Читать книгу Decolonizing Anarchism - Maia Ramnath - Страница 3

The impulse for this intervention was twofold: to bring an anarchist approach to anticolonialism, and an anticolonial approach to anarchism. I tackle the first by addressing practices of historiography and active solidarity. Both interventions are linked through the need to know other histories besides the familiar European/North American one. Furthermore, recognizing those other histories as relevant to the anarchist tradition means seeing anarchism as one instance of a polymorphous engagement with certain key questions and issues, as one manifestation of a larger family of egalitarian and emancipatory principles.

The seeds for this writing were planted over a decade of involvement with global economic justice, antiwar, and Palestine solidarity work, all framed as part of an anti-imperialist analysis, and then fertilized during the better part of a year spent studying in India, 2006–7. It wasn’t my first trip to my father’s country of origin, and it wouldn’t be my last, as I hoped eventually to spend a significant amount of time there each year. With this in mind I set out to try to find my closest political counterparts and get a sense of where I might someday fit in the terrain of social movement activity. It quickly became clear that there was no simple one-to-one correspondence with the radical spectrum familiar to me in the United States. The histories and contexts were too different; the trajectories of the vocabulary too weighted with mutually illegible baggage. Sub- and countercultures as well as oppositional movements only have meaning when embedded in and against their ­respective hegemonic mainstreams, which are in turn deeply embedded in history, geography, and global political economy. This renders direct translation impossible.

Thus there was no group or formation that would be a perfect match for my U.S. political profile, and in any case it would be misguided—colonialist, you could say—to expect one. So the question shifted from “Where/who are my political counterparts?” to “What political niche makes sense for me here (as the half-breed, rootless-cosmopolitan, déclassé-intelligentsia, self-described anarchist daughter of a thoroughly acculturated, diasporic professional)?” My relationship to this context was that of a peculiar traveling cousin, neither an outsider nor a native, enjoying access but not total belonging. Based on the questions being asked and analysis made, issues raised and stances taken, ­organizing principles espoused and critiques rendered of the mainline Left party (or parties), I found some aspects of affinity with some sectors, and other aspects with others. These sectors would never see eye to eye with each other, however, and indeed are often positioned as radical opponents, never the twain to meet. Yet the seeming polarity was in reality masking a range of critical variants being voiced within each category. To me the synthesis seemed perfectly logical because of my idiosyncratic angle of vision, free of entanglement in the intermovement dynamics that seemed to overdetermine any statement so that a critique of entity X would by implication align you with entity Y, within a fixed arrangement of alternatives.

In India, when I hear people use terms like anarchism, anarchist, and anarchistic, they are usually referring either to violent, nihilistic chaos or competitive, free market individualism. It stands to reason, then, that the terminology is used disapprovingly by leftists and Left-liberal progressive types, and approvingly by postmodern academics and self-indulgent, capitalist entrepreneurs. The implied opposite is top-down centralized state planning of the sort that was instituted through the Nehruvian social democracy that officially dominated Indian society until the liberalization of the early 1990s (though already undermined by the Emergency period of authoritarian crackdown in the mid-1970s). Despite its stated goals of redistributive justice, this system became in practice a byword for inefficiency and unwieldy bureaucracy.

If engaged in an appropriately complex yet amicable political discussion, I might point out that the contrary of top-down organization and concentrated power is not the absence of organization but rather a different form of decentralized, participatory organization in which power is dispersed. I might suggest that the alternatives to a state-controlled economy include not just neoliberal free market capitalism (which far from representing an escape from the state, actually depends on favorable state policies) but also some form of nonstate socialism built on an overlapping network of self-run syndicates and collectives.

Most often, though, there doesn’t seem to be much point in quibbling. Why force my vocabulary into a place where it doesn’t make sense, using words that will inevitably trigger referents and associations that are far from what I am trying to communicate? Even in explaining this project to people in Indian social movement and scholarly contexts I’ve hesitated to use the words, because whenever I did, due to an accepted sediment of meanings and associations, it led directly into miscomprehension of what I was trying to do. If the concern is with content and meaning rather than with labels, it is better to scrap any attachment I have to a terminology from another context and seek a ­different shared vocabulary for the principles to be ­discussed, the problems to be solved.

And what are these principles, these problems? My political, ethical, and intellectual worlds have long orbited a binary star of anarchism and anticolonialism. The attempt to explain their relationship has a double implication: in how an anarchist perspective affects our understanding of a history of anticolonialism, and in how an anticolonial ­perspective affects our understanding of a history of anarchism.

Regarding the first, standard nationalist history tells one story of decolonization. There are others, and they are still unfolding. In these stories, the achievement of a national state was not the endpoint of liberation, and its inherited institutions not the proper vehicle. The elimination of the British government left incomplete the task of ending injustice and inequity. The postcolonial state, insufficient at best, at its worst actually perpetuated the same kinds of oppression and exploitation carried out by colonial rule, but now in the name of the nation.

I should emphasize that what I am not doing here is looking for anarchism in South Asia (although I do sometimes find it), staking out territorial claims with a red-and-black flag. Rather, I am exploring a slice of South Asian history through the lens of an anarchist analysis. In doing so, what becomes visible or legible, what is foregrounded or emphasized, that may otherwise seem to defy logic or simply be overlooked? What in India’s counterhistory does this shed light on—what forgotten but not lost possibilities? Where and in what form do I recognize certain questions being asked, certain concerns being addressed, that I as an anarchist share—for example, regarding the role of the state, the nature of industrial development, or attitudes toward modern rationalism? How and in what terms do people embedded in this particular history generate theory and praxis regarding those questions and concerns? Where do I see intersections, articulations, or direct points of contact with the Western anarchist tradition? Why is there a recurring linkage made (in praise and condemnation alike) between anarchism and certain elements of an Indian social movement history, such as the militant wing of the freedom struggle from 1905 to the 1930s, or the postindependence offshoots of Gandhism? Without either taking the equation at face value (given the questionable usage of the word) or dismissing it as groundless (given its persistence), can we identify just what affinities and analogies are being sensed whenever the linkage is made?

This leads to the second implication, which has to do not just with anarchism’s role in decolonization but also with decolonizing our concept of anarchism itself. That means that instead of always trying to construct a strongly anarcha-centric cosmology—conceptually appropriating movements and voices from elsewhere in the world as part of “our” tradition, and then measuring them against how much or little we think they resemble our notion of our own values—we could locate the Western anarchist tradition as one contextually specific manifestation among a larger—indeed global—tradition of antiauthoritarian, egalitarian thought/praxis, of a universal human urge (if I dare say such a thing) toward emancipation, which also occurs in many other forms in many other contexts. Something else is then the reference point for us, instead of us being the reference point for everything else. This is a deeply ­decolonizing move.

This is perhaps where I need to make a distinction between the concept of anarchism and the Circle-A brand. The big A covers a specific part of the Western Left tradition dating from key ideological debates in the mid-nineteenth century and factional rivalries in the International Working Men’s Association. It peaked worldwide in the early twentieth century among radical networks that consciously ­embraced the label while nevertheless encompassing multiple interpretations and emphases within it. Genealogically related to both democratic republicanism and utopian socialism, the big A opposed not only capitalism but also the centralized state along with all other systems of ­concentrated power and hierarchy. It bore echoes of earlier radical egalitarian, libertarian, and millenarian movements as well, with their carnivalesque upendings of rank and social norms, and upholding of a pre- or noncapitalist moral economy. These in turn resonated through later Romantic reactions against an excess of Enlightenment positivism, bemoaning the psychic disenchantment as much as the ­material exploitation wrought by industrial capitalism.

With a small a, the word anarchism implies a set of ­assumptions and principles, a recurrent tendency or orientation—with the stress on movement in a direction, not a perfected condition—toward more dispersed and less concentrated power; less top-down hierarchy and more self-­determination through bottom-up participation; liberty and equality seen as directly rather than inversely proportional; the nurturance of individuality and diversity within a matrix of interconnectivity, mutuality, and ­accountability; and an expansive recognition of the various forms that power relations can take, and correspondingly, the various dimensions of emancipation. This ­tendency, when it becomes conscious, motivates people to oppose or subvert the structures that generate and sustain inequity, unfreedom, and injustice, and to promote or prefigure the structures that generate and sustain equity, freedom, and justice.

These tendencies, culturally inflected, are certainly present within South Asian history. There is a long tradition, for instance, of radical egalitarianism and subversion of authority, celebrated in the (Muslim) sufi and (Hindu) bhakti movements immortalized through mystical poetry since the thirteenth century. Sikhism was originally founded as an attempt to counter caste hierarchy and religious division through synthesis and egalitarian social relations. The birth and evolution of Buddhism too (along with certain branches of Vedanta) placed a rational and antihierarchical philosophy at the heart of India’s intellectual heritage, countering the Orientalist portrait of Indian culture as essentially defined by hierarchy, ­autocracy, and unreason.[1]

In this case, those seeking counterparts or solidarities might be guided not by Anarchism but instead by that broader principle, tendency, or orientation of which Western anarchism is one derivation or subset. The Liberty Tree is a great banyan, whose branches cross and weave, touching earth in many places to form a horizontal, interconnected grove of new trunks.

Some of the touchdown points are in the mutually informing three sections that organize this book. The first section further explores some of these theoretical issues at the nexus of anarchism and anticolonialism. The second is a series of historical chapters focusing on intersections between the Western anarchist tradition and the tapestry of Indian anticolonialism. Such crisscrossings occurred during the peak of propaganda of the deed, a popular tactic for anarchists, nihilists, and radical nationalists alike; at the international high point of syndicalism, linking issues of immigrant labor to an analysis of colonial relationships; and in the presence of critical voices within the development of organized world Communism until defined out by schism or purge. My hope is that the specifics of this history may be one point of access to more generally ­applicable questions.

The sketches I offer of an alternate history of anticolonialism aren’t complete and certainly don’t solve all problems. This narrative is still dominated by the overwhelming presence of male, upper-caste voices, whereas any truly ­antiauthoritarian, antihierarchical history of India—whether writing or enacting it—has to confront the malignant ­realities of caste and patriarchy. Yet this is not a history of caste or patriarchy, or the movements to dismantle the structures of oppression based on them. So for the purposes of this project, it seemed better to offer what is actually there rather than to simply condemn or discard the record on ­account of what isn’t there—and then continue the efforts it chronicles to broaden and deepen liberation, in practice. (It is crucial to remember that no would-be emancipatory movement, regardless of its primary focus, can afford not to take ubiquitous caste inequities into consideration in its own goals and process, in much the same way that North American movements have to maintain their awareness of race.)

The third section’s intervention is an attempt to contribute to the conversation on how we go about practices of solidarity. This section also changed considerably during the writing process. As I said, one motivation for this book was the quest for counterparts, for affinity. This means asking, even if the form of anarchism I practice and speak doesn’t necessarily translate. Who is addressing the issues that anarchists address, identifying the structures of power that anarchists identify, utilizing methods and processes that anarchists recognize? How does one behave toward them? How does one participate in global anticolonial struggles? In this sense, the third section is a series of ­proposals, and an invitation to others to elaborate on them.

Finally, I need to offer a note on geographic limits. I originally meant to define this project as South Asian rather than merely Indian. But as most of the material I was working with pertained to India, it seemed better to call it what it was than to subsume the whole region within an unacknowledged Indian hegemony—which often happens, a primary example of postcolonial neocolonialism. It would be ideal to expand my exploration to a truly South Asian scope, but that effort will take a lot longer. In the meantime, I focus here on India. When I’m speaking of India during the colonial period, however, this also includes areas that later became part of Pakistan and Bangladesh. Nevertheless, I continue to use the term India when referring to the independence struggle before the partition, as both efficient and period appropriate.

Acknowledgments

Special thanks to Joshua Stephens and Jude Ortiz for astute comments on early drafts; Cindy Milstein, Josh MacPhee, and Favianna Rodriguez for the gift of your skills; Jai Sen, Subah Dayal, Suzanne Schultz, Tyler Williams, Lex Bhagat, and the members of the organizing collectives of South Asia Solidarity Initiative, Adalah-NY, and New York City’s Anarchist People of Color (APOC), for inspiring me and catalyzing my thinking in some ways you intended, and many other ways that you probably didn’t expect—for which I take full responsibility. Finally I owe a debt to Raymond Williams, for eternal guidance on the importance of thinking through words and meanings.