Tuesday the 8th – evening.
Roll a nice tight joint and pour out a glass of not-too-inexpensive Canadian rye whiskey, and do whatever it is you to do curl up into a big ball of “I-don’t-give-a-fuck-about-reality-anymore”. Hold onto your cats or your children and mourn the end of western democracy and fine delicate liberal sensibilities. The Canadian dollar is currently trading (on the Asian markets) at $1.35 US [edit: this appears to have stabilized now, more or less, despite the relative instability of global markets]. Pot may be the only sector of the United States economy still standing by the end of the week, with California and Massachusetts and a handful of other states voting pro-legalization in open-ballot initiatives, and mostly the entire population clamoring for an herbal reedy for the psychotic break their hallowed snake skin republic is currently collectively experiencing. (As it turns out only about 20% of Americans now live in green-free zones, but mass migration is never outside of the question where such crises are concerned).
My shares in this green capitalist venture on the TSX should fare relatively well, at least against the shaking and convulsing global market economy.
This unnaturally hot November evening in Victoria I reigned in what may be the beginning of the end of the long 20th-century with the members of an NDP student club based at a local university, their festivities infiltrated by clandestine pockets of unconscious Maoists, conscious Trotskyists, even a bona fide “black magic” psychoanalyst in the school of Wilhelm Reich (and Peter Carroll, renowned chaos sorcerer of the underground). Already by the time of my arrival at around 7pm early results were pouring in that Trump was leading in Ohio and New Hampshire, that Michigan and Florida were dead heats, that “if Trump has an actual path to the presidency, this is what it looks like” (in the words of one gilded CBC political pundit).
The sentiment in the room resembled that of a so-called “celebration of life” ceremony for that one uncle that nobody really cared for, all the anticipation pointing towards what the old dead bastard might have left behind in his will, having always been a part of the family but never one for open displays of affection or concrete details on his plans. What will President Trump give us? Besides flagrant misogyny, racism and xenophobia, bitterly reactionary nationalism, etc. – all of the rhetorical trappings of the forces of reaction and the “what’s-old-is-new-again” ‘Alt-Right’ populism. Will he tear up NAFTA and TPP and muster up all of the exeunt forces of production drawn out of the American industrial heartland – old boys Oklahoma and North Dakota – under the economic relations of capitalist globalization? It’s doubtful. Almost certainly open hostilities between moderate Republicans and the presumptive presidential elect (providing he doesn’t get assassinated between now and his inauguration) will cool off as the party becomes confident of its sweeping majority, its place atop the twin-heads of political power in the United States, in the White House and Congress, sealed. Trump will dump his enraged white Christian working class supporters faster than Paul Ryan can whisper the names of the Koch brothers into his ears. A political split doesn’t seem likely – only an aggravation of the existing split that made this whole chaos incarnate end-of-days dog and pony show a veritable possibility to begin with: the split between a disenfranchised and disillusioned mass political agency, and an all-powerful elite class in whose feeble hands political and economic power has been concentrating for decades, if not the whole godforsaken long 20th-C.
The count continues to roll in and around the time that that overgrown Oompa Loompa with the dead dog wig posts a nigh 40-point lead on “crooked” Hillary – prior to California’s first poll station readouts – the mood turns from one of uncertainty and slight perturbance to deep disturbance and catastrophism. Some student lefties leave to procure a greater supply of hard liquor for the party, while one who I’m told is an officer of the club can be heard singing to herself, “We’re all gonna die! We’re all gonna die…” [In the few days following the election, I came to gain a deeper appreciation and understanding of these kinds of reactions.] Overall [the night] was a party atmosphere in steep decline, the event of a party that got confused somewhere along the line and took itself in the Dionysian sense, coping with a buzzkill of existential proportions and making a drinking game out of the spectacular reality-TV version of the farce of neoliberalism in its death knell while schizophrenically losing itself in among the game’s tragic cast of actors. So all the boozehounding really was cathartic. For all the doom, gloom and delirium of the millennial student left, you’d think we could get a little credit, instead of slack-jawed talk from political commentators in the US blaming Trumpamania 2016 on the unpredictable millennial vote. Has anybody at USA Today or The Daily Beast stopped to ask what puts millennials in such desperate and despicable conditions that they’d be inclined to vote for such a cantankerous lout? [Exit polls show 52% of millennials that voted actually voted for Hillary – but the 2016 election had the lowest young voter turnout rate of any election since 1972, when Nixon was re-elected.]
What happens if there is violence – real, physical violence of the confrontational and oppressive sort – as a result of this hair-brained Houdini great escape from the shackles of democratic liberalism, or liberal democracy? It seems almost inevitable. Violence against women, race riots, semi-autonomous pogroms patrolling poor black or Latino neighbourhoods and mosques like polling stations, emboldened neo-fascist Second Amendment kooks, spooks and Klansmen. Of course it seemed inevitable either way, with those same kooks and Klansmen and President Plastic Surgery Cheesy Puff’s inflammatory anti-democratic pre-election gab, maintaining he’d accept the result of America’s vote “only if he wins,” and practically instructing self-armed militiamen and reactionary goons to suppress all dissenting political agencies – mainly women, Latinos, blacks (though the latter, so far, to less of an extent than most pollsters predicted, with early voting numbers in decline compared with Obama’s 2008 run at the White House). We know by now that such reactionary elements wouldn’t exist without the gutting of the American working class in the 80s and the 90s, that globalization has its winners and losers and the losers are always below the class of financiers, earning their bread through work, and not speculation. The great parched belly-up turtle of a dry American Midwest, sapped of industrial productivity, before briefly wetted by the paranoiac imperialist oil ventures of the late 70s, 90s and early 2000s especially, but finally exacerbated and brought to the brink by the 2008 financial crisis. The violence of the expansion of American empire now exists inside of US borders, staring itself in the face is the project of global capitalist expansion, as if into a Fun House mirror, all bent out of shape and distorted. The contradictions of production contain their own wacky logic. “The wall” is a paranoiac political demand, lashing out from some deeply-seated discomfort and anxiety wreaked in America’s own baseball and apple-pie unconsciousness.
At a dinner party earlier this week a retired engineer friend told that bookies were giving solid odds on a Trump victory – better odds than the pollsters were showing. Of course the bookies speculate against speculation, trying to eke a profit off of profit. So goes the logic of American neoliberalism today, speculating for and against speculation itself. Had I not been working-poor myself and a student and somewhat cowardly with my money I might have placed a bet. We all feel like we’re “living on the edge” of something at the present juncture: the edge of history, perhaps. Michael Moore said Donald Trump could be the “last president” of the United States of America, but it was decidedly a hyperbolic comment and, at any rate (forgiving the ad hominem attack), Michael Moore is a hack.
All of these forces exist in ugly old America, trembling before God, convulsing and prostrate, the “Land of the Free”. Unbridled hatred for women and racial minorities bubbling over – there is still open hostility to women entering the workforce and existing as equal partners in civil society and the world in America; over 600 unarmed black men have been shot this year, and millions of black men from poverty-stricken upbringings work in incarceration in private for-profit prisons in conditions of modern day slave-labour, many serving time for petty possession charges. Good that we’ll all be riding the green wave for some much needed mellowing of counterproductive and racist drug policies, if nothing else. Income inequality is growing rather than shrinking. Average household buying power steadily increased after the postwar period through the early 70s – with similar trends in Canada – but today are lower than they were 40 years ago. Most rural white Trumpeters come from communities that are almost entirely reliant on single factories for their viability and economic stability, making the Clinton era of free trade and the reality of rampant factory closures a living nightmare. Hillary Clinton’s most telling rebuttal to that hardiest of Trumpisms in this year’s presidential debates was, “We’re great because we’re good.” Hillary meant the message in a moral sense, but it can’t help but seem to put her at one (or more) steps removed from the stark realities of the status quo in America. Pollsters and financiers alike speculate on just the kind of status quo Hillary would have provided – so today they are in an only partially predictable panic.
What is left out of the calculations of this structural state of affairs, what escapes its algorithms is precisely this untold story, this conjured up narrative, what we might call a haunting “specter of Marx” (to borrow unapologetically from Derrida). It turns out Trump’s camp was more or less right about the “Silent Majority” theory. Whether it was pollsters overlooking crucial points in the formation of their questions, or decent ordinary folk ashamed to admit to anonymous mid-afternoon surveyors (and perhaps, to admit to themselves) their latent sympathies for whatever bat-out-of-hell flashback fever dream Trump gives the appearance of offering, it doesn’t matter much. Inglorious ghosts vote south of the border; in their rage they’ll haunt both the conjurer and his house, the hallowed halls of the world’s oldest democracy.
I had brought a bag of leftover Halloween candies to the NDP event which was mostly devoured except for the pixie sticks, which no sensible person enjoys. Vices for each to drown in, in their own way. Snacking on Caramilks and Sour Patch Kids and various other good tidings of capitalist modernity, we debate its downfall amid the fall of the American Empire. “Debate” – I wish I could use so strong a word. We shoot shit, shout and commiserate, making some progress where we fumble through theory. Maybe millions are doing the same at this very moment.
The violence, the forces of reaction that have now thrust themselves out into the open, weren’t inexistent before. They were all still there, silent, timid or unaccounted for, like pocket lint or old change or a dead rat in the toe of your boot. Part of the conditions of possibility leading up to the Trump crisis appear in a generations long vacuum in political unity and leadership on the left, lending itself to oligopoly and centralization among deeply entrenched political powers towards the center-right. Now the contemporary “progressive” Liberal left has no idea what it stands for or against, alternating between progressive empty talk and actual austerity, while disenfranchised masses – ghosts – are left without political representation. It wouldn’t be much of a mystery to discover high numbers of former Bernie Sanders supporters who voted for Donald Trump – the DNC made a vain and gross miscalculation in sabotaging his campaign, so some leaked emails are saying. The levels of discontent with the political system in America today are astounding. A Trump presidency, at least, has the silver lining of stirring up from quietude all these reactionary elements, foisting them out into the open as a clear target for the left to seize upon. In the case of actual fascism, as with history’s Hitlers and Mussolinis, the phenomenon does not stop with good-hearted Liberals crying out impassioned anti-fascismo. It stops with organizing against and attacking the fascists.
But let us keep our hands and our feet firmly planted inside of the vehicle at all times and not put the time too far “out of joint,” as Hamlet says, drawing conclusions from beyond our own history. I do not think that Trump is a fascist per se, even if the comparisons are inviting.
Curiously, in the short term, Trump could have the effect of pulling Justin Trudeau’s Liberals to the left on free-trade deals, which could bring them further into line with their election promises than with their preferred governing style. Will Justin’s “Sunny Ways” essence-of-selfie-stick fuzzy aura of hugs and hope hold off any latent anti-establishment sentiment or anti-globalizationist reaction in the Great White North? How will the Prime Minister of Canada take part in negotiations regarding the USA’s role, along with Canadian and other NATO military allies’, in monitoring the borders of Eastern Europe to protect against potential Russian threats from KGB Vlad? And will our economy boom or bust from the swell of American immigrants – perhaps we should call them refugees, fleeing a political crisis zone (here I kid; however, the Citizenship and Immigration Services section of the Government of Canada website did crash today, possibly because workers responsible for maintaining this key piece of infrastructure are refusing to work due to nonpayment from the spectacularly failing PHOENIX payroll system that’s hanging over half of Ottawa like a big red wet pocketbook. Possibly, but not likely.)
We can laugh and drink and enjoy the rising value of BC bud and housing prices and raise a glad to our southern neighbours in commiseration and confusion, some of us, with an air of smug superiority. The hangover will only be the realization that we are not immune, that this is the real world and it is hideous and cruel.
But, provided they don’t continue to delude themselves – and with a nod to the accelerationists – this study in history, and its attendant clarification of political aims could serve as a lightning rod for the disillusioned and directionless progressives. Likely only in the event of a storm on domestic soil. Thunder and lightning clouds a-brewin’ for good-old-fashioned prairie socialism! The kind of organization the Canadian left has been lacking for decades.
Maybe not – but Canadians do love talking about the weather. Storm winds are blowing down south of the border and they do look bound for a northerly push. It’s time the stormwatchers don their galoshes and prepare to organize our way out of the coming of the new political reality.