Porter’s Pensées

‘Are we nearly there yet?’ – For 168 years that has been the plaintive call from the little revolutionaries in the back of the socialist car as it meanders across the bewilderingly varied landscape of capitalism on its way to its glorious destination, which at times has seemed almost more distant than it did at the start of the journey. That is in spite of its ‘inevitability’, in Karl Marx’s ‘scientific’ view, as the ‘internal contradictions’ of capitalism worked to progressively destroy it from within.

There were glimpses of that along the way, but they always turned out to be mirages. Marx himself thought he espied it in Britain as early as 1848; but then capitalism recovered, in Victorian Britain’s so-called ‘golden years’. (They weren’t golden for everyone.) The ‘Great’ Depression of the 1870s-on inspired much revolutionary activity, but little came of it. Lenin blamed imperialism, which had delayed the inevitable ‘crisis of capitalism’ by off-loading its surplus products. Later, two world wars – themselves the product of imperialism – had the same effect. The first one appeared to ignite the fuse at last, in Russia in 1917; but that turned out to be premature. As Engels had been telling the Bolsheviks for years before, Russia wasn’t anything like ‘advanced’ enough along the capitalist road to create the proper ‘scientific’ conditions for socialism to emerge. What did emerge, therefore, was premature; which is why, perhaps, it could only be kept alive in a totalitarian incubator. Then revolution in the West appeared to be coming nearer again during the second, and far ‘Greater’, depression of the 1930s; only to be confronted by fascism – the other common reaction to economic deprivation – and then diverted by the Second World War, which cured under-consumption and soaked up the unemployed.

After that, the West played clever. The new tactic was to tame capitalism, making its impact just bearable enough to make it not worth rebelling against. Capitalists generally went along with that, because it gave them security, at least, if not the full range of ‘opportunity’ that unrestrained capitalism promised. The welfare state and economic regulation were the two main means to that end. When I was a young man in the Labour party, and studying political philosophy (as part of my History degree), I went along with most other democratic socialists in assuming that this had proved Marx wrong. Capitalism didn’t need to implode. Clever politicking could see it through the crises which, left to itself, would have inevitably destroyed it. (This is Keynes, of course.) That was a comfort, for none of us democratic socialists wanted to forgo all the benefits of economic competition, which were undeniable, least of all our consumer durables; or to risk going through what Russia and her satellites were going through just then, in order to rid ourselves of capitalism’s less salubrious – indeed, quite monstrous – aspects.

The Great Reaction of the late 1970s-onwards, of course, brought an end to that. Welfare and regulation were chipped away, leaving capitalism far redder in tooth and claw to roam the land again. After Thatcher, Blair and then Cameron built on that. (Blair had no idea.) The reasons for this counter-revolution are unclear. I’m personally reluctant to credit Reagan and Thatcher with any vital agency, still less the narrow-minded ideologues who gave them intellectual credibility. They were all riding a wave. That wave appears to be a ‘natural’ one, a historical imperative; a tendency in other words which is inherent in the capitalist system itself, especially when it is globalised, subjecting welfare states to ‘unfair’ competition from cheap overseas labour, tax havens, and the like. That seems – in the teeth of my young man’s optimism – to bear Marx’s predictions about capitalism out. That wasn’t a bad prediction, for 1848. It had just taken longer than he had hoped.

So far, then, so very Marxist. And so promising, surely, for the children in the back of the car, who may, if their grasp on grown-up theory is sound, espy their promised land ahead of them yet again. (Incidentally, Marx couldn’t tell us what that promised land would look like, exactly. We wouldn’t know until we got there. That’s part of his theory too – ‘base and superstructure’.) The question is, is capitalism now finally at the stage where it is about to collapse, to be supplanted by something?

The signs – for socialists – are mildly encouraging. The 2008 crash (which is still reverberating), and the quite obvious flimsiness of Britain’s and other European countries’ de-industrialised and finance-dependent economies; Occupy, Pickety, Bernie Sanders, Jeremy Corbyn, all those Continental ‘far left’ parties, anti-government (of all kinds) movements; the junior doctors’ strikes; protests over unemployment, the housing crisis and tax avoidance; the world-wide movement against ‘climate change’, which is essentially a protest against capitalist exploitation of the earth; even the Liverpool FC supporters’ rebellion against seat price hikes: all these may be straws in a much more violent coming wind. English professional football, incidentally, is a very good exemplar of what happens when international capitalists reduce a ‘people’s game’ to a market product. In this sense it could be said that the Liverpool fans’ protest is part of a wider anti-capitalist rebellion.

On the other hand, of course, there is the rise of right-wing movements, from nativist to quasi-fascist, which one should also expect at a time of economic crisis, especially if one knows one’s history, and which can attract, in a ‘false consciousness’ kind of way, much of the discontent that a failing capitalism is bound to provoke. Donald Trump seems to be the scariest of the Führer figures that this has thrown up, though his American brand of fascism might be more soft-ball and apple-pie; the amusing Farage probably less so. It should not be assumed, by the way, that the followers of either of these demagogues are necessarily as right-wing as they. Trump and UKIP both address working- and middle-class concerns that could equally be milked by a more convincing – and leftish – Left. Indeed, recent local by-election results in England may bear this out, with Ukippers apparently deserting in droves to Corbyn’s Labour Party. Is the same conceivable in the USA – Trumpers switching to Bernie? Probably not.

We need to remember, too, that the global market, and its political agents, still exert great power, and are prepared to exert it unscrupulously. One small British example is the way the Tories are almost blatantly gerrymandering the electoral system – already ludicrously undemocratic: where else would a party representing only 25% of the electorate be given an absolute majority of seats in the legislature? and that’s without taking account of party funding, and the influence of the ‘right-wing press’ – by disenfranchising over a million mainly Labour voters, and various other subterfuges. And they’re not finished yet. They have billions of dollars – literally – behind them; and the powerful incentive of their own greed.

So, sit back, kids, and play with your consumerist toys – the Barbie doll, the iPad, and all the rest. We may have some way to go yet.

No complaints; I really don’t feel sore about this, just slightly perplexed. But I’m wondering why (virtually) no-one has yet reviewed my British Imperial: What the Empire Wasn’t? It came out in October. I can’t fault the publisher, who made a really good job of the book, and – so far as I can judge – of the publicity. Yet all I’ve had so far are: http://www.prospectmagazine.co.uk/features/the-empire-strikes-back-british-colonialism-legacies, by Tristram Hunt, which blows hot and cold (fair enough); and http://defencereport.com/book-watch-british-imperial-what-the-empire-wasnt/, which is a real rave, but in an obscure internet journal.

Of course the book may not be very good, though obviously I think it is. It’s certainly an easy read, almost conversational in style. It’s intended for a general rather than a scholarly market. It has some good jokes. One problem may be that it doesn’t fit into either of the usual categories, for histories of the British Empire, of ‘pro’ or ‘anti’ – although I think it makes it plain how generally ‘anti’ I am. Instead it seeks to explain it, at what I think is a deeper and more subtle level, with some interesting new ideas; and to dispel some popular myths.

Perhaps people need their myths? Or perhaps my approach doesn’t make the book appear ‘sexy’ enough for reviews editors? Or as obviously controversial as, say, Niall Ferguson’s oeuvre? (http://www.theguardian.com/books/2011/mar/25/civilization-west-rest-niall-ferguson-review). – And of course I’m not so well known outside academia as he is, or as Paxo: (http://www.theguardian.com/books/2011/oct/05/empire-ruling-world-paxman-review.)

I’ve had flops before (Britannia’s Burden; Empire and Superempire; The Battle of the Styles), but also some widely and well reviewed successes. I think it must have something to do with the ways I pitch them. Or am I being impatient? Maybe the reviews will come later; and maybe I’ll wish they hadn’t, if they’re hostile.

In the meantime, here’s the Amazon link. (Though there’s not even an Amazon review!) http://www.amazon.co.uk/British-Imperial-What-Empire-Wasnt/dp/1784534455/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1455367777&sr=1-1&keywords=porter+british+imperial.

As I say, I’m not complaining about this. I don’t need and don’t think I necessarily deserve the accolades of the public, or even scholarly reviews to further my career. (Being retired, I have no ‘career’ left.) I’ll get very little money for it in any case. That’s not why authors like me write books. I would like the book read, and its ideas to seep into people’s understanding of British imperialism, simply because that understanding is currently – in my view – so distorted. That was my ‘mission’ from the start. But in the last resort, the ‘return’ an author gets from his or her books mainly lies in the sheer pleasure and intellectual challenge of writing them. I’d write even if I knew no-one was reading me. This blog is evidence of that.

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On another matter – the junior doctors’ dispute: can one impose a contract? Literally, I mean. Isn’t a contract an agreement between two or more parties?

(From the archive. This is a review I wrote of The Strange Case of Thomas Quick. The Swedish Serial Killer and the Psychoanalyst who created him by Dan Josefsson, for the Guardian a couple of months ago. It follows on from an earlier piece Kajsa and I posted, firstly on the LRB blog and then on this one: below, December 2013. That one went more into police and legal failures; this concentrates on the cod psychology at the centre of the affair.)

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Ah, Sweden! Lakes, forests and islands; glorious summers (and treble-glazing to take care of the winters); peace; prosperity; beautiful people; gender equality; fantastic parental leave and childcare provision; free university education; true Social Democracy; toleration; massive generosity towards refugees; IKEA… I’ve lived there for 20 years, on and off, and it is still, broadly speaking, my ‘Shining City on the Hill’.

But isn’t that a bit boring? Which is maybe why ‘Thomas Quick’ – a.k.a. Sture Bergwall, a minor criminal much troubled by his homosexual urges – caused such a vicarious thrill when he arrived on the Swedish public scene in November 1993, unmasked as Sweden’s first ‘serial killer’, with a career going back nearly thirty years, to when he was 14, and extending to 39 murders by the time they stopped counting. Most of them involved sexual gratification and ritual dismemberment, with a couple of cases of cannibalism thrown in. (His favourite titbits were nipples and sphlincters.) The tabloids were ecstatic. It made a welcome change from new traffic plans for Stockholm and the love life of the generally well-behaved Crown Princess Victoria. This was ‘Nordic Noir’ with a vengeance. But in this case the press was hardly to blame. The ‘serial killer’ story was corroborated by the police, leading psychiatrists, the judiciary – which convicted him of eight of the murders – and by Quick himself. In fact, Quick was its sole original source. He ‘confessed’ to all these murders before anyone had suspected him of any of them. No other evidence was ever produced for his complicity; not even ‘information that only the killer could have known.’ That was usually found to have been gleaned from heavy hints by his interrogators, or from his own researches among old provincial newspapers in the Stockholm City library. (Who would have thought that a member of the criminal classes could use a microfilm reader?) When he was taken to where he claimed to have buried the bodies, together with trained ‘cadaver dogs’, not a shred was found. (One bit of ‘bone’ turned out later to be chipboard.) Without the police leading him on, his descriptions – of murder sites, the appearances of his victims, and the methods and weapons he had used – were nearly always wrong. In fact, of course, he hadn’t murdered anyone. Reading this account it seems inexplicable that anyone could have thought he did. That, of course, is the tabloid story now.

Josefsson’s isn’t the first book-length account of it, even in English translation. The late Hannes Råstam’s Thomas Quick: the Making of a Serial Killer (2012) was the best of the earlier ones. Råstam was the heroic journalist who started all this off. He laid the blame at the doors of the three agencies involved, roughly equally. The police were simply stupid. (Råstam points out hat they also lied.) The courts – not as democratic as ours, though that might not have made a difference – were totally incapable of dealing properly with cases in which even the defence counsel argued for his client’s guilt, because that’s how Quick instructed him; and then were too rigid to change their minds when the cases fell apart. The psychiatrists who were in charge of Quick were slaves of a particular theory which led them to assume, and then to argue in court on what were supposed to be ‘scientific’ grounds, that Quick had to be guilty, and indeed was more likely to be guilty the more mistakes he made. (The mistakes were a way of approaching the truth.) Josefsson mainly runs with that last idea. Indeed, his book – brilliantly researched, angry, immensely readable in this fine translation – is at least as much about one particular psychiatrist, whom he sees as the real villain here, as it is about Quick.

Her name was Margit Norell, and it was her theory of repressed childhood memory that fuelled the case against Quick. He had been, she claimed, sexually abused by his parents as a young child – a fact that only emerged, and in a grotesque form (this book is not for the squeamish), after weeks of psychotherapy, and under a mixed regime of powerful prescription drugs – which is what set off his own killing spree. His six siblings vigorously denied the abuse, but that just went to show how repressed their memories were. Nowadays ‘repressed memory’ is a contested idea, to be balanced against another notion, ‘false memory’, which may have been what the heavily-doped Quick was exhibiting, if he wasn’t consciously and cleverly making it all up. (From Josefsson’s account of his earlier life he seems quite capable of that.) But Norell’s diagnosis fitted better with the great theory she was hoping to make her name with, after years of perceived failure. She was hoping it would put her up there with Freud. Instead it not only brought down her own reputation, but also gravely damaged that of the whole psychiatric profession in Sweden, as well as, indirectly, of the law.

How on earth could one elderly psychiatrist have this influence? She wasn’t actually employed by Säter hospital, where Quick received most of his treatment, but only acted as an external ‘supervisor’ for his appointed psychotherapists. All of them, however, had been her pupils or disciples in the past; many of them had even been her patients. She obviously exerted a tremendous personal magnetism over them, despite what appears to be a haughty way with them (she was quite upper-class), and a streak of cruelty if she was ever crossed. Many of them, interviewed later by Josefsson, described her as a ‘mother’ figure: often a replacement for the mothers they felt they had never had. They also commonly characterized the group of them together as a ‘sect’ or even a ‘cult’, adhering to a rigid set of beliefs, about repressed memories and how to unrepress them, against what increasingly came to be the scepticism of the rest of the psychiatric world. More than this: Josefsson has discovered, surprisingly, that many of the police and judiciary involved in the Quick cases were also personally under her influence, sometimes, again, as ex-patients of hers. So it was a closed circle, each element reinforcing the others.

It also operated in a particular context of ‘progressive’ thinking about society generally, especially on the Left, going back to the revolutionary 1970s, which welcomed the idea that even schizophrenia and criminal psychosis were environmental rather than biological, and could be cured, ‘naturally’, by means of therapy. Nearly all the people responsible for this miscarriage of justice were good Social Democrats, often distinguished for their liberalism in other fields. Claes Borgström, for example, Quick’s defence lawyer, became a respected Equality Ombudsman later on. That’s an unsettling thought, for us admirers of the Shining City.

It wasn’t a bad theory, if you treated it as a hypothesis. Hypotheses, however, need to be tested. Otherwise they’re not ‘theories’, which is how they are often described, but mere assumptions. Margit Norell’s fault – and it’s a huge one in a ‘scientist’ – was that she would not allow her followers to question her assumptions and methods in the slightest degree. In the Quick case, they ignored every indication that he might be taking them for a ride, preferring to fit awkward facts to the ‘theory’ in the most ludicrous ways. (His siblings’ ‘repressed memories’ are an example.) Police officers and lawyers were blinded by her ‘scientific’ reputation, and overwhelmed, perhaps, by her charisma.

Thomas Quick can hardly be blamed. He was a deeply disturbed and lonely individual, desperate to remain in Säter, rather than be sent to prison where he was sure he would be bullied, and loving the attention, sympathy and drugs he received from his therapists, especially as he ratcheted his murders up. In the end he has done us all a favour by revealing the damage that can be done by a rigid and closed legal system, too much respect for authority, poor police procedures, and ‘theories’ not backed up by empirical proof. Even in Sweden. The poor fellow always wanted to count for something. Now he does.

The Guardian today points the finger at Jack Straw as having been one of the least ‘open’ ministers – with regard to Freedom of Information – of his day: http://www.theguardian.com/politics/2016/feb/08/jack-straw-ministries-among-worst-freedom-of-information

In 1999 I wrote this piece about ‘official secrecy’ for the LRB, which features him towards the end, and his sharing an ‘old school’ with me. I thought his school experience might be relevant. http://www.lrb.co.uk/v21/n14/bernard-porter/boarder-or-day-boy

The point about justice is that it should apply to people you don’t like as well as to those you do. Otherwise it’s not justice. I don’t think that, if I met him, I would like Julian Assange very much. (I may be wrong; I’d love to chat with him to see.) Part of that has to do with what I have described as his ‘caddish’ behaviour towards the women who fall for his (undoubted) charm. (That’s easy for me; being charmless, I’ve never been tempted in that way.) I’m also not at all convinced that all his Wikileaks revelations were politically justified, in liberal terms, or that governments should not be allowed some secrecy to pursue delicate negotiations.

None of this, however, bears on the huge doubts I have about the rectitude of his attempted extradition from Britain to Sweden three years ago, on charges that may be flimsy, and in circumstances that might enable his re-extradition to America on espionage charges. I’ve written about that many times over the past three years: see, for example, my lrb.blogs for (11 Nov ’14, 21 May ’13, 20 Aug ’12, 6 May ’11, 11 Feb ’11), and the piece referenced below (5 Feb.). I should add that many Swedes of my acquaintance share these doubts.

I despair that most of the reports I’ve read on the recent UN declaration in his favour have entirely neglected the facts of the case, building their arguments on the prejudice against him; the idea – which is false – that he is trying to avoid Swedish justice (coupled with the assumption that Swedish justice must be perfect in this area, as most other things Swedish are); and pressure from feminists whose understandable desire to punish sexist bastards seems to conflict, here, with the basic legal requirement of presumption of innocence. There’s also the argument, of course, that ‘well, he’s not as badly off as some’, which of course is true, but also irrelevant, and could be used to excuse any injustice.

I’m also beginning to think like a ‘conspiracy theorist’ in this matter. That scares me. I’ve always resisted this, despite having written books on Plots and Paranoia (the title of one of them). In connection with the Assange case, however, the signs of collusion between Swedish, Britain and American governments are too blatant to be ignored entirely.

Another thing that makes me suspicious is the censorship that seems to be going on in the printed press or on ‘respectable’ websites of pieces supportive of Assange. Craig Murray’s site below – he used to be an ambassador – gives examples of this. I think I’ve experienced it myself: when last year I tried to post a comment on a Guardian website about the EAW which dared to mention Assange (politely and non-contentiously) I was immediately ‘pre-moderated’ – i.e. banned; a ban that lasted 6 months until I pointed out to the Guardian that I wrote reviews for them. And I’ve noticed since that when the Guardian reports on the Assange case, it never even permits comments ‘below the line’. Can you blame me for harbouring suspicions of the ‘powers that be’?

Let me add one more thought that I’ve had about this. Marianne Ny’s refusal to examine Assange outside Sweden has, of course, been the main reason for the stand-off that is keeping him in the Ecuadorian embassy. She’s still making things difficult for him in this regard. Does she – it occurred to me – really want to bring him to trial in Sweden? If he were to stand trial there, it would – insofar as it was conducted in public (and there are doubts about that) – be highly publicised internationally; and if the case against Assange were as weak as some of us think it may be, it would throw her, and possibly the whole Swedish judicial system, in a very poor light. She, and it, might be laughed out of court. That’s a huge risk, for the dignity of Sweden. Better to let him stew.

For those still to be shaken out of their ignorance, or prejudice, I recommend (again) my previous posts on this, in various places; and the following (if the link works): https://www.craigmurray.org.uk/archives/2016/02/why-the-assange-allegation-is-a-stitch-up/

(Feb 12: There’s an updated version of this piece in the current Lobster magazine: http://www.lobster-magazine.co.uk/free/lobster71/lob71-assange-again.pdf.)

On the one hand, doping and betting scandals. And football still in the hands of quasi-criminal capitalists, paying their mercenary players obscenely high wages, and pricing loyal spectators out of their grounds. (See my earlier piece on this: https://bernardjporter.wordpress.com/2015/01/09/mercenaries-in-football/.) Who was it who pointed out recently that you can see four operas for the price of an Arsenal ticket? Who are the ‘elitists’ now?

But then, look at Leicester City! A small, unfashionable club, with one star player loyal enough to sign a new 3-year contract with them, despite the blandishments of richer clubs – beating Man City away from home yesterday and flying at the top of the Premier League!

And – on another front – a South African cricket team now full of brilliant players who would have been excluded on the grounds of their colour just a few years ago!

Grounds for hope?

Keep a scandal simmering for long enough, and people will get bored with it. That must be most people’s reaction to the latest news about the Assange case: a UN ruling that he has been ‘unlawfully detained’. He’s a funny-looking bloke, and hasn’t he been accused of rape? Why shouldn’t he go and face the music in Sweden about that? Well, my longish piece of about a year ago (https://bernardjporter.wordpress.com/2015/01/09/julian-assange-and-the-european-arrest-warrant/) explains clearly why. I’ve nothing to add to that. It still stands. The UN ruling bears me out to the hilt. But do you think the British and Swedish governments will take any notice? Or will need to, in view of his semen-smeared reputation?

Fundamentally, the question was simple. Assange was perfectly willing to face trial either if he were questioned in the UK; or if the Swedish government would promise – which it is in their power to do – that he wouldn’t be re-extradited to the USA on Wikileaks-associated charges. One or other of those two things – not both. It is genuinely puzzling, and may also be suspicious, that those two very fair and straightforward requests weren’t met. Many Swedes think so too.

For the rest – the problems with the European Arrest Warrant, for example, and with the Swedish justice system – go to my earlier piece. I’m too bored to go over it yet again.

Bernie Sanders’s impressive showing in the Iowa primaries is greatly encouraging for all us 1960s nostalgics. Or it would be, if the USA were a democracy. As it is, just imagine what it will be like if he becomes the Democratic candidate: the kleptocracy fighting back tooth and claw, funded by billionaires and supported by a bought media, to smear him as a ‘Red’ and worse. Just like the last election here in Britain, which is even less democratic than the USA. (We MUST have proportional representation soon!) In both countries, the rich have never accepted democracy, but instead have learned, cleverly, how to control it; to turn it into a game that they can win. It must have occurred to others how like TV game shows American political conventions have become. Trump, of course, played that expertly. It was good to see him getting his come-uppance, albeit from a candidate nearly as crazy and terrifying as him.

The parallels between Bernie and Jeremy are of course obvious. One very obvious one is that, despite being old men (almost as old as me!), their main support in their respective parties comes from the under-35s. This is another world-wide – or at least transatlantic – rebellion of the young against the mess that the previous – in this case just after my – generation made of things. It reminds me of the ‘youth’ revolt of the 1950s – often misattributed to the ’60s – about which I have just penned a piece for the LRB (not yet published).

One of the depressing things in Britain just now is the way the old (‘New’) Labour guard are ganging up on Corbyn. The last issue of the New Statesman printed the opinions of a number of these, Labour politicians and commentators, all from what can be accurately described, I think, as the ‘Westminster bubble’. I despaired as I read it. In the North of England, I believe, none of this makes any sense. Even here in Sweden disillusioned Social Democrats are expressing the wish that they had a Corbyn too.

My feeling (or hope) is that the ground-rules of politics are going to shift fundamentally over the next 5-10 years, as ‘austerity’ and trickle-down are shown to have failed, resentment grows against tax-dodgers (like Osborne himself!), Old Etonian public relations smoothies no longer resonate as ‘real’ people, and the old tricks and slogans become more threadbare. Corbyn, under enormous pressure now, will find the climate turning in his favour. He just has to hang on. As a historian, my mind goes back to the 1900s:
http://www.lrb.co.uk/blog/2015/08/07/bernard-porter/whos-a-dinosaur-now/
What looks old-fashioned now can become new-fashioned very quickly. But then I’m probably fooling myself.

Incidentally, I learn that the longing of some East Germans for the return of the old 1960s DDR – as in that wonderful film Goodbye Lenin – is called ‘Ostalgia’. I like that.

Just a reminder that I have some knowledge in this area, though I wouldn’t like to claim that The Refugee Question in Mid Victorian Politics – the title of my 1979 book, re-issued a couple of years ago by CUP – was identical to today’s.