Several months ago, a few of us working around Marxism and sexuality discovered the publication, in 1970, of a book titled Sexuality and the Class Struggle, by Reimut Reiche. We were intrigued. Here was a book, apparently from the height of the radicalisation of the 1960s, which dealt with these issues from a Marxist perspective. Yet none of us had heard of it. Why had it vanished from view? This piece is an attempt to answer that question – if you like, a brief book review of a text published almost fifty years ago.
Reiche’s book was published in English, by Verso, in 1970. However, this text was translated from a German version written in the winter of 1967-68 (the image above shows the German mass-market paperback edition). How this fits with the chronology of the period is of key importance: the book essentially predates the development of the Women’s Liberation and Gay Liberation movements. For example, the protest at the Miss America beauty contest, which did much to raise awareness of women’s liberation in the US and internationally, took place in September 1968, while the Stonewall riots happened in June 1969. Now, these events didn’t come out of nothing. Drag queens/trans women had already fought the cops in the Compton’s Cafeteria Riot of August 1966 in the Tenderloin district of San Francisco, and activists were referring the same year to the notion of “gay power”. Initial organisation of women’s groups started in 1967– a publication from the spring of 1968 was entitled “Notes from the First Year”. The politics of both these movements reflected those of the much larger and better established movement for civil rights/black power. They took for granted that the fight against oppression was, centrally, the task of oppressed groups themselves – this, largely because of the sexism and homophobia of much of the American left at the time – and rooted their political practice in personal experience.
Reiche thus had the misfortune to write a book about sexuality just before some of the key events took place which have shaped left understanding of these issues since. He is also writing before the completely unexpected explosion of May 1968, when students raised barricades in the centre of Paris and a general strike caused the French president, Charles de Gaulle, to temporarily flee the country to Germany. The question facing the left became “revolution is on the agenda – how should we take it forward?” But before then, the question through the 1950s and 60s had been “workers aren’t fighting – they seem to have been bought off by the spread of consumer goods like fridges and washing machines – how should the left respond?”
This is the political context in which Reiche finds himself: a few student struggles have happened, but most young workers desire to be “respectable” and reject students as “layabouts”. He turns, for an account of sexuality and of society more generally, to the ideas of Herbert Marcuse, hugely influential in the 1960s. The Frankfurt School, to which Marcuse belonged, had initially developed in Germany between the wars, and had sought to explain why workers were not doing more to fight capitalism and in particular fascism. They developed an account of society which combined the ideas of Marx and Freud, and suggested that workers didn’t oppose the bosses or the Nazis because many of them found some subconscious gratification in acceptance of elements of capitalism or fascism. After the Nazi seizure of power members of the school were exiled to America, and here they developed a similar analysis of 1950s consumerism, which they found similar in some ways to German fascism. In this view, workers were getting enough satisfaction from American capitalism that they would not fight back. This is very much how Reiche talks of 1960s Germany – indeed, he describes the German ruling class as almost infinitely capable of manipulating workers’ thinking, via advertising and the media, to suit its own needs.
If there is little we can do to change the world, at least we can understand it, and describe how things could be better. Here Reiche relies on a Freudian account of the development of sexuality through oral, anal, phallic and genital stages. What Marx there is in the book comes mostly via Marcuse and Wilhelm Reich, but there is a great deal more Freud. Socialism, Reiche suggests, will be characterised in Freudian terms by the disappearance of the superego as regards society in general, and the typically achievement of “full genitality” when it comes to sex. Homosexuality will be accepted, but perversions, however defined, will die out. What does this mean in practice in the Germany of 1968? Reiche opposes utopian attempts to institute communal living, where people try to free themselves from bourgeois ideas about sex while capitalism remains completely dominant – for example, by rejecting monogamy. Yet it’s unclear what practical alternative he proposes, and his method seems strangely abstract, compared to the approaches rooted in personal experience which we’re now used to.
None of this is to reject Sexuality and Class Struggle completely. Reiche repeatedly refers, for example, to Marcuse’s concept of “repressive desublimation” – rather than seeking to repress sexuality as they had earlier, in this view, the ruling class made certain commodified forms of sex more available so as to win workers’ acceptance of capitalism. It’s a view that it would be interesting to reassess in the light of the even greater commodification of sexuality we’ve seen in the last fifty years. But the basic problem of Reiche’s writing is that it was written before the world, quite unpredictably and dramatically, changed so that his book is now more of historical interest than anything else.
The exhibition “Queer British Art” at Tate Britain highlights the many different ways LGBT people have made art, and made liveable lives for themselves
(until 1 October, details here)
At the point when I came across Noel Coward’s dressing gown in a glass case, I had my doubts about Queer British Art. I’d already seen sentimental Victorian versions of ancient Greece, portraits of famous forebears and now a famous thespian’s clothing. Had the curators just gathered together any old thing related to LGBT people and put it on show? And there may be some element of that. But there’s still something important and deeply moving about this somewhat random collection of artworks and mementos.
A fifteenth-century prayer book shows bearded father of the church St Jerome wearing the clothing you’d associate with a noblewoman. What’s going on?
Around 1400 Jean de Berry, a French nobleman, commissioned a sumptuously illustrated prayer book, the Belles Heures, today recognised as a masterpiece of its period. One of its illustrations concerns Saint Jerome, one of the most respected of saints. The illustration is in two parts. On the right, Jerome sleeps in a small room while another monk carries a garment of bright blue, a striking contrast with the dull colours of the monk’s habit and the blankets on Jerome’s bed. Then, in the image on the left, Jerome – identified by his beard and saintly halo – is wearing the blue garment in the chapel. It turns out to be the kind of dress women in this period wore, with a tight waist and sleeves and a full, trailing skirt. Two monks seem to be having a conversation about what Jerome is doing, and are possibly laughing at him.
On the day of the huge worldwide women’s protests against Trump, the new US president accused the media of underplaying the numbers at his inauguration. There’s a point where ruling-class self-confidence has the potential to become a liability, and this doesn’t bode well for Trump’s future.
Donald Trump and his team are angry at media reports of the numbers who attended the inauguration. Trump yesterday visited the CIA – an agency he has compared with the state in Nazi Germany – to declare his support. Standing in front of a monument dedicated “in honour of those members of the Central Intelligence Agency who gave their lives in the service of their country” he spoke at length about himself. The media had said the numbers in the National Mall were small: in fact, he claimed, there were a million, or a million and a half people. God had intervened, Trump continued, to stop the rain which had begun to fall at the start of the speech.
Guapa is the story of Rasa, a young man in an unnamed Arab country. In the first pages he awakens to recall the disastrous night before, when his grandmother caught him in bed with another man in the apartment he shares with her. How men who love other men make lives for themselves in Middle Eastern countries is inseparable in the novel, however, from wider social and political questions. Rasa has been involved in huge protests against the dictatorial president as part of his country’s Arab Spring. For a short, optimistic period real freedom seemed possible. But the decline of those protests has left behind it a choice between the regime and an Islamist opposition, both repressive in their different ways.
I never thought I would feel the slightest sympathy for Keith Vaz. The parliamentary watchdog twice found he had received money without declaring it; he was sacked over his relationship with the wealthy Hinduja brothers; he was suspended from parliament for making false allegations about a woman who had accused him of corruption; and he claimed tens of thousands in expenses for a Westminster flat when he lived 45 minutes away in Stanmore. If you want to know why so many people hold politicians in contempt, you have only to look at Vaz’s career.
But Vaz has fallen not over (alleged) corruption, but over sex with two East European escorts who also supplied poppers – “the sex-enhancing drug used by gay men” as the Guardian helpfully explains to its readers. Now, maybe we should think of this as the exposure of a cynical, hypocritical individual who pretended respectability. There’s a pleasure in possessing the moral high ground – I’ve already seen a friend of a friend on Facebook taking the view that she could never feel any sympathy for someone who bought sex.
While the attention of many people has understandably been focused on Turkey in the last few days, it’s worth looking at how the French government and the media in France and Britain are talking about Nice, because it’s bizarre and disturbing.
It remains unclear what motivated Mohamed Lahouaiej-Bouhlel to kill dozens of people. But the Guardianreports that, according to his father, he “had undergone psychiatric treatment in the past, and was unstable and sometimes violent.” (It’s worth saying that very few people experiencing mental distress become violent.) There are reports that he was “known to the police” for various offences, including domestic violence (here we should note that Omar Mateen, who carried out the shooting in Orlando, also had a track record of domestic violence). No one has found any connection between Lahouaiej-Bouhlel and religion, let alone faith-based groupings in the Middle East such as Isis – it seems that he never went to mosque, drank alcohol and took no interest in religion. It may be that religion or racism played some part in his motivation, but there is so far no evidence for this.
No one will dispute that the EU is a big story in the British media at the moment. Except, well, it is and it isn’t. A major crisis may be about to engulf the Italian economy because of EU economic policy, and it’s not being reported. It’s possible that both sides of mainstream opinion have their reasons for ignoring the story – UKIP-style Leave supporters are only bothered about what happens on “the continent” when it involves Brits who have moved to Spain, while the official Remain campaign are pretty much in love with the EU ruling class, and the fact that just these people are about to trash Italy is the last thing they want to hear.
This is very easy to make, keeps well, and is both moist and delicious. You can eat it as a cake, or you could also serve it as a pudding with vanilla ice cream. I took one to work, where it was very popular – a colleague has already made it twice!
On my way to work, I walk past a house where someone has put up in the window a hand-written sign about the referendum. It calls on us all to reject petty nationalism and regard ourselves as Europeans. Certainly, I’m very happy to reject the racism of Nigel Farage. I strongly suspect that if I met the poster’s author I’d get on better with them than with someone who had put a UKIP poster in their window. But immediately I saw the poster, I also felt wary of embracing “Europe” in the name of the fight against racism. For one thing, when I get to work most of my colleagues there are people of South Asian, African or Caribbean heritage. I’ve had the great privilege of discovering from them – as we chat about a family funeral in Nigeria or floods in Gujarat – a world much wider than Europe, which is the world that most people on the planet live in.
“Europe” is an odd and relatively recent notion. It’s plainly an arbitrary designation. Looking at the map, you see that Africa, Australia or the Americas are separated from other continents by the ocean. The western end of the Eurasian landmass is regarded as a continent in its own right, yet its eastern boundary consists of a cobbled-together mixture, as Wikipedia puts it, of “the watershed divides of the Ural and Caucasus Mountains, the Ural River, the Caspian and Black Seas, and the waterways of the Turkish Straits.”
From a historical perspective, we are often encouraged to see Greece as the heroic founders of European culture. It’s generally known that Athenian democracy was available only to an elite of citizens and excluded up to ninety per cent of the population. But it’s just as problematic to see ancient Greece as “European”. As early as the eighth century BCE, as shown in the map on the right, Greeks had emigrated to countries around the Mediterranean, including locations in what is now Italy, Turkey and even Ukraine. The key conflict of the fifth century was a series of wars between allied Greek city-states and Persia. Alexander the Great had established by the time of his death in 323 a series of territories which stretched as far as what is now Afghanistan, and which were later absorbed into the Roman Empire. In all this, Greece is at the Western end of a group of civilisations located between the eastern end of the Mediterranean, the Caspian Sea and the Persian Gulf. It is not at the south-eastern corner of something called Europe.
If the Greeks weren’t Europeans, how about the Romans? On the one hand, a map of the Roman Empire at its height includes land which today forms Spain, France or England – on the other hand, Ireland, Scotland, much of Germany and all of Scandinavia are excluded. More importantly the Roman Empire was essentially based around the shores of the Mediterranean, including North Africa, what are now Palestine and Turkey, and stretching as far as the Persian Gulf.
As late as the Middle Ages, then, for “Europeans” civilisation was essentially a Mediterranean and Middle Eastern affair. For example, in the fourteenth century Chaucer includes in his description of Canterbury pilgrims a learned physician: he lists all the authors this man has read. If you mark on a map where all these people come from, you see that, apart from two token Brits, it’s the shores of the Mediterranean – including the southern shore – and the Middle East. One of them is Ibn Rushd, known in Europe as Averroes, born in Córdoba in what is now Spain but what was then the Muslim territory of Al Andalus. Córdoba was at this point by far the largest and most developed city in what became Europe, with Muslims, Jews and Christians living together and sharing facilities such as street lighting and public baths. The library of al-Hakam II, the caliph from 961 to 976, was said to include some 400,000 volumes at a time when the library at the monastery of Ripoll in Catalonia held a comparatively miserable 192.
The state of affairs that had continued for two thousand years – that the countries of northern Europe were peripheral to the development of human civilisation – came to an end around the eighteenth century. Historians continue to debate how such a momentous change occurred. But there can be little doubt that the rise of Europe was a disaster for large numbers of people around the world. The enslavement of over twelve million African people was conducted at the instigation of European businesses, a business on the back of which Liverpool and Nantes, among others, grew into great cities. As Mike Davis records in his book Late Victorian Holocausts, famine in India led to the deaths of up to 29 million people between 1876 and 1902 – yet in 1877 over 17,000 tons of grain were exported from India to the UK. Not, of course, that European rulers killed only non-Europeans. Britain continued to export food from Ireland during the Great Famine of 1845-52, in which around a million people died. The Nazis killed six million Jews and millions more people in an industrialised mass murder without parallel in history.
We have to bear all this in mind when we read the following, from the speech Michael Cashman gave yesterday, Saturday 2 July, at the end of the pro-Europe demo in London:
We need to uphold the values of democracy and inclusiveness which are at the heart of the EU and this country. We must not let rightwing, narrow-minded nationalism nor xenophobia define us. We are better than that. I honestly believe the disinformation in this campaign has undermined our democracy. Decent British values are also the values of the European Union.
Cashman’s attempt to conflate the struggle against racism with “decent British values” and European “democracy and inclusiveness” are completely unconvincing in the context of both history and the present. That’s true of Britain, where Prevent seeks to demonise Muslims, but also valid when you consider what the EU means in practice. Médecins Sans Frontières reported last month, for example, that 2,800 people have lost their lives in 2016 alone attempting to enter Fortress Europe via the Mediterranean, and that 50,000 people are stranded in Greece, 8,000 of them in camps with inadequate facilities. Three months ago, Turkish border guards, acting as the agents of the EU, were reported to be shooting dead Syrian refugees attempting to enter Turkey.
The involvement of Turkey in EU borders policy is part of a broader pattern. In 2013, for example, the Moroccan government signed an agreement with the EU which, according to the European Commission press release, was “designed to ensure that the movement of persons is managed as effectively as possible.” The deal allowed European visas to be issued more easily for certain Moroccan citizens, such as “students, researchers and business professionals”, while also paving the way for “an agreement for the return of irregular migrants.” The European ruling class is using its economic muscle to do deals which allow it to select the migrants it wants – the students and business professionals who it hopes will contribute to the profitability of European capitalism – while kicking out the people seeking to travel to Europe out of desperation to live better lives, and making neighbouring non-European countries into its proxies. The agreement reached in March between EU heads of state and the Turkish government also involves the EU’s leverage of its economic power – in exchange for Turkey acting as a proxy EU border guard, more European visas will become available to Turkish citizens. So, if we are to assert freedom of movement for migrants as well as capital, we must demand an end to borders – and we cannot do so while supporting the EU.
The identification of support for the EU with internationalism recalls a pattern which has developed in the last twenty years, that of the misuse of such goals as internationalism, democracy or the liberation of women in the name of the imperialist powers that be. The wars in Afghanistan and Iraq were promoted as “humanitarian” interventions that supported democracy. Back in 2001, American First Lady Laura Bush made a high-profile statement condemning the treatment of women in Afghanistan as part of the justification for war in that country. Fifteen years on, the gap between rhetoric and reality there is striking. But there is a similar gap between reality and rhetoric when it comes to the EU ruling class. These are the people, after all, who pushed neoliberalism to the point where Greek hospitals have lacked even cotton wool and paper towels. In that context, it’s startling to read the rhetoric about relatively benign European rulers – that the TUC supports EU membership because “workplace rights [are] underpinned by EU law” or claims in the LGBT press that “the EU has transformed the lives of the LGBTI community.” Perhaps what’s most alarming in such claims is that they downplay what we’ve won through struggle – marching on Prides, for example, campaigning against Clause 28, building in trade union groups and, at a personal level, coming out at work and to family and friends – in favour of the assertion that we can rely on people committed to neoliberalism and imperialism to bring us liberation.
There is something, as it happens, distinctively European in this gap between rhetoric and reality: it goes back in the culture of the European ruling class to the Enlightenment of the seventeenth and eighteen centuries. There is much in the Enlightenment to admire – a belief in the possibility of changing and improving the world, the stress on the use of human reason, the rejection of such barbarities as the execution of witches and sodomites. These ideas found their political expression in events such as the American Declaration of Independence and the French Revolution. Yet, when Thomas Jefferson writes that “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal” the claim that all humans are of equal worth is not translated into reality. It does not apply to women, who did not have equal rights with men in the newly independent United States, and it did not apply to slaves, including those Jefferson himself owned.
This is not to reject the Enlightenment, but it is to say that there remains an ambiguity in its claims of universal freedom and equality – do they really apply to all, or only to elite, white males? – and that the debate remains open as to what those values mean in practice and how they can be truly realised. On the one hand, the slogan “liberty, equality, fraternity” is today mobilised as ideological support for a French state which forbids women with covered faces, mostly Muslims, from walking in the street (a racist prohibition which the EU did nothing to oppose). But a better understanding of the slogan appears in Robespierre’s response to French revolutionaries who worried that if they clarified whether the revolution had liberated slaves or not, France would lose its colonies – “Perish your colonies, if you are keeping them at that price.”
Finally, how does this broader context relate to the current situation? It means that we have to clearly distinguish ourselves from both the mainstream Leave and the mainstream Remain campaigns. The mainstream Leave campaign was racist, and the victory of the campaign it dominated has seen a five-fold increase since last Thursday in the levels of hate crimes. But standing up against racism, asserting a genuine internationalism, cannot mean standing with the EU ruling class, which is what the mainstream Remain campaign invites us to do. We need to recover the vision which existed in the anti-capitalist movement which regularly brought together workers and campaigners from across Europe to stage militant protests outside EU summits between 2000 and 2004, protests which made clear the need to link causes up from below and develop a vision, that “another world is possible”, which included issues from defending the environment to fighting racism.
One straightforward starting point is that we can build campaigns against racism and in support of migrants. We need a lively campaign, in the spirit of Rock against Racism, which not only opposes racism but makes a positive assertion of the value of a multicultural society that includes people from both Europe and all over the world. The pro-migrant protest in London the day after the referendum, and the coalition of groups that built it, could play a role in developing such a movement, which can bring together anti-racists whatever side they voted on.
A second point is that we need to discuss Europe more. The days following the referendum saw a banking crisis erupt in Italy. The Italian government’s desire to support banks saddled with bad debts came into conflict with EU rules forbidding such cash injections. By Thursday, the European Commission had retreated, allowing the Italian government to provide guarantees of up to €150 billion for its banks, plainly a colossal sum. I take it that the story reflects both the EU’s continuing attempts to limit intervention by state governments – in effect, Germany’s imposition of neoliberalism on Italy – and its eventual retreat from that stance. Or I could be mistaken. But what’s really striking is the almost complete failure of the British media to cover the story as it unfolded, in a week where the EU was making the headlines. British views on Europe on both sides of the Leave-Remain divide thus remain ill-informed and parochial.
Finally, what attitude do we take, not to those who led the Leave or Remain campaigns, but to those who voted either way, or supported those positions by going on demos like the one yesterday? The truth is that the radical left is small, and left campaigns had little traction on either side of the debate. Partly because of that, it feels as if we don’t have the information we’d need to analyse either group of voters – to what extent was the Leave vote a racist vote, to what extent an anti-elite vote, and to what extent a mixture of the two? to what extent was yesterday’s demo middle-class in composition – and is this really the key point, when anti-war demos in 2003 included plenty of middle-class folk with pious home-made placards? It seems to me, for example, that the meaning of the different votes varies from place to place. I live in London, where it can feel that almost all of the left voted Remain – but comrades who work or live elsewhere report that they saw a large, and non-racist, Leave vote.
The view of the EU and what you could call “European nationalism” that I’ve set out here led me to vote Leave last Thursday. I still think that was the best available option. I appreciate that other people, who share both my opposition to racism and my rejection of the EU ruling class, voted Remain or abstained, and of course they remain my comrades. We need to debate these issues, to struggle to make up for a decades-long failure to discuss the EU and what it actually means: fudging our genuine disagreements will get us nowhere. But it seems to me we can also agree, without fudging, on what we have to say to Leave and Remain voters. To Leave voters, we say, in effect, “if you voted as a protest against the neoliberal political class, we agree with you. But if you allow that protest to become mixed up with racism, you divide the opposition to the elites on ethnic lines and so make it easier for the powerful to continue to rule. Consistent opposition to the ruling class must involve consistent anti-racism.” To Remain voters, we say “if you voted as a protest against right-wing bigotry and racism, we agree with you. But if you allow that protest to get mixed up with an identification with the European ruling class, you’re siding with neoliberal forces that maintain a racist fortress Europe, and promote an austerity which forms the context for the growth of racism across the EU. Consistent anti-racism must involve consistent opposition to the ruling class.”
It seems to me that this is a principled basis both for activity – for beginning to build the anti-racist and pro-migrant movement we need, but also for socialists to come together around opposition to both racism and neoliberalism. The referendum divided us, by its nature, into two opposing camps, often bitterly hurling at each other the accusation that our opponents were siding with revolting forces. With much of the world’s ruling class in one camp, and UKIP and fascists in the other, there was a grain of truth in the claim on both sides. But only a grain of truth – what’s more worrying is that the left as a whole failed in the referendum to take the debate to a higher level than mutual accusations. Having those debates, as we campaign alongside voters whether they voted Leave or Remain, is the task before us now.