces lois, on a toujours l’impression que notre violence est légitime. Mais si on prend une grille de lecture plus haute, j’ai l’impression que tout est instrumentalisé. Y’a un truc où je me dis qu’on joue le jeu du gouvernement.

Mais que faire face aux violences policières  ?
J’en ai parfois parlé avec mes amis militants, qui me traitent d’ailleurs de grosse naïve, mais je pense qu’il faudrait faire des actions de sensibilisation dans les commissariats. Sensibiliser les policiers et leur expliquer pourquoi nos luttes sont justes, et pourquoi elles les concernent eux et leurs enfants. Aller dans les commissariats et discuter, parce que, face aux barricades, chacun est dans son rôle, ça devient compliqué. T’imagines si demain, en pleine manifestation, un CRS décidait, devant ses collègues, d’arrêter, de poser son casque et de passer de notre côté  ? Ça casserait une division à laquelle on veut nous faire croire. C’est le truc qui ferait le plus peur au gouvernement.
Mais j’espère juste qu’à ce moment-là, il n’y aurait pas un lâche qui en profiterait pour aller savater le flic. Parce qu’à un moment, la lutte n’est pas seulement politique et sociale, elle est aussi humaine. Et il faut savoir où est vraiment ton ennemi et où est vraiment ton camarade. Bien sûr qu’on a toutes les raisons d’avoir la haine des flics surtout lorsqu’on a subi ses violences — moi, j’avais 13 ans lors de mon premier passage à tabac, ils m’ont frappée pendant des heures et j’avais la rage. Mais veut-on se venger ou veut-on changer les choses  ? Il faut savoir avaler sa rancœur, la transmuter, pour l’intérêt général et collectif.
De toute façon, on ne gagnera pas dans le rapport de force d’aujourd’hui. Et même si on y arrivait, on reproduirait les mêmes schémas après. Parce que, malheureusement, la plupart des gens n’ont pas fait ce travail intérieur de changement de conscience, au service de la bienveillance.

Ne vois-tu pas une forme d’espoir avec Nuit debout  ?
Si, c’est clair  ! On touche justement cette humanité-là quand on résiste comme cela à plusieurs. Depuis les Indignés, il y a cette nouvelle forme de résistance où il n’y a plus besoin d’être encarté ni de donner son petit pouvoir à un représentant politique ou syndical. On crée des outils, des assemblées populaires, des tours de parole, on apprend à s’exprimer et à s’écouter, etc. C’est super important de récupérer son petit pouvoir et de construire un truc horizontal. C’est quelque chose qui n’existait pas il y a dix ans. Donc oui, Il y a un éveil des consciences, une nouvelle manière de voir les choses, plus solidaire et plus horizontal, et c’est très positif.

Faut-il ensuite s’institutionnaliser à l’image de Podemos, qui est l’une des formes héritées des Indignés  ?
Personnellement je suis contre, j’ai toujours dit que le changement se construirait par le bas. Pourquoi faudrait-il prendre les outils de Babylone pour lutter contre Babylone  ? À partir du moment où tu te structures autour d’un parti, à chercher des financeurs, tu retombes dans le jeu.
J’ai été au Chiapas pendant un an, en 2014. Les zapatistes sont pour moi le meilleur exemple d’autonomie et de politique au service de l’humain. Et ils sont très à cheval sur le concept de la révolution totale : apprend à te changer toi-même avant de vouloir changer quoi que ce soit !
Mais aussi en France : partout il y a ce mouvement de retour à la terre, de construction en autonomie, sous forme de petits collectifs d’une trentaine de personnes, chacun récupérant son pouvoir créatif. Ça ne veut pas dire qu’il n’y a pas d’organisation : il faut les gérer, les trente personnes  ! Il faut trouver les bons outils.
C’est important dans sa propre réalisation, cette idée de pouvoir créateur, parce qu’à la base, l’humain est fait pour créer. Mais vu qu’on évolue dans un monde qui ne nous donne pas cet espace-là, il y a une distorsion. Du coup, on se détruit nous-mêmes, on détruit les autres.
Aujourd’hui, la plupart des gens, si tu leur demandes ce que serait la maison de leur rêve, ils vont te sortir un truc préfabriqué, la villa avec la piscine… Mais non, frère  ! Je te parle de toi, la maison qui te ressemble, toi  !
Peut-être que toi, ton kiff ce serait une maison dans les arbres, et toi, une grande maison sans angle droit avec un toit-terrasse. Et moi, ce serait une maison toute bleue ou peu importe. Chacun peut aller au fond de son imaginaire, on est tous singulier. Mais aujourd’hui, on est vampirisé jusque dans nos imaginaires.
JPEG - 98.5 ko
Keny Arkana lors du festival Solidays de 2013.

Comment faire pour toucher la partie de la population qui n’est pas aussi politisée  ?
Sensibiliser les gens passera toujours par l’exemple. La plupart des gens rêvent d’un autre monde. Juste, ils ont peur, ils n’y croient pas, il n’y a pas de références auxquelles s’accrocher. Mais si demain, ils voient à côté d’eux qu’il y a une autre manière de vivre, que tous ces petits villages qui se mettent en réseau partout créent de l’autonomie alimentaire, que les gens sont plus épanouis, qu’il y a un truc juste et sain, eh bien, petit à petit, ça va se contaminer. C’est important de résister et de pousser les murs, mais il faut aussi construire derrière. Sinon on s’essouffle.

On dirait le proverbe de Gandhi, «  soyez vous-même le changement que vous voulez voir dans le monde  »   ?
Exactement. Pour moi, dans la désintoxication des imaginaires, on a besoin de spiritualité. Ça n’a rien de dogmatique ou de religieux. Tout le monde fait un truc mystique du spirituel, mais c’est juste l’adjectif du mot esprit… Il s’agit de pouvoir se regarder et creuser un peu en soi-même, pour se libérer de tous nos schémas.
Gandhi, il était puissant. On se moque du petit Indien, mais dans le pays le plus divisé du monde, avec les castes et l’empire anglais, il a tout retourné avec la parole, la force de la compassion et de la tolérance, il a su casser les schémas.
On peut avoir les meilleures valeurs et défendre les meilleurs principes du monde, il y aura toujours dans notre quotidien une part de jalousie et d’ego qui reviendra. Et tant qu’il y aura ça, j’aurai du mal à croire qu’on peut vraiment changer les choses. Parce qu’on sera toujours à l’image de ce qu’on combat.

Spiritualité, révolution des consciences, changement individuel : connais-tu Pierre Rabhi et le mouvement des Colibris  ?
J’ai énormément de respect pour Pierre Rabhi, il a fait des choses incroyables, autant par sa pensée que dans ses actes : il a fait pousser des rizières dans le désert… Ce mec-là est puissant.

Le renouveau politique passe-t-il forcément par la terre  ?
Si tu n’es pas autonome sur le plan alimentaire, tu n’es pas autonome tout court. C’est une de nos premières fonctions vitales, le reste est forcément superflu. C’est une évidence qu’il faut reconnecter l’humain à la terre pour de vrai.

Te qualifierais-tu d’écologiste  ?
Je n’aime pas ce terme. Je trouve que c’est encore trop compris comme au service de l’homme. D’ailleurs, je ne me considère pas comme humaniste au sens occidental du terme, qui met tout au service de l’humanité. Une fois, on m’a dit que c’était humaniste de détruire la moitié de l’Amazonie, puisque c’est pour le besoin des humains… alors si c’est ça, je ne suis pas humaniste !
Moi, je suis «  vivantiste  », je suis pour le vivant. Je vois la terre comme les Amérindiens, une vision maternelle de la Pachamama : j’entends la détresse de la Terre, je sens les espèces vivantes, les plantes. Ce n’est pas pour mon intérêt d’humaine que j’ai envie de défendre la Terre. Dans ma conception, la Terre ne m’appartient pas, c’est nous qui appartenons à la Terre. Je crois que, dans tous les écosystèmes, il y a une harmonie. Et nous, dans notre instinct de domination, on casse cette harmonie.
C’est le Vatican et l’inquisition qui nous ont coupés de la nature en nous faisant croire qu’elle était une menace, que c’était le diable. Au contraire, si tu connais vraiment la nature, tu sais que là où tu te fais mordre par un serpent, à côté il y a la plante anti-venin. La nature est bien faite. Il y a un truc beau, un truc aimant. Elle te soigne, la nature, si tu es un peu connecté aux énergies, tu sens qu’elle est puissante, vivante…

Tu es végétarienne  ?
Oui. Mais je ne veux pas être trop rigide non plus : si je suis chez des indigènes qui ont tué un poulet pour moi, je ne vais pas faire la tendax.

En France, l’une des luttes emblématiques pour la terre, c’est Notre-Dame-des-Landes…
La dernière fois que j’y étais, c’était en 2013, ça fait un petit moment. Je trouve ça super, tout le mouvement des Zad en France, mais des fois, ça me met aussi un peu en colère. Une colère de grande sœur, tu vois, mais j’ai envie de leur dire : « Les frères, soyez vraiment des gardiens de la Terre  ! » Je suis désolée, mais la lutte, c’est sérieux, c’est pas boire des bières et fumer des pétards. D’ailleurs, quand tu vas chez les zapatistes, c’est interdit. Je suis moi-même une fumeuse, je suis pas en train de juger. Mais je dis ça parce que j’ai vu trop de fois des pollutions de Babylone-système sur la Zad. Il suffit pas de faire le révolté, il faut aussi être à l’image du changement.

Mais défends-tu tout de même l’occupation  ?
Bien sûr qu’il faut occuper  !

Et pour la consultation, tu voterais non si tu pouvais  ?
Non à l’aéroport  ? Ah oui ! D’ailleurs, ça fait chier de devoir voter pour ça : ça devrait être une évidence  ! La France, c’est tout petit : vous voulez mettre combien d’aéroports  ? L’aéroport, il y en a déjà un à Nantes. Là, il y a un super écosystème, préservé. Sans parler de toutes les familles, de tous les agriculteurs, de tous les paysans. Et puis, il y a le problème du financement aussi. Les contribuables qui paient un truc dont ils n’ont pas forcément envie, pour les bénéfices d’un privé [Vinci]. Et si ce privé-là ne rentre pas dans ses chiffres, il y a encore l’État qui lui donne des subventions  ! Il faudrait plus qu’un référendum local.

C’est-à-dire  ?
Pour moi, le meilleur moyen de se faire entendre dans le rapport de force, c’est de bloquer l’économie. C’est l’exemple des piqueteros en Argentine : ils ont réussi à le faire dans un pays qui fait huit fois la France. La France, c’est petit : il y a cinq autoroutes principales… C’est Vinci, l’ennemi : on pourrait faire une action « péages gratuits », des concerts et des teufs sur les autoroutes pour les bloquer. Si tu bloques ne serait-ce qu’une journée, tu bloques toute l’économie du pays, et tu fais perdre des millions à Vinci  ! Il y a de vraies actions à faire, et quand tu touches au nerf de la guerre, on t’écoute un peu plus.

Le « collectif de Tarnac » dit qu’il faut que tout s’arrête pour pouvoir tout recommencer. Es-tu d’accord avec cette approche  ?
Oui. Le seul problème, c’est qu’il y aura toujours des gens qui le prendront comme un acte violent. Parce que c’est une frustration et parce qu’ils n’en sont pas là dans leur conscience. C’est compliqué : au bout d’un moment, où s’arrête l’autoritarisme  ?

La grande difficulté des mouvements de contestation aujourd’hui, c’est de toucher les classes populaires…
C’est compliqué. Un mec de quartier a toujours été exclu, pourquoi il se sentirait concerné ? Qui est là pour lutter à ses cotés contre la discrimination, la ghettoïsation, les abus policiers et toutes les portes qu’on lui ferme à la gueule ? En voyant les manifs, il peut se dire que c’est les bourgeois contre les bourgeois, que ces mêmes gens qui militent n’en ont jamais rien eu à faire de lui. Il y a un désintérêt du fait de l’exclusion. Le manque d’humanité pousse au manque d’humanité, c’est un cercle infernal. Et puis, il y a aussi toute cette pression capitaliste, dans les quartiers, une sorte de culte de l’argent. Quand ta famille a tout sacrifié, qu’elle a quitté son pays, ses proches, pour pouvoir t’offrir une situation et un certain confort de vie, c’est difficile de mettre une croix sur toute cette douleur et tout cet espoir sous prétexte qu’il faut faire la « révolution ». C’est dans les quartiers qu’on subi toutes les pires galères dans ce pays. Quand ton grand-père s’est battu pour la France et que, trois générations après, on te parle encore de rentrer chez toi, il y a de quoi cultiver quelques rancœurs. Ça rend la convergence beaucoup plus compliquée. Je pense qu’il va falloir une génération ou deux encore, pour faire évoluer cette situation.
Forcément, ceux qui viennent de la classe moyenne n’ont pas tout cet héritage, ils sont forcément plus libres. Et puis, en France, il y a toujours eu ce côté élitiste chez les militants. Leurs brochures, c’est pas donné à tout le monde de les lire. Quand tu vas en Grèce, il y a un truc beaucoup plus populaire dans le militantisme. Il n’y a pas la même histoire d’immigration aussi, parce qu’il n’y a pas toute cette histoire des colonies. C’est compliqué, la France, et c’est pour ça que, tant qu’il n’y aura pas eu des guérisons entre les gens, j’ai peur que pousser à la révolte ne rapporte que la guerre civile. Et ne fasse le jeu des identitaires, qui prennent à fond du galon depuis quelques années.

Certains mouvements d’extrême droite noyautent les quartiers populaires, autour de Dieudonné ou de Soral, par exemple. Le FN a déjà tenté à certains moments de récupérer tes chansons. Que fait-on face à cela  ?
Je suis pour l’humain et donc pour le débat. Pas avec des Marine Le Pen, parce que c’est des manipulateurs, ces gens-là. Mais avec les petites gens. Souvent, les gens qui ont les idéologies et les pensées les plus nauséabondes ont aussi des blessures de ouf. Est-ce qu’on continue à alimenter cette blessure  ? Je veux que les gens comprennent bien mon discours, sans faire d’amalgame, parce que c’est subtil ce que je raconte. Je pense qu’on se trompe à faire des camps. L’exclusion ne fait que renforcer les fractures.
Franchement, si demain, avec mes potes du quartier, on voit débarquer des fachos, plutôt que d’aller se «  fighter  », je préférerais dire : « Venez, on se pose et on discute, c’est quoi le problème en fait  ? Elle vient d’où, toute cette haine  ? Pourquoi  ? Tu connais l’histoire  ? La France, si c’est un pays riche, c’est grâce aux minerais de l’Afrique noire, encore aujourd’hui. Vous êtes sûrs de vouloir faire chacun chez soi  ? Parce que c’est vous les perdants  ! »
Dans l’histoire de la France, on ne peut pas enlever la colonisation. S’il y a une dette, c’est les pays coloniaux qui doivent beaucoup… Je me dis qu’il faut parler, aller au fond des choses, mettre les mecs face à leur contradiction. Alors que dans le rejet, tu donnes raison à l’autre. On est semblable dans nos cœurs. Tu vois, même le raciste, peut-être que si tu connais son histoire et que tu as un peu de compassion, tu peux te dire : «  Ah, okay, il en est arrivé là, pour ça, il a eu telle expérience de vie.  » La compassion, c’est important pour notre guérison générale. Parce que vraiment, on est tous un peu malade. Il faut être tolérant. Et ne pas être comme ceux que l’on combat.

As-tu prévu de voter en 2017  ?
Je ne sais pas. On ne changera jamais rien par ça. J’aime bien le dicton : « Voter, c’est lécher le fouet de son maître. » En même temps, je me dis qu’au nom de tous les gens qui se sont battus pour ce droit, les femmes qui n’ont voté qu’en 1945… C’est clair qu’ils n’ont pas lutté pour cette mascarade-là. Mais ça ne nous coûte rien de mettre un bulletin dans l’urne. Le XXᵉ siècle, c’était gagner des droits, le XXIᵉ, faire qu’ils ne nous les enlèvent pas  ! Notre acte citoyen devrait être au quotidien. Je ne ferai pas la promotion pour les grandes campagnes de vote, mais peut-être que j’irai à titre personnel.
« ÉTAT D’URGENCE », UN EP À PRIX LIBRE

Keny Arkana — Ça faisait longtemps que j’avais envie d’essayer pour être plus en direct avec le public. L’accès aux chansons est gratuit, mais sans dire gratuit, car en France, on a un problème avec ça : la gratuité sous-entend quelque chose de bâclé, qui n’a pas de valeur… Donc là, si tu veux participer, tu participes.
J’aimerais pouvoir tout faire en prix libre, mais c’est compliqué dans ce système. T’imagines du « prix libre » à la Fnac… ? Du coup, c’est moi qui ai tout produit, et j’ai laissé Because Music [sa maison de disque] le mettre sur Itunes, pour qu’ils s’y retrouvent.
J’ai décidé de rentrer dans l’industrie pour sensibiliser des gens qui ne seraient pas touchés sinon. Ma maison de disque comprend la démarche et valide depuis le début la profondeur du projet. On ne m’a jamais dit « il y a une phrase que je n’aime pas » et ça, c’est le plus important.

• Propos recueillis par Barnabé Binctin et Vladimir Slonska-Malvaud

IN JULY 2012 a man calling himself Sam Bacile posted a short video on YouTube. It showed the Prophet Muhammad bedding various women, taking part in gory battles and declaring: “Every non-Muslim is an infidel. Their lands, their women, their children are our spoils.”

The film was, as Salman Rushdie, a British author, later put it, “crap”. “The Innocence of Muslims” could have remained forever obscure, had someone not dubbed it into Arabic and reposted it in September that year. An Egyptian chat-show host denounced it and before long, this short, crap film was sparking riots across the Muslim world—and beyond. A group linked to al-Qaeda murdered America’s ambassador in Libya. Protests erupted in Afghanistan, Australia, Britain, France and India. Pakistan’s railways minister offered a $100,000 bounty to whoever killed the film-maker—and was not sacked. By the end of the month at least 50 people had died.

“Consider for a moment: the most senior officer of the mightiest armed forces the world has ever seen feels it necessary to contact some backwoods Florida pastor to beg him not to promote a 13-minute D-movie YouTube upload. Such are the power asymmetries in this connected world,” writes Timothy Garton Ash in “Free Speech”, a fine new book on the subject. The story of “The Innocence of Muslims” illustrates several points about how freedom of speech has evolved in recent years.

First, social media make it easy for anyone to publish anything to a potentially global audience. This is a huge boost for freedom of speech, and has led to a vast increase in the volume of material published. But when words and pictures move so rapidly across borders, conflict often results. Different nations have different notions of what may and may not be said. If the pseudonymous Mr Bacile had made his video in the early 1990s, Muslims far away would probably never have heard of it, and no one would have died.

Second, technology firms are having to grapple with horribly complex decisions about censorship. The big global ones such as Facebook and Twitter aspire to be politically neutral, but do not permit “hate speech” or obscenity on their platforms. In America the White House asked Google, which owns YouTube, to “review” whether “The Innocence of Muslims” violated YouTube’s guidelines against hate speech. The company decided that it did not, since it attacked a religion (ie, a set of ideas) rather than the people who held those beliefs. The White House did not force Google to censor the video; indeed, thanks to America’s constitutional guarantee of free speech, it had no legal power to do so.

In other countries, however, governments have far more power to silence speech. At least 21 asked Google to block or consider blocking the video. In countries where YouTube has a legal presence and a local version, such as India, Malaysia and Saudi Arabia, it complied. In countries where it did not have a legal presence, it refused. Some governments, such as Pakistan’s and Bangladesh’s, responded by blocking YouTube completely.

Shut up or I’ll kill you
The third recent change is that, whereas the threats to free speech used to come almost entirely from governments, now non-state actors are nearly as intimidating. In the Mexican state of Veracruz, for example, at least 17 journalists have disappeared or been murdered since 2010, presumably by drug-traffickers. The gangs’ reach is long: one journalist fled to Mexico City, where he was tracked down and butchered. And their methods are brutal: in February the body of a reporter was found dumped by the roadside, handcuffed, half-naked and with a plastic bag over her head.

Globally, the willingness of some Muslims to murder people they think have insulted the Prophet has chilled discussion of one of the world’s great religions—even in places where Muslims are a minority, such as Europe. Radical Islamists are attempting to enforce a global speech code, in which frank discussion of their beliefs is punishable by death.

This began in 1989 with a threat from a state: Ayatollah Khomeini, Iran’s leader, issued a fatwa condemning Mr Rushdie to death for a novel that he thought insulted Islam. He invited devout Muslims everywhere to carry out the sentence. It was almost certainly one of them who murdered Mr Rushdie’s Japanese translator in 1991, though the killer was never caught.

Since then, the notion that individual Muslims have a duty to defend their faith by assassinating its critics has spread. Most Muslims are peaceful, but it takes only a few to enforce what Mr Garton Ash calls “the assassin’s veto”. The Islamist who murdered Theo Van Gogh, a Dutch filmmaker, for making a film about the abuse of Muslim women, said he could not live “in any country where free speech is allowed”. In 2015 two gunmen stormed the offices of Charlie Hebdo, a French paper which had published cartoons of Muhammad, killing 12 people. Many speakers and writers across the world are terrified of offending Islamists. A satirical musical called “The Book of Mormon” is an international hit; no theatre would dare stage a similar treatment of the Koran.

Islamist intimidation is the most extreme example of a broader, and worrying, trend. From the mosques of Cairo to the classrooms at Yale, all sorts of people and groups are claiming a right not to be offended. This is quite different from believing that people should, in general, be polite. A right not to be offended implies a power to police other people’s speech. “Taking offence has never been easier, or indeed more popular,” observes Flemming Rose, a former editor at Jyllands-Posten, a Danish paper. He should know. After his paper published cartoons of Muhammad in 2005, at least 200 people died.

The zealots who hack atheists to death in Bangladesh (see article) are far more frightening than the American students who shout down speakers with whom they disagree (see article). But they are on the same spectrum: both use a subjective definition of “offensive” to suppress debate. They may do this by disrupting speeches they object to; Mr Garton Ash calls this “the heckler’s veto”. Or they may enlist the power of the state to silence speakers who offend them. Politicians have gleefully jumped on the bandwagon, and are increasingly using laws against “hate speech” to punish dissidents.

This article will argue that free speech is in retreat. Granted, technology has given millions a megaphone, and speaking out is easier than it was during the cold war, when most people lived under authoritarian states. But in the past few years restrictions on what people can say or write have grown more onerous.

Freedom House, an American think-tank, compiles an annual index of freedom of expression. This “declined to its lowest point in 12 years in 2015, as political, criminal and terrorist forces sought to co-opt or silence the media in their broader struggle for power”. The share of the world’s populace living in countries with a free press fell from 38% in 2005 to 31% in 2015; the share who had to make do with only “partly free” media rose from 28% to 36%. Other watchdogs are similarly glum. Reporters Without Borders’ global index of press freedom has declined by 14% since 2013.

Uncle Xi is watching you
Among big countries, China scores worst. Speech there has hardly ever been free. Under Mao Zedong, the slightest whisper of dissent was savagely punished. After he died in 1976, people were gradually allowed more freedom to criticise the government, so long as they did not challenge the party’s monopoly on power. Digital technology accelerated this process. By the time Xi Jinping came to power in 2012, hundreds of millions of Chinese were happily sharing their views on social media.

Mr Xi found this unnerving, so he cracked down. China’s thousands of censors have ramped up efforts to block subversive online messages. Hundreds of lawyers and activists have been harassed or jailed. Liberal debate on university campuses has been suppressed (students and teachers are being urged to pay more attention to Marxism-Leninism). According to the Committee to Protect Journalists, a watchdog in New York, at least 49 journalists were in prison in China in December 2015. In April that year Gao Yu, an elderly reporter, was given a stiff sentence for “leaking state secrets”—namely, a party document warning against “Western” ideas such as media freedom.

Many Chinese stay one step ahead of the censors, using software to jump over the Great Firewall of China and reach foreign websites. Nonetheless, Mr Xi’s crackdown will surely weaken his country. If information does not flow freely, it is hard to innovate or make sound decisions. In recent months, as the stockmarket has wobbled, the party has pressed economists to put on a happy face. Analysts who predict turmoil are warned to shut up or recant. How policymakers are to understand the economy when no one is allowed to discuss it honestly is anyone’s guess.

In China the state is the source of nearly all censorship. Private organisations play a role, but largely at the party’s behest or to avoid upsetting it. Baidu, the Chinese answer to Google, blocks potentially subversive search results. Google refuses to do so, and is therefore unable to operate in China. Wikipedia, YouTube, Facebook and Twitter are also blocked.

In the Muslim world, by contrast, speech is under attack from state and non-state actors in roughly equal measure. The assassin’s veto is exercised keenly in such places as Bangladesh, Iraq, Nigeria, Somalia and Syria. In several Arab countries, after a brief flowering of free debate during the Arab spring, regimes even more repressive than the old ones have taken charge.

Consider Egypt, the Arab world’s most populous country. In 2011 mass protests led to the overthrow of Hosni Mubarak, a dictator. For a while, Egyptians were free to say what they wanted. But a Muslim Brotherhood government elected in 2012 curbed secular speech, and the coup that toppled it in 2013 made matters worse, says Muhammad Abdel-Salam of the Association for Freedom of Thought and Expression, an Egyptian pressure group.

Media outlets supportive of the Muslim Brotherhood, which Abdel-Fattah al-Sisi, Egypt’s present ruler, has branded a terrorist organisation, have been closed down. A new law makes it illegal for journalists to publish “untrue news or data” (ie, anything that contradicts the official line). “Don’t listen to anyone but me,” warned Mr Sisi in February. “I am dead serious.”

Foreign reporters have been branded as spies and run out of the country. Local reporters have it much worse. Mahmoud Abou Zeid, a photographer, was arrested while snapping the authorities gunning down Islamist protesters in 2013. He has been in jail ever since, accused of “damaging national unity”. He has been beaten, tortured and denied medical care.

On May 7th an Egyptian court recommended the death penalty for three journalists it accuses of spying. They deny the charges; one says he is being punished for publishing an embarrassing leaked document. The regime is incompetent as well as oppressive: in May an internal memo on how to squash the press was accidentally sent to the press.

Claiming to act as Egypt’s father, Mr Sisi is anxious that his children not be exposed to adult material. Saucy writers are jailed. Rights groups say that the number of prosecutions involving “contempt of religion” and “debauchery” (often used to prosecute homosexuals) are at all-time highs.

The authorities mine Facebook and Twitter for information on future protests, which are illegal, and for evidence against dissidents. Amr Nohan, a student, was sentenced to three years in prison for posting a photo of Mr Sisi with Mickey Mouse ears. Others are locked up for running websites without a licence. Asked why someone would need one, an assistant minister said: “You cannot drive without a licence. You cannot administer a website without a licence. It’s the same.”

All over the world, the spread of organised violence has prompted governments to curb speech they think may foster terrorism. Even in liberal democracies they are starting to punish not only those who deliberately incite violence, but also speakers who are merely intemperate or shocking.

In February, for example, two puppeteers were arrested in Madrid. Their show, “The Witch and Don Cristóbal”, was provocative: a nun was stabbed by a crucifix; a judge was hanged with a noose. What upset the police, however, was a scene where a puppet policeman accused a witch of supporting terrorism and shoved a sign reading “Up Alk-ETA” (a reference to al-Qaeda and ETA, a Basque separatist group) into her hands. The puppeteers are now awaiting trial and face up to three years in prison for “glorifying terrorism”. They are said to be surprised.

In much of Europe anti-terror laws are being used more zealously than before. This is partly because governments are more scared of terrorism, but also because they have started to police social media, where words that might reveal extremist sympathies are easily searchable. ETA laid down its arms in 2011; yet the number of Spaniards accused of glorifying terrorism has risen fivefold since then.

France criminalised “the defence of terrorism” in 2014 and has enforced the law more aggressively since the attacks on Paris last year. In the days after the Charlie Hebdo massacre, prosecutors opened 69 cases for “defence of terrorism”. One man was sentenced to a year in prison for shouting in the street: “I’m proud to be Muslim. I don’t like Charlie. They were right to do it.”

Many countries have introduced or revived laws against “hate speech” that are often broad and vague. In France Brigitte Bardot, an actress, has been convicted five times of incitement to racial hatred because, as an animal lover, she complains about halal slaughter methods. In India section 153A of the criminal code, which was introduced under British rule, punishes with up to three years in jail those who promote disharmony “on grounds of religion, race, place of birth, residence, language, caste or community or any other ground whatsoever”.

Such laws are handy tools for those in power to harass their enemies. And far from promoting harmony between different groups, they encourage them to file charges against each other. This is especially dangerous when cynical politicians get involved. Those who rely on votes from a certain group often find it useful to demand the punishment of someone who has allegedly insulted its members, especially just before an election. For example, when an Indian intellectual called Ashis Nandy made a subtle point about lower castes and corruption at a literary festival in 2013, local politicians professed outrage and he was charged under India’s “Prevention of Atrocities Act”.

Many countries still have laws against blasphemy, including 14 in Europe. Rita Maestre, a left-wing Spanish politician, was convicted in March of insulting religious feelings during a protest in a Catholic chapel, during which women bared their chests, kissed one another and allegedly shouted “Get your rosaries out of my ovaries!” She was fined €4,320 ($4,812).

Islamic governments such as those of Pakistan and Saudi Arabia, which punish blasphemy against Islam ferociously, are keen for a ban on insulting religion to be written into international law. They argue that this is a natural extension of the Western concept of “hate speech”. Some Western authorities agree: Danish police in February filed preliminary charges against a man for burning a Koran, thus, in effect, reviving a law against blasphemy that had not been used to convict anyone since 1946.

Europe is full of archaic laws that criminalise certain kinds of political speech. It is a crime to insult the “honour” of the state in nine EU countries; to insult state symbols such as flags in 16; and to say offensive things about government bodies in 13. Libel can be criminal in 23 EU states. Bulgaria, France, Germany, Italy, the Netherlands and Portugal all punish it more harshly when it is directed at public officials. Some of these laws are seldom invoked, and France got rid of its law against insulting the head of state in 2013, five years after a protester was arrested for waving a banner that said “Piss off, you jerk” to President Nicolas Sarkozy. (The banner was merely quoting Mr Sarkozy, who had said the same thing to a different protester.)

In Germany, however, Jan Böhmermann, a comedian, is awaiting charges for insulting a foreign head of state, after he recited a scurrilous poem about Recep Tayyip Erdogan, the president of Turkey, and some frisky livestock. Angela Merkel, Germany’s chancellor, is now considering repealing the law. Poland and Portugal, among others, have similar laws against insulting foreign heads of state. Icelanders can in theory get six years in prison for it.

“These are the kinds of provisions we are constantly fighting in countries where freedom of expression is not as open,” says Scott Griffen of the International Press Institute. Autocratic regimes are quick to borrow excuses from the West for cracking down on free speech. China and Russia accuse dissidents of “promoting terrorism”, “endangering national security” or “inciting ethnic hatred”. This can mean simply expressing sympathy for Tibetans on social media—for which Pu Zhiqiang, a Chinese lawyer, was locked up for 19 months. Rwanda’s government, borrowing from European laws against Holocaust denial, brands its opponents as apologists for the 1994 genocide and silences them. Europeans may laugh at Thailand’s lèse-majesté laws—a Thai was recently prosecuted for being sarcastic about the king’s dog. But when 13 European democracies also have laws against insulting the head of state, it is hard to avoid charges of hypocrisy.

A determined regime can usually think of ways to muzzle a voice that annoys it. Khadija Ismayilova, a journalist in Azerbaijan who revealed scandalous details about the ruling family’s wealth, received photos in the post in 2012 showing her having sex with her boyfriend. A secret camera had been installed in her flat. A letter threatened to post the video online if she did not stop investigating corruption. She refused, and it was posted on a website purporting to belong to an opposition party. When this did not silence Ms Ismayilova, she was charged with tax evasion and driving a colleague to attempt suicide. No evidence supported these charges, but she was sentenced to seven years in jail.

However, after an appeal to international law and a campaign to persuade donors, such as America, to take notice, Ms Ismayilova was released on May 25th. Even oppressive governments can sometimes be shamed into behaving better.

|=[ 0x01 ]=---=[ Hacker Luddites - anonymous ]=--------------------------=|

In the west, far gone are the days of slavery. Men live freely with their
minds and bodies. So the idea of technology potentially limiting these
things is absurd.

Computer technology today might not always encourage these principles of
free mind and body though. Hardware and software is increasingly built in
the same manner as stone walled gardens, restricting those outside the
inner circles of technocrats. The designers decide to clutch tightly to
their systems, defining the full set of actions allowable and therefore
thinkable on their systems. They are limiting the potential for
creativity, discovery, and reason in order to further profit. This profit
is furthered by control because certain control limits piracy, stops
malicious software from propagating, simplifies the user experience for
the majority of consumers, and creates revenue through software-regulated
micro decisions that constrain the full capacity of the hardware and
software systems being sold.

Only the masters of the garden, the designers, are allowed inside the
stone walls, where they are free to create and are conscious of the inner
workings and plans. Those outside are not allowed inside the garden. Those
who are not inside the circle of the original creators do not get to
create without delegated permission. And consumers and third-party
developers are too far down the caste system to be allowed arbitrary
control of their own possessions.

This leaves the creators on the outside of the stoned walls dependent on
brilliant and dedicated minds to bypass the wishes of the designers. These
brilliant minds attain a level of consciousness about the constraints of
the system that the designers themselves did not understand, and pass this
on to the masses. Along the way come miscreants, thieves, and pirates.

In a free market system, if more arbitrary creation is vital in the long
term, then more creative systems will arise to fill the need. In the short
term, allowing feedback from the outer castes and integrating their ideas
has been shown to be more than sufficient for sustained exponential growth
on the rise to market domination.

Hacker Luddite: (Oxymoron) A person opposed to technology that greatly
limits, through artificial means, human potential for consciousness,
reason, or creativity with that same technology.

Hacker Luddites hate stone wall garden technologies. Why shouldn't a
person be allowed to hold a piece of technology and attempt to modify or
adapt that technology to suit their will at any given moment? The only
limitation should be the consciousness required to make changes. And
certainly not artificially restricted by the designers of the technology.
In the same way that Kant based the premises of the categorical imperative
on the ability for humans to reason, Hacker Luddites view this capacity
for reason as a fundamentally important human ability. When computer
technology, purchased and entirely in the physical possession of the
owner, denies arbitrary modification and creation, it greatly reduces the
ability to reason about the universe with that technology. That technology
does not allow people to transcend the designers ideas and fully embrace
some of their most important human traits. Instead it delegates the
consumers to subordinates with restricted consciousness, and restricted
capacity for reason, and restricted creativity.

Next up, computer technology applied excessively for the conversion of
human attention into personal profit.

To the hacker luddites, another nefarious category is the computer systems
of the world which have been built to turn human attention into profit.
Rather than proceeds coming from the advancement of humanity, the proceeds
come primarily from the ability to guide human attention into that
technological system. The system might be making the profit through ads,
or it could be a game consumers pay for.

It is understood that resources are required to run technologies and that
some exchange of information and resources is expected between consumers
and creators of that technology. Ads can be helpful to a consumer by
showing them products which they actually want, and games or sites for
information exchange are highly enjoyable to many people and therefore
provide benefit. It is when the methods and means become excessive that
hacker luddites take an issue.

When technologies, whether delivering advertisements or games, exploit
human psychology and physiology to turn a profit from their consumers,
they may often be directly limiting, and in a significant way, the
consciousness, reason, or creativity of that consumer.

The other problem is when instead of advertisements showing people what
they want, advertisements subconsciously manipulate peoples desires (such
as sex, popularity, and power) to override their consciousness and
reasoning abilities to get them to want and purchase products regardless
of the products abilities to help the consumer attain those desires.

And what if technologies instead of providing an opportunity for
relaxation or fun or profound information sharing or whatever also create
systems of psychological control where neurophysics brings users attention
back to technology to get addictive releases of dopamine or serotonin or
who knows what, using the darker arts of gamification. Or perhaps innate
human survival mechanisms related to group dynamics are being exploited by
the technology, such as showing automatically generated advertisements,
messages, and symbols as endorsed by members of a group, or creating
virtual resource systems where drives for competition or collaboration
drive behavior.

It may be that these technologies which capture human attention are simply
what most consumers want from their technology, after all 30% of internet
traffic generated by humans is for porn [1]. If distraction and the
subordination of reason, creativity, or consciousness is the will of the
majority, Hacker Luddites seriously disagree with the majority and most
definitely oppose the designers that subordinate them.

What defenses does the modern person have to protect against the likes and
tweets and clicks and slide to unlocks and checkmarks and tabs and porn
and endless dopamine and serotonin harvesting mechanisms? These systems
were sometimes built to reap monetary gain, sometimes built for
communication control, and sometimes for nothing of any value... in
exchange for a portion of the time, attention, and thoughts of the user as
well as their information...

Don't buy and don't use them.

If you do use them, use the them only in great moderation and only at
consciously specified times.

Inform others and expose existing and emerging technologies which may be
limiting human potential.

Augment the technology in your possession to block advertisements.

Degrade the quality or value of your attention to the attention-to-profit
technologies by:

• Sharing and proxying accounts with multiple users.
• Writing user interfaces to the user interfaces.
• Poisoning user activity with subtle fuzzers alongside your normal
  activity where it makes sense.

Similarly, make your information more useless by lying.

• Don't bother with real names where they don't matter.
• Fill out forms like madlibs.

[1] http://www.extremetech.com/computing/123929-just-how-big-are-porn-sites
-- 30% of the internet traffic out there is porn

Une scène me revient en mémoire à chaque fois que je tente de retrouver l’effet grisant que le mouvement Occuper Wall Street (OWS) a produit sur moi au temps où il semblait promis à un grand avenir. Je me trouvais dans le métro de Washington, en train de lire un article sur les protestataires rassemblés à Zuccotti Park, au cœur de Manhattan. C’était trois ans après la remise à flot de Wall Street ; deux ans après que toutes mes fréquentations eurent abandonné l’espoir de voir le président Barack Obama faire preuve d’audace ; deux mois après que les amis républicains des banquiers eurent conduit le pays au bord du défaut de paiement en engageant un bras de fer budgétaire avec la Maison Blanche. Comme tout le monde, j’en avais assez.

Près de moi se tenait un voyageur parfaitement habillé, certainement un cadre supérieur revenant de quelque salon commercial, à en juger par le slogan folâtre imprimé sur le sac qu’il portait en bandoulière. Ce slogan indiquait comment optimiser ses placements boursiers, ou peut-être pourquoi le luxe est un bienfait, ou à quel point c’est magnifique d’être un gagnant. L’homme paraissait extrêmement mal à l’aise. Je savourais la situation : récemment encore, j’aurais rougi d’exhiber la couverture de mon journal dans une rame de métro surpeuplée ; aujourd’hui, c’étaient les gens comme lui qui rasaient les murs.

Quelques jours plus tard, je visionnais une vidéo sur Internet montrant un groupe de militants d’OWS en train de débattre dans une librairie. A un moment du film, un intervenant s’interroge sur l’insistance de ses camarades à prétendre qu’ils ne s’expriment que « pour eux-mêmes », au lieu d’assumer leur appartenance à un collectif. Un autre lui réplique alors : « Chacun ne peut parler que pour soi-même, en même temps le “soi-même” pourrait bien se dissoudre dans sa propre remise en question, comme nous y invite toute pensée poststructuraliste menant à l’anarchisme. (…) “Je ne peux seulement parler que pour moi-même” : c’est le “seulement” qui compte ici, et bien sûr ce sont là autant d’espaces qui s’ouvrent. »

En entendant ce charabia pseudo-intellectuel, j’ai compris que les carottes étaient cuites. Le philosophe Slavoj Žižek avait mis en garde les campeurs de Zuccotti Park en octobre 2011 : « Ne tombez pas amoureux de vous-mêmes. Nous passons un moment agréable ici. Mais, rappelez-vous, les carnavals ne coûtent pas cher. Ce qui compte, c’est le jour d’après, quand nous devrons reprendre nos vies ordinaires. Est-ce que quelque chose aura changé ? »

L’avertissement de Žižek figure dans l’ouvrage Occupy : Scenes from Occupied America (« Occuper. Scènes de l’Amérique occupée », Verso, 2011), le premier livre consacré au phénomène protestataire de l’année dernière. Depuis, une avalanche de productions éditoriales a submergé les étals des libraires, des discours prononcés sur les campements aux analyses journalistiques en passant par les témoignages de militants.

Ces ouvrages tombent presque tous dans le panneau évoqué par Žižek. Leurs auteurs sont profondément, désespérément amoureux d’OWS. Chacun prend pour acquis que les campeurs anti-Wall Street ont fait trembler les puissants de ce monde et suffoquer d’admiration tous les réprouvés de la planète. Cette vision béate s’exprime souvent dans le titre même du livre : « Cela change tout : Occuper Wall Street et le mouvement des 99 % » (1), par exemple. Les superlatifs s’entrechoquent sans retenue ni précaution. « Les 99 % se sont éveillés. Le paysage politique américain ne sera plus jamais le même », annonce l’auteur de Voices From the 99 Percent (2). Une prophétie presque tiède comparée à l’enthousiasme péremptoire de Chris Hedges. Dans Jours de destruction, jours de révolte (3), l’ancien journaliste du New York Times compare OWS aux révolutions de 1989 en Allemagne de l’Est, en Tchécoslovaquie et en Roumanie. Les protestataires new-yorkais, écrit-il, « étaient d’abord désorganisés, pas très sûrs de ce qu’ils devaient faire, pas même convaincus d’avoir accompli quoi que ce soit de méritoire. L’air de rien, ils ont pourtant déclenché un mouvement de résistance global qui a résonné à travers tout le pays et jusque dans les capitales européennes. Le statu quo précaire imposé par les élites durant des décennies a volé en éclats. Un autre récit a pris forme. La révolution a commencé. »

Ce qui rend ces livres très ennuyeux, c’est qu’à quelques exceptions près ils se ressemblent tous, racontent les mêmes anecdotes, citent les mêmes communiqués, déroulent les mêmes interprétations historiques, s’attardent sur les mêmes broutilles. Comment le joueur de djembé a empêché tout le monde de dormir, ce qui s’est vraiment passé sur le pont de Brooklyn, pourquoi et comment Untel s’est retrouvé là, qui a eu l’idée en premier de tenir des assemblées générales, comment chacun a nettoyé le parc durant une nuit d’affolement pour éviter de s’en faire expulser le lendemain, etc. Mesuré en nombre de mots par mètre carré de pelouse occupée, Zuccotti Park constitue sans aucun doute l’un des lieux les plus scrutés de l’histoire du journalisme.

La grande épopée fut pourtant de courte durée. Les campeurs ont été évacués deux mois après leur installation. Hormis quelques groupes résiduels ici et là, animés par des militants chevronnés, le mouvement OWS s’est désagrégé. La tempête médiatique qui s’était engouffrée dans les tentes de Zuccotti Park est repartie souffler ailleurs. Faisons une pause et comparons le bilan d’OWS avec celui de son vilain jumeau, le Tea Party, et du renouveau de la droite ultraréactionnaire dont celui-ci est le fer de lance (4). Grâce à ces bénévoles de la surenchère, le Parti républicain est redevenu majoritaire à la Chambre des représentants ; dans les législatures d’Etat, il a pris six cents sièges aux démocrates. Le Tea Party a même réussi à propulser l’un des siens, M. Paul Ryan, à la candidature pour la vice-présidence des Etats-Unis.

La question à laquelle les thuriféraires d’OWS consacrent des cogitations passionnées est la suivante : quelle est la formule magique qui a permis au mouvement de rencontrer un tel succès ? Or c’est la question diamétralement inverse qu’ils devraient se poser : pourquoi un tel échec ? Comment les efforts les plus louables en sont-ils venus à s’embourber dans le marécage de la glose académique et des postures antihiérarchiques ?

Les choses avaient pourtant commencé très fort. Dès les premiers jours d’occupation de Zuccotti Park, la cause d’OWS était devenue incroyablement populaire. De fait, comme le souligne Todd Gitlin (5), jamais depuis les années 1930 un thème progressiste n’avait autant fédéré la société américaine que la détestation de Wall Street. Les témoignages de sympathie pleuvaient par milliers, les chèques de soutien aussi, les gens faisaient la queue pour donner des livres et de la nourriture aux campeurs. Des célébrités vinrent se montrer à Zuccotti et les médias commencèrent à couvrir l’occupation avec une attention qu’ils n’accordent pas souvent aux mouvements sociaux estampillés de gauche.

Mais les commentateurs ont interprété à tort le soutien à la cause d’OWS comme un soutien à ses modalités d’action. Les tentes plantées dans le parc, la préparation de la tambouille pour des légions de campeurs, la recherche sans fin du consensus, les affrontements avec la police... voilà, aux yeux des exégètes, ce qui a fait la force et la singularité d’OWS ; voilà ce que le public a soif de connaître.

Ce qui se tramait à Wall Street, pendant ce temps-là, a suscité un intérêt moins vif. Dans Occupying Wall Street, un recueil de textes rédigés par des écrivains ayant participé au mouvement (6), la question des prêts bancaires usuraires n’apparaît qu’à titre de citation dans la bouche d’un policier. Et n’espérez pas découvrir comment les militants de Zuccotti comptaient contrarier le pouvoir des banques. Non parce que ce serait mission impossible, mais parce que la manière dont la campagne d’OWS est présentée dans ces ouvrages donne l’impression qu’elle n’avait rien d’autre à proposer que la construction de « communautés » dans l’espace public et l’exemple donné au genre humain par le noble refus d’élire des porte-parole.

Culte de la participation

Malheureusement, un tel programme ne suffit pas. Bâtir une culture de lutte démocratique est certes utile pour les cercles militants, mais ce n’est qu’un point de départ. OWS n’est jamais allé plus loin ; il n’a pas déclenché une grève, ni bloqué un centre de recrutement, ni même occupé le bureau d’un doyen d’université. Pour ses militants, la culture horizontale représente le stade suprême de la lutte : « Le processus est le message », entonnaient en chœur les protestataires.

On pourra objecter que la question de présenter ou non des revendications fut âprement débattue par les militants lorsqu’ils occupaient effectivement quelque chose. Mais, pour qui feuillette tous ces ouvrages un an plus tard, ce débat paraît d’un autre monde. Presque aucun ne s’est hasardé à reconnaître que le refus de formuler des propositions a constitué une grave erreur tactique. Au contraire, Occupying Wall Street, le compte rendu quasi officiel de l’aventure, assimile toute velléité programmatique à un fétiche conçu pour maintenir le peuple dans l’aliénation de la hiérarchie et de la servilité. Hedges ne dit pas autre chose lorsqu’il explique que « seules les élites dominantes et leurs relais médiatiques » exhortaient OWS à faire connaître ses demandes. Présenter des revendications serait admettre la légitimité de son adversaire, à savoir l’Etat américain et ses amis les banquiers. En somme, un mouvement de protestation qui ne formule aucune exigence serait le chef-d’œuvre ultime de la vertu démocratique…

D’où la contradiction fondamentale de cette campagne. De toute évidence, protester contre Wall Street en 2011 impliquait de protester aussi contre les tripatouillages financiers qui nous avaient précipités dans la grande récession ; contre le pouvoir politique qui avait sauvé les banques ; contre la pratique délirante des primes et des bonus qui avait métamorphosé les forces productives en tiroir-caisse pour les 1 % les plus riches. Toutes ces calamités tirent leur origine de la dérégulation et des baisses d’impôts — autrement dit, d’une philosophie de l’émancipation individuelle qui, au moins dans sa rhétorique, n’est pas contraire aux pratiques libertaires d’OWS.

Inutile d’avoir suivi des cours de « post-structuralisme menant à l’anarchisme » pour comprendre comment inverser la tendance : en reconstruisant un Etat régulateur compétent. Souvenez-vous de ce que disaient durant ces fameux premiers jours de septembre 2011 les militants d’OWS : réintroduisons la loi Glass-Steagall de 1933, qui séparait les banques de dépôt et les banques d’investissement. Vive l’« Etat obèse » ! Vive la sécurité !

Mais ce n’est pas ainsi que l’on enflamme l’imagination de ses contemporains. Comment animer un carnaval lorsqu’on rêve secrètement d’experts-comptables et d’administration fiscale ? En remettant les choses à plus tard. En évitant de réclamer des mesures concrètes. Réclamer, c’est admettre que les adultes guindés et sans humour ont repris la barre et que la récréation est finie. Ce choix tactique a remarquablement fonctionné au début, mais il a aussi fixé une date de péremption à tout le mouvement. En s’interdisant d’exiger quoi que ce soit, OWS s’est enfermé dans ce que Christopher Lasch appelait — en 1973 — le « culte de la participation ». Autant dire dans une protestation dont le contenu se résume à la satisfaction d’avoir protesté.

Le galimatias des militants

Dans leurs déclarations d’intention, les campeurs de Zuccotti Park célébraient haut et fort la vox populi. Dans la pratique, pourtant, leur centre de gravité penchait d’un seul côté, celui du petit monde universitaire. Les militants cités dans les livres ne dévoilent pas toujours leur identité socioprofessionnelle, mais, lorsqu’ils le font, ils se révèlent soit étudiants, soit ex-étudiants récemment diplômés, soit enseignants.

On ne peut que saluer la mobilisation du monde universitaire. La société a besoin d’entendre cette voix-là. Quand les frais de scolarité grimpent à des pics vertigineux, que l’endettement des diplômés débarquant sur le marché du travail atteint facilement les 100 000 dollars, que des doctorants se retrouvent exploités sans vergogne, les personnes concernées ont parfaitement raison de protester (7). Elles devraient s’attaquer au système, exiger un contrôle strict des frais de scolarité. Que l’on songe aux manifestations qui ont ébranlé le Québec au printemps dernier, quand une partie importante de la population est venue soutenir dans la rue l’exigence estudiantine d’une éducation accessible à tous : là-bas, le mouvement a gagné. Les étudiants ont obtenu presque tout ce qu’ils demandaient. La protestation sociale a fait valser les portes de l’université.

Mais c’est quand l’inverse se produit, quand la discussion académique de haute culture devient un modèle de lutte sociale, que le problème surgit. Pourquoi OWS inspire-t-il aussi souvent à ses admirateurs le besoin de s’exprimer dans un jargon inintelligible ? Pourquoi tant de militants ont-ils éprouvé le besoin de quitter leur poste pour participer à des débats de salon entre érudits (8) ? Pourquoi d’autres ont-ils choisi de réserver leurs témoignages à des revues confidentielles comme American Ethnologist ou Journal of Critical Globalisation Studies ? Pourquoi un pamphlet conçu pour galvaniser les troupes d’OWS est-il rempli de déclarations amphigouriques du genre : « Notre point d’attaque se situe dans les formes de subjectivité dominantes produites dans le contexte des crises sociales et politiques actuelles. Nous nous adressons à quatre figures subjectives — l’endetté, le médiatisé, le sécurisé et le représenté —, qui sont toutes en voie d’appauvrissement et dont le pouvoir d’action sociale est masqué ou mystifié. Nous pensons que les mouvements de révolte et de rébellion nous donnent les moyens non seulement de refuser les régimes répressifs dont souffrent ces figures subjectives, mais aussi d’inverser ces subjectivités face au pouvoir (9) » ? Et pourquoi, quelques mois seulement après avoir occupé Zuccotti Park, plusieurs militants ont-ils jugé indispensable de créer leur propre revue universitaire à prétention théorisante, Occupy Theory, destinée bien sûr à accueillir des essais impénétrables visant à démontrer la futilité de toute théorisation ? Est-ce ainsi qu’on bâtit un mouvement de masse ? En s’obstinant à parler un langage que personne ne comprend ?

La réponse est connue : avant qu’une protestation s’élargisse en mouvement social de grande ampleur, ses protagonistes doivent d’abord réfléchir, analyser, théoriser. Le fait est que, de ce point de vue, OWS a fourni assez de matière pour alimenter un demi-siècle de luttes — sans réussir pour autant à mener la sienne ailleurs que dans une impasse.

Occuper Wall Street a réalisé d’excellentes choses. Il a su trouver un bon slogan, identifier le bon ennemi et capter l’imagination du public. Il a donné forme à une culture protestataire démocratique. Il a établi des liens avec les syndicats de travailleurs, un pas crucial dans la bonne direction. Il a redonné vigueur à la notion de solidarité, vertu cardinale de la gauche. Mais les réflexes universitaires ont vite pris une place écrasante, transformant OWS en un laboratoire où ses forts en thème venaient valider leurs théories. Car les campements n’accueillaient pas seulement des militants soucieux de changer le monde : ils ont aussi servi d’arène à la promotion individuelle de quelques carriéristes.

Et c’est une façon encore trop optimiste de présenter les choses. La manière pessimiste consisterait à ouvrir le dernier livre de Michael Kazin, American Dreamers (Knopf, New York, 2011), et à convenir avec lui que, depuis la guerre du Vietnam et le combat pour les droits civiques dans les années 1960, aucun mouvement progressiste n’a opéré la jonction avec le grand public américain — à l’exception de la campagne anti-apartheid des années 1980. Il est vrai qu’au temps du Vietnam le pays fourmillait de militants de gauche, surtout dans les universités. Mais, depuis, étudier la « résistance » a constitué un moyen éprouvé d’améliorer ses perspectives de carrière, quand ce n’est pas la matière même de certaines disciplines annexes. Toutefois, aussi érudite soit-elle sur le plan intellectuel, la gauche continue d’aller de défaite en défaite. Elle ne parvient plus à faire cause commune avec le peuple.

Cet échec s’explique peut-être par la surreprésentation en son sein d’une profession dont le mode opératoire est délibérément abscons, ultrahiérarchisé, verbeux et professoral, peu propice à une démarche fédératrice. Ou peut-être résulte-t-il de la persistance à gauche d’un mépris envers l’homme de la rue, surtout quand on peut lui reprocher d’avoir mal voté ou commis quelque péché politique. Ou peut-être encore est-ce l’effondrement de l’appareil industriel qui rend les mouvements sociaux obsolètes. Ce n’est pas dans les ouvrages sur OWS que l’on trouvera la moindre réponse.

Les activistes anti-Wall Street n’aiment pas, c’est clair, leurs homologues du Tea Party. Dans leur esprit, apparemment, ils ne sont pas tout à fait de vraies gens, comme si d’autres principes biologiques s’appliquaient à leur espèce. La philosophe Judith Butler, professeur à l’université de Columbia, évoque avec répugnance une réunion du Tea Party au cours de laquelle des individus se seraient réjouis de la mort prochaine de plusieurs malades dépourvus d’assurance-maladie. « Sous quelles conditions économiques et politiques de telles formes de cruauté joyeuse émergent-elles ? », s’interroge-t-elle.

C’est une bonne question. Deux paragraphes plus loin, pourtant, Butler change de sujet pour louer l’admirable décision d’OWS de ne rien réclamer, ce qui lui fournit l’occasion d’esquisser une théorie de haut vol : une foule qui proteste est spontanément et intrinsèquement libérationniste. « Lorsque des corps se rassemblent pour manifester leur indignation et affirmer leur existence plurielle dans l’espace public, ils expriment aussi des demandes plus vastes, écrit-elle. Ils demandent à être reconnus et valorisés ; ils revendiquent le droit d’apparaître et d’exercer leur liberté ; ils réclament une vie vivable (10). » C’est réglé comme du papier à musique : les mécontents qui descendent dans la rue le font nécessairement pour affirmer l’existence plurielle de leurs corps, partout et toujours — sauf s’ils appartiennent au groupe mentionné deux paragraphes plus haut…

Pourtant, les deux mouvements présentent quelques ressemblances. Ils partagent par exemple la même aversion obsessionnelle pour les plans de sauvetage de 2008, qualifiés par les deux camps de « capitalisme de connivences ». L’un et l’autre s’expriment en occupant des espaces publics ; l’un et l’autre ont accordé une place importante aux partisans de M. Ron Paul, le chef de file du courant « libertarien » du Parti républicain. Même le masque d’Anonymous (à l’effigie de Guy Fawkes, le vengeur solitaire du film V comme Vendetta) a circulé dans les deux camps.

Sur le plan tactique aussi les analogies existent. OWS et le Tea Party sont restés pareillement flous dans leurs revendications, afin de ratisser plus large. Les deux groupes se sont appesantis avec la même emphase sur les persécutions dont ils s’estimaient victimes. Côté campeurs, on insistait sur les brutalités policières. Dans un récit de quarante-cinq pages (11), Will Bunch narre en détail la répression aveugle et l’arrestation de masse d’une manifestation sur le pont de Brooklyn. Côté Tea Party, c’est le supplice infligé par les « médias de gauche » et leurs accusations de racisme qui nourrit la martyrologie collective (12).

L’absence de dirigeants est un autre point commun aux deux camps. Dans le manifeste du Tea Party rédigé en 2010 par M. Richard (« Dick ») Armey, ancien parlementaire républicain du Texas, figure même un chapitre intitulé « Nous sommes un mouvement d’idées, pas de leaders ». Le raisonnement livré ici ne dépareillerait pas chez les théoriciens d’OWS : « S’ils [nos adversaires] savaient qui tire les ficelles, ils pourraient s’en prendre à lui ou à elle. Ils pourraient écraser l’opposition gênante du Tea Party. »

Si l’on se plonge dans les références littéraires du Tea Party, on peut également y déceler des traces de la philosophie d’OWS relative au refus de toute revendication. Voyons ce qu’en dit la philosophe Ayn Rand, dont les théories « objectivistes » ont servi de socle moral à la dérégulation capitaliste (13). Dans La Grève, sa grande œuvre romanesque parue en 1957, vendue à sept millions d’exemplaires aux Etats-Unis, les « revendications » sont assimilées au monde nuisible du pouvoir politique, qui les formule au nom de ses administrés forcément fainéants et improductifs. Les hommes d’affaires, en revanche, négocient des contrats : ils agissent dans l’harmonie des liens consensuels établis par le libre marché. Le morceau de bravoure se situe au moment où le personnage de John Galt, qui s’est mis en grève contre le fléau de l’égalitarisme, adresse ce discours au gouvernement américain : « Nous n’avons aucune revendication à vous présenter, aucune disposition à marchander, aucun compromis à atteindre. Vous n’avez rien à nous offrir. Nous n’avons pas besoin de vous. »

Faire grève sans rien réclamer ? Oui, car demander quelque chose à l’Etat serait reconnaître sa légitimité. Pour définir cette attitude, Rand a forgé une expression sophistiquée : la « légitimation de la victime ». Engagé dans la réalisation de son potentiel personnel, le grand patron — la « victime », dans la pittoresque vision du monde de l’auteure — refuse la bénédiction d’une société qui le tyrannise à coups d’impôts et de règlements. Le milliardaire éclairé ne veut rien avoir à faire avec les pillards et les parasites qui peuplent une société nivelée par le bas.

Comment ces précurseurs du « 1 % » vont-ils s’y prendre pour l’emporter ? En bâtissant une communauté modèle au cœur même du vieux monde. Toutefois, les milliardaires meurtris imaginés par Rand n’organisent pas des assemblées générales dans les jardins publics, mais se retirent dans une vallée déserte du Colorado, où ils créent un capitalisme paradisiaque, non coercitif, dont la monnaie, un étalon-or fait maison, ne doit rien à l’Etat.

Comment appâter le client ?

Une dernière similitude. L’astuce idéologique du Tea Party a consisté, bien sûr, à détourner la colère populaire qui s’était déchaînée contre Wall Street pour la reporter sur l’Etat (14). OWS a fait de même, mais de façon plus abstraite et théorique. On s’en aperçoit, par exemple, en déchiffrant l’argumentaire de l’anthropologue Jeffrey Juris : « Les occupations ont remis en question le pouvoir souverain de l’Etat de réguler et contrôler la distribution des corps dans l’espace, (…) notamment par l’appropriation d’espaces urbains particuliers tels que les parcs publics et les squares et par leur requalification en lieux d’assemblée publique et d’expression démocratique (15). » Ce type de rhétorique illustre un point de convergence entre OWS et la gauche universitaire : la mise en accusation de l’Etat et de son pouvoir de tout « réguler », « contrôler », même si, dans le cas de Wall Street, le problème vient plutôt du fait qu’il ne régule et ne contrôle à peu près rien. A quelques corrections mineures près, le texte pourrait se lire comme un pamphlet libertarien contre les espaces verts.

Puisque aucun des livres cités ici n’a prêté attention à ces concordances, on ne risque pas d’y trouver une théorie susceptible de les expliquer. Qu’on me permette donc de proposer la mienne.

La raison pour laquelle OWS et le Tea Party paraissent parfois si semblables tient au fait qu’ils empruntent tous deux à ce libertarisme un peu paresseux et narcissique qui imprègne désormais notre vision de la contestation, depuis les adolescents de Disney Channel en quête d’eux-mêmes jusqu’aux pseudo-anarchistes qui vandalisent un Starbuck’s. Tous imaginent qu’ils se rebellent contre « l’Etat ». C’est dans le génome de notre époque, semble-t-il.

Le succès venant, le Tea Party a remisé au placard ses discours bravaches sur l’organisation horizontale. Autant de boniments dont la principale vocation était d’appâter le client. Ce mouvement n’avait pas de penseurs poststructuralistes, mais il disposait d’argent, de réseaux et de l’appui d’une grande chaîne de télévision (Fox News). Aussi n’a-t-il pas tardé à produire des dirigeants, des revendications et un alignement fructueux sur le Parti républicain. Occuper Wall Street n’a pas pris ce chemin-là. L’horizontalité, il y croyait vraiment. Après avoir connu un succès foudroyant, il s’est donc disloqué en vol.

Les élections présidentielles et législatives de novembre 2012 sont maintenant terminées : M. Obama a été reconduit à la Maison Blanche, M. Ryan a conservé son siège à la Chambre des représentants, la guerre contre les travailleurs continue — dans le Michighan, notamment — et Wall Street dirige toujours le monde. Certes, la ploutocratie n’est pas parvenue à convaincre la population qu’elle était sa meilleure amie, mais l’ordre ancien perdure et il apparaît de plus en plus évident que seul un mouvement social de masse, solidement ancré à gauche, pourra mettre fin à l’ère néolibérale. Malheureusement, OWS n’en fut pas un.

In my career as a psychologist, I have talked with hundreds of people previously diagnosed by other professionals with oppositional defiant disorder, attention deficit hyperactive disorder, anxiety disorder and other psychiatric illnesses, and I am struck by (1) how many of those diagnosed are essentially anti-authoritarians, and (2) how those professionals who have diagnosed them are not.

Anti-authoritarians question whether an authority is a legitimate one before taking that authority seriously. Evaluating the legitimacy of authorities includes assessing whether or not authorities actually know what they are talking about, are honest, and care about those people who are respecting their authority. And when anti-authoritarians assess an authority to be illegitimate, they challenge and resist that authority—sometimes aggressively and sometimes passive-aggressively, sometimes wisely and sometimes not.

Some activists lament how few anti-authoritarians there appear to be in the United States. One reason could be that many natural anti-authoritarians are now psychopathologized and medicated before they achieve political consciousness of society’s most oppressive authorities.

Why Mental Health Professionals Diagnose Anti-Authoritarians with Mental Illness

Gaining acceptance into graduate school or medical school and achieving a PhD or MD and becoming a psychologist or psychiatrist means jumping through many hoops, all of which require much behavioral and attentional compliance to authorities, even to those authorities that one lacks respect for. The selection and socialization of mental health professionals tends to breed out many anti-authoritarians. Having steered the higher-education terrain for a decade of my life, I know that degrees and credentials are primarily badges of compliance. Those with extended schooling have lived for many years in a world where one routinely conforms to the demands of authorities. Thus for many MDs and PhDs, people different from them who reject this attentional and behavioral compliance appear to be from another world—a diagnosable one.

I have found that most psychologists, psychiatrists, and other mental health professionals are not only extraordinarily compliant with authorities but also unaware of the magnitude of their obedience. And it also has become clear to me that the anti-authoritarianism of their patients creates enormous anxiety for these professionals, and their anxiety fuels diagnoses and treatments.

In graduate school, I discovered that all it took to be labeled as having “issues with authority” was to not kiss up to a director of clinical training whose personality was a combination of Donald Trump, Newt Gingrich, and Howard Cosell. When I was told by some faculty that I had “issues with authority,” I had mixed feelings about being so labeled. On the one hand, I found it quite amusing, because among the working-class kids whom I had grown up with, I was considered relatively compliant with authorities. After all, I had done my homework, studied, and received good grades. However, while my new “issues with authority” label made me grin because I was now being seen as a “bad boy,” it also very much concerned me about just what kind of a profession that I had entered. Specifically, if somebody such as myself was being labeled with “issues with authority,” what were they calling the kids I grew up with who paid attention to many things that they cared about but didn’t care enough about school to comply there? Well, the answer soon became clear.

Mental Illness Diagnoses for Anti-Authoritarians

A 2009 Psychiatric Times article titled “ADHD & ODD: Confronting the Challenges of Disruptive Behavior” reports that “disruptive disorders,” which include attention deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADHD) and opposition defiant disorder (ODD), are the most common mental health problem of children and teenagers. ADHD is defined by poor attention and distractibility, poor self-control and impulsivity, and hyperactivity. ODD is defined as a “a pattern of negativistic, hostile, and defiant behavior without the more serious violations of the basic rights of others that are seen in conduct disorder”; and ODD symptoms include “often actively defies or refuses to comply with adult requests or rules” and “often argues with adults.”

Psychologist Russell Barkley, one of mainstream mental health’s leading authorities on ADHD, says that those afflicted with ADHD have deficits in what he calls “rule-governed behavior,” as they are less responsive to rules of established authorities and less sensitive to positive or negative consequences. ODD young people, according to mainstream mental health authorities, also have these so-called deficits in rule-governed behavior, and so it is extremely common for young people to have a “duel diagnosis” of AHDH and ODD.

Do we really want to diagnose and medicate everyone with “deficits in rule-governed behavior”?

Albert Einstein, as a youth, would have likely received an ADHD diagnosis, and maybe an ODD one as well. Albert didn't pay attention to his teachers, failed his college entrance examinations twice, and had difficulty holding jobs. However, Einstein biographer Ronald Clark (Einstein: The Life and Times) asserts that Albert's problems did not stem from attention deficits but rather from his hatred of authoritarian, Prussian discipline in his schools. Einstein said, “The teachers in the elementary school appeared to me like sergeants and in the Gymnasium the teachers were like lieutenants.” At age 13, Einstein read Kant's difficult Critique of Pure Reason—because Albert was interested in it. Clark also tells us Einstein refused to prepare himself for his college admissions as a rebellion against his father’s “unbearable” path of a “practical profession.” After he did enter college, one professor told Einstein, “You have one fault; one can’t tell you anything.” The very characteristics of Einstein that upset authorities so much were exactly the ones that allowed him to excel.

By today’s standards, Saul Alinsky, the legendary organizer and author of Reveille for Radicals and Rules for Radicals, would have certainly been diagnosed with one or more disruptive disorders. Recalling his childhood, Alinsky said, “I never thought of walking on the grass until I saw a sign saying ‘Keep off the grass.’ Then I would stomp all over it.” Alinsky also recalls a time when he was ten or eleven and his rabbi was tutoring him in Hebrew:

One particular day I read three pages in a row without any errors in pronunciation, and suddenly a penny fell onto the Bible . . . Then the next day the rabbi turned up and he told me to start reading. And I wouldn’t; I just sat there in silence, refusing to read. He asked me why I was so quiet, and I said, “This time it’s a nickel or nothing.” He threw back his arm and slammed me across the room.
Many people with severe anxiety and/or depression are also anti-authoritarians. Often a major pain of their lives that fuels their anxiety and/or depression is fear that their contempt for illegitimate authorities will cause them to be financially and socially marginalized; but they fear that compliance with such illegitimate authorities will cause them existential death.

I have also spent a great deal of time with people who had at one time in their lives had thoughts and behavior that were so bizarre that they were extremely frightening for their families and even themselves; they were diagnosed with schizophrenia and other psychoses, but have fully recovered and have been, for many years, leading productive lives. Among this population, I have not met one person whom I would not consider a major anti-authoritarian. Once recovered, they have learned to channel their anti-authoritarianism into more constructive political ends, including reforming mental health treatment.

Many anti-authoritarians who earlier in their lives were diagnosed with mental illness tell me that once they were labeled with a psychiatric diagnosis, they got caught in a dilemma. Authoritarians, by definition, demand unquestioning obedience, and so any resistance to their diagnosis and treatment created enormous anxiety for authoritarian mental health professionals; and professionals, feeling out of control, labeled them “noncompliant with treatment,” increased the severity of their diagnosis, and jacked up their medications. This was enraging for these anti-authoritarians, sometimes so much so that they reacted in ways that made them appear even more frightening to their families.

There are anti-authoritarians who use psychiatric drugs to help them function, but they often reject psychiatric authorities’ explanations for why they have difficulty functioning. So, for example, they may take Adderall (an amphetamine prescribed for ADHD), but they know that their attentional problem is not a result of a biochemical brain imbalance but rather caused by a boring job. And similarly, many anti-authoritarians in highly stressful environments will occasionally take prescribed benzodiazepines such as Xanax even though they believe it would be safer to occasionally use marijuana but can’t because of drug testing on their job

It has been my experience that many anti-authoritarians labeled with psychiatric diagnoses usually don’t reject all authorities, simply those they’ve assessed to be illegitimate ones, which just happens to be a great deal of society’s authorities.

Maintaining the Societal Status Quo

Americans have been increasingly socialized to equate inattention, anger, anxiety, and immobilizing despair with a medical condition, and to seek medical treatment rather than political remedies. What better way to maintain the status quo than to view inattention, anger, anxiety, and depression as biochemical problems of those who are mentally ill rather than normal reactions to an increasingly authoritarian society.

The reality is that depression is highly associated with societal and financial pains. One is much more likely to be depressed if one is unemployed, underemployed, on public assistance, or in debt (for documentation, see “400% Rise in Anti-Depressant Pill Use”). And ADHD labeled kids do pay attention when they are getting paid, or when an activity is novel, interests them, or is chosen by them (documented in my book Commonsense Rebellion).

In an earlier dark age, authoritarian monarchies partnered with authoritarian religious institutions. When the world exited from this dark age and entered the Enlightenment, there was a burst of energy. Much of this revitalization had to do with risking skepticism about authoritarian and corrupt institutions and regaining confidence in one’s own mind. We are now in another dark age, only the institutions have changed. Americans desperately need anti-authoritarians to question, challenge, and resist new illegitimate authorities and regain confidence in their own common sense.

In every generation there will be authoritarians and anti-authoritarians. While it is unusual in American history for anti-authoritarians to take the kind of effective action that inspires others to successfully revolt, every once in a while a Tom Paine, Crazy Horse, or Malcolm X come along. So authoritarians financially marginalize those who buck the system, they criminalize anti-authoritarianism, they psychopathologize anti-authoritarians, and they market drugs for their “cure.”

Documentaire/conférence super intéressante, et tellement bien présentée.

hen I was young, there was nothing so bad as being asked to work. Now I find it hard to conjure up that feeling, but I see it in my five-year-old daughter. “Can I please have some water, daddy?”
“You can get it yourself, you’re a big girl.”
“WHY DOES EVERYONE ALWAYS TREAT ME LIKE A MAID?”
That was me when I was young, rolling on the ground in agony on being asked to clean my room. As a child, I wonderingly observed the hours my father worked. The stoical way he went off to the job, chin held high, seemed a beautiful, heroic embrace of personal suffering. The poor man! How few hours he left himself to rest on the couch, read or watch American football.
My father had his own accounting firm in Raleigh, North Carolina. His speciality was helping people manage their tax and financial affairs as they started, expanded, or in some cases shut down their businesses. He has taken his time retiring, and I now realise how much he liked his work. I can remember the glowing terms in which his clients would tell me about the help he’d given them, as if he’d performed life-saving surgery on them. I also remember the way his voice changed when he received a call from a client when at home. Suddenly he spoke with a command and facility that I never heard at any other time, like a captive penguin released into open water, swimming in his element with natural ease.
At 37, I see my father’s routine with different eyes. I live in a terraced house in Wandsworth, a moderately smart and wildly expensive part of south-west London, and a short train ride from the headquarters of The Economist, where I write about economics. I get up at 5.30am and spend an hour or two at my desk at home. Once the children are up I join them for breakfast, then go to work as they head off to school. I can usually leave the office in time to join the family for dinner and put the children to bed. Then I can get a bit more done at home: writing, if there is a deadline looming, or reading, which is also part of the job. I work hard, doggedly, almost relentlessly. The joke, which I only now get, is that work is fun.
Not all work, of course. When my father was a boy on the family farm, the tasks he and his father did in the fields – the jobs many people still do – were gruelling and thankless. I once visited the textile mill where my grandmother worked for a time. The noise of the place was so overpowering that it was impossible to think. But my work – the work we lucky few well-paid professionals do every day, as we co-operate with talented people while solving complex, interesting problems – is fun. And I find that I can devote surprising quantities of time to it.
What is less clear to me, and to so many of my peers, is whether we should do so much of it. One of the facts of modern life is that a relatively small class of people works very long hours and earns good money for its efforts. Nearly a third of college-educated American men, for example, work more than 50 hours a week. Some professionals do twice that amount, and elite lawyers can easily work 70 hours a week almost every week of the year.
Work, in this context, means active, billable labour. But in reality, it rarely stops. It follows us home on our smartphones, tugging at us during an evening out or in the middle of our children’s bedtime routines. It makes permanent use of valuable cognitive space, and chooses odd hours to pace through our thoughts, shoving aside whatever might have been there before. It colonises our personal relationships and uses them for its own ends. It becomes our lives if we are not careful. It becomes us.
When John Maynard Keynes mused in 1930 that, a century hence, society might be so rich that the hours worked by each person could be cut to ten or 15 a week, he was not hallucinating, just extrapolating. The working week was shrinking fast. Average hours worked dropped from 60 at the turn of the century to 40 by the 1950s. The combination of extra time and money gave rise to an age of mass leisure, to family holidays and meals together in front of the television. There was a vision of the good life in this era. It was one in which work was largely a means to an end – the working class had become a leisured class. Households saved money to buy a house and a car, to take holidays, to finance a retirement at ease. This was the era of the three-Martini lunch: a leisurely, expense-padded midday bout of hard drinking. This was when bankers lived by the 3-6-3 rule: borrow at 3%, lend at 6%, and head off to the golf course by 3pm.
The vision of a leisure-filled future occurred against the backdrop of the competition against communism, but it is a capitalist dream: one in which the productive application of technology rises steadily, until material needs can be met with just a few hours of work. It is a story of the triumph of innovation and markets, and one in which the details of a post-work world are left somewhat hazy. Keynes, in his essay on the future, reckoned that when the end of work arrived:
For the first time since his creation man will be faced with his real, his permanent problem – how to use his freedom from pressing economic cares, how to occupy the leisure, which science and compound interest will have won for him, to live wisely and agreeably and well.
Karl Marx had a different view: that being occupied by good work was living well. Engagement in productive, purposeful work was the means by which people could realise their full potential. He’s not credited with having got much right about the modern world, but maybe he wasn’t so wrong about our relationship with work.
MARX IS NOT CREDITED WITH HAVING GOT MUCH RIGHT ABOUT THE MODERN WORLD, BUT MAYBE HE WASN’T SO WRONG ABOUT OUR RELATIONSHIP WITH WORK
In those decades after the second world war, Keynes seemed to have the better of the argument. As productivity rose across the rich world, hourly wages for typical workers kept rising and hours worked per week kept falling – to the mid-30s, by the 1970s. But then something went wrong. Less-skilled workers found themselves forced to accept ever-smaller pay rises to stay in work. The bargaining power of the typical blue-collar worker eroded as technology and globalisation handed bosses a whole toolkit of ways to squeeze labour costs. At the same time, the welfare state ceased its expansion and began to retreat, swept back by governments keen to boost growth by cutting taxes and removing labour-market restrictions. The income gains that might have gone to workers, that might have kept living standards rising even as hours fell, that might have kept society on the road to the Keynesian dream, flowed instead to those at the top of the income ladder. Willingly or unwillingly, those lower down the ladder worked fewer and fewer hours. Those at the top, meanwhile, worked longer and longer.
It was not obvious that things would turn out this way. You might have thought that whereas, before, a male professional worked 50 hours a week while his wife stayed at home with the children, a couple of married professionals might instead each opt to work 35 hours a week, sharing more of the housework, and ending up with both more money and more leisure. That didn’t happen. Rather, both are now more likely to work 60 hours a week and pay several people to care for the house and children.
Why? One possibility is that we have all got stuck on a treadmill. Technology and globalisation mean that an increasing number of good jobs are winner-take-most competitions. Banks and law firms amass extraordinary financial returns, directors and partners within those firms make colossal salaries, and the route to those coveted positions lies through years of round-the-clock work. The number of firms with global reach, and of tech start-ups that dominate a market niche, is limited. Securing a place near the top of the income spectrum in such a firm, and remaining in it, is a matter of constant struggle and competition. Meanwhile the technological forces that enable a few elite firms to become dominant also allow work, in the form of those constantly pinging emails, to follow us everywhere.
This relentless competition increases the need to earn high salaries, for as well-paid people cluster together they bid up the price of the resources for which they compete. In the brainpower-heavy cities where most of them live, getting on the property ladder requires the sort of sum that can be built up only through long hours in an important job. Then there is conspicuous consumption: the need to have a great-looking car and a home out of Interiors magazine, the competition to place children in good (that is, private) schools, the need to maintain a coterie of domestic workers – you mean you don’t have a personal shopper? And so on, and on.
The dollars and hours pile up as we aim for a good life that always stays just out of reach. In moments of exhaustion we imagine simpler lives in smaller towns with more hours free for family and hobbies and ourselves. Perhaps we just live in a nightmarish arms race: if we were all to disarm, collectively, then we could all live a calmer, happier, more equal life.
But that is not quite how it is. The problem is not that overworked professionals are all miserable. The problem is that they are not.

Drinking coffee one morning with a friend from my home town, we discuss our fathers’ working habits. Both are just past retirement age. Both worked in an era in which a good job was not all-consuming. When my father began his professional career, the post-war concept of the good life was still going strong. He was a dedicated, even passionate worker. Yet he never supposed that work should be the centre of his life.
Work was a means to an end; it was something you did to earn the money to pay for the important things in life. This was the advice I was given as a university student, struggling to figure out what career to pursue in order to have the best chance at an important, meaningful job. I think my parents were rather baffled by my determination to find satisfaction in my professional life. Life was what happened outside work. Life, in our house, was a week’s holiday at the beach or Pop standing on the sidelines at our baseball games. It was my parents at church, in the pew or volunteering in some way or another. It was having kids who gave you grandkids. Work merely provided more people to whom to show pictures of the grandkids.
This generation of workers, on the early side of the baby boom, is marching off to retirement now. There are things to do in those sunset years. But the hours will surely stretch out and become hard to fill. As I sit with my friend it dawns on us that retirement sounds awful. Why would we stop working?
Here is the alternative to the treadmill thesis. As professional life has evolved over the past generation, it has become much more pleasant. Software and information technology have eliminated much of the drudgery of the workplace. The duller sorts of labour have gone, performed by people in offshore service-centres or by machines. Offices in the rich world’s capitals are packed not with drones filing paperwork or adding up numbers but with clever people working collaboratively.
The pleasure lies partly in flow, in the process of losing oneself in a puzzle with a solution on which other people depend. The sense of purposeful immersion and exertion is the more appealing given the hands-on nature of the work: top professionals are the master craftsmen of the age, shaping high-quality, bespoke products from beginning to end. We design, fashion, smooth and improve, filing the rough edges and polishing the words, the numbers, the code or whatever is our chosen material. At the end of the day we can sit back and admire our work – the completed article, the sealed deal, the functioning app – in the way that artisans once did, and those earning a middling wage in the sprawling service-sector no longer do.
The fact that our jobs now follow us around is not necessarily a bad thing, either. Workers in cognitively demanding fields, thinking their way through tricky challenges, have always done so at odd hours. Academics in the midst of important research, or admen cooking up a new creative campaign, have always turned over the big questions in their heads while showering in the morning or gardening on a weekend afternoon. If more people find their brains constantly and profitably engaged, so much the better.
Smartphones do not just enable work to follow us around; they also make life easier. Tasks that might otherwise require you to stay late in the office can be taken home. Parents can enjoy dinner and bedtime with the children before turning back to the job at hand. Technology is also lowering the cost of the support staff that make long hours possible. No need to employ a full-time personal assistant to run the errands these days: there are apps to take care of the shopping, the laundry and the dinner, walk the dog, fix the car and mend the hole in the roof. All of these allow us to focus ever more of our time and energy on doing what our jobs require of us.
There are downsides to this life. It does not allow us much time with newborn children or family members who are ill; or to develop hobbies, side-interests or the pleasures of particular, leisurely rituals – or anything, indeed, that is not intimately connected with professional success. But the inadmissible truth is that the eclipsing of life’s other complications is part of the reward.
It is a cognitive and emotional relief to immerse oneself in something all-consuming while other difficulties float by. The complexities of intellectual puzzles are nothing to those of emotional ones. Work is a wonderful refuge.
This life is a package deal. Cities are expensive. Less prestigious work that demands less commitment from those who do it pays less – often much less. For those without independent wealth, dialling back professional ambition and effort means moving away, to smaller and cheaper places.
But stepping off the treadmill does not just mean accepting a different vision of one’s prospects with a different salary trajectory. It means upending one’s life entirely: changing locations, tumbling out of the community, losing one’s identity. That is a difficult thing to survive. One must have an extremely strong, secure sense of self to negotiate it.
I’ve watched people try. In 2009 good friends of ours packed their things and moved away from Washington, DC, where we lived at the time, to the small college town of Charlottesville, Virginia. It was an idyllic little place, nestled in the Appalachian foothills, surrounded by horse farms and vineyards, with cheap, charming homes. He persuaded his employer to let him telework; she left her high-pressure job as vice-president at a big web firm near Washington to take a position at a local company.
My wife and I were intrigued by the thought of doing the same. She could teach there, we reckoned, and I could write. It was a reasonable train ride from Washington, if I needed to meet editors. We would be able to enjoy the fresh air, and the peace and quiet. Perhaps at some point we would open our own shop on the main street or try our hand at winemaking, if we could save a little money.
IT WASN’T THE STRESS OF BEING ON THE FAST TRACK THAT CAUSED MY CHEST TO TIGHTEN AND MY HEART RATE TO RISE, BUT THE THOUGHT OF BEING LEFT BEHIND BY THOSE STILL ON IT
Yet the more seriously we thought about it, the less I liked the idea. I want hours of quiet to write in, not days and weeks. I would miss, desperately, being in an office and arguing about ideas. More than that, I could anticipate with perfect clarity how the rhythm of life would slow as we left the city, how the external pressure to keep moving would diminish. I didn’t want more time to myself; I wanted to feel pushed to be better and achieve more. It wasn’t the stress of being on the fast track that caused my chest to tighten and my heart rate to rise, but the thought of being left behind by those still on it.
Less than a year after moving away, our friends moved back. They had found themselves bored and lonely. We were glad, and relieved as well: their return justified our decision to stay in the city. One reason the treadmill is so hard to walk away from is that life off it is not what it once was. When I was a child, our neighbourhood was rich with social interaction. My father played on the church softball team until his back got too bad. My mother helped with charity food-and-toy drives. They both taught classes and chaperoned youth choir trips. They socialised with neighbours who did these things too.
Those elements of life persist, of course, but they are somewhat diminished, as Robert Putnam, a social scientist, observed in 1995 in “Bowling Alone: America’s Declining Social Capital”. He described the shrivelling of civic institutions, which he blamed on many of the forces that coincided with, and contributed to, our changing relationship to work: the entry of women into the workforce; the rise of professional ghettoes; longer working hours.
One of the civic groups that Putnam cites as an important contributor to social capital in ages past was the labour union. In the post-war era, unions thrived because of healthy demand for blue-collar workers who shared a strong sense of class identity. That allowed the unions’ members to capture an outsize share of the gains from economic growth, while also providing workers and their families with a strong sense of community – indeed, of solidarity.
The labour movement has unravelled in recent decades, and with it the network that supported its members; but these days a similar virtuous circle supports the professional classes instead. Our social networks are made up not just of neighbours and friends, but also of clients and colleagues. This interlaced world of work and social life enriches us, exposing us to people who do fascinating things, keeping us informed of professional gossip and providing those who have good ideas with the connections to help turn them into reality. It also traps us. The suspicion that one might be missing out on a useful opportunity or idea helps prod us off the sofa when an evening with “True Detective” beckons seductively.
This mixing of the social and professional is not new. It is not unlike Hollywood, where friends have always become collaborators, actors marry directors, and an evening out on the town has always been a public act that shapes the brand value of the star. Or like Washington, DC, in which public officials, journalists and policy experts swap jobs every few years and go to the same parties at night: befriending and sleeping with each other, exchanging ideas, living a life in which all behaviour is professional to some extent. But as hours have lengthened and work has become more engaging, this social pattern has swallowed other worlds.
There is a psychic value to the intertwining of life and work as well as an economic one. The society of people like us reinforces our belief in what we do.

Working effectively at a good job builds up our identity and esteem in the eyes of others. We cheer each other on, we share in (and quietly regret) the successes of our friends, we lose touch with people beyond our network. Spending our leisure time with other professional strivers buttresses the notion that hard work is part of the good life and that the sacrifices it entails are those that a decent person makes. This is what a class with a strong sense of identity does: it effortlessly recasts the group’s distinguishing vices as virtues.
Life within this professional community has its impositions. It makes failure or error a more difficult, humiliating experience. Social life ceases to be a refuge from the indignities of work. The sincerity of relationships becomes questionable when people are friends of convenience. A friend – a real one – muses to me that those who become immersed in lives like this suffer from Stockholm Syndrome: they befriend their clients because they spend too much time with them to know there are other, better options available. The fact that I find it hard to pass judgment on this statement suggests that I, too, may be a victim.
My parents have not quite managed to retire, but they are getting there. Even with one foot in and one foot out of retirement, their post-career itinerary is becoming clear. They mean to see parts of the world they couldn’t when they were young and had no money, or when they were older and had no time. Their travels occasionally bring them to London to see me and my family. On a recent visit the talk shifted, as it often does, to when I might be planning to return to the east coast of America, much closer to the Carolinas, which is where they and most of the rest of my extended family still live. As my father walks around the house, my three-year-old son trotting adoringly behind him, they ask whether I couldn’t do my job as easily closer to home.
I get hung up on as easily. The writing I could do as easily, just about. Building my career, away from our London headquarters, would not be so easy. As I explain this, a circularity threatens to overtake my point: to build my career is to make myself indispensable, demonstrating indispensability means burying myself in the work, and the upshot of successfully demonstrating my indispensability is the need to continue working tirelessly. Not only can I not do all that elsewhere; outside London, the obvious brilliance of a commitment to this course of action is underappreciated. It looks pointless – daft, even.
And I begin to understand the nature of the trouble I’m having communicating to my parents precisely why what I’m doing appeals to me. They are asking about a job. I am thinking about identity, community, purpose – the things that provide meaning and motivation. I am talking about my life.

WAR is a racket. It always has been.

It is possibly the oldest, easily the most profitable, surely the most vicious. It is the only one international in scope. It is the only one in which the profits are reckoned in dollars and the losses in lives.

A racket is best described, I believe, as something that is not what it seems to the majority of the people. Only a small "inside" group knows what it is about. It is conducted for the benefit of the very few, at the expense of the very many. Out of war a few people make huge fortunes.

In the World War [I] a mere handful garnered the profits of the conflict. At least 21,000 new millionaires and billionaires were made in the United States during the World War. That many admitted their huge blood gains in their income tax returns. How many other war millionaires falsified their tax returns no one knows.

How many of these war millionaires shouldered a rifle? How many of them dug a trench? How many of them knew what it meant to go hungry in a rat-infested dug-out? How many of them spent sleepless, frightened nights, ducking shells and shrapnel and machine gun bullets? How many of them parried a bayonet thrust of an enemy? How many of them were wounded or killed in battle?

Out of war nations acquire additional territory, if they are victorious. They just take it. This newly acquired territory promptly is exploited by the few -- the selfsame few who wrung dollars out of blood in the war. The general public shoulders the bill.

And what is this bill?

This bill renders a horrible accounting. Newly placed gravestones. Mangled bodies. Shattered minds. Broken hearts and homes. Economic instability. Depression and all its attendant miseries. Back-breaking taxation for generations and generations.

For a great many years, as a soldier, I had a suspicion that war was a racket; not until I retired to civil life did I fully realize it. Now that I see the international war clouds gathering, as they are today, I must face it and speak out.

Again they are choosing sides. France and Russia met and agreed to stand side by side. Italy and Austria hurried to make a similar agreement. Poland and Germany cast sheep's eyes at each other, forgetting for the nonce [one unique occasion], their dispute over the Polish Corridor.

The assassination of King Alexander of Jugoslavia [Yugoslavia] complicated matters. Jugoslavia and Hungary, long bitter enemies, were almost at each other's throats. Italy was ready to jump in. But France was waiting. So was Czechoslovakia. All of them are looking ahead to war. Not the people -- not those who fight and pay and die -- only those who foment wars and remain safely at home to profit.

There are 40,000,000 men under arms in the world today, and our statesmen and diplomats have the temerity to say that war is not in the making.

Hell's bells! Are these 40,000,000 men being trained to be dancers?

Not in Italy, to be sure. Premier Mussolini knows what they are being trained for. He, at least, is frank enough to speak out. Only the other day, Il Duce in "International Conciliation," the publication of the Carnegie Endowment for International Peace, said:

"And above all, Fascism, the more it considers and observes the future and the development of humanity quite apart from political considerations of the moment, believes neither in the possibility nor the utility of perpetual peace. . . . War alone brings up to its highest tension all human energy and puts the stamp of nobility upon the people who have the courage to meet it."

Undoubtedly Mussolini means exactly what he says. His well-trained army, his great fleet of planes, and even his navy are ready for war -- anxious for it, apparently. His recent stand at the side of Hungary in the latter's dispute with Jugoslavia showed that. And the hurried mobilization of his troops on the Austrian border after the assassination of Dollfuss showed it too. There are others in Europe too whose sabre rattling presages war, sooner or later.

Herr Hitler, with his rearming Germany and his constant demands for more and more arms, is an equal if not greater menace to peace. France only recently increased the term of military service for its youth from a year to eighteen months.

Yes, all over, nations are camping in their arms. The mad dogs of Europe are on the loose. In the Orient the maneuvering is more adroit. Back in 1904, when Russia and Japan fought, we kicked out our old friends the Russians and backed Japan. Then our very generous international bankers were financing Japan. Now the trend is to poison us against the Japanese. What does the "open door" policy to China mean to us? Our trade with China is about $90,000,000 a year. Or the Philippine Islands? We have spent about $600,000,000 in the Philippines in thirty-five years and we (our bankers and industrialists and speculators) have private investments there of less than $200,000,000.

Then, to save that China trade of about $90,000,000, or to protect these private investments of less than $200,000,000 in the Philippines, we would be all stirred up to hate Japan and go to war -- a war that might well cost us tens of billions of dollars, hundreds of thousands of lives of Americans, and many more hundreds of thousands of physically maimed and mentally unbalanced men.

Of course, for this loss, there would be a compensating profit -- fortunes would be made. Millions and billions of dollars would be piled up. By a few. Munitions makers. Bankers. Ship builders. Manufacturers. Meat packers. Speculators. They would fare well.

Yes, they are getting ready for another war. Why shouldn't they? It pays high dividends.

But what does it profit the men who are killed? What does it profit their mothers and sisters, their wives and their sweethearts? What does it profit their children?

What does it profit anyone except the very few to whom war means huge profits?

Yes, and what does it profit the nation?

Take our own case. Until 1898 we didn't own a bit of territory outside the mainland of North America. At that time our national debt was a little more than $1,000,000,000. Then we became "internationally minded." We forgot, or shunted aside, the advice of the Father of our country. We forgot George Washington's warning about "entangling alliances." We went to war. We acquired outside territory. At the end of the World War period, as a direct result of our fiddling in international affairs, our national debt had jumped to over $25,000,000,000. Our total favorable trade balance during the twenty-five-year period was about $24,000,000,000. Therefore, on a purely bookkeeping basis, we ran a little behind year for year, and that foreign trade might well have been ours without the wars.

It would have been far cheaper (not to say safer) for the average American who pays the bills to stay out of foreign entanglements. For a very few this racket, like bootlegging and other underworld rackets, brings fancy profits, but the cost of operations is always transferred to the people -- who do not profit.

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CHAPTER TWO

Who Makes The Profits?

The World War, rather our brief participation in it, has cost the United States some $52,000,000,000. Figure it out. That means $400 to every American man, woman, and child. And we haven't paid the debt yet. We are paying it, our children will pay it, and our children's children probably still will be paying the cost of that war.

The normal profits of a business concern in the United States are six, eight, ten, and sometimes twelve percent. But war-time profits -- ah! that is another matter -- twenty, sixty, one hundred, three hundred, and even eighteen hundred per cent -- the sky is the limit. All that traffic will bear. Uncle Sam has the money. Let's get it.

Of course, it isn't put that crudely in war time. It is dressed into speeches about patriotism, love of country, and "we must all put our shoulders to the wheel," but the profits jump and leap and skyrocket -- and are safely pocketed. Let's just take a few examples:

Take our friends the du Ponts, the powder people -- didn't one of them testify before a Senate committee recently that their powder won the war? Or saved the world for democracy? Or something? How did they do in the war? They were a patriotic corporation. Well, the average earnings of the du Ponts for the period 1910 to 1914 were $6,000,000 a year. It wasn't much, but the du Ponts managed to get along on it. Now let's look at their average yearly profit during the war years, 1914 to 1918. Fifty-eight million dollars a year profit we find! Nearly ten times that of normal times, and the profits of normal times were pretty good. An increase in profits of more than 950 per cent.

Take one of our little steel companies that patriotically shunted aside the making of rails and girders and bridges to manufacture war materials. Well, their 1910-1914 yearly earnings averaged $6,000,000. Then came the war. And, like loyal citizens, Bethlehem Steel promptly turned to munitions making. Did their profits jump -- or did they let Uncle Sam in for a bargain? Well, their 1914-1918 average was $49,000,000 a year!

Or, let's take United States Steel. The normal earnings during the five-year period prior to the war were $105,000,000 a year. Not bad. Then along came the war and up went the profits. The average yearly profit for the period 1914-1918 was $240,000,000. Not bad.

There you have some of the steel and powder earnings. Let's look at something else. A little copper, perhaps. That always does well in war times.

Anaconda, for instance. Average yearly earnings during the pre-war years 1910-1914 of $10,000,000. During the war years 1914-1918 profits leaped to $34,000,000 per year.

Or Utah Copper. Average of $5,000,000 per year during the 1910-1914 period. Jumped to an average of $21,000,000 yearly profits for the war period.

Let's group these five, with three smaller companies. The total yearly average profits of the pre-war period 1910-1914 were $137,480,000. Then along came the war. The average yearly profits for this group skyrocketed to $408,300,000.

A little increase in profits of approximately 200 per cent.

Does war pay? It paid them. But they aren't the only ones. There are still others. Let's take leather.

For the three-year period before the war the total profits of Central Leather Company were $3,500,000. That was approximately $1,167,000 a year. Well, in 1916 Central Leather returned a profit of $15,000,000, a small increase of 1,100 per cent. That's all. The General Chemical Company averaged a profit for the three years before the war of a little over $800,000 a year. Came the war, and the profits jumped to $12,000,000. a leap of 1,400 per cent.

International Nickel Company -- and you can't have a war without nickel -- showed an increase in profits from a mere average of $4,000,000 a year to $73,000,000 yearly. Not bad? An increase of more than 1,700 per cent.

American Sugar Refining Company averaged $2,000,000 a year for the three years before the war. In 1916 a profit of $6,000,000 was recorded.

Listen to Senate Document No. 259. The Sixty-Fifth Congress, reporting on corporate earnings and government revenues. Considering the profits of 122 meat packers, 153 cotton manufacturers, 299 garment makers, 49 steel plants, and 340 coal producers during the war. Profits under 25 per cent were exceptional. For instance the coal companies made between 100 per cent and 7,856 per cent on their capital stock during the war. The Chicago packers doubled and tripled their earnings.

And let us not forget the bankers who financed the great war. If anyone had the cream of the profits it was the bankers. Being partnerships rather than incorporated organizations, they do not have to report to stockholders. And their profits were as secret as they were immense. How the bankers made their millions and their billions I do not know, because those little secrets never become public -- even before a Senate investigatory body.

But here's how some of the other patriotic industrialists and speculators chiseled their way into war profits.

Take the shoe people. They like war. It brings business with abnormal profits. They made huge profits on sales abroad to our allies. Perhaps, like the munitions manufacturers and armament makers, they also sold to the enemy. For a dollar is a dollar whether it comes from Germany or from France. But they did well by Uncle Sam too. For instance, they sold Uncle Sam 35,000,000 pairs of hobnailed service shoes. There were 4,000,000 soldiers. Eight pairs, and more, to a soldier. My regiment during the war had only one pair to a soldier. Some of these shoes probably are still in existence. They were good shoes. But when the war was over Uncle Sam has a matter of 25,000,000 pairs left over. Bought -- and paid for. Profits recorded and pocketed.

There was still lots of leather left. So the leather people sold your Uncle Sam hundreds of thousands of McClellan saddles for the cavalry. But there wasn't any American cavalry overseas! Somebody had to get rid of this leather, however. Somebody had to make a profit in it -- so we had a lot of McClellan saddles. And we probably have those yet.

Also somebody had a lot of mosquito netting. They sold your Uncle Sam 20,000,000 mosquito nets for the use of the soldiers overseas. I suppose the boys were expected to put it over them as they tried to sleep in muddy trenches -- one hand scratching cooties on their backs and the other making passes at scurrying rats. Well, not one of these mosquito nets ever got to France!

Anyhow, these thoughtful manufacturers wanted to make sure that no soldier would be without his mosquito net, so 40,000,000 additional yards of mosquito netting were sold to Uncle Sam.

There were pretty good profits in mosquito netting in those days, even if there were no mosquitoes in France. I suppose, if the war had lasted just a little longer, the enterprising mosquito netting manufacturers would have sold your Uncle Sam a couple of consignments of mosquitoes to plant in France so that more mosquito netting would be in order.

Airplane and engine manufacturers felt they, too, should get their just profits out of this war. Why not? Everybody else was getting theirs. So $1,000,000,000 -- count them if you live long enough -- was spent by Uncle Sam in building airplane engines that never left the ground! Not one plane, or motor, out of the billion dollars worth ordered, ever got into a battle in France. Just the same the manufacturers made their little profit of 30, 100, or perhaps 300 per cent.

Undershirts for soldiers cost 14¢ [cents] to make and uncle Sam paid 30¢ to 40¢ each for them -- a nice little profit for the undershirt manufacturer. And the stocking manufacturer and the uniform manufacturers and the cap manufacturers and the steel helmet manufacturers -- all got theirs.

Why, when the war was over some 4,000,000 sets of equipment -- knapsacks and the things that go to fill them -- crammed warehouses on this side. Now they are being scrapped because the regulations have changed the contents. But the manufacturers collected their wartime profits on them -- and they will do it all over again the next time.

There were lots of brilliant ideas for profit making during the war.

One very versatile patriot sold Uncle Sam twelve dozen 48-inch wrenches. Oh, they were very nice wrenches. The only trouble was that there was only one nut ever made that was large enough for these wrenches. That is the one that holds the turbines at Niagara Falls. Well, after Uncle Sam had bought them and the manufacturer had pocketed the profit, the wrenches were put on freight cars and shunted all around the United States in an effort to find a use for them. When the Armistice was signed it was indeed a sad blow to the wrench manufacturer. He was just about to make some nuts to fit the wrenches. Then he planned to sell these, too, to your Uncle Sam.

Still another had the brilliant idea that colonels shouldn't ride in automobiles, nor should they even ride on horseback. One has probably seen a picture of Andy Jackson riding in a buckboard. Well, some 6,000 buckboards were sold to Uncle Sam for the use of colonels! Not one of them was used. But the buckboard manufacturer got his war profit.

The shipbuilders felt they should come in on some of it, too. They built a lot of ships that made a lot of profit. More than $3,000,000,000 worth. Some of the ships were all right. But $635,000,000 worth of them were made of wood and wouldn't float! The seams opened up -- and they sank. We paid for them, though. And somebody pocketed the profits.

It has been estimated by statisticians and economists and researchers that the war cost your Uncle Sam $52,000,000,000. Of this sum, $39,000,000,000 was expended in the actual war itself. This expenditure yielded $16,000,000,000 in profits. That is how the 21,000 billionaires and millionaires got that way. This $16,000,000,000 profits is not to be sneezed at. It is quite a tidy sum. And it went to a very few.

The Senate (Nye) committee probe of the munitions industry and its wartime profits, despite its sensational disclosures, hardly has scratched the surface.

Even so, it has had some effect. The State Department has been studying "for some time" methods of keeping out of war. The War Department suddenly decides it has a wonderful plan to spring. The Administration names a committee -- with the War and Navy Departments ably represented under the chairmanship of a Wall Street speculator -- to limit profits in war time. To what extent isn't suggested. Hmmm. Possibly the profits of 300 and 600 and 1,600 per cent of those who turned blood into gold in the World War would be limited to some smaller figure.

Apparently, however, the plan does not call for any limitation of losses -- that is, the losses of those who fight the war. As far as I have been able to ascertain there is nothing in the scheme to limit a soldier to the loss of but one eye, or one arm, or to limit his wounds to one or two or three. Or to limit the loss of life.

There is nothing in this scheme, apparently, that says not more than 12 per cent of a regiment shall be wounded in battle, or that not more than 7 per cent in a division shall be killed.

Of course, the committee cannot be bothered with such trifling matters.

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CHAPTER THREE

Who Pays The Bills?

Who provides the profits -- these nice little profits of 20, 100, 300, 1,500 and 1,800 per cent? We all pay them -- in taxation. We paid the bankers their profits when we bought Liberty Bonds at $100.00 and sold them back at $84 or $86 to the bankers. These bankers collected $100 plus. It was a simple manipulation. The bankers control the security marts. It was easy for them to depress the price of these bonds. Then all of us -- the people -- got frightened and sold the bonds at $84 or $86. The bankers bought them. Then these same bankers stimulated a boom and government bonds went to par -- and above. Then the bankers collected their profits.

But the soldier pays the biggest part of the bill.

If you don't believe this, visit the American cemeteries on the battlefields abroad. Or visit any of the veteran's hospitals in the United States. On a tour of the country, in the midst of which I am at the time of this writing, I have visited eighteen government hospitals for veterans. In them are a total of about 50,000 destroyed men -- men who were the pick of the nation eighteen years ago. The very able chief surgeon at the government hospital; at Milwaukee, where there are 3,800 of the living dead, told me that mortality among veterans is three times as great as among those who stayed at home.

Boys with a normal viewpoint were taken out of the fields and offices and factories and classrooms and put into the ranks. There they were remolded; they were made over; they were made to "about face"; to regard murder as the order of the day. They were put shoulder to shoulder and, through mass psychology, they were entirely changed. We used them for a couple of years and trained them to think nothing at all of killing or of being killed.

Then, suddenly, we discharged them and told them to make another "about face" ! This time they had to do their own readjustment, sans [without] mass psychology, sans officers' aid and advice and sans nation-wide propaganda. We didn't need them any more. So we scattered them about without any "three-minute" or "Liberty Loan" speeches or parades. Many, too many, of these fine young boys are eventually destroyed, mentally, because they could not make that final "about face" alone.

In the government hospital in Marion, Indiana, 1,800 of these boys are in pens! Five hundred of them in a barracks with steel bars and wires all around outside the buildings and on the porches. These already have been mentally destroyed. These boys don't even look like human beings. Oh, the looks on their faces! Physically, they are in good shape; mentally, they are gone.

There are thousands and thousands of these cases, and more and more are coming in all the time. The tremendous excitement of the war, the sudden cutting off of that excitement -- the young boys couldn't stand it.

That's a part of the bill. So much for the dead -- they have paid their part of the war profits. So much for the mentally and physically wounded -- they are paying now their share of the war profits. But the others paid, too -- they paid with heartbreaks when they tore themselves away from their firesides and their families to don the uniform of Uncle Sam -- on which a profit had been made. They paid another part in the training camps where they were regimented and drilled while others took their jobs and their places in the lives of their communities. The paid for it in the trenches where they shot and were shot; where they were hungry for days at a time; where they slept in the mud and the cold and in the rain -- with the moans and shrieks of the dying for a horrible lullaby.

But don't forget -- the soldier paid part of the dollars and cents bill too.

Up to and including the Spanish-American War, we had a prize system, and soldiers and sailors fought for money. During the Civil War they were paid bonuses, in many instances, before they went into service. The government, or states, paid as high as $1,200 for an enlistment. In the Spanish-American War they gave prize money. When we captured any vessels, the soldiers all got their share -- at least, they were supposed to. Then it was found that we could reduce the cost of wars by taking all the prize money and keeping it, but conscripting [drafting] the soldier anyway. Then soldiers couldn't bargain for their labor, Everyone else could bargain, but the soldier couldn't.

Napoleon once said,

"All men are enamored of decorations . . . they positively hunger for them."

So by developing the Napoleonic system -- the medal business -- the government learned it could get soldiers for less money, because the boys liked to be decorated. Until the Civil War there were no medals. Then the Congressional Medal of Honor was handed out. It made enlistments easier. After the Civil War no new medals were issued until the Spanish-American War.

In the World War, we used propaganda to make the boys accept conscription. They were made to feel ashamed if they didn't join the army.

So vicious was this war propaganda that even God was brought into it. With few exceptions our clergymen joined in the clamor to kill, kill, kill. To kill the Germans. God is on our side . . . it is His will that the Germans be killed.

And in Germany, the good pastors called upon the Germans to kill the allies . . . to please the same God. That was a part of the general propaganda, built up to make people war conscious and murder conscious.

Beautiful ideals were painted for our boys who were sent out to die. This was the "war to end all wars." This was the "war to make the world safe for democracy." No one mentioned to them, as they marched away, that their going and their dying would mean huge war profits. No one told these American soldiers that they might be shot down by bullets made by their own brothers here. No one told them that the ships on which they were going to cross might be torpedoed by submarines built with United States patents. They were just told it was to be a "glorious adventure."

Thus, having stuffed patriotism down their throats, it was decided to make them help pay for the war, too. So, we gave them the large salary of $30 a month.

All they had to do for this munificent sum was to leave their dear ones behind, give up their jobs, lie in swampy trenches, eat canned willy (when they could get it) and kill and kill and kill . . . and be killed.

But wait!

Half of that wage (just a little more than a riveter in a shipyard or a laborer in a munitions factory safe at home made in a day) was promptly taken from him to support his dependents, so that they would not become a charge upon his community. Then we made him pay what amounted to accident insurance -- something the employer pays for in an enlightened state -- and that cost him $6 a month. He had less than $9 a month left.

Then, the most crowning insolence of all -- he was virtually blackjacked into paying for his own ammunition, clothing, and food by being made to buy Liberty Bonds. Most soldiers got no money at all on pay days.

We made them buy Liberty Bonds at $100 and then we bought them back -- when they came back from the war and couldn't find work -- at $84 and $86. And the soldiers bought about $2,000,000,000 worth of these bonds!

Yes, the soldier pays the greater part of the bill. His family pays too. They pay it in the same heart-break that he does. As he suffers, they suffer. At nights, as he lay in the trenches and watched shrapnel burst about him, they lay home in their beds and tossed sleeplessly -- his father, his mother, his wife, his sisters, his brothers, his sons, and his daughters.

When he returned home minus an eye, or minus a leg or with his mind broken, they suffered too -- as much as and even sometimes more than he. Yes, and they, too, contributed their dollars to the profits of the munitions makers and bankers and shipbuilders and the manufacturers and the speculators made. They, too, bought Liberty Bonds and contributed to the profit of the bankers after the Armistice in the hocus-pocus of manipulated Liberty Bond prices.

And even now the families of the wounded men and of the mentally broken and those who never were able to readjust themselves are still suffering and still paying.

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CHAPTER FOUR

How To Smash This Racket!

WELL, it's a racket, all right.

A few profit -- and the many pay. But there is a way to stop it. You can't end it by disarmament conferences. You can't eliminate it by peace parleys at Geneva. Well-meaning but impractical groups can't wipe it out by resolutions. It can be smashed effectively only by taking the profit out of war.

The only way to smash this racket is to conscript capital and industry and labor before the nations manhood can be conscripted. One month before the Government can conscript the young men of the nation -- it must conscript capital and industry and labor. Let the officers and the directors and the high-powered executives of our armament factories and our munitions makers and our shipbuilders and our airplane builders and the manufacturers of all the other things that provide profit in war time as well as the bankers and the speculators, be conscripted -- to get $30 a month, the same wage as the lads in the trenches get.

Let the workers in these plants get the same wages -- all the workers, all presidents, all executives, all directors, all managers, all bankers -- yes, and all generals and all admirals and all officers and all politicians and all government office holders -- everyone in the nation be restricted to a total monthly income not to exceed that paid to the soldier in the trenches!

Let all these kings and tycoons and masters of business and all those workers in industry and all our senators and governors and majors pay half of their monthly $30 wage to their families and pay war risk insurance and buy Liberty Bonds.

Why shouldn't they?

They aren't running any risk of being killed or of having their bodies mangled or their minds shattered. They aren't sleeping in muddy trenches. They aren't hungry. The soldiers are!

Give capital and industry and labor thirty days to think it over and you will find, by that time, there will be no war. That will smash the war racket -- that and nothing else.

Maybe I am a little too optimistic. Capital still has some say. So capital won't permit the taking of the profit out of war until the people -- those who do the suffering and still pay the price -- make up their minds that those they elect to office shall do their bidding, and not that of the profiteers.

Another step necessary in this fight to smash the war racket is the limited plebiscite to determine whether a war should be declared. A plebiscite not of all the voters but merely of those who would be called upon to do the fighting and dying. There wouldn't be very much sense in having a 76-year-old president of a munitions factory or the flat-footed head of an international banking firm or the cross-eyed manager of a uniform manufacturing plant -- all of whom see visions of tremendous profits in the event of war -- voting on whether the nation should go to war or not. They never would be called upon to shoulder arms -- to sleep in a trench and to be shot. Only those who would be called upon to risk their lives for their country should have the privilege of voting to determine whether the nation should go to war.

There is ample precedent for restricting the voting to those affected. Many of our states have restrictions on those permitted to vote. In most, it is necessary to be able to read and write before you may vote. In some, you must own property. It would be a simple matter each year for the men coming of military age to register in their communities as they did in the draft during the World War and be examined physically. Those who could pass and who would therefore be called upon to bear arms in the event of war would be eligible to vote in a limited plebiscite. They should be the ones to have the power to decide -- and not a Congress few of whose members are within the age limit and fewer still of whom are in physical condition to bear arms. Only those who must suffer should have the right to vote.

A third step in this business of smashing the war racket is to make certain that our military forces are truly forces for defense only.

At each session of Congress the question of further naval appropriations comes up. The swivel-chair admirals of Washington (and there are always a lot of them) are very adroit lobbyists. And they are smart. They don't shout that "We need a lot of battleships to war on this nation or that nation." Oh no. First of all, they let it be known that America is menaced by a great naval power. Almost any day, these admirals will tell you, the great fleet of this supposed enemy will strike suddenly and annihilate 125,000,000 people. Just like that. Then they begin to cry for a larger navy. For what? To fight the enemy? Oh my, no. Oh, no. For defense purposes only.

Then, incidentally, they announce maneuvers in the Pacific. For defense. Uh, huh.

The Pacific is a great big ocean. We have a tremendous coastline on the Pacific. Will the maneuvers be off the coast, two or three hundred miles? Oh, no. The maneuvers will be two thousand, yes, perhaps even thirty-five hundred miles, off the coast.

The Japanese, a proud people, of course will be pleased beyond expression to see the united States fleet so close to Nippon's shores. Even as pleased as would be the residents of California were they to dimly discern through the morning mist, the Japanese fleet playing at war games off Los Angeles.

The ships of our navy, it can be seen, should be specifically limited, by law, to within 200 miles of our coastline. Had that been the law in 1898 the Maine would never have gone to Havana Harbor. She never would have been blown up. There would have been no war with Spain with its attendant loss of life. Two hundred miles is ample, in the opinion of experts, for defense purposes. Our nation cannot start an offensive war if its ships can't go further than 200 miles from the coastline. Planes might be permitted to go as far as 500 miles from the coast for purposes of reconnaissance. And the army should never leave the territorial limits of our nation.

To summarize: Three steps must be taken to smash the war racket.

We must take the profit out of war.

We must permit the youth of the land who would bear arms to decide whether or not there should be war.

We must limit our military forces to home defense purposes.

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CHAPTER FIVE

To Hell With War!

I am not a fool as to believe that war is a thing of the past. I know the people do not want war, but there is no use in saying we cannot be pushed into another war.

Looking back, Woodrow Wilson was re-elected president in 1916 on a platform that he had "kept us out of war" and on the implied promise that he would "keep us out of war." Yet, five months later he asked Congress to declare war on Germany.

In that five-month interval the people had not been asked whether they had changed their minds. The 4,000,000 young men who put on uniforms and marched or sailed away were not asked whether they wanted to go forth to suffer and die.

Then what caused our government to change its mind so suddenly?

Money.

An allied commission, it may be recalled, came over shortly before the war declaration and called on the President. The President summoned a group of advisers. The head of the commission spoke. Stripped of its diplomatic language, this is what he told the President and his group:

"There is no use kidding ourselves any longer. The cause of the allies is lost. We now owe you (American bankers, American munitions makers, American manufacturers, American speculators, American exporters) five or six billion dollars.

If we lose (and without the help of the United States we must lose) we, England, France and Italy, cannot pay back this money . . . and Germany won't.

So . . . "

Had secrecy been outlawed as far as war negotiations were concerned, and had the press been invited to be present at that conference, or had radio been available to broadcast the proceedings, America never would have entered the World War. But this conference, like all war discussions, was shrouded in utmost secrecy. When our boys were sent off to war they were told it was a "war to make the world safe for democracy" and a "war to end all wars."

Well, eighteen years after, the world has less of democracy than it had then. Besides, what business is it of ours whether Russia or Germany or England or France or Italy or Austria live under democracies or monarchies? Whether they are Fascists or Communists? Our problem is to preserve our own democracy.

And very little, if anything, has been accomplished to assure us that the World War was really the war to end all wars.

Yes, we have had disarmament conferences and limitations of arms conferences. They don't mean a thing. One has just failed; the results of another have been nullified. We send our professional soldiers and our sailors and our politicians and our diplomats to these conferences. And what happens?

The professional soldiers and sailors don't want to disarm. No admiral wants to be without a ship. No general wants to be without a command. Both mean men without jobs. They are not for disarmament. They cannot be for limitations of arms. And at all these conferences, lurking in the background but all-powerful, just the same, are the sinister agents of those who profit by war. They see to it that these conferences do not disarm or seriously limit armaments.

The chief aim of any power at any of these conferences has not been to achieve disarmament to prevent war but rather to get more armament for itself and less for any potential foe.

There is only one way to disarm with any semblance of practicability. That is for all nations to get together and scrap every ship, every gun, every rifle, every tank, every war plane. Even this, if it were possible, would not be enough.

The next war, according to experts, will be fought not with battleships, not by artillery, not with rifles and not with machine guns. It will be fought with deadly chemicals and gases.

Secretly each nation is studying and perfecting newer and ghastlier means of annihilating its foes wholesale. Yes, ships will continue to be built, for the shipbuilders must make their profits. And guns still will be manufactured and powder and rifles will be made, for the munitions makers must make their huge profits. And the soldiers, of course, must wear uniforms, for the manufacturer must make their war profits too.

But victory or defeat will be determined by the skill and ingenuity of our scientists.

If we put them to work making poison gas and more and more fiendish mechanical and explosive instruments of destruction, they will have no time for the constructive job of building greater prosperity for all peoples. By putting them to this useful job, we can all make more money out of peace than we can out of war -- even the munitions makers.

So...I say,

TO HELL WITH WAR!