This paper explores the possibility of the classroom as an exilic space of subversion in which we can pursue anarchist notions of personal transformation, relationships and society. Classroom environments in higher education institutions in Britain, particularly following the introduction of the Teaching Excellence Framework in September 2016, are premised upon relationships shaped by specific external standards: Employability, the instrumental pursuit of degrees, provider/consumer exchange, among others. Any notions of personal transformation are economic, and the broader goal is the pursuit (...) of economic gain for individual, company and country. In an act of subversion of these external standards, I propose theorising the classroom as an exilic space: a temporally and spatially bracketed space in which participants and their relationships are not beholden to these various external referents. Instead, I put forward the exilic classroom as an anarchic space in which the interactions of the participants are not pre-defined but are formed in the process of the interactions themselves. In theorising the exilic classroom I draw on the work of Obika Gray, and push his notion of exilic space further by integrating the works of Michel de Certeau, Jamie Heckert and Gustav Landauer to help propose a classroom defined as a positive subversive everyday space that is not bound by its opposition to wider structures. The creation of such an exilic classroom assists the participants in stepping out of their expected roles as ‘provider’ and ‘consumer’, or ‘teacher’ and ‘student’, and allows the creation of a space of possibilities for our relationships. (shrink)

On 6 January 1963, the same day as Spanish children were excitedly waking up to discover their presents from the Three Wise Men, the well. known Spanish anarchist and former Minister of Health, Federica Montseny, published an emotionally charged and nostalgic article in the Spanish anarchist exilic periodical L'Espoir. In the article, entitled "The New Year", Montseny reflected a similar sense of expectation as she asked rhetorically for something she had been expecting for twenty-four years: "What is the (...) greatest fortune that us exiles can wish one another? Without any shadow of doubt it is to return to our homeland. Despite the material advantages that some of us have gained in exile-whether in France, America or elsewhere in the world-we know there is not a single person who does not passionately wish to return to Spain." Two years later, on 3 October 1965, she published another article, "Those Who Return. To Die in Spain", in which she presented a brief history of the españoles universales or world-famous Spaniards who had left Spain at the start of the Civil War before returning to die during the Francoist dictatorship in the 1960s. (shrink)

The name recognition of Pierre-Joseph Proudhon in France during the early twentieth century was used to rally left-wing syndicalists and right-wing neo-monarchists to the 1911–14 Cercle Proudhon, a small political organization whose creation was once considered to represent the origins of European ‘fascism’. Oddly, no scholars have examined what Proudhon’s actual ideas about monarchy were and how they might have related to his criticisms of existing forms of political representation. This first part of a two-part series examines Proudhon’s evolving consideration (...) of royalty from the July Monarchy until his exile in Belgium in 1858. It explores how Proudhon’s ideas about monarchy were impacted by his hostility to French liberal and republican attempts at electoral reform from 1838 until 1848. It then looks at how his assessment of monarchy began to change after his experience of the Second Republic and the latter’s experiment in universal manhood suffrage. For Proudhon, the ill-fated 1848-52 regime showed how democratic voting could contribute to a dangerous Caesarist personalization of state power and facilitate a fluid transition from republic to empire. During the early years of the Second Empire, Proudhon sometimes expressed nostalgia for liberal ideas of constitutional monarchy fashionable during the earlier 1814–48 era. He did not advocate restricting suffrage again like during the pre-1848 period, however. (shrink)

This work explores the scantly studied Spanish anarchist exile that followed the Spanish Civil War and lasted until Francisco Franco’s death and, arguably, beyond. The article is built around the controversial case of Juan López Sánchez (1900-1972) –one of the four anarchists that became ministers during the Second Spanish Republic. In what follows, the work traces the panoramic historical, geographical and ideological journey of Juan López Sánchez mainly through his correspondence, with particular attention to his brief French (...) class='Hi'>exile. -/- Este trabajo explora el exilio anarquista español que siguió tras la Guerra Civil y que duró hasta la muerte de Franco y, discutiblemente, más allá. Dentro de este exilio, hasta cierto punto académicamente desatendido, mi texto se centra en el polémico caso de Juan López Sánchez (1900-1972) –uno de los cuatro anarquistas que se convirtieron en ministros durante la Segunda República. A continuación reconstruyo panorámicamente la trayectoria histórica, geográfica e ideológica de Juan López Sánchez principalmente a través de su correspondencia, poniendo especial atención a su brevísimo exilio francés. (shrink)

En 1944 el famoso sociólogo alemán Theodor W. Adorno publicó un libro en el que aparecía una de las frases que pasarán a la historia del imaginario colectivo; la frase decía: “. . . escribir un poema después de Auschwitz es un acto de barbarie y esto también corroe al conocimiento, el cual afirma por qué se ha vuelto imposible escribir poemas” (Adorno, Prismas 23). Aceptada como axioma por unos y ampliamente criticada por otros, lo cierto es que dicha frase (...) no dejó indiferente a nadie. Ésta vendría a decir que hay momentos tan graves para la humanidad que marcan un antes y un después en la historia. Esos momentos kairológicos se sacralizan hasta tal punto que intentar explicarlos, comprenderlos o representarlos artísticamente supone un acto de barbarie. Sin embargo, cientos de judíos que pasaron por la terrorífica y vergonzosa experiencia de los campos de concentración “escribieron poemas” después de Auschwitz. Y lo hicieron no como desafío sacrílego sino como modo de mostrar las polimorfas caras del ser humano; lo hicieron como enseñanza a la humanidad para que la historia no se repitiera; y, en definitiva, lo hicieron como terapia individual y también colectiva, para intentar superar el trauma más grande del siglo XX y evitar así que la dolorosa experiencia del luto se extendiera ad infinitum. No se ha citado a Adorno por casualidad. A nuestro parecer resulta muy sugerente establecer un paralelismo entre lo dicho por Adorno y el tema que se va a analizar. Salvando las diferencias, la pregunta que servirá como hilo conductor a las siguientes investigaciones resulta de algún modo similar a la que se hizo Adorno algunos años después de la guerra civil española; esa pregunta dice: ¿se puede hacer humor después de y sobre la guerra civil? En lo que sigue, trataremos de demostrar en este trabajo que no sólo se puede sino que se debe hacer humor después de una experiencia tan traumática como la española. (shrink)

The article reviews the life and work of Victor Serge. It focuses on his Mexican exile and themes that marked his writings, especially those published in the journal Babel during his “chilean period”.

Este trabajo parte de la pregunta ¿cómo comunicó, construyó, justificó y puso en práctica un discurso de retorno a la España de Franco quien fuera el ministro anarquista Juan López Sánchez (1900-1972)? Para resolver esta cuestión hay que lidiar con temas como la salud física y psicológica de los exiliados pero, sobre todo, con la comunicación escrita que se encuentra en la correspondencia de Juan López Sánchez (a partir de aquí JLS) -alojada en el Archivo General de la Región de (...) Murcia- en su triple función “informativa, auxiliadora y terapéutica” (González-Allende, 2016). Desde sus primeros días en Reino Unido (1939), la correspondencia del exministro comenzó a hacer referencias al asma (también a la nostalgia) como el centro de su vida y a la necesidad de mudarse a otro lugar con mejor clima para el tratamiento de su enfermedad. El regreso final a España (1966) se convirtió en su obsesiva medicina (a veces real y a veces imaginaria) para sus enfermedades del exilio. A lo largo de este trabajo se examina cómo el exministro quiso desde un principio mudarse a Oran (Argelia) porque, según él, su clima era similar al de Alicante; algo que no pudo cumplir por diversas razones, entre las que sobresalen su insolvencia financiera, por cuestiones políticas, pero también por las enormes diferencias culturales y lingüísticas entre Argelia y España. En lugar de ello, en su correspondencia fue cambiando su discurso y continuó aparentemente satisfecho viviendo en la costa de Inglaterra a pesar de que sus cartas apelaban constantemente al discurso de la enfermedad para justificar encontrar un lugar similar a España. El país que ocupó el codiciado lugar de España fue México. Sin embargo, este país no cambió su opinión sobre regresar a la España franquista por motivos terapéuticos. A continuación se indaga, en qué medida contribuyeron las cuestiones psicosomáticas a la “conversión política” (Kestel, 2010) de JLS y a su regreso a España. Para ello analizaremos el corpus de su correspondencia personal y política usando el análisis de los discursos escritos desde una perspectiva sociolingüística (Cano Aguilar, 1991; Van Dijk, 1977) pero, sobre todo, desde la antropología de la comunicación (Gumperz, y Hymes, 1986; Saville-Troike, 1982) y la psicológica (Grinberg, 1989; White y Epston, 1993). (shrink)

Fundada en noviembre de 1962 por Progreso Alfarache, Comunidad Ibérica (C.I.) fue una publicación bimensual que alcanzó los 50 ejemplares. Su último número (49-50) apareció en 1971 compilando cuatro meses (noviembre-febrero). La revista dejó de publicarse por falta de capital; su director había dejado claro desde el primer ejemplar que la empresa cultural era una sin ánimo de lucro: «C.I. no es una empresa comercial». De ahí que sobreviviera gracias a las donaciones y a las suscripciones de sus lectores mostrando (...) coherencia con sus ideales libertarios. A partir del n.º 3 (marzo-abril 1963) se publicitó esa financiación en una pequeña sección denominada «Estado de cuentas de C.L.». Sus dimensiones eran de 22,5cm x 16,5cm y su número de páginas oscilaba entre las 64 de su primer número, las 35 del n.° 15 y las 132 del n.° 29-30. De los números 1 al 7 tuvo como dirección postal el apartado 13721 de México D.F. Fidel Miró fue su primer editor, con Francisco Romero de administrador. Progreso Alfarache -secretario del sindicato de la CNT en México- ejerció de director. El precio de la suscripción anual era el siguiente: 24 pesos para México, 2 dólares norteamericanos para el resto de países de América y 10 nuevos francos para Europa. La empresa que imprimía la revista era Talleres de imprenta de la Editorial Bartomeu Costa-Amic, ubicada en Mesones 14, México D.F. Como corresponsal adminis trativo en Europa, aparece M. Fabra, cuya dirección en Francia era 22 rue Plumet de París. Poco después de la muerte de Progreso Alfarache (acaccida el 20 de febrero de 1964), el equipo cambió. A partir del n.° 8 (enero-febrero 1964), Fidel Miró comenzó a ejercer como director, Feliciano Subero como administrador y como redactores permanentes encontramos a Francisco Romero, Jerónimo García Gallego (antiguo sacerdote republicano exiliado en Cuba), Adolfo Hernández, Antonio Villanueva (Aznar Soler, 2006: 622) y a José Moreno Barrancos. La nueva dirección postal fue Independencia 67-601 de México D.F. y el precio aumentó a 25 pesos en México, permaneciendo invariable para el resto de países (Álvarez, 2017). Por último, otra cuestión de carácter formal que tener en cuenta era el nombre de la revista. De él merece la pena destacar el carácter ibérico de la publicación (Roca-mora Rocamora, 1989: 55-56). Alfarache afirmaba en el primer ejemplar que los dos pueblos, el español y el portugués, sufrían bajo dictaduras a las que había que derrocar en común... (shrink)

continent. 2.3 (2012): 218–223 Vijay Prashad. Arab Spring, Libyan Winter . Oakland: AK Press. 2012. 271pp, pbk. $14.95 ISBN-13: 978-1849351126. Nearly a decade ago, I sat in a class entitled, quite simply, “Corporations,” taught by Vijay Prashad at Trinity College. Over the course of the semester, I was amazed at the extent of Prashad’s knowledge, and the complexity and erudition of his style. He has since authored a number of classic books that have gained recognition throughout the world. The Darker (...) Nations , a peoples’ history of the Third World, sent defibrillating shockwaves through an academic world that had almost forgotten the epic scope and historic dignity of the non-aligned movement and post-colonial struggles. In his recent, award-winning work, Arab Spring, Libyan Winter , Prashad delves into his capacious knowledge of the Third World to excavate the discourses and narratives surrounding the upheavals of 2011. “Revolutions have no specific timetable,” states Prashad in the opening line of this exciting and provocative look at contemporary events. Instantly, an atmosphere of suspense emerges. The reader is alerted to the problem of history. Does the making of history then involve a suspension of historical time, or is it a continuous narrative structure into which events must eventually be integrated? Arab Spring, Libyan Winter shows that the answer to the question, “How is history made?” lies just as easily in the asking. The first half of the book works through the events that transpired to bring about the explosive popular uprisings of Arab Spring: Tunisia and Egypt, Yemen and Bahrain. But the events are not put together in a cohesive, chronological fashion. Using an uncommonly gripping style more akin to the folk-story motif of the djeli than to traditionally Orientalist academia, Prashad suspends a given situation, points out its components, and traces back the characters and genealogies that define each link before resuming a narrative. Every moment is an end to itself, and an origin of something different. Thus, the making of history becomes the suspension of its own progress, it’s catastrophic 'stability,' in a process of differentiation through inclusion. Empirically, one might suggest that history is a condition of time, and by extension, of the subject, but history is also an eminent producer of the Subject and her concept of time through memory and narrative. Hence, history is often overdetermined by a dominant narrative of the sovereign. The apparently chaotic composition of Prashad’s historicity is, then, an interstitial morphology of resistance. It illustrates that the time to act for the revolutionary lies in the gaps within the dominant historical realities. It points out the sorties of signifiers constituting nothing in the obliterated ruins of history. Through such illuminations, Arab Spring, Libyan Winter breaks through “the surface of history” to elaborate revolution’s snapping synapses, exploding interruptions and breaches, connecting flows. Messianic Politics It is tempting to think, 'History is either singular, or it is diffuse. It is either one coherent factual narrative, or it is comprised of the aletheia of the multitude.' Yet the reader finds Prashad examining the structure of history on multiple levels. For Prashad, world history is shaped by geographically defined political movements, such as communism or national liberation, with historical agents like the working class for the former and the nationalist militant for the latter. Religion, however, is another matter: “Religion has an unshakable eschatology which a post-utopian secular politics lacks.” Within the telos of religion, there appears on the horizon the image of Benjamin’s thoughts on messianic time—time as “a small fissure in the continuous catastrophe,” a break with history, may contain an ultimate redemption of the human beyond the political power struggle. Succoring the split between geo-political and utopian-religious (messianic) time in the context of Arab Spring, Prashad indicates that the base of “the deep desire and commitment to some form of democracy” is forged by the affinity between eschatological Islamist politics with the People. To think about the Subject of messianic time in the context of the lack of a “coherent timetable” for emancipatory politics, it is perhaps best to return to the modern tradition of Martin Luther King, Jr., whose prefigurative blending of liberation theology and emancipatory politics became most important during his works of 1963, the climactic year of “The Letter from a Birmingham Jail,” the March on Washington, and the bombing of the 16th Street Baptist Church. In “The Letter,” King states the point bluntly: Frankly, I have yet to engage in a direct-action campaign that was “well timed” in view of those who have not suffered unduly from the disease of segregation. For years now I have heard the word “wait!” It rings in the ear of every Negro with piercing familiarity. This “Wait” has almost always meant ‘Never.” We must come to see, with one of our distinguished jurists, that “justice too long delayed is justice denied.” The timing of rebellious action must not be a part of history. It must change history. The kairos appears spontaneous and untimely in its convulsive, shocking presence, yet it is, deeper still, a path, a longue durée , forged through diligent and rigorous praxis. King put a finer point on the path of historic liberation in his declaration in his 1963 speech at Western Michigan University: “[T]ime is neutral.... Somewhere along the way we must see that time will never solve the problem alone but that we must help time. Somewhere we must see that human progress never rolls in on the wheels on inevitability. It comes through the tireless efforts and the persistent work of dedicated individuals who are willing to be co-workers with God. Without this hard work, time itself becomes an ally of the insurgent and primitive forces of irrational emotionalism and social stagnation. We must always help time and realize that the time is always right to do right.” Time, then, exists in “the neutral,” while action must turn to the kairos , not only of taking time, but taking the right time. By turning our relation to time into kairos , we move time from its context within history to a duration between histories—the longue dure?e of Messianic time. The implementation of neutrality in this context suggests a broad space of time to extend through the valley of positive and negative. In Roland Barthes’s lectures from 1978, the neutral takes place in this minimal distance of non-conflict that exists outside of two extremes. It is, in the words of Maurice Blanchot, “the non-general, the non-generic, as well as the non-specific.” For Blanchot, the neutrality of time permeates life as death, impassive and beyond control; such is the neutrality of messianic time, which permeates the charge of history, changing the "I" into the "one." The neutrality of time therefore implicates history in a case against extremism, showing that the work of the radical is not to tend to any particular side, but to have the time to navigate through the terrible terrain of history by altering its course, its patterns and rhythms of movement, connection, sociality. Hence, one does not simply “make history,” one alters the course of history in accordance to “the right time.” The historical path toward emerging power is transmitted as a gesture to the outside of history, against history; a gesture as simple as reaching out. Thus a counterhistory, to use Foucault’s term, is brought forward as the guide of time past a point of no return, a Rubicon, the point where the normal path of history falls to the past. The subject, who must be the only true agent of history, facilitates time through helpfulness, and both the Subject and her history become decentered in relation to one another. Yet history negates the neutrality of time. As Barthes discloses, although the neutral is the “thought and practice of the nonconflictual, it is nevertheless bound to assertion, to conflict, in order to make itself heard.” Engaged with history, time is charged with a destiny, and becomes an opposition. As Prashad insists, “For Arab lands, the events of early 2011 were not the inauguration of a new history, but the continuation of an unfinished struggle that is a hundred years old.” The emergence of the Subject during Arab Spring did not conceive of a new history, but changed the path of history toward a different destiny. “Historical grievances combined with inflationary pressures now met with the subjective sense that victory might be at hand—this was not simply a protest to scream into the wind, but a protest to actually remove autocrats from their positions of authority. The facts of resistance had given way to the expectation of revolutionary change.” The negativity of this charge toward “revolutionary destiny” rendered control, as a positive force, seriously lacking. The lack of control lies in the problem that the Subject is not totally detemporalized or timeless, but untimely in her presence. The Subject is untimely, because her work is visionary, and it is only through such visionary work that the Rubicon can be crossed. Still, the crossing of this border is haunted by anxiety over an impending disaster that lays in wait. It is only through the form of what Benjamin calls divine violence, captivated not with the justice of the means, but the ends—the transformation of history—that a revelation of history’s traumatic foundations can be liberated, and patterns and rhythms of time developed throughout obscured traditions awakened. In this situation, the Subject appears to be outside of right, but setting the state to rights. Because her position is correct, in-so-far as the rebelling subject rebels due to a lack of recognition, her representation appears outside of the norm, which is mistaken as right. Therefore, such visionary work must be carried out through obscured traditions, underground, away from the surveillance of empire. Explaining his method from the start along the lines of Marx’s metaphor of the mole, Prashad insists, “It is the burrowing that is essential, not simply the emergence onto the surface of history.” Arab Spring, Libyan Winter is a book on uncharted networks of time, spread out over the 252 pages like an elaborate spider’s web of passages intertwining with and overwhelming the machinery of the state. Although untimely, Arab Spring was not a flash in the pan, or a Facebook or Twitter revolution. Prashad notes that the government’s suspension of these tools led to further radicalism by furthering communications through face-to-face encounters. In existential terms, Arab Spring might be thought of as a revolution of Being over techne , an uprising of the unchartable, infinite potential of the Other. The name of this Other is found in Chance. The faith of the revolution lies in the proper decentering of the subject, its giving to the Other of time, for only with respect to time does history actually appear on the horizon of the subject, rather than as an imposition. This time of historical agency appears as a moment when anything can happen—a revolutionary truth event where everything comes into question while being realized in its Otherness as a community of the people begins anew in the streets amidst discourse, friendship, reconfigurations of hegemony, and a becoming of a constituent power. Throwing a wrench into the gears of the “cobwebbed tradition” of Orientalism, the decentering of history in Arab Spring, Libyan Winter is a defining quality of its impassioned revolutionary cry. But perhaps the most paradigmatic points of the book emerge from the unexpected voices. To make the connection between the particular manifestations of revolutionary demands to the general historic terms of revolution, Prashad quotes an anonymous young Egyptian in Tahrir Square, who reminds us, “[T]he French Revolution took a very long time so the people could eventually get their rights.” Far from timelessness, the historicization of Arab Spring must exist precisely within the most uncanny appearance of time, as something that does not appear to come from the natural state of time as we know it, but in arriving has completely transformed the way that we understand time. Strange Monsters Revolution is never as simple as a revolt from below against a rusting structure of elites trying to remain in power. As with the French Revolution, Arab Spring consisted of complex familial ties, outside interests, and religious factions fighting alongside, often in awkward juxtaposition to, liberals, working class parties, farmers, and students. It is perhaps because of this historically difficult and incongruous composition that the Arabic word for revolution is thawra , referring to the image of the bull, or thawr , which has religious significance as a pagan deity for the Ancient Semitic tribes and Cartheginians. If Daniel Guérin was correct in saying, “Anarchism and Marxism drink from the same spring,” then it is quite a different oasis that drove the thirsty beast of revolution through what Prashad calls, “the Libyan labyrinth.” Recalling Bataille’s Acéphale, the intestinal labyrinth gains significance as the mode of metabolism and rumination in which, “(the Acephale) has lost himself, loses me with him, and in which I discover myself as him, in other words, as a monster.” Unraveling the discourse of the revolution, the flows of power and hegemony—from Qaddafi’s nationalist coup in 1969 to the wars with Chad from 1978 to 1987, the neoliberal reforms of the 1990s to, finally, the War on Terror—we find that the metabolic process of Libyan Winter ends in the production of oil. In a process of what Prashad calls “involution,” Qaddafi’s bellicose policies, along with his attempts to nationalize Islam together with oil, mutated the source of his power, turning his house against itself. Already a divided nation, with its two major cities on opposite geographic sides of the country, Libya became split between two opposed political powers—liberal reformists and staunch nationalists—as Qaddafi’s political disengagement manifested through what can only be described in psychoanalytic terms as a recursive passage a l’act (mysteriously calling Wikipedia “Kleenex,” declaring that opponents drank hallucinogens with their instant coffee, and so on). Prashad declares, “The mercurial style that Qaddafi adopted was not about his personality alone, but also a leader’s natural response to a system that relied upon power brokers whose own loyalty… did not have any ideological commitment to the system.” As in the case of other nations during Arab Spring, the true expression of revolt was an outward exposition of what had inwardly been happening in microcosmic societies throughout the realm—from indigenous tribes to political parties, for a century, the people, partly motivated by (and in resistance to) economic impositions of development, had been changing the traditional social compositions and participating in what Ruth Wilson Gilmore calls, “the relative autonomy of the movement from the leaders.” It was this empowerment of political reconfigurations taking place under the context of new democratic assemblages that shocked the elites and evoked such a powerful response. Unlike Qaddafi’s awkward policy choices and rants, real acts of power from the West were clear and decisive. Prashad sets the stages of war and diplomacy, far removed from the deserts, mountains, and cities that forged the backdrop of popular politics. Taking place under the now-classic architecture of the “four pillars” of US interests—oil, the War on Terror, Israel, and the circumvention of Iranian hegemony—we find elites rubbing elbows in “Heliopolist cocktail parties and hushed conferences in Kasr al-Ittihadiya” as well as the Concorde-Lafayette hotel in Paris, which provides the setting for a meeting of anti-Qaddafi figures consolidating their power. These scenes are buttressed with the careful portraiture of key historical actors. As Prashad brings the stage of history to life, we find the diplomats and liberals like Frank Wisner, whose career has brought him from Enron in the late 1990s to the Obama Administration, under the aegis of which he was meeting with Mubarak about military support during Arab Spring. We spy the provocateurs, for instance, gauche cavalier , Bernard Henri-Levy, who telephones Sarkozy from Benghazi about the need for more NATO air strikes. We follow the rebel military establishment as it suffers mysterious deaths and even more mysterious assents (like that of apparent CIA cohort, Khalifa Hifter). In each of these intriguing characters, we find different representations of the security state biopolitique: an oil-injected reification that drives Arab Spring from the resentment of rising food prices to the brink of implosion in Libyan Winter. Reminiscent of the scenes of Cold War soirées represented in old Bond films, the aristocratic fight for oil against democracy that was Libyan Winter presents a harsh truth that the new global crisis is simply the continuation of the old history: the global exploitation of capitalism waged against the imagination of the people. As Benjamin laments, “The labyrinth is the right path for the person who always arrives early enough at his destination. This destination is the marketplace.” Yet, “(t)he labyrinth is the habitat of… a humanity (a class) which does not want to know where its destiny is taking it.” Thus, the labyrinth leads, like the desert, only further into itself. As Blanchot explains, “The desert is even less certain than the world; it is never anything but the approach to the desert.” Only the visionary can take time out of the involution toward oblivion. It is here, in this approach to and escape from history, that we find ourselves within Benjamin’s Golgotha, Blanchot’s desert: A space of indeterminate uncertainty where we become familiar only with our own exile. Blanchot writes, “For the moderated and moderate man, the room, the desert, and the world are strictly determined places. For the man of the desert and the labyrinth, devoted to the error of a journey necessarily a little longer than his life, the same space will be truly infinite, even if he knows that it is not, all the more so since he knows it.” The desert, as allegory, provides an eschatology, a mortality in the destiny of Arab Spring. But any allegory of nature might lead to a labyrinthine eschatology (for example, in Bachelard, the forest presents "a limitless world"); the prescience of the untimely is always an uncanny acceptance of the infinite within the finite—the outside of what is understood. Transgenerational and occupied with the image of the future, the untimely makes otherness its home as it proceeds toward liberation. In the work of helping time navigate this dangerous passage of history, Prashad illustrates that the more violent break with history may have occurred in the peaceable struggles of Tahrir Square, and not in the military clashes of Qaddafi with his former Generals who defected to the CIA and NATO countries. It might be possible to suggest, then, that in the case of Tunisia and Egypt, the historical subject of the people was drawn together in a Dionysian dance of different rhythms in the marvelous realm of the ancients, while we fear that the case of Libya suggests an Apollonian future where time, itself, may lay dying under the machinic hand of history. The properly Nietzschean inversion would follow: time is dead, for history has killed it. Yet, if time is dead, struck down in Golgotha, exposed in the desert, mauled by the thawra , it is only in the present sense that it is rendered impossible outside of the context into which the untimely has thrown us. Thus, if history becomes an art of revolution, life as being-towards-death (death as the provocation of the neutrality of time) becomes what Benjamin calls “the allegory of resurrection” through the glorious ruins of history. Prashad ends his work with a rousing finale: “The time of the impossible has presented itself. In Egypt, where the appetite for the possibilities of the future are greatest, the people continue to assert themselves into Tahrir Square and other places, pushing to reinvigorate a Revolution that must not die… For them the slogan is simple: Down with the Present. Long live the Future. May it be so.&rdquo. (shrink)

"Nadie puede calibrar lo que fueron los sufrimientos, los problemas y la dimensión del drama humano vivido sobre todo por las gentes humildes en aquellos trágicos días". Con estas dolorosas palabras expresaba Federica Montseny, militante anarquista de la CNT y de la FAI y Ministra de Sanidad del Gobierno de la República Española (1936-1937), la inconmensurabilidad de la tragedia que supuso el triunfo de las tropas franquistas en 1939. Ella, mujer fuerte, luchadora y valiente -no hay que olvidar que fue (...) apodada como La Leona-tuvo que pasar, junto a sus seres queridos, por un éxodo, por un verdadero Apocalipsis. Sin embargo, fue consciente en todo momento de su situación privilegiada. Todavía con infinitos remordimientos por el hecho de haber intervenido en la política profesional y haber violado así uno de los principios esenciales del anarquismo que afirma que "el poder corrompe y el poder absoluto corrompe absolutamente", Montseny como su Matria al mismo tiempo. De esa orfandad terrible, como ya hemos dicho, renacerá una mujer nueva. Tras los primeros años de sufrimientos del exilio suavizó notablemente el individualismo defendido en sus novelas de juventud, entrando así en una etapa en el que el protagonismo fue cedido a los otros, defendido y levantando con ella una nueva comunidad humana cuyas características básicas presentaremos a continuación. (shrink)

This paper aims to articulate an anarchist challenge to a widespread assumption in the rapidly growing philosophical literature on models, modeling-practices, and model-based science. I argue that the various entities and practices called “models” and “modeling-practices” are too heterogeneous, too context-sensitive, and serve too many scientific purposes and roles, as to constitute unified scientific phenomena that would allow for useful epistemic and ontologies analyses. Just like Feyerabend once argued that there are no general useful inferences to be drawn about (...) the method of “science”, I argue that the same lesson will apply to “model-based science”, hence calling my view model anarchism. (shrink)

Judith Shklar was a formative political thinker whose oeuvre defies traditional labels, and whose legacy is subtle but substantial. Her work emerged, as one observer has pointed out, between the "end of ideology" discussions of the 1950s and the early 1990s discussion of the "end of history." Shklar contributed significantly to American political thought by arguing for a new, more skeptical and stripped-down version of liberalism that intends to bring political theory and real-life experiences closer together. This book is the (...) first to comprehensively explore how Shklar's ideas emerged, how her political theory developed, and the impact and legacy she left behind."--Publisher's website. (shrink)

In a recent paper in JVI, ‘An Anarchist Interpretation of Marx’s “Ability to Needs” Principle,’ Spafford has argued that: (i) the communist and anarchist traditions share an objection to a particular kind of exchange (which he calls quid pro quo exchange); (ii) the anarchist objection to quid pro quo exchange can be understood as opposition to conditional exchange; (iii) consequently, the objection motivates an opposition to conditional exchange as such (i.e. a commitment to unconditional exchange); and (iv) (...) we can construct a normative justification of this opposition by reference to the value of freedom, given that conditional exchange offers diminish the freedom of the recipients of the offers. In this reply piece I argue that (ii) is importantly mistaken, and that consequently (iii) also fails. Although all quid pro quo exchanges are conditional exchanges, the converse does not hold, and we have reason to believe that there will be instances of conditional exchange that are unobjectionable by the lights of the traditional anarchist and communist objection to such exchange. Consequently, an opposition to all conditional exchange rules out too much. However, I will argue that a suitably modified version of (iv) may nevertheless survive the counterexamples that defeat (ii). (shrink)

My new book, Exile, Statelessness, and Migration. Playing Chess With History From Hannah Arendt to Isaiah Berlin, considers the intertwined lives and work of Jewish intellectuals as they make their escape from war-torn Europe into new countries. Although the group which I consider, including Hannah Arendt, Theodor Adorno, Walter Benjamin, Judith Shklar, Albert Hirschman and Isaiah Berlin, have a unique profile as migrants because of their formidable education and intellectual capital, I argue that their lives are still exemplary for (...) many of the dilemmas and risks faced by all migrants. In the reply to critics, I consider such issues as the intellectual relations between Benjamin, Adorno and Horkheimer; differences between Arendt’s and Adorno’s views of an interpretive social science; and why international law played such an important role in the imagination of Jewish intellectuals. A further question involves the generalizability of the experience of Jewish otherness in European culture. Liberal societies always designate some others as their constitutive exterior. How continuous is the experience of emigré Jewish intellectuals with the exclusion of ethnic and racial minorities in our societies? Finally, if the founding of the State of Israel has by no means resolved the problems of statelessness but re-created it for the Palestinian population, what kind of political stance should we assume vis-à-vis this reality today? (shrink)

The article focuses on the heritage of Alexey Alexeevich Borovoy, a Russian anarchist of the early 20th century. Today there is a growing interest to the works of this thinker. Particularly, researchers concede the breadth of his contribution to anarchist theory, and engage his project of personalistic anarchism, with its key concepts of personality and vital impulse. However, the author believes that there is another aspect of Borovoy’s creativity which has not been evaluated — his political theology, the (...) reconstruction of which is undertaken in this work. The analysis begins with an examination of Borovoy’s ethics of anarchism. Nietzsche was a key influence, with the concepts of the ethics of love for the near, and the ethics of love for the far. Borovoy highlighted the latter as the basis of revolutionary morality. Its main feature is the aspiration to the future — the revolutionaries are guided by an anarchist ideal, sacrificing the present for it. The main principles of this anarchist ideal are as follows: Firstly, the anarchist ideal involves the ongoing improvement of human nature and society. Secondly, anarchism believes in the freedom of the individual, which is the center of doctrine. Thirdly, the embodiment of anarchism into reality is possible through a radical break with the past, that is, a catastrophic revolution, as well as through the renewal of human nature. Finally, anarchism promises a secularized salvation — deliverance from violence. In this regard, Borovoy notes that anarchism is a faith that has replaced Christian religion. This allows us to assert that, at the implicit level, the main features of Borovoy’s anarchist project are a secularized form of Christianity. (shrink)

Anarchists standardly critique the state for being illegitimate, and for being dominating in some sense. Often these criticisms come as a bundle: the state is illegitimate because it is dominating. But there are various stories we might tell about the connection between the two; domination makes consent impossible, domination means that the state fails to meet its own justification for existing (or for claiming authority), and so on. I suggest that we should sidestep concerns about consent: in part because it (...) seems possible for people to genuinely consent to something which is nonetheless impermissible, but also because many anarchists offer views of political organisation which very clearly involve some coercion of rule-breakers – Malatesta, for example, explicitly endorses the exclusion of persistent non-compliers. Rather, I argue that the best way to understand why the state is illegitimate – and a way which is immanent in many anarchist critiques – is to combine something like a Pettitian analysis of domination with a requirement that genuine authorities (and authoritative imperatives) recognise us as agents and treat us accordingly. On this view, states are necessarily dominating in virtue of two key features: dominating in virtue of being able to exercise arbitrary power over agents, necessarily so because part of what it is to be a state is to be an institution which exercises (and refrains from exercising) power in virtue of morally arbitrary features. As a paradigm case, states must be able to exclude non-citizens, on pain of losing their successful claim to a monopoly on legitimate force. But to recognise somebody as an agent is inconsistent with denying them access to territory or services on the basis of something as arbitrary as their place of birth. This analysis also explains why it’s possible to hold that all states are illegitimate, but some are nonetheless “better” than others – depending on the structure of a state and the power held by its citizens, we may be more or less vulnerable to arbitrary interference, and hence be more or less dominated, in one state than another. (shrink)

Anarchism and Sexuality: Dangerous Desires brings the rich traditions of anarchist thought and practice to contemporary questions about the politics of sexuality. Overflowing and undermining governmental divisions between the personal and political, heterosexual and homosexual, activism and scholarship, poetry and prose, this book: brings a fresh anarchist perspectives to queer and feminist debates around sexuality; makes feminist and queer intervention in the newest wave of anarchist scholarship; and offers an anarchist contribution ...

An examination of the intertwined lives and writings of a group of prominent twentieth-century Jewish thinkers who experienced exile and migration Exile, Statelessness, and Migration explores the intertwined lives, careers, and writings of a group of prominent Jewish intellectuals during the mid-twentieth century—in particular, Theodor Adorno, Hannah Arendt, Walter Benjamin, Isaiah Berlin, Albert Hirschman, and Judith Shklar, as well as Hans Kelsen, Emmanuel Levinas, Gershom Scholem, and Leo Strauss. Informed by their Jewish identity and experiences of being outsiders, (...) these thinkers produced one of the most brilliant and effervescent intellectual movements of modernity. Political philosopher Seyla Benhabib’s starting point is that these thinkers faced migration, statelessness, and exile because of their Jewish origins, even if they did not take positions on specifically Jewish issues personally. The sense of belonging and not belonging, of being “eternally half-other,” led them to confront essential questions: What does it mean for the individual to be an equal citizen and to wish to retain one’s ethnic, cultural, and religious differences, or perhaps even to rid oneself of these differences altogether in modernity? Benhabib isolates four themes in their works: dilemmas of belonging and difference; exile, political voice, and loyalty; legality and legitimacy; and pluralism and the problem of judgment. Surveying the work of influential intellectuals, Exile, Statelessness, and Migration recovers the valuable plurality of their Jewish voices and develops their universal insights in the face of the crises of this new century. (shrink)

Anarchists get a bad rap. More often than not, TV shows, comic‐books, videogames and sometimes even serious journalism portray anarchists as lazy work‐shirkers or as cartoonish evil villains, hell‐bent on causing chaos for chaos's sake. Unfortunately, the world of Avatar: The Last Airbender is not immune to this habit. Book Three of Avatar: The Legend of Korra even features an antagonist, Zaheer, who is nominally an anarchist. Anarchists would never jealously guard knowledge in a personal library, like the owl (...) spirit Wan Shi Tong. Anarchism involves a radical commitment to democracy‐sharing power and an opposition to unjust hierarchies. Anarchism also involves a way of looking at human beings and human interaction. This perspective is encapsulated in the anarchist principle “mutual aid,” which is often ascribed to the Russian biologist and philosopher Pyotr Kropotin. (shrink)

O objetivo deste trabalho é destacar as contribuições do anarquismo cristão para a educação e, de modo especial, para a superação do problema do prometeísmo social no campo pedagógico. Explora o pensamento do filósofo da tecnologia, sociólogo e teólogo Jacques Ellul, um dos expoentes do anarquismo cristão, com base em três elementos: a não violência como método de luta social, a concepção de natureza humana e, por fim, a questão da utopia. A análise desses elementos permite caracterizar o anarquismo cristão (...) como alternativa instigante para o enfoque das questões educacionais e, especialmente, para a superação do problema do prometeísmo social. Palavras-chave: Anarquismo cristão. Jacques Ellul. Educação. (shrink)

Twelve essays by the influential radical include "Marriage and Love," "The Hypocrisy of Puritanism," "The Traffic in Women," Anarchism," and "The Psychology of Political Violence." Other enduringly relevant essays examine patriotism, the failure of the penal system, and drama as a means of conveying political theory.

This paper presents a discussion of some central ideas in anarchist thought, alongside an account of experiments in anarchist education. In the course of the discussion, I try to challenge certain preconceptions about anarchism, especially concerning the anarchist view of human nature. I address the questions of whether or not anarchism is utopian, what this means, and what implications these ideas may have for dominant paradigms in philosophy of education.

This book examines the central questions concerning the duty to obey the law: the meaning of this duty; whether and where it should be acknowledged; and whether and when it should be disregarded. Many contemporary philosophers deny the very existence of this duty, but take a cautious stance toward political disobedience. This 'toothless anarchism', Professor Gans argues, should be discarded in favour of a converse position confirming the existence of a duty to obey the law which can be outweighed by (...) values and principles of political morality. Informed by the Israeli experience of political disobedience motivated by radically differing moral outlooks, the author sets out the principles which should guide our attitude to law and political authority even amidst clashing ideologies and irreconcilable moralities. This book will be of interest to students and scholars of law, philosophy and politics, and anyone concerned with the individual's responsibilties toward his or her political community. (shrink)

Against these are set pieces that argue anarchisms impossibility and estimate its relevance to social change.The debate format of Anarchism introduces the ...

L’exil des migrants de retour en Géorgie post-soviétique, en se doublant d’une rupture historique brutale et douloureuse avec le « temps d’avant », révèle la perception d’une autre forme d’exil, social et temporel. Cet exil temporel organise une perception du temps originale constituée de diverses ruptures qui sont mises en narration par les discours des migrants à travers la mobilisation de différents procédés narratifs destinés à restituer des parcours individuels heurtés au sein d’un temps socialement partageable. Ainsi, ces narrations laissent (...) apparaître la mise en scène du motif inaugural de la chute ainsi que le lien entre migration et peur de la fragmentation nationale. Elles révèlent également des polarités sociales que nous comprenons comme des perceptions temporelles différenciées. La dialectique rupture-continuité diffère donc selon la position sociale des enquêtés. Selon qu’on ait pu clore ou non les « années difficiles » post-soviétiques, elles sont considérées comme une transition achevée ou bien comme une crise perpétuelle en décalage avec la temporalité politique rapide du réformateur Mikhaïl Saakashvili.Ainsi, en se conjuguant aux rythmes précaires des mobilités, l’appréhension temporelle des migrants dont il est ici question se saisit au croisement de perspectives historiques et de celles des trajectoires migratoires et biographiques. (shrink)