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THE REVOLUTION OF EVERYDAY LIFE - VANEIGEM
It has been quite correctly written: "China faces gigantic
economic problems; for her, productivity is a matter of life and
death." Nobody would dream of denying it. What seems important
to me is not the economic imperatives, but the manner of responding
to them. The Red Army in 1917 was a new kind of organization.
The Red Army in 1960 is an army such as is found in capitalist
countries. Circumstances have shown that its effectiveness has
been far below the potential of a revolutionary militia. In the
same way, the planned Chinese economy, by refusing to allow federated
groups to organize their work autonomously, condemns itself to
become another example of the perfected form of capitalism called
socialism. Has anyone bothered to study the modes of work of primitive
peoples, the importance of play and creativity, the incredible
yield obtained by methods which the application of modern technology
would make a hundred times more efficient? Obviously not. Every
appeal for productivity comes from above. But only creativity
is spontaneously rich. It is not from 'productivity' that a full
life is to be expected, it is not 'productivity' that will produce
an enthusiastic collective response to economic needs. But what
can we say when we know how the cult of work is honoured from
Cuba to China, and how well the virtuous pages of Guizot would
sound in a May Day speech?
To the extent that automation and cybernetics foreshadow the massive
replacement of workers by mechanical slaves, forced labour is
revealed as belonging purely to the barbaric practices needed
to maintain order. Thus power manufactures the dose of fatigue
necessary for the passive assimilation of its televised diktats.
What carrot is worth working for, after this? The game is up;
there is nothing to lose anymore, not even an illusion. The organization
of work and the organization of leisure are the blades of the
castrating shears whose job is to improve the race of fawning
dogs. One day, will we see strikers, demanding automation and
a ten-hour week, choosing, instead of picketing, to make love
in the factories, the offices and the culture centres? Only the
planners, the managers, the union bosses and the sociologists
would be surprised and worried. Not without reason; after all,
their skin is at stake. VI. DECOMPRESSION AND THE THIRD FORCE
Until now, tyranny has merely changed hands. In their common
respect for rulers, antagonistic powers have always fostered the
seeds of their future coexistence. (When the leader of the game
takes the power of a Leader, the revolution dies with the revolutionaries.)
Unresolved antagonisms fester, hiding real contradictions. Decompression
is the permanent control of both antagonists by the ruling class.
The third force radicalizes contradictions and leads to their
supersession, in the name of individual freedom and against all
forms of constraint. Power has no option but to smash or incorporate
the third force without admitting its existence.
To sum up. Millions of men lived in a huge building with no doors
or windows. The feeble light of countless oil lamps competed with
the unchanging darkness. As had been the custom since remotest
antiquity, the upkeep of the lamps was the duty of the poor, so
that the flow of oil followed the alternation of revolt and pacification.
One day a general insurrection broke out, the most violent that
this people had ever known. Its leaders demanded a fair allotment
of the costs of lighting; a large number of revolutionaries said
that what they considered a public utility should be free; a few
extremists went so far as to clamour for the destruction of the
building, which they claimed was unhealthy, even unfit for human
habitation. As usual, the more reasonable combatants found themselves
helpless before the violence of the conflict. During a particularly
lively clash with the forces of order, a stray bullet pierced
the outer wall, leaving a crack through which daylight streamed
in. After a moment of stupor, this flood of light was greeted
with cries of victory. The solution had been found: all they had
to do was to make some more holes. The lamps were thrown away
or put in museums, and power fell to the window makers. The partisans
of radical destruction were forgotten, and even their discreet
liquidation, it seems, went almost unnoticed. (Everyone was arguing
about the number and position of the windows.) Then, a century
or two later, their names were remembered, when the people, that
eternal malcontent, had grown accustomed to plate-glass windows,
and took to asking extravagant questions. To drag out our days
in a greenhouse, is that living?" they asked.
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