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Paul Thompson and Mike Allen

Labour and the local state in Liverpool Liverpool City Council led by members of the Militant Tendency took on both central government and ultimately the national Labour Party . Thompson and Allen show that Militant's model of a local state based on direct distribution to clients and political mobilisation excluded participation of the very groups whose interests they claimed to promote, especially council tenants, ethnic minorities and trade union, and contributed to both the failure of their political strategy and the failure to general broad political support.

Socialist practices in the local state The local state has become a crucial area of political contestation in recent years, given the Thatcherite project of cuts and centralised controls ; the absence of Labour from central government producing a shifting terrain of resistance and experimentation ; and the emergence of an `urban new left' on its long march through the institutions of the labour movement . The last round of battles between central and local government saw Labour local authorities once more on the retreat, confrontationist strategies sooner or later giving way to a variety of `dented shields' . In this context, for some sections of the Left, the `Liverpool model' became the

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Capital & Class 8 way forward despite its eventual defeat . centralisation of services, popular planOf course it is not quite as simple as this ning, and new committee structures such scenario suggests . The set-piece spending as those for women . Practices of this nature confrontations concealed a variety of prac- are frequently underlaid by a pluralist tices carried out by different local authori- analysis of the state which sees space for ties in spheres such as housing, economic socialist intervention within contradictory planning and social services . This article functins and levels of operation . seeks to situate the experience of Liverpool iii. Mobilisation : You cannot have and its Militant leadership inside these successful participatory practices without practices rather than simply its confronta- mobilising both individual citizens, and the building of new alliances which tion with the central state . We would contend that there are three focusses on tenants, voluntary groups, major dimensions of socialist practice in town hall unions and the like . But mobilthe local state . They are not mutually ex- isation cannot be contained within any clusive models . Rather the emphasis given specific political project . Left councils through appropriate strategies and tactics need to mobilise round a variety of political is the crucial divide between different objectives given that the local state is an political projects at local state level . arena of class or social struggle . For some, i . Client relations : A local authority the issues of cuts and autonomy provided must meet the collective needs of social a framework to implement a confrontaconsumption and the individual and group tionist strategy initially based on the `three `complaints' that arise from the delivery of noes' (rate rises, rent rises, cuts) . This those services . This inevitably creates could only succeed on the basis of massive some level of passive client relations and continual mobilisation . Attitudes between the council and councillors, and towards participative `reforms from the public . The latter are unlikely to wel- below' were often much more pessimistic come permanent high-level involvement, or dismissive, and rested on an analysis and the bottom line remains efficient, which sees the local state primarily as an value-for-money services . Politically the arm of the capitalist state, and therefore problem arises when this dimension has `enemy territory' . been the only practice of Labour authorities, continually reproducing a paternalism Enter Militant which alienates working people, and which When a massive swing of votes and seats paradoxically often creates a high level of put Liverpool Labour in power in 1983, bureaucratic inefficiency . Militant were the dominant grouping in ii . Participation : Large sections of the the District Labour Party and have renew Left have regarded the above experi- mained so ever since . We are not conence as at best limited and at best disast- cerned here with why this is the case . 2 rous . Emphasis is therefore put on local Militant's approach to the local state in state practices which redistribute power . Liverpool is a combination of client and As one of the original documents from mobilisation practices, with a minimal Walsall put it : socialism is most likely to be emphasis on participation . The approach achieved in this country through participatory is shared by large numbers of other Left democracy . This leads to an orieintation activists such as Tony Byrne the chief of towards civil society rather than the state, the finance committee, amongst others with the vehicles for change being de- who make up the dominant grouping . I

Liverpool The basic contours were in place prior to 1983 . A central District Labour Party (DLP) policy document stated unequivocally that the major function of a Labour administration would be to expose the bankruptcy of the capitalist system and highlight the impossibility of meeting social needs . Within the framework of no cuts in jobs and services, other policy documents however (often drawn up by non-Militant specialists among councillors and activists) tended to articulate a standard Labourist approach on issues of housing, social services, education, etc . During the first year the confrontationist strategy in 1983/84 was accepted by most as inevitable . Debates centred on the politics of service delivery . Militant and their allies proved unremittingly hostile to any participative measures . Housing coops bore the first brunt being described as 'anti-socialist' ; the refusal to fund them alienated the largely Labour supporters involved . On the advice of the Executive Committee of the DLP, the Municipal Policy Conference rejected even the mildest notions in favour of decentralisation . One motion in favour of an Advisory Group, including tenants, councillors and shop stewards, to oversee the work of the Direct Labour Organisation, was only accepted after the deletion of the words, `[make its working] more accountable to tenants and workers' . The political basis of this approach was clearly articulated during debates . Labour is regarded as the sole centre of political activity, while tenants, community, black and voluntary groups were described as `non-class organisations' . Sharing or even participating in decision-making is seen as giving up the power of collective provision . All policies are decided and supported by the Labour Party, not outside organisations . The best way to contribute to policy in the Labour Party

is to be in it . In fact I wouldn't think there is much hope of influencing policy if you are not in it . (Tony Byrne) 3 In addition there has been a tremendous hostility to voluntary organisations and a virtual mania to municipalise them under any circumstances . Again Tony Byrne is forthright on this score : `As soon as people go on to the local authority payroll, voluntary management committees are irrelevant . Policy will be made by the local authority .' 4 Some of the hostility stems from the association of co-ops and tenant management schemes with the previous Liberal administration . `Go and join the Liberals' was a frequent response to anyone raising such issues . Ironically, the participative measures of the Liberals were largely a sham, a vehicle for rebuilding a new client relationship with Liverpool voters . Major cuts in the funding of voluntary groups were made by the Liberals in the last period of officea policy fought by Labour! There has been one exception to the pattern of Labour hostility to participation - the role played by local authority trade unions . The Council co-opted key convenors to a number of committees from an early stage, and more crucially gave nomination rights for jobs . However, it was not uniform treatment among the unions, but rather a sweetheart relationship with the GMBATU (General Municipal Boilermakers and Allied Trades Union), within which Militant and its allies had the most support . Problems associated with these practices were to come home to roost at a later stage . The history of events since the early period of office has been complex . We can only concentrate on two key processes which illustrate our arguments . The campaign The focus of city politics has been dominated by the campaign for greater government resources . Given the appearance of a

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Capital & Class

10 victory over Patrick Jenkin in 1984 there was considerable support for a further confrontation with the government . Modest concessions allied to excessive optimism of the will had acted as a strong antidote to the gloom of closures and unsuccessful industrial resistance . Mobilisation in the first campaign reached very high levels with large demonstrations, modestly successful industrial action, public meetings in every constituency, petitioning, etc . But the attempt to blindly repeat the campaign in 1985 led to an horrendous failure . Whatever unity and confidence there was declined as other councils backed off or understandably found a solution through creative accountancy . The DLP leadership ploughed forward irrespective of the fact of increasing national and local isolation . The tactic of illegality and confrontation had been elevated into an untouchable socialist principle . The practical consequences of a refusal to set a rate, or implement some other of the less painful options identified by Stonefrost for raising revenue without cuts, was even more disastrous . The campaign for jobs and services was transformed into what some local trade unionists described as `death by a thousand cuts', non-filling of vacancies and the infamous 30,000 redundancy notices . It was therefore unsurprising that by the week of the final settlement in Autumn 1985 only one GMBATU branch out of the whole workforce was still supporting the DLP leadership . The eventual rescue deal courtesy of the Gnomes of Zurich was one of the worst ways of raising revenue, putting existing and future programmes in jeopardy . However it was not just problems with developing an effective strategy and tactics, in what was universally acknowledged' to be a difficult situation . The failure to

involve key groups outside the Party, and its GMBATU satellite organisations, in participative practices undermined the capacity of the Party to mobilise support for the later periods of confrontation . The same `motions' were gone through but with rhetoric far outweighing substance . A particularly negative twist was given by the tendency during the two campaigns for Militant to use their control of the DLP to build their own sectarian machine in the city . The appointment of Sam Bond as Race Relations Advisor was only the public tip of the iceberg . Aside from the routine placing of their supporters in low-level jobs, other notable examples include the appointment of the three Militants as FE sabbatical officers in Further Education institutes ; and the funding of a full-timer for their black front organisation - the Merseyside Action Group . Recently, prominent black ex-members of MAG have revealed that they had been ordered to prioritise recruitment to Militant over anti-racist and community work . Conversely, those community or union groups who were critical of the DLP leadership were systematically discriminated against . This was documented by organisations such as NUPE (National Union of Public Employees) and the Black Caucus in the evidence to the Labour Party National Executive Committee Enquiry into the DLP . The latter have also rightly attacked the failure to implement a policy of positive action to redress the institutional racism of existing Council employment and social service provision . This failure has as much to do with the leadership's hostility to independent black organisation as it has to do with any particular race policy . Now, even former allies in the town hall unions have in the words of one GMBATU convenor `declared war' on the latest examples of Militant patronage: focussing on the continued secondment of their

Liverpool members to political work with the `A Team' of full-time activists for the Tendency on the rates . The combined effects of Militant's sectarian politics, and the practices of `mobilisation without participation' dissipated much of the early goodwill, helping to explain the regrettably muted response to the Day of Action following the Court of Appeal case ; to the councillors' legal aid and hardship appeals ; as well as the swing away from Labour in recent elections in the city . The urban regeneration strategy The campaign was not everything . As far as managing services went, the Urban Regeneration Strategy (uRS) has been described as the `jewel in the crown' of council policies . It consists of an ambitious programme of demolition, new-built housing and environmental improvement based on seventeen priority areas . There have been a large number of benefits to the lives of many tenants, as well as the beneficial effects of pump-priming in terms of jobs in the construction industry and purchasing power in the local economy . However it has been flawed once again by the absence of meaningful participation by its intended beneficiaries, a point consistently raised by tenant and community groups . This is not just a result of the urgency of the programme . It has been the DLP's stated aim to see independent tenant organisation `rendered superfluous by a highly effective method of consultation with individual tenants' (Housing Policy Statement, 1985 : 11-12) . Not only did the DLP vote down a proposal to set up Liaison Committees in each priority area as a mechanism of involvement, the council later developed a policy that it will not meet and deal with tenant organisations, only with individual complainants . They were satisfied that 3,000 house-

holders had attended exhibitions and 11 discussed with officers and councillors . This apparently ensured that everyone was heard, not just those with loud voices (ibid : 14) . Even after such tokenistic consultation, the Party is in principle committed to rejecting independent proposals for amending the URS on the grounds that this would in effect give control of Party policies to groups outside the Party (ibid : 14) . Despite the laudable efforts being made to consider the design, security and environment of new housing, by relying on this combination of mobilisation and client practices, the intention was to depoliticise housing policy once outside of Council and Party . These forces are regarded as the sole mobilisers . Tony Byrne again : `when the Council's policies are explained by other than Council officers and members this leads to misinformation, wrong interpretation and distortion of the facts' . Even local Party activists cannot get information such as the breakdown of housing starts from the Central Support Unit . Although there are certainly real problems with the accountability and representativeness of tenant and community groups, the DLP leadership appears fixed in what John Short describes as, `the naive belief that the labour movement as presently structured and on its own can effect a real transformation of power .' 5 Notes 1 . `Walsall's Haul to Democracy : The Neighbourhood Concept', p . 5 . Walsall Borough Council . 2 . See Paul Thompson, `Militant Merseyside', Marxism Today, April 1985 . 3 . Quoted in Voluntary Action, October 1983, `What's Happening in Liverpool?' 4 . Ibid . 5 . John Short, `The Urban Arena : Capital, State and Community in Contemporary Politics', Macmillan, 1984, p . 178 .

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Henk Overbeek The Westland affair : Collision over the future of British capitalism The debate over the Westland affair has gone through many phases over the past few months . Yet little or no clarity has been achieved about the underlying pressures and political connections which produced it . Henk Overbeek takes a step back from the popular imagery of the affair and looks at what the affair can tell us about the interlinkages between defence policy and the wider socioeconomic context which underlies the Thatcherite project . Far from being a mere takeover battle, he argues, it represents a deep question about the present and future direction of British politics.

MU 12

Background The political row over the future of the Westland Helicopter firm has subsided, although the investigations by the parliamentary commission and by the London Stock Exchange have not been fully concluded at the time of writing, and might still turn up interesting and possibly embarrassing information . Yet, a sufficient amount of time has elapsed to enable us to assess the wider implications of the affair . In this contribution, the focus of attention will be on the significance of the affair in two (related) areas, namely the area of British foreign and defence policy, and the area of socio-economic policy . The

The Westland Affair two fields are related not in the first place because the one area carries implications for the other, but rather because these two areas of state policy are the most important elements in any comprehensive political programme . The affair first of all was no ordinary takeover fight between two competing firms or consortia . The two parties bidding for control of the Westland company show fairly diverging profiles (with respect both to earlier history, composition of the board of directors, and business interests), in addition to being commercial competitors . In fact, the two consortia (Sikorsky/FIAT and the British Aerospace/General Electric consortium) can be characterised as liberal and corporatist respectively . This conclusion leads to a closer examination of the character and origins of these two `profiles' . Without in this article attempting to enter the ongoing debate on 'Thatcherism', some remarks must be made on this matter in order to make possible an assessment of the importance of the Westland Affair for the future direction of British politics, and in the end also for the possibilities for a socialist alternative . Competing bids for Westland The problems for the helicopter firm Westland plc dated back at least to the early summer of 1985, when the firm ran into liquidity problems . Upon instigation of the Bank of England a new chairman was appointed, Sir John Cuckney (who among other things had been president of International Military Services Ltd since 1974) . After several unsuccessful attempts to secure government support for Westland he finally decided, in October 1985, to turn to the partner Westland had been cooperating with for a long time, the American company United Technologies, the parent firm of helicopter makers

Sikorsky . Secretary of State for Defence 13 Michael Heseltine then intervened and decided after consultation with his colleague for Trade and Industry Leon Brittan to explore the chances of a `European' alternative for Sikorsky's takeover bid . The result of Heseltine's activities was the getting together of the consortium led by British Aerospace and General Electric Company, and further consisting of the European helicopter firms Messerschmidt Boelkow Blohm (MBB, Federal Republic of Germany), Aerospatiale (France) and Agusta (Italy) . The consortium was assisted by the merchant banking division of Lloyds Bank. In the face of this challenge, Sikorsky tried to strengthen its position by entering into a cooperation agreement with FIAT. Westland and Sikorsky on their side were advised by Lazards merchant bank . In the course of December 1985, it transpired that Leon Brittan, most likely after having been instructed by the PM herself, had had a change of heart and now held the view that the Westland board was free to make its own choice . A battle between the major shareholders soon ensued. In normal circumstances, the institutional investors in fights like these usually have a decisive influence on the outcome and in this case as so often most of them (e .g . Fleming merchant bank with 9% and the insurance companies Sun Alliance with 6 .6% and Prudential with 4 .5%) chose the safe returns to their investments promised by the Sikorsky bid . The Sikorsky-side was supported by the Hanson Trust : this holding company with extensive interests in the United States in a few days acquired 15% of the Westland shares . One of the remarkable features of the whole affair, and a feature which made the government's job in `selling' the Sikorsky takeover to the public so much easier, of course was the fact that the

Capital & Class 14 Westland workers strongly supported this deal, and opposed the `European' option . They made it clear that what counted to them was the security of their jobs, and they had more confidence in Sikorsky than in the consortium of European firms, which was hastily put together and consisted of long-time competitors who, the workers feared, were interested in Westland only insofar as a takeover would enable them to cut competition from Britain . However, in the first instance Sikorsky did not succeed in reaching the 75% of stockholder votes needed for straight acceptance of its bid . The shareholders primarily interested in an `independent' British helicopter manufacturer were led by helicopter tycoon Alan Bristow (15%) and United Scientific Holdings (the producer of military equipment holding 5% of Westland stock), and support came from Lloyds Bank (2%) and General Electric (1%) . The second - revised - Sikorsky bid, now only needing a simple majority of the shareholders, eventually succeeded at the Westland shareholders' meeting of 12 February 1986 . The way in which this was achieved, however, seems to assure that the final word in the matter has not yet been said . There were six mysterious new stockholders, together holding a decisive 20% of the shares, who prevented the `European' consortium from achieving a majority . A special committee appointed by the London Stock Exchange is investigating the identity of these shareholders who have hidden behind the famous Swiss banking secrecy . If it would be proven that one or more of these acted on orders from, or even in concert with, Sikorsky (as seems almost certain in two cases, according to the Financial Times, 14 February 1986) then several legal provisions regarding takeovers and mergers have been violated . Although the takeover

cannot be undone disclosures of this kind would certainly further harm the political position of the Prime Minister, who has done so much to push this deal through, including the sacrifice of two cabinet ministers . Both sides in the battle over Westland had mobilised all political clout they could muster, and a look at the boardrooms of the different firms involved shows that the potential for political influence was quite impressive, on both sides . The top position with Westland until early 1985 was occupied by Lord Aldington, who had also been (for years) director of Lloyds Bank, which advises the European consortium, and Deputy-Chairman of General Electric Company (since 1968, after having been Chairman for four years before that), which is one of the two British arms producers taking part in the European consortium . Lord Aldington had also been a director (between 1969 and 1983) of the American banking firm Citicorp, and between 1964 and 1976 he was also Chairman of Grindlays Bank, long time partner of Lloyds Bank . Finally, Lord Aldington is also Chairman of the board of Sun Alliance, which owns 6 .6% of Westland's stocks (and reportedly favoured the Sikorsky plan) . The board of Sun Alliance between 1974 and 1979 also counted among its members Sir Geoffrey Howe, the present Foreign Secretary . Lord Aldington can rightfully be called a busy man, and it is no wonder that he felt obliged by the pressures of work to give up his position of Deputy Chairman of the Conservative Party in 1963 . The board room of General Electric is frequented by other prominent (ex)politicians as well : Lord Carrington was Chairman until he succeeded Joseph Luns as Secretary-General of NATO, and at present James Prior (former Secretary for Employment and prominent `Wet') still

The Westland Affair holds a directorship in GEC . In the figure of Lord Aldington, then, a number of threads come together . Most conspicuous in this respect is the `axis' Lloyds Bank - General Electric . These two firms are known, respectively, as the prototype of a corporatist industrial conglomerate (General Electric) and as a clearing bank with a traditional Atlantic orientation (cf. Aaronovitch, 1955 ; Aaronovitch, 1961) . Recently this characterisation found new corroboration when a report was issued by a Select Committee from the House of Lords which investigated the international competititve position of British industry . This committee (chaired by, again, Lord Aldington), which among others heard the testimony of GEC Managing Director Lord Weinstock, came to conclusions which were devastating for the economic policies of the Thatcher government and called for `urgent action' in order to `revive manufacturing and stimulate trade in manufactured goods' (House of Lords, 1985) . On the other side of the fence the present Westland board also called in the assistance of influential associates . As mentioned, the Italian FIAT group (owned for about 15% by Libya) was involved in the Sikorsky bid in order to give the impression that the proposed deal was not a straight American takeover bid . Then Westland was also assisted by a merchant bank : Lazards . This merchant bank, established in 1870, still has strong ties with the other offshoots of the Lazard family business Lazard Freres (Paris) and Lazard Bros (New York) . But Lazards is also connected to Royal Insurance (Sampson, 1983 : 315) of which Westland's new Chairman Sir John Cuckney is Deputy Chairman . Lazards' erstwhile American orientation took shape in the past in an intimate relation with the financial empire of JP Morgan, represented (though indirectly)

in Britain through Morgan Grenfell 15 merchant bank (Sampson, 1981 : 119) . The American Lazards Bros by the way was also the employer of Ian MacGregor, the man whom Sir Keith Joseph convinced to come to Britain first to decimate the workforce of British Steel and then to take on the National Union of Mineworkers as President of the National Coal Board . Lazards (which is part of the Pearson conglomerate which also owns the Financial Times and-part of-The Economist) is managed since December 1985 by Sir John Nott, the man who as Heseltine's predecessor as Secretary of Defence waged the Falkland war and who in that capacity was responsible for sinking the Argentian battleship `Belgrano' . On the basis of these characteristics it seems safe to say that the Westland/ Sikorsky/Lazards consortium has a clear Thatcherite profile, and a strong orientation towards the us . One of the perspectives from which the battle for Westland should therefore be considered is that of the fractional divisions within the British ruling class, and of the conflicting views as to the direction in which Britain should move, considering the fundamental changes taking place in the world economy and the international state system . Capital fractions and concepts of control In the Communist Manifesto Marx and Engels mention the state as the `executive committee of the whole bourgeoisie' . This much-abused characterisation expresses the fact that in general the bourgeois state guarantees the conditions for the lasting subordination of labour to capital . However, the bourgeoisie is not usually `whole', and the conflict between capital and labour is not the only factor determining state policies . The fractioning of capital (both along functional and along institutional

Capital & Class 16 lines) implies (at least potentially) the (Van der Pijl) or hegemonic projects

existence of structural strategic differences within the ruling class . The internal articulation of the bourgeoisie can of course not be simply reduced to the economic fractioning of capital . Political and ideological factors are of central importance in the constitution of fractions of the bourgeoisie, as are the distinct relations of different sections of the bourgeoisie to the working class, and more generally to other classes and social groups . Nevertheless, certain ideal-typical (in the Weberian sense of the word) economic/political/ideological profiles can be construed around which concrete historical fractions of the bourgeoisie arise and gravitate . The most fundamental functional division within social capital is the division between capital engaged in production, and capital engaged in circulation . One `function' is not more essential than the other (the process of reproduction of social capital is fundamentally one) but these two spheres in general give those active in it a quite distinct perspective on the way bourgeois hegemony can best be organised and safeguarded, among other things because the relation to the working class is quite different . In order for one fraction to be able to have its own view accepted by others, this view will have to be presented as' the general interest, or the `national interest' . This requires that the fractional interest is formulated in general terms and comprises a coherent programme of class strategies in the areas of labour relations, socioeconomic policies, and the international position of the country in question . The basis for such a programme is layed by a class compromise through which the dominated classes and class fractions are adequately compensated (economically or ideologically) for accepting the domination of the hegemonic fraction (Van der Pil, 1984, ch 1) . These concepts of control

(Jessop) thus find their basis in specific fractional interests, but at the same time transcend the narrow economic field, and necessarily so, because these class strategies can only be realised through the political and ideological arena . The concrete historical manifestation of politics cannot be reduced to the interests of this or that capital fraction, but it is nevertheless necessary, and possible, to analyse the structural (not deterministic) connection between politics and economics, between the strategic action of class fractions and the `objective laws' of the accumulation process . In The Modern Prince, Antonio Gramsci clearly expressed both the nature of the relation between politics and economics, and the partial compromise character of `concepts of control' : `Undoubtedly the fact of hegemony presupposes that account be taken of the interests and the tendencies of the groups over which hegemony is to be exercised, and that a certain compromise equilibrium should be formed - in other words, that the leading group should make sacrifices of an economic-corporate kind . But there is also no doubt that such sacrifices and such a compromise cannot touch the essential ; for though hegemony is ethicalpolitical, it must also be economic, must necessarily be based on the decisive function exercised by the leading group in the decisive nucleus of economic activity' (Gramsci, 1971 : 161) . The essential functional fractioning of capital is that between productive and circulating capital, or more precisely between fixed and circulating capital (Shortall, 1986) . The productive function is (in institutional terms) performed particularly by industry . Continuity of production and surplus value production and the realisation of surplus value on the

The Westland Affair market by the sale of its products are of prime importance . In both instances, workers play an important role . Any concept expressing the `productive' point of view will therefore contain elements meant to neutralise the conflict of interest between the classes on the one hand, and elements meant to emphasise the harmony of interests (e .g . in continued accumulation and growth) on the other . The relative weight of these two sets of elements changes over time, and expresses the state of the class struggle . Thus, in phases of weakness of the working class the repressive elements come to the fore, whereas in periods of working-class strength the conciliatory elements acquire greater importance . The most reactionary version of a `productive capital concept' was the Italian and German fascist corporations of the 1920s and 1930s, whereas the conciliatory reformist variety of corporatism was pioneered during the 1930s in Sweden and in the American New Deal (cf. Gourevitch, 1984) . The main political parties historically subscribing to this `principle of social protection' (Polanyi, 1957 : 132) were the reformist bourgeois parties and, particularly in Northwestern Europe, the social-democratic parties . The circulation function is performed by such diverse institutions as commercial houses, advertising agencies, insurance companies, oil companies (with their predominant trading activities) and last but not least the banks . Essential for circulation of capital is the safeguarding of the free movement of capital, especially in money form, and therefore the convertability and solidity of the national valuta . The relation of circulating capital to the working class is a rather indirect one, and circulating capital seems more indifferent towards the working class : it is neither particularly cooperative, nor is it directly hostile . The 'proto-concept of C'C 29-B

control' expressing these interests and 17 views has been dubbed the money capital concept (Van der Pijl, 1984), or alternatively the `principle of economic liberalism' (Polanyi, 1957) . This concept is attractive not only to money capitalists (how could such a concept attract sufficient support if this were so) but also potentially to rentiers, shopkeepers, professional people, and highly skilled workers in particular sectors of the economy : in short, to all those groups having an interest in a high degree of capital mobility and opposed to state intervention and regulation in their sphere of activity . Thus, seen from this angle it is significant that the Westland workers supported the Sikorsky option (identified above as a `liberal' option), rather than the 'corporatist' European option . As highly skilled workers in a potentially strong high-tech branch, their interests seem (to them at least) safer with a strongly market-oriented cooperation set-up than with a consortium that could probably only be successful with a large public involvement (both at the national and at the EC level) . It is quite clear that the capitalist crisis of the 1970s resulted in a gradual almost worldwide transition from the dominance of the productive capital concept (welfarestate, Fordism, Keynesian compromise, neo-corporatism, corporate liberalism, are some of the names attached to its concrete post-war manifestation in the developed capitalist countries) to a resurgence of economic liberalism, based on the money capital concept and adorned with elements of political and ideological conservatism and even authoritarianism . In Great Britain, the liberal tradition has particularly strong roots in history and retained its prominence even .wring the heyday of neo-corporatism . This fact certainly explains in part the relatively early rise of neo-liberalism in Britain when

Capital & Class

18 compared to most European countries where the corporatist tradition was much stronger . However, the hegemony of the liberal concept is rather unstable, its ideological strength notwithstanding . Basically, the instability is caused by the fact that the liberal project, in Britain in its concrete manifestation of Thatcherism, is unable to provide sufficient compensation in the long run to most of the subordinated classes and class fractions . Political developments in Britain in the 1980s must be considered in the light of this basic instability . The Westland affair then appears not so much as an important matter in its own right, but rather as a symptom of a more fundamental clash between different strategic concepts. This clash involves conflicts over the form of the subordination of labour and over the general direction of state involvement in the economy as well as a conflict over the position of Britain in the imperialist world at large. It is to this second strategic conflict within the British ruling class that I will now first turn . European versus Atlantic cooperation A strategic conflict over British foreign policy

In many commentaries the events surrounding the Westland affair and the resignation of Michael Heseltine have been interpreted against the background of an alleged struggle between an Atlantic fraction led by the 'pro-American' Prime Minister and a European fraction led by the 'pro-European' Heseltine . This view seemed to be supported by the fact that both direct opponents, Leon Brittan and Michael Heseltine, implicated relations with the United States in their position . In his notorious conversation with Sir Raymond Lygo of British Aerospace, Brittan expressed his concern that the

proponents of the `European' solution for Westland were evoking an anti-American sentiment in the country . In his turn, Heseltine warned time and again of a rising tide of anti-Americanism that would result from a complete domination of the European defence industries by American companies . In fact, this argument occupied almost half of the space of Heseltine's 5column apology in the Observer of 12 January 1986 . Clearly, then, relations with the United States in the area of defence were of great importance in the whole Westland Saga . The view that what was involved was a truggle between pro-American forces and anti-American/pro-European forces must however be questioned . Much of the confusion around these terms is caused by the fact that the precise meaning of the terminology is usually left in the dark . Since the end of the 1940s three currents can be identified in West European thinking about Euro-American relations . Firstly, there is the Europeanist option, striving for a position of European equality vis-a-vis both the United States and the Soviet Union : one could also call this a European 'Gaullism', attempting to eliminate or at least modify the bipolarity of East-West relations . Secondly, there were (and are) the Atlanticists, those who see the place of a united Western Europe at the tide of the United States, as an equal partner in a strong Atlantic alliance, in opposition to the Soviet Union and her allies . Thirdly, in Great Britain, there were the Churchillians, those who aspired to an independent role for Great Britain in world politics, which in the post-war reality could only be realised by cherishing the `Special Relation' wtih the United States . Looking at this matter from the point of view of the Atlantic area as a whole, i .e. including Western Europe, it is confusing to use the

The Westland Affair term 'Atlanticist' to describe the foreign policy of the Thatcher government ; the confusion becomes even greater when the term Atlanticist is employed to indicate a foreign policy consensus which presumably existed since the 1950s (as Morrell, 1986, does) . During the 1950s, the Churchillian view of Britain's place in the world clearly dominated policy formation, even for some time after the Suez debacle had proven the impossibility of a truly independent (i .e . independent from the us) foreign policy posture . With the coming to the fore of Harold Macmillan, things began to change . In 1961, Britain finally applied for EEC membership, thereby admitting that a new orientation in foreign policy was needed . The French veto of 1963, however, blocked a quick and relatively painless transition, and caused an inherently instable equilibrium to remain in existence all during the following decade : the awareness grew stronger every year that the `Special Relation' was not special enough any longer (if ever it had been), yet on the other hand, the only credible alternative (EEC membership) was for the time being unattainable . On the continent a pendular movement was visible during the 1950s and 1960s between the two extremes of `Europeanism' and `Atlanticism' . At some points in time initiatives for 'Europeanist' integration projects predominated, such as the plan for a European Defence Community and a West European Union ; at other times integration initiatives showed more characteristics of an 'Atlanticist' nature, such as with the Treaties of Brussels and of Paris, and with the NATO treaty . This undulation was clearly related to a similar movement in American foreign policy, in which offensive phases (aimed at political and ideological strengthening of the Atlantic Alliance and of American

hegemony within it, as under presidents 19 Truman and Kennedy) alternated with conservative phases (in which the principal aim was a unilateral strengthening of the American sphere of influence vis-a-vis Western Europe, as under presidents Eisenhower and Nixon) (Van der Pijl, 1984 ; Wolfe, 1981) . Offensive phases in American foreign policy strengthened the position in Western Europe of the 'Atlanticists', conservative phases played into the hands of the `Europeanists' who could point to the need to protect Europe's own interests (Van der Pijl, 1984 ; also Hellema, 1984) . The British on the whole had no problems with the 'Atlanticist' integration projects which did not conflict with their own interest in maintaining the `Special Relation' (such as NATO, and on the economic front OECD) . 'Europeanist' plans, especially in the defence area, however, almost without exception met with British abstention or opposition : `The history of the West European Union until now teaches us that it was used, especially by the British, to achieve the opposite [of what it was supposed to achieve] : it retarded West European military cooperation and strengthened the ties with the United States' (Wiebes/Zeeman y 1984) . After the onset of the crisis of American hegemony from the early seventies (fall of the dollar, `oil crisis', the defeat in Vietnam) the distinctions between the different positions have become much more fluent . The offensive forces in the us were severely weakened, as was shown by the early abortion of the `human rights campaign' of the Carter administration . The most important `offensive' forces were to be found in the circles of the great multinational corporations - and in Western Europe, where Chancellor Schmidt and President Giscard d'Estaing sought to implement the policies advocated by the Trilateral Commission, which had been

Capital & Class 20 called into existence to bridge the rift between Europe, Japan and the us which was the result of President Nixon's sphereof-interest policies . With regard to the Soviet Union, the Trilateral Commission supported the policies of 'detente', and was opposed to a policy of confrontation . In Great Britain, the Trilateral line was supported by the Heath government as well as by the Labour governments of Wilson and Callaghan . The activities of the Socialist International, rejuvenated under the leadership of Willy Brandt, also supported this line . In the field of usEuropean defence cooperation, the Carter offensive was expressed in the establishment in 1976 of the Independent European Programme Group (IEPG), of which the aim was to coordinate the European defence industry in order to arrive at a better and more equitable transatlantic equipment procurement cooperation . The IEPG therefore is certainly not an anti-American organisation . On the contrary, the IEPG was formed in response to an American initiative and works closely together with NATO and the us (De Ruiter, 1986) . When the Carter administration was in office for about two years, the tide in the us began to change to the detriment of the Trilateral policies . The New Right was on the rise, as witnessed by the sudden leap to prominence of the Committee on the Present Danger. With the election of Ronald Reagan this development was borne out and reinforced, and the course of confrontation with the Soviet Union, started by Carter with the pipeline embargo after the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan, was pursued even more vigorously . The posture of Reagan with respect to the Atlantic Alliance was characterised by a great degree of indifference and unveiled power politics . The United States charted its own course, and what the European allies might care to think was rather irrele-

vant . During these years, the IEPG also sank into near oblivion . However, unlike earlier bouts of 'conservatism' in American foreign policy, this latest turn did not result in the reemergence of a strong 'Europeanist' tendency within Europe, at least not at government level ; in a way, one could interpret the (temporary) pre-eminence of the peace movement in Western Europe, with its view of a bloc-free Europe, as being the present-day equivalent of the `European Gaullism' of the previous decades . But on the level of government policies, the struggle in Europe now primarily is one between the trilateral current, striving towards a strong Atlantic Partnership of equals, on the one hand (a position which is being weakened by every aggressive move of the Reagan administration), and a unilateralist current on the other hand, which advocates subordination to the American politics of confrontation . In the area of defence cooperation, the IEPG has been given the role of rallying point for the remaining trilateralist forces . Michael Heseltine played a prominent role in the attempts to rationalise the European defence industries in order to make them into more attractive partners for American arms manufacturers . ` . . . Alliance equipment procurement cannot be based on us domination of the high technology end of the market . There has to be a genuine two-way street across the spectrum of defence equipment or the Europeans will have no choice but to rationalise amongst themselves and buy from each other . I do not underestimate the difficulties in evolving an effective transatlantic partnership ; but the prize is worth the effort' (Heseltine, 1984) . Although continued American unilateralist pressures might well result in a gradual shift by more and more sections of the European bourgeoisie towards a 'Europeanist' position, a possibility which

The Westland Affair Heseltine also thinks possible, there are as yet no strong signs of this shift already taking place, and certainly Heseltine was not at all advocating such a shift . In Great Britain, as partly in West Germany, the line chosen by the Thatcher government is that of following the unilateralist American lead and of submitting to the American attempt to re-establish us hegemony in the imperialist world . The motives for this policy in the case of Britain seem to be a mixture of power politics, anglo-chauvinism, and anti-communism ; at the same time (and not by coincidence) this policy also expresses the interests of multinationalised capital operating within and out of Britain (cf . Spence, 1985 ; Leys, 1985) . The new unilateralist policy followed by the Thatcher government openly and thankfully utilises elements of earlier phases of British `grandeur' politics, such as the post-war Churchill posture . In fact, Mrs Thatcher's admiration for Sir Winston is no secret, and the similarities in foreign policy matters between the two have been noticed before, as exemplified by the parallel between British policy at the time of the Suez crisis and British policy with respect to Argentina and the Falkland Islands (Barnett, 1982 ; see also Garton Ash, 1986) . In the final analysis, this current opposes any European cooperation in the area of defence in which the United States is not directly involved, because any such cooperation project is regarded as potentially anti-American (cf. McGeehan, 1985) . In the light of this policy it was only logical that Great Britain as the first and so far the only European power should have shown willingness to participate without restrictions in the American Strategic Defence Initiative, while the British retreat from UNESCO also fits the same pattern . To summarise the argument in this section : as far as the foreign policy dimension

is concerned, the Westland affair was not, 21 as it has been portrayed in most of the press, a struggle between 'Europeanist' and 'Atlanticist' forces . These terms, and indeed these orientations, are things of the past, belonging to the post-war period of American hegemony in the capitalist world . Since the mid-seventies, the us has been attempting to restore its forlorn hegemony over the Western world by pursuing a unilateralist course . In the meantime Trilateralism, which in a sense was a last attempt to reconstitute an Atlantic consensus (this time including Japan) has steadily been forced into retreat . The Reagan policies aimed at the reimposition of American leadership over the West have so far been rather successful . But they are not without their own internal contradictions, as the continuous battles between different factions within the Reagan administration make abundantly clear . In particular, the chances that further unilateral steps by the United States (such as the attacks on Libya) in the end do contribute to the emergence of a realistic 'Europeanist' alternative are by no means imaginary . This point brings us to the second context of the Westland affair : to what degree does the affair also show strategic differences within ruling circles in the UK as to the direction of state economic policy? Heseltine has placed his plea for a European solution for Westland in the context of the need for European industrial cooperation, especially in the high-technology sectors, and for stronger state involvement in the development of new industrial branches . To what degree do these ideas present an alternative for the policies the Thatcher government has been pursuing for over seven years now? The rise and future demise of the Thatcherite project British politics is characterised, if not since

Capital & Class 22

1870 or 1914 then certainly since 1945, by recurrent attempts to redress the steady relative decline of the country, not just in the field of international relations, but also in the areas of industrial structures and social relations (cf. Gamble, 1981) . There is a communis opinio in the abundant literature on Britain's decline which emphasises the existence of a post-war consensus regarding the desirability of the welfare state and of Keynesian economic policies . This consensus, however, could not prevent the failure of attempts to modernise and rationalise the British economic and industrial structure . Even the radical reforms to which the Heath government was committed eventually failed to materialise . The failure of the Heath government resulted in a serious political crisis in the years 1974-1976 . The Wilson government succeeded in stemming this crisis temporarily by offering a host of concessions to the working class in return for wage restraint . ` . . . the package represented a significant extension of trade union rights and was a fair measure of the power (both negative and positive) which the unions had accumulated during the years of corporatism' (Leys, 1985 : 16-17) . For capital, however, this was no `solution' to the crisis : not to the economic crisis, expressed through a collapse of profits, nor to the political crisis, resulting in the loss of political hegemony of the ruling class . The `logic' of capital accumulation (personified by the IMF) forced the state to adopt liberal monetary policies even when the corporatist social contract was nominally still in force : the essentials of the Thatcher government's monetary strategy were already `contained in the Letter of Intent sent by Denis Healey as Chancellor of the Exchequer to the International Monetary Fund in December 1976' (Riddell, 1983 : 59-9) . It would take a new Tory

government, however, to broaden the scope of the new liberalism and transform it into an explicitly political strategy, or in Jessop's terminology to widen the monetarist accumulation strategy into a new hegemonic project . The core thesis of the Thatcherite project, which found support in and was in turn based on the works of the monetarist Milton Friedman and the liberal Friedrich von Hayek, was and still is the need for an all-out attack on the strongholds of the organised working class as a prerequisite for a real capitalist recovery . This attack was thoroughly prepared even when the Tories were still in opposition . The most outspoken example of course was provided by the miners' strike . The moment in time when the conflict broke out, and the personality chosen to lead the attack (Lazard's Ian MacGregor!), were picked to ensure maximum impact on one of the strongest and most radical unions around, the NUM . The defeat of the miners, preceded by a series of three increasingly repressive Employment Acts, scared most other unions into acquiescence . In this sense Thatcherism represents the general interest of the capitalist class in Britain . Thatcherism entails an appeal (at times quite successfully) to the worst traditions of British imperialism abroad and social Darwinism at home : hence its characterisation as Authoritarian Populism (Hall, 1983 ; Atkins, 1986) . However, the populist appeal of Thatcherism should not blind us to the fact that beneath the surface the fractional interests of circulating capital were more directly served by the rise to power of Thatcherism than those of any other fraction (see the critique of Hall's thesis by Jessop, a .o .,1984 ; and even more explicitly by Leys, 1985) . The fully internationalised `giant firms (especially the oil companies) and financial institutions' (Aaronovitch, 1981 : 7-8), which were the

The Westland Affair traditional supporters of liberal concepts, were the immediate beneficiaries of the lifting of all exchange controls when the Thatcher government took office . That the Thatcher regime represents the hegemony of a money capital concept is confirmed by the distribution of profits over the various capital fractions (see Van der Pijl, 1984 : 277-87) . Another indication is to be found in the distribution of taxation over the different capital fractions : from 1976 onward (the start of monetarist policies) direct taxes as a percentage of company receipts decreased from 10 .9% in 1976 to 5 .6% in 1981 for financial companies, while in the same period the effective tax rate for non-financial companies rose from 14% to 31% (calculation based on OECD National Accounts Statistics 19641981) . A final indication of the hegemony of money capital has been the shift in power relations within large firms as between the technical and the financial managers, and the strict internal application of the law of value, which toward the end of the 1970s and in the early 1980s led to an enormous cash mountain in many great corporations (General Electric is one well-known example) . The preference for liquidity and safe rentier income, however, cannot last forever without endangering the productive source of all this surplus value, which must be produced, extracted and realised before it can be redistributed from the productive to the circulation sphere . In Britain, this was clearly illustrated by the `increasingly public complaints by clearing banks that major industrial companies were facing collapse' (Grant, 1983) . Internationally, the same phenomenon was to be seen and will be seen again in the international debt crisis . For this reason, the concept of control specifically expressing the needs of circulating capital (market liberalism) can

itself not dominate forever . 'Market doc- 23 trine, on the contrary, is above all an ideology and strategy for destroying a previously established regime of accumulation' (Leys, 1985 : 25) . The attempt to escape this contradiction inherent in its own strategy by the Thatcher government does not consist in an effective re-industrialisation programme, but on the contrary in the continued destruction of the industrial base of the British economy . Britain is being remade into an offshore paradise for internationally operating service industries . The only remaining interests to be served are those of fully internationalised `British' capital (this notion of nationality is no longer meaningful) and conversely of foreign capital in Britain, which dominates the very sectors of the economy the Thatcher government has been willing to stimulate at all : high technology and services . The City of London, until the late 1960s still the base for foreign operations of British capital, now is also dominated by foreign interests : three quarters of banking business in London is carried on by foreign banks (Coakley, 1984) . British industry, whether producing for the home market or for export, gets no hearing for its problems . Wyn Grant has called the Thatcher Cabinet `an extreme example of the way in which a Conservative government can disregard business opinion (Grant, 1983 : 179) . It has been able to do so because it was successful in arguing that the long-run interests of the capitalist class as a whole were at stake, but the Thatcherite position is now threatened by the development of its own internal contradictions : • The rule of capital no longer seems at stake, and more and more fractions of the ruling classes are growing dissatisfied with the price they are paying, thus eroding the fractional compromise which brought

Capital & Class

24 Thatcher to power. • Monetarism and free market liberalism have been successful in restoring profitability for capital, but their continued application now threatens to destroy the industrial base of the country and to turn it into a second Chile . • Thatcherism - this is becoming clearer every day - has no solution for the problems of unemployment and social decay . It seems inevitable that this Comprador strategy is bound to lose its electoral support, as indeed opinion polls have been showing for months . This is the context which gives the Westland affair an extra dimension : not only had Westland become a bone of contention in a strategic debate over foreign policy orientation, but the affair was also seized upon to organise inner-party opposition to Thatcher . An important nucleus of Tory resistance to Thatcherism ever since 1975 had been the Tory Reform Group around which most of the `Wets' successively dumped by Thatcher rallied . The President of the Tory Reform Group, the only remaining `Wet' in the Cabinet (where he had been made responsible for handling the miners' strike) is Peter Walker . In June 1985, when there was no serious possibility of Thatcher going out, The Economist in a remarkably lengthy article tipped Walker as the most likely successor to the throne . It is however very doubtful that a prominent Wet should emerge as the new party leader . The Wets are committed to a return to the social consensus of the 1950s and 1960s, and to the maintenance or rather rebuilding of the corporatist welfare state . Under the impact of the world crisis this concept has succumbed to its own internal contradictions, just as its counterpart, social democratic corporatism, was in fact buried in the Winter of Discontent of 1978-1979 .

Any capitalist way out of the deepening contradictions of Thatcherism will entail a recombination of elements of both the corporatism of the 1950s and 1960s, and of the market liberalism of the late 1970s and early 1980s . It would seem that the contours of such a synthesis have come to the surface for the first time in the wake of the Westland affair . Since his resignation Heseltine has been busy building a rather coherent programme to serve as an alternative for Thatcherism . In this new programme there is no room for monetarism (with its obsessive fears of state intervention) . On the contrary, Heseltine proposes an active and interventionist industrial policy primarily directed at high-technology sectors (cf. Kaldor, 1986) . On the subject of labour relations Heseltine has recently also been proposing important innovations, including the introduction of 'Japanese-style' corporatism within firms, whereas such corporatist institutions as had been created in Britain had been limited to the central (national) level . At the central level Heseltine will not be a protagonist of reconciliation with the union movement : at this level Heseltine is as `liberal' as Thatcher . In the area of foreign policy, as we have seen, Heseltine does not support the unilateralist line of subordination to the United States, but he does support a strong anti-communist and anti-Soviet line . His view of the relation between Europe and the us in fact very much resembles President Kennedy's Atlantic Partnership ideas . These ideas taken together in fact are parallel to those put forward by Gary Hart in his election campaign in 1984 . In the United States this new political current is called 'neo-liberalism' . 'Neo-liberals advocate vigorous economic growth rooted in an awareness of the era of limits . They urge closer cooperation between government and business in the form of an

The Westland Affair industrial policy that will encourage entrepreneurship, investment for innovation and greater competitiveness in international trade . Other key neo-liberal ideas include ( . . .) investment in "human capital", emphasising education and retraining for economic growth, ( . . .) careful review of major weapons systems ( . . .), using the marketplace for social reform, and more' (Rothenberg, 1984) . For some, the chances are that such a programme can successfully be put in the place of the destructive programme of Thatcherism . As Leys puts it : `it is safe to predict that no new regime of accumulation will be built in our time that closely resembles that of the years 1950-78 . But in Britain's present circumstances, which include the undiminished ideological and political weakness of British manufacturing capital, there is little evidence to suggest that any alternative regime of accumulation will result this time from the work of destruction' (Leys, 1985 : 25) . Two comments are in order here . First, if we look at Britain from the context of the world economy as a whole, `the work of destruction' is a regime of accumulation (a point also made by Atkins, 1986) guaranteeing important fractions of the bourgeoisie a quite comfortable and profitable existence, as long as political and ideological hegemony can be maintained one way or another . The contradiction involved here is, that - outright dictatorship asidethe limits of Thatcherite ideological hegemony appear increasingly to have been reached . The Westland affair makes it clear that growing sections of the ruling class see the dangers involved and are willing to look for another solution . Secondly, then, we must take into account the dynamics of the present situation : what did not seem likely or even possible a year or two ago, may certainly seem quite realistic in two

25 years' time . What is the position of the labour movement in this situation? As far as the immediate events of the Westland affair were concerned, the Labour Party had absolutely no influence on the course of events, and stood by in amazement while the Cabinet was involved in internal warfare . This is indeed quite indicative for the sterility and isolation of the position of the labour movement at present . Labour offers little more than the promise of a return to policies which already failed ten years ago . Several Left authors have recently proposed that Labour replace its `domestic' solutions (in fact a unilateralist course of a different sort) by a definite orientation towards Western Europe (Spence, 1985 ; Morell, 1986) . As Martin Spence notes, `This is still a "capitalist option" of course, but it is significantly preferable - not because West European capital is "more progressive" than us capital, but because the West European challenge to us hegemony is contributing to the breakdown of the post-war imperialist system, and this breakdown is in itself to be welcomed' (Spence, 1985 : 136) . Whether a European challenge to us hegemony (a challenge which does not really exist anyway) should be welcomed by the Left remains to be questioned : the distinction between antiimperialism and anti-capitalism has been one of the more convincing arguments put forward by Bill Warren in his otherwise less convincing book (Warren, 1981), and this is so whether applied to the national level or to the European level . The left in Europe shall certainly welcome a reorientation of Labour away from its traditional isc.lationism and towards greater European cooperation : this cooperation is desperately needed in the struggle for more democratic forms of control over the operations of the Ec and European capital . But, since any formal state apparatus on a

Capital & Class

26 European scale is absent, 'Europeanism' for the left cannot replace a national programme for work, social justice, peace and democracy . What European cooperation of the left might achieve is undermining the abuse by the ruling parties of the EC as a means of frustrating political advances of the left . That such undermining is badly needed was recently confirmed by the way in which sanctions against South Africa were prohibited by hiding behind the impossibility of achieving unanimity in the EC Council of Ministers . An earlier version of this article was published in Vlaams Marxistisch Tijdschrift (Flemish Journal of Marxism) of March 1986, under the title, `De kwestie Westland : Botsende visies op de toekomst van Groot-Brittannie' .

References Aaronovitch S . (1955) Monopoly, a Study of British Monopoly Capitalism (London) . Aaronovitch S . (1%1) The Ruling Class . A Study of British Finance Capital (London) . Aaronovitch S . (1981) The Road from Thatcherism (London) . Atkins F . (1986) 'Thatcherism, populist authoritarianism and the search for a new left political strategy', Capital and Class 28,

Gramsci A . (1971) Selections from the Prison Notebooks (New York) . Grant W . (1983) `The Business Lobby : Political Attitudes and Strategies', West European Politics, vol . 6, no . 4, 163-182 . Hall S . (1983) `The Great Moving Right Show', in S . Hall and M . Jacques (eds), The Politics of Thatcherism (London) 19-39 . Hellema D . (1984) Frontlijn van de Koude Oorlog . De Duitse Herbewapening en het Atlantisch Bondgenootschap (Amsterdam) . Heseltine M . (1984) `The Atlantic Alliance : an Agenda for 1984', NATO Review, vol . 32, no . 1, March, 1-3 . House of Lords (1985) Report from the Select Committee on Overseas Trade (London) . Jessop B . a .o . (1984) `Authoritarian Populism, Two Nations and Thatcherism', New Left Review 147, 32-60 . Kaldor M. (1986) `Towards a high-tech Europe?', New Socialist, February, 8-12 . Leys C . (1985) 'Thatcherism and British

Manufacturing : a Question of Hegemony', New Left Review 151, 5-25 . McGeehan R . (1985) `European defence cooperation : a political perspective', The World Today, vol. 4, no. 6, 116-119 . Morrell F . (1986) `The Challenge to the Atlanticists', New Socialist, February, 12-14 . Polanyi K . (1957) (1944) The Great Transformation . The Political and Economic Origins of Our Time (Boston) . Riddell P . (1983) The Thatcher Government

Emerging Technologies and Military Doctrines

(Oxford) . Rothenberg R . (1984) The Neo-Liberals . Creating the New American Politics (New York) . Sampson A . (1981) The Money Lenders (Sevenoaks) . Sampson A . (1983) The Changing Anatomy of Britain (Sevenoaks) . Shortall F .C . (1986) `Fixed and circulating capital', Capital and Class 28, 160-85 . Spence M . (1985) `Imperialism and decline : Britain in the 1980s', Capital and Class 25,

(London) . Gamble A . (1981) Britain in Decline (London) . Garton Ash T . (1986) `The Trouble with Trident', The Spectator, 12 April, 8-15 . Gourevitch P . (1984) `Breaking with orthodoxy : the politics of economic policy responses to the Depression of the 1930s', International Organisation, vol . 38, no . 1,

Van der Pijl K . (1984) The Making of an Atlantic Ruling Class (London) . Warren B . (1981) Imperialism: Pioneer of Capitalism (London) . Wiebes C . & Zeeman B. (1984) `Westeuropese Unie heeft geen toekomst', Intermediair, vol . 20, no . 26, 25-29 .

25-48 .

Barnett A . (1982) `Iron Britannia . War over the Falklands', New Left Review 134, 5-96 . Coakley J . (1984) `The internationalisation of bank capital', Capital and Class 23, 107-20 . De Ruiter B . (1986) `European and Atlantic Arms Cooperation', in F . Barnaby (ed .),

95-129 .

117-39 .

Huw Beynon, Ray Hudson and David Sadler

Nationalised industry policies and the destruction of communities : Some evidence from North East England • The central question around which the 1984/5 miners' strike This article revolved was that of `uneconomic' pits and, related to it, the examines the criteria for deciding the future of collieries . For the National Coal operation of three nationalised Board (NCB) the issue was, and is, a simple one. If the costs of industries - coal, winning coal outweigh the proceeds generated by its sale, then a steel and water - in pit is `uneconomic' and should be closed . The National Union of the North East of Mineworkers (NuM) at national level initially placed more England . It looks at links between emphasis on coal reserves but as the strike proceeded and sub- the them and assesses sequent to its ending came increasingly to rely on Glyn's (1984) the impact of their redefinition of the viability of collieries in terms of a social policies on the cost-benefit analysis. Glyn's contribution was undoubtedly a economy and the useful one in pointing to alternatives to the NCB's accounting environment of the local communities . procedures - the credibility of which was further undermined by In addition, it the criticisms of a group of accountants (Berry et al, 1985) . But as explores the O'Donnell (1985) has pointed out, making a positive case for coal relationship between requires more than this sort of critique of the NCB's simplistic the private and approach . The ongoing campaign to defend jobs and communi- public sectors by examining the ties in the coalfields needs a more solid grounding in terms of an effects of private analysis of state policies towards the nationalised industries and sector open cast coal the ways in which they are managed and operated . This is production upon the important if questions to do with the `viability' of a particular National Coal colliery are to be rescued from a terrain where (even if only Board's deep-mined output . The authors implicitly) a campaign for one colliery's salvation is the kiss of conclude by pointing death for another . to a `new politics of The key question of why there are so many collieries that the production' .

27

Capital & Class

28

can choose to define as 'loss-making' has to be placed at the forefront of any agenda of issues concerning the future of coal . This is crucial, because the NCB can, via its own management practices, deliberately or inadvertently place a colliery in a position where it can be defined as loss-making (Beynon et al, 1985) . This raises further questions about the relationships between the NCB's internal management decisions and the wider environment within which it operates, the connections between these decisions and government economic policies, and the operating constraints imposed upon nationalised industries as deliberate choices by governments . It also raises a series of questions about the links between the operations of the various nationalised industries . Clearly the decisions of the Central Electricity Generating Board (CEGB) and the British Steel Corporation (Bsc) have profound implications for those of the NCB, and in turn can only be understood in the context of governments' conceptions about appropriate national policies for energy and for the manufacturing sector . To speak of more appropriate policies begs an important prior question however - that of whose interests these policies are furthering, both in intention and in practice . Even the most cursory examination of 'state-managed' regions like North East England, or South Wales, reveals an enormous gap between the intentions and outcomes of implementing nationalised industry policies and the related `plans' of local authorities . Conceived at one time as a way of furthering working-class interests, nationalisation has in practice become a mechanism to destroy jobs and communities . While we could all agree with a call for more progressive state policies, a necessary first step surely is to examine, in rather more detail, just what the past effects of nationalised industry policies have been . Here it is important to ask how and why these policies have been developed and implemented, and which interests they have served - both between and within the classes of capital and labour . It is clear that the policies pursued by nationalised industries have caused a crisis in `traditional' forms of trades union organisation - witness for example the collapse of the Triple Alliance . However, the implementation of those policies can also be seen to create new political possibilities, not least in the area of energy and the environment . Clearly the issue of an `appropriate' energy policy and the links between energy and environmental politics must loom large in any discussion about the future of coal . From such a redefinition of political choices new directions for policy may emerge, and in this it is vital that many of the past mistakes are not repeated . What we seek to do in this paper is explore the issue of the mode of operation of nationalised industries and the links between NCB

Experiences of Nationalisation them and broader government policies . We do this through an example drawn from North East England (Map 1 indicates the location of the region and the main population centres) . We begin by examining the operation of Bsc and locate it as a purchaser of primary materials such as water and coking coal ; commodities produced by other state-owned industries - the Northumbrian Water Authority (NWA) and the NCB. In this way the NWA'S policies in response to the planned - then abandoned expansion of steel and chemicals production on Teesside and the environmental costs that these brought are considered . Also important is the impact of these BSC policies for the fate of the coking coal collieries such as Horden in County Durham . We show how these became `uneconomic' as the result of a deliberate series of policy choices by the NCB, BSC and central government . Furthermore, we seek to broaden the debate over coal production by examining the links between the run-down of deep mined coking coal and the expansion of private sector open cast production, and the implications of this redefinition of the privatepublic sector boundary for the rural environment as well as the remaining collieries within the NCB and the communities built up around them . In doing this, we hope to demonstrate the problems that would be inherent in any attempt to construct a more rational socialist policy, not only for coal but more generally for the public sector . At the same time we point to some of the possibilities that arise from new political alliances that might develop around specific issues in this new context .

Following nationalisation in 1967, BSC embarked on a series of BSC's investment corporate planning exercises, intended to produce a technically and disinvestment sophisticated, internationally competitive and profitable nation- policies and their alised industry, culminating in the Ten Year Development local impacts Programme (HMSO, 1973, Cmnd 5226) . This proposed a massive programme of fixed capital investment, capacity expansion, employment cuts and a marked increase in labour productivity . Investment was to be focused on further increasing the scale of production at BSC's existing five coastal complexes, mimicking the Japanese model of developing very large integrated works and individual production units . Of these five complexes, that on Teesside was singled out for special attention . No less than £1,000 million (1972 prices), one-third of the total investment programme, was allocated to it with the intention of producing `the largest and most up-to-date steel plant in the UK' (Northern Region Strategy Team, 1976, p . 43) . Redcar was chosen as the location for new iron ore unloading and processing facilities (later also to be used for

29

Capital & Class

30

importing coking coal), two (maybe more) blast furnaces with an annual capacity of four million tonnes each, and a new Basic Oxygen steel (BOS) plant of seven million tonnes annual capacity . Together with the expansion of the existing Lackenby BOS plant, the South Teesside complex would therefore have an annual liquid steel capacity of twelve million tonnes by the early 1980s . At the same time, partly because of these developments, there would be capacity closures and job losses elsewhere . Within Teesside, iron and steel making (though not rolling) was to end at Hartlepool with a loss of 2,850 jobs . Although this closure was delayed following the 1975 'Beswick Review', there was no such reprieve for the three Clay Lane blast furnaces at South Bank in Middlesbrough which closed with the lighting of the Redcar No . 1 furnace in November 1979 . Nor was the question mark placed over the future of BSC's Consett works lifted . Modernisation plans had their costs, and these grew enormously as an international recession, deepened by the oil price rises of November 1973 (see Mandel, 1978), and the accelerating decline of the manufacturing sector in the UK, rapidly rendered the Ten Year Development Programme redundant . Sir Charles Villiers, then BSC's Chairman, was to remark with considerable understatement in 1977, ` . . . I have to say that the 1973 Plan has been overtaken by events' (HMSO, 1978a, p . 517). Rather than expand, BSC's output fell from an annual level of around 24 million tonnes in the early 1970s to one in the range 11-13 million tonnes over the period 1979-84 . Moreover, the renewed drive to cut public expanditure initiated by IMF pressure in 1976 (Coates, 1980, p. 44) led to BSC being forced to consider ways of cutting its burgeoning losses through government restrictions on its external financing limit . Its approach was to abandon a policy of expansion for one of savage retrenchment . Although formally announced in 1978 (HMSO, 1978b, Cmnd 7149), this switch had in fact begun in March 1976 (Bryer et al, 1982, p . 171) . This not only put the final nail in Consett's coffin (the works was eventually closed in September 1980 with the loss of 3,700 jobs), but also it led BSC to restrict the extent of the development of the Redcar/South Teesside complex . Only one blast furnace was completed (a second lies rusting peacefully on an adjacent site), plans for new steel making capacity were abandoned and there was considerable closure of existing rolling mill capacity . Capacity closures, along with reorganisation of work practices to increase labour productivity, resulted in a very sharp fall in numbers employed by BSC . By June 1984, BSC employed marginally more than 7,000 at its Redcar/South Teesside complex and 374 at Hartlepool . This represented a loss of over 13,000 jobs in the iron and steel industry in six years and one of over 17,000 since 1971 . More-

Experiences of Nationalisation over, because of the uncertainty as to BsC's intentions with respect to strip mill capacity and the necessity to reline the Redcar No . 1 blast furnace (virtually the only source of hot iron in the entire complex), a considerable question mark now hangs over the future of BsC's Redcar/South Teesside operations and the jobs associated with them (see Hudson and Sadler, 1984) . Prior to BsC announcing its major investment programme for Teesside in 1973, there had already been considerable fixed capital investment in the region, particularly in chemicals production associated with ia's linked complexes at Billingham and Wilton . For this reason, Teesside had been recognised as a key location in the 1963 plan for the North East initiated by Lord Hailsham (HMSO, 1963) and was designated as a location where further investment in these industries would be concentrated . This plan for further expansion necessitated considerable local and national government involvement in Teesside itself via regional development aid to the investing companies, land use planning and infrastructure provision (for example, see Etherington, 1983 ; Hudson, 1983) . The question of infrastructure provision was not limited to Teesside and its immediate surroundings but extended into the North East's rural hinterland . This was particularly true as regards water supply . Chemicals and steel, the `basic industries' around which Teesside's modernised economy was to be constructed, required massive quantities of water . In the 1960s this led to the controversial decision to build Cow Green reservoir in upper Teesdale to meet Teesside's projected demands for industrial water . This decision was fiercely contested by environmental groups as the area to be flooded contained a unique assemblage of Arctic Flora (see Gregory, 1975) . In the end the interests of economic growth prevailed over those of environmental conservation and the reservoir was built . By the 1970s, particularly after BSC's expansion plans were announced, projections of industrial water demand on Teesside were outstripping those of available supply . In response to the seemingly serious threat of water shortages constraining future industrial growth on Teesside, it was proposed to build a massive new reservoir in South West Northumberland in Kielder (see Map 1) and an associated transfer scheme to move water from the river Tyne to the Tees . The reservoir was completed in 1982, but not without controversy as farms and a village were flooded in the process . The reservoir and associated transfer scheme represented an investment of £167 million, financed with the help of grants and low interest loans from the European Community (NWA, 1984a, para 2 .3).

31

The implications of BSC policies for NWA investment and its local impacts

Capital & Class 32

At the Public Inquiry into the proposed reservoir in 1972, water demand was forecast to grow to 228 million gallons a day . This never materialised . Current consumption in the NWA area is running at 138 million gallons per day, so that `demand for water is approximately one half of that made to construct the Kielder Water Scheme' (NWA,1984b, p. 17) . Bsc's Redcar/South Teesside works takes just one-tenth of the water that it once consumed (Financial Times, 4 June 1984) and overall `potable water mainly for industrialists supplied by meters, dropped to 156 million litres per day (Mld) by 1983/4 from a peak of 201 Mld in 1979/80' (NWA, 1984b, p . 17) . The 257 million gallons available daily from the area's rivers are more than adequate to cope with this level of demand . Consequently, the 44 billion gallon capacity Kielder reservoir, offering the possibility of 200 million gallons of

Experiences of Nationalisation water per day, has been and for the foreseeable future will remain an expensive white elephant . This is a situation that has serious implications for the NWA and for all domestic water consumers in its area . In 1983 the NWA's Chairman, Sir Michael Straker, commented :

33

A daunting task faces us, however . The recession which affects our prime customers, steel and petrochemicals, more seriously than most industries, has led to a drop of 12% in our sales of water to industry, leading to a £6 million shortfall in income . Uniquely we make available two thirds of our total consumption to industry and only one third to domestic consumers, turning on its head the pattern in the rest of the country . So a drop in industrial demand inevitably increases the share of costs falling on domestic consumers . (NWA, Annual Report and Accounts, 1982-83, p . 1- emphasis added) The following year, as industrial demand fell by a further 5%, the Chairman noted that : However gloomy and cautious our forecasts of industrial demand for water may have seemed a year ago, the reality has outstripped them . We now have massive and costly assets, built in pursuit of national aims to satisfy water-hungry industries, principally on Teesside, or to create a regional infrastructure designed to make the North East attractive to industrial newcomers, lying only partially used, as a result of major changes in the national and international economic scene . (NWA, Annual Report and Accounts 1983-84, p . 3-emphasis added) The effects on domestic users of this drop in industrial demand will begin to be felt from 1984/85, following a decision to increase water rates markedly, especially for household supplies (NWA, 1984b, p . 17) . If the effect of BSC's policies upon the water authority was acute, the impact upon the NCB and the future of employment in the deep mining industry verged on the catastrophic . Maps 2 and 3 indicate the scale of the colliery closures and the destruction of the steel industry in the North East between 1980 and 1986 . The 1974 Plan for Coal investment programme on the Durham coalfield was based upon the expansion of coking coal production for the Teesside market . Under this Plan, Durham was to be redeveloped as a coking coal producer . As the NCB put it : After BSC had confirmed that their long-term plans were still based upon 35/36 million tonnes of steel by 1980, the NCB

and the collapse of deep mined coking coal production in Durham BSC



Capital & Class

34

East Durham and Teesside : Collieries and steelworks, 1980 • New Herrington

0 CHESTER LE STREET

• Houghton • Vane Tempest

Seaham SEAHAM • Eppleton

Dawdon

North

Murton •

Sea

• Hawthorn

South Hetton • • Essington

0 DURHAM Horden

0 PETERLEE • Blackhall

• East Hetton

1 I I

0 HARTLEPOOL

i Hartlepool N

Cleveland

1 0 BILLINGHAM

County Boundary

Main Roads Steelworks

0 t 0

• Collieries km r miles

South Teesside 8 t

0 MIDDLESBROUGH 8



Experiences of Nationalisation 35

East Durham and Teesside : Collieries and steelworks, 1986

0 CHESTER LE STREET

Seaham •-

- • Vane C

Tempest

SEAHAM

Dawdon

North

Murton •

Sea

• Hawthorn

• Essington

0 DURHAM

0 PETERLEE

0



Cleveland County Boundary

0

HARTLEPOOL

BILLINGHAM

Main Roads Steelworks

0 I I 0

• km I

miles

Collieries

8 I I 8

0

MIDDLESBROUGH

Capital & Class 36

consulted them about the exploitation of reserves of coking coal off the Durham coast . On receiving assurances from BSc that a blend of Durham 501 coal and Kent rank 204 coal was acceptable for the new Redcar works, the NCB approved capital expenditure on the coastal pits . . . the total expenditure committed in Durham and Kent on this new capacity, preparation and loading facilities was about £40 million .' In Durham this investment was made in the Horden, Blackhall and Easington coastal complex of collieries . This would provide the basic supply of rank 501, high volatile coal for Redcar with the higher quality, medium volatile rank 301 coals to be provided by an expanded programme of open cast mining in the west of the county . In spite of the downturn in steel demand which became noticeable in 1975, and in spite of BSc's decision of that year to move toward importing 1 million tonnes of coking coal a year into Redcar, NCB management remained optimistic . In August 1978, for example, the Area's Marketing Director wrote to the General Secretary of the Durham Miners Association informing him that there were no technical problems involved in supplying coal of sufficient quality and strength to BSC : A joint working party with BSC has been set up at Headquarters level to determine the true facts of the technical suitability of Durham and other indigenous coals . We have worked out a number of blends using Rank 30lb and 501 coals together with Kent rank 204 coals . These blends have been carbonised in our small ovens and the resultant cokes tested under the normal parameters . . . have been of high class quality . In addition we have had the full cooperation of BSC South Teesside in carrying out the Japanese tests on their apparatus and the tests have been extremely encouraging . 2

Moreover, BSc's technical specifications for the two new coke oven batteries at Redcar, which were commissioned in 1978/79, incorporated new technological developments . The reasons for the choice of technology were described in 1979 in Steel Times : It was stated at the outset that the plants had to be designed to produce coke using indigenous UK coals . . . Meeting the specification for the quality using indigenous UK coals was a fundamental problem in the design of this coke making plant . . . Redcar coal blends were tested in the USA and it was proved that by preheating the coal, a suitable quality of coke would be produced for the Redcar blast furnace . As a result it was decided that the Redcar cokemaking plant would employ preheating of coal .

Experiences of Nationalisation

These points are important to bear in mind given the decision by BSC to alter its purchasing policy for coal in 1979 . On 29 October of that year, BSc announced that it intended importing about 25% of its coking coal requirement in 1980 . This would involve a national figure of 2 .8 million tonnes, with every expectation that it would be increased . In the North East it involved a dramatic downward revision of demand for Durham coking coal . One view, which has gained powerful public support of late, is that the shift toward imports was a matter of technical necessity . Mr Mate, ex-BSc Teesside works director, has put it like this : `We had no choice if we were going to have the coke quality we needed for such a large furnace' (our emphasis) . 3 Oddly, the NCB have also been inclined to go along with this version of things . In 1984 the North East Area Marketing Manager, Mr Bradley, wrote of these events in a way which suggests that BSc had never seriously considered using Durham rank 301 coal, and that the cutback in the use of rank 501 coals was determined by technical considerations alone . The blend he said was : selected Durham rank 501 coals, rank 204 coals from Kent and South Wales plus coke breeze . . . In 1975 in order to achieve the required coke quality for the new large blast furnace BSC revised their view of the best coal blend and later, in 1977 BSc decided, after consultation with their Japanese advisers for the 10,000 tonne per day furnace at Redcar, to revise their coal blend to produce a coke that met the Japanese criteria on performance of the coke in the blast furnace . . . The outcome of these changes was that Bsc imported rank 301 coals and did not accept all of the rank 501 coals from the NCB's coastal pits . 4 (our emphasis)

The problem with this account is that it masks the other, and far more important, consideration which pressed upon BSC's decision-making processes - that of price . At the time, this was clearly seen as a central consideration . BSc had been pressed by government to break even by the spring of 1980, and in this context the presence of coking coal in the international market which could severely undercut domestic supplies was of critical importance . In October 1979, BSC claimed that it was losing £135m a year by buying UK coking coal rather than foreign coal, due at least in part to a £ 10 per tonne cost disadvantage . The price of the NCB 'superblend' offered for the Redcar coke ovens was specifically quoted as £18 per tonne dearer than Australian coking coal of the same quality (Financial Times, 30 October 1979) . In short, the NCB was being squeezed by the international coking market . As two BSC managers have written :

37

Capital & Class 38

There is no longer any commercial advantage to be gained by Teesside works by maximising the quantity of local, highvolatile coals used ; additionally the quality of the coal has deteriorated . (Guerin and Bowness, 1984 ; our emphasis) This combination of factors was clearly at work from 1978 onwards, and it was exacerbated by the downturn in the demand for steel (see Table 1) . Table I Coking coal supplies to BSc NCB

supplies to BSC Redcar Year 1976/77 1977/78 1978/79 1979/80 1980/81 1981/82 1982/83 1983/84

Tonnes 56,000 36,000 134,000 244,000 199,000 318,000 32,000 48,955

Year 1975 1976 1977 1978 1979 1980 1981 1982 1983 1984

Tonnes 92,150 164,045 239,991 486,697 1,025,226 1,252,850 1,127,130 1,131,464 1,441,102

Source : NCB Imports into

BsC

Redcar

2,105,000

Source : Tees and Hartlepool Port Authority Annual Reports

Against this background, Mr Tom Callan, when President of the Durham Miners Association, raised the question of Durham coking coal pits at a meeting of the Joint Coal Industry Consultation Committee in 1978 . Sir Derek Ezra was reassuring in his reply . The Board, he said :

L

Experiences of Nationalisation had no intention of cutting back coking coal capacity (except in cases of exhaustion of economic reserves), the day would come when they would be needed again . 5 But Ezra's view did not prevail in the years after 1979 when coking pit after coking pit closed on the Durham coalfield . Blackball closed in 1981 and was quickly followed by Houghton, Boldon, and Marley Hill ; South Hetton and East Hetton were not long after . All closed in the space of three years . Numerous reasons were given at the time - exhaustion, safety, problems of ash or sulphur content - but perhaps the clearest and most conclusive reasons for these closures has been given by the NCB in Brussels . There, in its submission to the European Coal and Steel Community for readaption aid (under Article 56 2(b) of the Treaty of Paris) to facilitate the rundown and closure of collieries producing coking coal in County Durham, it stated that : Blackball colliery . . . A partial closure of the pit was carried out towards the end of the year . The colliery produces high quality coking coal which is an essential componentfor the blend being supplied to Redcar. The requirements of BsC have become more demanding and the competition from imported cheap coal more acute, so that the coal being worked in the 'J' section of the Low Main Seam could not satisfy market requirements . (our emphasis) The following year's submission included the following : Blackhall Colliery . . . The pit was basically a high quality coking coal supplier . With the drastic reduction in BSC requirements, attempts to reduce the size of the pit, then to find alternative markets failed . Houghton Colliery . . . The pit was a supplier of coking coal from the Busty Seam . Its main reserves were in the Harvey Seam, which were not considered to be viable in a situation where there was an excess of coking coal available for the reduced market requirement. Marley Hill Colliery . . . The Busty Seam was closed with a consequential reduction of output at the pit consistent with a reduced demand from the market . (our emphasis) As these statements, from the NCB itself, make very clear, there was no question here of pits being run down or closed because of exhaustion of high quality coking coal but rather because of competition from cheaper imported coals . It was this loss of a market (described by Tom Callan as a `stab in the back') which moved the South East Durham pits into an economic crisis and

39

Capital & Class

40

which culminated in the closure of the giant Horden Colliery in 1986 . In this year two other, smaller coking coal mines at Sacriston and Herrington, were closed, leaving the area with almost no deep-mined coking coal capacity . As in Durham, so too in South Wales, Yorkshire and Scotland . Far from adhering to Ezra's promise and warning ('they will be needed in the future'), the NCB has ridden hard along the line toward overkill in its run-down of coking coal capacity . The extent of this was made clear by the International Coal Report (IcR) when it assessed the potential of the British coking coal mines to deliver in the export market . It pointed to the fact that the NCB was `increasingly hard-pressed to supply even half of the British Steel Corporation's coking coal demand' and concluded that `only with the opening of new coking coal capacity . . . will supplies expand and even then the logical market for this coal is local BSC blast furnace capacity' (ICR, 7 June 1985) . Market strategies and new sources of coal supply

In examining the decision by the NCB to close Horden, BSC's purchasing policies figure supreme . But they do so in the context of available alternative supplies . By far the most significant of these are the coking coals widely distributed on the international market . Equally significant has been the way in which open cast mining has emerged as a major source of supply in the north . After the oil price increases of the early 1970s, coal once again became a prized commodity . In spite of its bulk and high handling and transport costs in relation to its value, the prospect for an increase in its international trading seemed immense . To this end the giant oil companies purchased coal reserves in the USA, Australia, South Africa and Latin America . The main push in this process was for steam coal - the direct competitor to oil . But this push affected coking coal also . As the prestigious UK Coal Year Review 1984 put it : It has been one of the oddities of the 1980s that in parallel with the opening of steam coal mines as a counter to rising oil prices, coking coal deposits have been developed at an equal pace . The only spur was an inexplicably optimistic set of forecasts from the Japanese steel industry . . . 6 As a consequence there has been an enormous increase in coking coal capacity and in its presence within the international coal trade . In May 1985, for example, the us coal industry exported 5,582,000 tonnes of coking coal, while in the same month Australian exports of coking coal totalled 3,722,205 tonnes . To make use of this increased availability of coal, major dock and handling facilities have been developed . The exporting facilities on the East coast of the USA were transformed, as were the

Experiences of Nationalisation importing facilities in Europe - most significantly in Rotterdam . These developments continue, and estimates are that world tidewater coal trading capacity will increase by 56% by 1990 and 130% by 2000 if all plans materialise . This enormous increase in international coal capacity took place in a decade when the demand for coal (and energy generally) failed to develop at anything like the rates anticipated at the time of Plan for Coal . What was created was a situation of chronic over-production of coal . In Rotterdam stock piles increased at an enormous rate . This situation applied to both steam raising coals and to coking coals . In the UK, as argued above, it saw both the BSC and the CEGB exerting pressure upon the NCB to cut capacity and reduce its price . Also both corporations wanted freedom to purchase on the international market . BSC, with its lower tonnage requirement and deep harbour locations, was able to do this most successfully . In the first quarter of 1985 over 2 million tonnes of coking coal was imported into the UK and in the year total coal supplies reached 12 million tonnes - half as much again as was imported during the strike . This is a situation of some national importance . For it reflects upon how a once dominant coal and steel producing nation has declined into the minor league . It also points to a process whereby through the `morality' of a market rhetoric ('we have to buy the cheapest') key sectors of the British economy have been reworked in a way which reflects a deep and fundamental change in industrial policy . Yet so powerful is this market rhetoric that no serious discussion has accompanied this change . It is ironic that in an industry that was once so clearly held up as the example of an alternative way, there has been so little opposition from within the ranks of its technical and managerial staff . If this is clear in relation to the international market, it is more glaring (but seemingly less obvious) in relation to domestic open cast mining . Another part of the Plan for Coal related to the expansion of open cast mining operations . This policy affected the Durham coalfield quite profoundly . Because of the supposed need for adequate supplies of 301b coking coal for the Redcar blend a great push took place substantially to increase the open cast output in the Area . This push was supported by the mining unions . Of late, however, and in the face of drastically altered circumstances, they have changed their view . Both the Durham Miners Association and the Durham Mechanics Association are now strongly committed to cutting back open cast production . This is a view shared by Durham County Council . The leader of the Labour Group - Mr Mick Terrans, an ex-miner - remembers how he was

41

Capital & Class 42

always suspicious of opencast mining . They wanted it increased to 900,000 tonnes and I was Chairman of the Planning Committee at the time . I wasn't happy about it but the NUM supported it because of the blend for Redcar . And we went along with it . But they're closing deep-mines now and they won't cut back the opencast . The NCB recognises that deep mines are closing, but they refuse to give the trade unions or the County Council any assurance that open cast mining will be reduced in scale in the North . In fact the opposite is hinted at, and at meetings and public enquiries the NCB and private open cast operators have testified to the `need' for open cast coal . Currently the NCB's Opencast Executive is pushing its plan to open a 1 .9 million tonne mine at Plenmeller near Haltwhistle, Northumberland, which will produce coking coal for Redcar . The paradox here is an enduring one and it needs to be located against the background of open cast mining both in Durham and nationally . Open cast coal mining began on an organised basis in 1942 as part of the war-time effort to maximise coal production . Its role was clearly established as an important supplement to deep mined production . This role was confirmed in 1959 when, in a period of recession in coal demand, open cast production was deliberately curtailed . A similar cutback occurred in 1968-69 . Under the Plan for Coal (1974) and Coalfor the Future (1977), investment in deep mined production was supported by an expansion in open cast capacity . Production in open cast mines was projected to increase from 9 million tonnes (1973/4) to 15 million tonnes . This expansion did take place and in Durham, as Mick Terrans has noted, the local authority established a forward programme to ensure that the County produced its `fair share' of open cast coal . This figure was seen to be 900,000 tonnes, and an overall figure of 3 million tonnes applied to the North East generally . 7 In Durham (as Table 2 shows) open cast outupt has kept up with these planning forecasts and often exceeded them . Section 36 of the 1946 Coal Industry Nationalisation Act (amended by the Opencast Coal Act, 1950) made provision for the NCB to issue licences to private open cast operators but made it clear that such operations `should not be likely to exceed or greatly to exceed 25,000 tonnes' . Private open cast workings should only be small, isolated concerns providing marginal tonnages . In the late 1970s, however, the North East Association of Licensed Operators - which in 1980 became the National Association of Licensed Opencast Operators with its Chairman and Secretary, Messrs H .J . Banks and S .K . Nicholson, both prominent private operators and distributors in the North East -

Experiences of Nationalisation

Table 2 Open cast coal production (tonnes), County Durham 1974-85 Year 1974-75 1975-76 1976-77 1977-78 1978-79 1979-80 1980-81 1981-82 1982-83 1983-84 1984-85

sites 537,000 477,000 451,000 1,190,000 874,000 496,000 724,000 917,000 723,000 651,000 717,000

Licensed sites 164,000 95,000 97,000 115,000 138,000 110,000 154,000 179,000 178,000 178,000 287,000

NCR

Overall production 701,000 572,000 548,000 1,305,000 1,012,000 606,000 878,000 1,096,000 901,000 829,000 1,004,000

Source : Durham County Council

Table 3 The main open cast contractors in

UK

Total No . of tonnes at Firm sites sites (m) Parent French Kier Construction 2 6 .13 Amec Plc Fairclough Parkinson Mining 3 7 .08 Amec Plc Northern Strip Mining 1 2 .70 Burnett Hallamshire

Holdings Plc McKerlain Plant Ltd

2

2 .96 Burnett Hallamshire

Taylor Woodrow Construction Wimpey Construction Ltd Lehane, Mackenzie & Shand Ltd Derek Crouch (Contractors) Ltd Murphy Brothers Ltd W J Simms, Sons & Cooke Ltd ARc Ltd

2 6

13 .61 Taylor Woodrow 6 .74 George Wimpey Plc

4

12 .03 Charter Consolidated Plc

5 3 2

Lomount Construction AF Budge (Contractors) Ltd James Miller & Partners Ltd

2 5 5

12 .47 Derek Crouch Plc 6 .45 BET Group 0 .90 Trafalgar House 0 .75 Consolidated Goldfields Plc 2 .01 sGH Group Plc 7 .86 (parent) 10 .74 (parent)

Holdings Plc

1

43

Capital & Class

44

began to lobby against these limits on licences and tonnages . The Association raised a series of complaints with the Department of Energy on these matters . In response to these, in March 1981 the Department produced a `five point schedule' which included an undertaking that the NCB would : . . . license open cast sites with up to 35,000 tonnes of workable reserves and resume the practice of considering a second licence for adjacent sites bringing the total tonnage of continuous reserves under licence to 50,000 . Moreover, the schedule also rescinded the practice of requiring licences to deliver coal to the NCB making ` . . . all new licences free from any delivery requirements .' Furthermore, it gave an undertaking that the NCB would . . . set royalties at levels which would permit efficiently managed operators to develop their business profitably . . . and would be prepared . . . to reduce royalties for new licences in any case where accounting evidence is provided which demonstrates that profit expectations would otherwise be cut to unreasonably low levels . The 1981 schedule, therefore, clearly tilted the balance considerably in the direction of the private open cast operators . Table 3 lists the main private sector open cast contractors in the UK and identifies their parent companies . Yet the expansion of private open cast mining in Durham has been achieved only by a flagrant disregard of these tonnage targets (see Beynon, 1984) . In contrast to the expansion in open cast, deep mined output in the North East declined from 14 .1 million tonnes (mt) in 1980 to 12 mt in 1983 and 11 .9 in 1984 . A statement from the NCB in March 1984 indicated a further 1 .4 million tonnes reduction in output from the deep mines to a level of 10 .5 million in 1985 . This period of contraction in deep mining has therefore been a protracted one, and during it there has been no cutback in open cast output or capacity, nor has there been any indication that such a cutback is likely . In 1960, 7 .7 million tonnes of open cast coal represented just 4% of national coal production ; the current output of 14 million tonnes is 13% of national production . Open cast coal production is being established in a new role and one which is at odds with its historical role within the mining industry . Rather than supplementing deep mined production, it can now be seen as an alternative and competing source of supply within a static (or declining) market . Locally open cast production (at 20% of the North East's total output) has established this role most clearly . In the North East the ratio of open cast to deep mined is 1 :4 ; nationally the ratio is 1 :7 . This tendency is a worrying one, not least in terms of its employment consequences .

Experiences of Nationalisation A central feature of the County's Structure Plan relates to the question of employment . The Structure Plan Written Statement (1978) makes clear that 'the numbers of people and jobs within the County are fundamental to most of the decisions to be taken' (para 4 .1) and that `it is essential to the strategy of the plan to make up employment losses, to seek to reduce present unemployment rates and to provide jobs for an increasing number of people of working age' (para 6 .2) and that it is `vital to pursue measures which help conserve existing jobs and stimulate the creation of new jobs' (para 6 .3) . Open cast production can appear to be compatible with those aims of the Structure Plan, and the NCB and private operators often allude to this . In their evidence to a recent Inquiry, the planning consultants F . J . and J . Davis argue that : The proposed mine would directly create 16 jobs on site . In addition the mine would require drivers for an average of 5/6 20 tonne lorries per day and In addition to the employment created directly by the mine, other jobs are initially created and local industries supported . 8 Any evaluation of the impact of open cast mining upon employment in the County needs to balance direct job creation against potential job losses in the deep mining sector . In a period of market saturation and overall capacity reduction, new capacity (and employment) in the open cast sector involves little more than the transfer of employment (or unemployment) from one part of the County to another . In terms of jobs, this transfer is an unfavourable one . In 1984-85 1,004,000 tonnes of coal was produced on the open cast sites in County Durham by a combined total (private and NCB Opencast Executive) of 577 workers . Using a comparison of the least productive deep mined million tonnes in Co . Durham, the employment ratio of open cast to deep mined on this basis is 1 :5 . Put another way, the reduction in capacity of 1 .4 million tonnes in the deep mines (calculated at the Hawthorne output per man shift figure of 1 .82) would produce a direct job loss for the area of 3,111 . Were the cutback to be divided equally between open cast and deep mined production the job losses would be cut to 2,045 : a direct `saving' of 1,011 jobs . To put it yet another way, it is arguable that if, in 1978 the NCB and the local authority had produced a plan to scale down open cast output to (say) 400,000 tonnes per annum, output since then would have been cut by 3 million tonnes . There would be very little stockpiling in the County and a significant proportion of the 5,587 jobs lost in deep

Production, 45 employment and the environment

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mining in County Durham since that date would have been saved . The argument becomes stronger if we consider the additional ancilliary jobs created by deep mining in contrast to open cast . On this basis the ratio would be nearer 1 :7 . In the face of this evidence it is important to ask why open cast output has been allowed to continue at its present level, and what effects it has had upon collieries like Horden . Here, it is important to realise that both Plan for Coal (1974) and Coal for the Future (1977) were documents drawn up on the basis of the assumed expansion in energy demand . The expansion was assumed to take place at 2% per annum . This expansion did not take place . In fact energy consumption in 1980 was below the 1973 figure . This `lack of fit' between the demand estimates of the plan and the reality is not entirely surprising : all plans need adjustments . What is surprising perhaps is the response of the NCB to the developments, especially in the open cast area . By 1979 (and as early as 1975 perhaps) it was clear that the BSC would not be taking up its options on Durham medium volatile coal - the 30lbs from the West of the County . By that date, it was also clear that too much coal was being produced nationally . Yet in one planning Inquiry after another the NCB insisted upon the need for an expansion in open cast workings . In its defence the Board made slavish reference to the 15 million tonne target of the Plan for Coal . As a consequence, open cast mining has continued unabated . Alongside it has gone the expansion of private open cast sites selling their coal on the open market. In its public statements the Board insists that open cast and deep mined output complement each other . There is strong support for an argument which would suggest the opposite . It has been suggested that deep mined coals require 'sweetening' by higher quality coals to make them more attractive to the buyer (this normally means the CEGB) . However, Durham coals are of a calorific value high enough for them to require no sweetening whatever and Durham coal that sells to the CEGB market probably goes there without any open cast proportion . Northumberland coals do benefit from mixing with coals of higher calorific value and lower ash content . Here, though, there is a case for mixing deep mined Durham and Northumberland coal . Durham coal required West Durham open cast' coal for blending for the Teesside coking market . In the absence of BSC's order the necessity for such production declined enormously . Here, however, the NCB switches its tack and refers to the `revenue' brought to the Area by the profitable sales of cheaply mined coals . This was the NCB's main line of attack in a recent meeting with Durham County Council . In its view open cast

Experiences of Nationalisation

output - with an annual profit of £42 million in 1983-84 - helps `balance the books' for the area . The NCB's bookkeeping arguments are, however, often of the most primitive form . Certainly open cast output attracts higher revenue but if this increased revenue (in the short term) is at the expense of running down capital assets (deep mines) the long-term situation could be one of high profits (from open cast) but greatly reduced production, and limited potential for development . Furthermore, `revenue' from the open cast sector is one part of a bookkeeping exercise . Another part is the NCB's accounting assessment of its coal stocks . Between 1978 and 1984 coal stocks increased dramatically, and national open cast stocks themselves rose from 2 .6 to 5 .2 million tonnes . The NCB imputes a stocking charge of £5 a tonne to such coal . In the context of over-production additional stocking charges severely affect the Board's assessment of the financial advantages of open cast output . Most important, however, is the way in which the relative cheapness of open cast production has been brought to bear, in a competitive way, upon the production of deep mined coal . This is most clear in the case of the South East Durham pits . We have argued that the technical problems associated with Durham coking coals have been emphasised to the neglect of the price differential between domestic and imported coals . BSC, through its purchasing policies, has established clearly the predominance of market forces as determining the relationship between two nationalised industries . Within this logic, for domestic coking coal to compete with the imports, it would need to be open cast . In this way the recent NCB application to open an open cast mine at Plenmeller in Northumberland was explicitly linked with Redcar and with the replacement of imports . Here the NCB has argued that Plenmeller production will not replace deep mined production . The site is scheduled to produce 200,000 tonnes a year for the Redcar steel works . The NCB puts it like this : Plenmeller coking coal is compatible with the blend of coal required for BSC to produce coke for their Redcar blast furnace, and BSC wish to be sure of its availability in order to fit it in with their purchasing plans . The objective of the NCB is to maximise sales of coking coal to BSC and the Plenmeller coals will not displace local deep-mined supplies . . . The Executive have confirmed that the coking coal from the Plenmeller site is not produced by the NCB anywhere in the North East coalfield, and cannot be produced by developing new areas in existing pits . 9 In spite of the NCB's claim that `coking coal prices for sale to

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are negotiated on a national basis' and that `no distinction is made between open cast and deep mined coals', the fact remains that in the current depressed state of the coking coal market, open cast output (with its low costs) also effectively competes with deep mined production in relation to BSC's purchasing policies . This situation of competition between deep mined production and a combination of imports and open cast coal, although most clear in the case of BSc and the coking coal market generally, is also apparent in the market for steam raising coals for the CEGB . The CEGB's recent use of Bsc's Hunterston terminal to import coals to be delivered to Fidlers Ferry power station is one telling example of this . Another is the pattern which has emerged in the Durham coalfield whereby the private open cast operators have established a supply contract with the CEGB for 400,000 tonnes per annum . Much of this coal is delivered to the power stations of North Yorkshire . These tendencies within the way in which coal is produced and sold indicate a major change of policy . They are made clear in government statements which indicate that there will no longer be a planned output level for open cast mining in the UK . Once regulated within a planning ceiling, open cast must now find its own level . This has been spelled out (somewhat ambiguously perhaps) in the much-quoted clause 15 of the highly significant Circular 3/84 produced by the Department of the Environment in February 1984 . The government, it said : BSC

sees no case for continuing to endorse a target for open cast output. Each project should therefore be considered in terms of the market requirement for its planned output . . . The overall level of output will in practice be determined by the market subject to the availability of individual projects as determined by the planning system . 10 Concurrent with this is the growing pressure by private open cast operators for the tonnage limitations on their operations to be lifted and for the general privatisation of open cast output . There is little doubt that their interests will be catered for in the forthcoming Opencast Mines Bill . All this marks an important shift in policy from that recommended by the widely respected Flowers Commission in its report on Coal and the Environment . It argued that `as older, more costly and less environmentally acceptable pits are closed, and more efficient and profitable operations take their place, the volume of open cast mining should be allowed to decline ." (Since that date, 10 pits have closed on the Durham Coalfield but there has been no commensurate decline in open cast output .)

Experiences of Nationalisation

Furthermore it suggested that open cast production could be justified in the future if there was a `demonstrable need for a certain grade of coking coal' or if there was a need to fulfil `short-term increases in demand' . In his report on the Woodhead Inquiry in the Derwent Valley, the Inspector wrote of environmentally damaging open cast production being justified only in the face of `strong', `certain' and `urgent' needs . In the recent report from the Inspector at the Barcus Close Inquiry it was stated that : Production of coal from deep mines is much more labour intensive than open cast mining and this is a very important consideration in this area which has lost so many mining and industrial jobs over the past few years . The structure plan records the limited percentage of the national workforce now employed in industry, and the retention of such employment in an area traditionally heavily reliant on this sector of the economy is highly relevant. Against such a background-particularly given references to `alternative sources of supply', and `need' - there is a strong feeling within local government (amongst councillors and officials) that its policy of planning output targets for open cast mining requires revision . There is certainly a case now for examining the details of this policy - openly - in relation to the future of deep mine production and employment . This strength of feeling on employment is enforced by the effects of open cast mining upon the countryside . The Council for the Protection of Rural England views the removal of an upper limit on open cast tonnage with great alarm, and now considers open cast mining to be potentially the single greatest risk to the countryside . In relation to the Plenmeller site (from which the NCB hope to supply the Redcar market) the Northumberland and Newcastle branch wrote this : We would wish to express our concern that if permission is granted to the NCB for the Plenmeller site, it could increase pressure to work sites lying to the west of Plenmeller . Once the infrastructure of conveyor belt and railhead facilities is in place it will be much harder to prevent Opencast Coal Mining progressing into the very attractive landscape to the west . To this it added its `concern for the general area and the consequential damage to it resulting from a start being made at Plenmeller' . The area is described as being of `great visual interest' and the Plenmeller site and the general activities surrounding it C &C w-D

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will be seen over great distances because the land is high ; mining activities, spoil heaps and noise will be perceived from the A69 route . The land to the West is considered to be `very attractive within which no open cast mining should be allowed' . The landscape and the countryside is one aspect of the environmental costs of open cast mining and colliery closures . Another relates to the usage of natural resources . While the NCB may stress the economic advantages of open cast mining others (and this includes energy experts like Professor Ian Fells at the University of Newcastle) stress the strategic waste of utilising these resources at this time . Open cast mining has the strategic advantage of having a very short development line . Unlike deep mining, open cast sites can move from conception to coaling in a matter of months . Viewed in this way they present an ideal base for dealing with short-term fluctuations in supply with any major instability in the international energy markets . But this is one side of the picture . The other has to do with the extent of deep mined reserves and the NCB's attitude toward the sterilisation of coal . One of the more remarkable aspects of the inquiry by the House of Lords Select Committee into the state of the British coal industry was found in the discussion of British coal reserves . 12 The NCB has for some time blithely operated as if these reserves were virtually inexhaustible . Passing reference to `300 years of coal reserves' are a commonplace, and when pressed on this (as Ezra was by Kearton on this occasion) the official view is that no one can look further ahead than 50 years . The British Geological Society (and many ex-colliery managers) disagree however . They point to the rate of sterilisation, associated with modern mining methods and seam selection and the push on productivity indices as the sole guide to performance . Advances in technology while leading to greater productivity will also lead to lower recovery . (As such) the constraints of geology and economics will be matters of concern long before hypothetical exhaustion . 13 In the view of the British Geological Society, the `300 years of coal' is a pure chimera . Some prominent geologists (like Durham University's Emeritus Professor Sir Kingsley Dunham) see 30 years to be a more likely figure given current trends . Against this background the 12 mt of coal in Durham through the closure of collieries since the end of the mining dispute is a matter of genuine public concern and relates to a wider, and equally public issue .

Experiences of Nationalisation

A major problem facing industrial nations is that of acid rain . As a UK Special Report of the ICR on the subject put it ; `Acid rain is like sin . Everyone is against it but no-one knows how to eradicate it . It has horrible effects : it damages vegetation, `kills' lakes and erodes buildings . It may - directly or indirectly damage health' (ICR, 24 May 1985) . What is clear is that acid rain is caused by the preservation in the atmosphere of sulphur dioxide (S02) and nitrogen oxides (NOx) . These substances exist naturally in the atmosphere, but in the industrial states factory and power plant emissions have increased their presence substantially . To quote the ICR once again : Human activities add an estimated 75m-100m tonnes of sulphur yearly to the atmosphere, equal to all that generated from natural sources . 14 In looking for culprits, coal undoubtedly takes first place alongside the motor car . A tonne of coal can, on burning, release anything from three to sixty kilogrammes of sulphur into the atmosphere . There is little doubt that the rate of these emissions needs to be curbed and in Germany there have been strong moves toward regulating coal-fired power stations to this end . Nineteen Western and East European nations have joined with Canada in a pledge to reduce sulphur dioxide by 30% by 1997 . These emissions can be controlled by technical modifications to power stations (most especially the use of fluidised bed technology), and also by the burning of coal with a low sulphur content . This latter option is rather limited in relation to power plants (it would require coal with a sulphur content of 0 .25% of which there is minimal tonnage in the UK) but with industrial boilers it represents a realistic option . Coal with a sulphur content of between 1% and 1 .2% makes a substantial difference to the sulphur dioxide emissions from these boilers . Coal from South East Durham could make a real contribution to such a development . While the Minister of the Environment Patrick Jenkin is on the record as supporting the aims of the `Thirty Percent Club', he has been rather reluctant to push either for controls or clear directives . A major tension exists between the Ministries of State (notably the Treasury and Energy) responsible for pushing a market strategy for coal, and the main Ministry concerned with the Environment . On issues such as open cast mining, acid rain and the sterilisation of coal reserves there is a strong case for a more telling environmental strategy . Certainly in the context of acid rain, the preservatrion of low sulphur reserves in pits like Horden and a directive which linked them with the slowly expanding industrial boiler market would make a lot of sense . To do otherwise is to run the risk of environmental costs which may not be as

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easily calculable in the short term, but which in the long term could be dire in their consequences . Toward a new politics of production?

It is clear that the corporate decisions made within both Bsc and the NCB have had effects which (directly and indirectly) have cut deeply into the social fabric of the North East . They have (through colliery closures) had a major impact upon the lives of people in the coal mining communities and upon the District and County Councils which serve them . In the way mining has extended, through open cast, into rural locations the effect has been equally dramatic in the non-mining parts of the area . The question of the relationship between the rural (open cast) districts and the deep mining districts is most often understood as an antagonistic one . Here the competition for jobs is seen to be compounded by antipathy between urbanised/unionised working-class labour areas and more rural/non-union areas, with a higher proportion of middle-class people and Tory voters . While there is something in this polarised model (and we shall return to it in a moment) it is, in fact, a highly exaggerated assessment of these political and economic differences . For example, while the rural areas have gained jobs from the decisions of BSc and NCB, they have also borne considerable costs . These costs have been `environmental' . Valleys have been, flooded and fields overturned and badly restored . Transportation from open cast sites is invariably by heavy lorries which often run through narrow roads and lanes . Given this, there has been considerable local objection to the manner and scale of open cast development in the North East . It is important to point out that it was environmental groups and not the miners' union or the Labour-controlled councils which first organised a response to the chaotic developments which `market requirements' were wreaking upon the region's coal economy . Repeatedly throughout the 1970s, as coking coal status rose, the NCB Opencast Executive attempted to open huge open cast sites in the Derwent Valley . There, the Derwent Valley Protection Society, in association with the Council for the Protection of Rural England, raised deep and serious questions about the logic which underpinned the extension of this form of coal supply . Increasingly they raised the question of `need' . Why was this coking coal needed? For which markets? How certain was the NCB of the long-term stability of these markets? These objections were outlined (and sustained) at major planning inquiries in the valley (Horsegate, Medomsley, Whittonstall, Woodhead) and beyond (Redbarns, Daisy Hill) and Inspectors from the Department of the Environment found logic in the argument and in the County Council's attempt to

Experiences of Nationalisation

create a 'no-go' area in the West . These inspectors also accepted albeit implicitly - that the nature of coking coal reserves was such that they should be handled and used with far greater concern and foresight than was apparent in the Marketing Department of the NCB . Particularly worrying was the growing tendency to sell high grade coals to the CEGB in the form of Durham Opencast Untreated Small (nous) . As one inspector put it : I am not persuaded that the power station use of noes is necessary or warranted . On the contrary, I conclude that the use of coal whose heat-energy rating is considerably in excess of what is called for by the CEGB specification is wasteful, especially when valuable indigenous energy resources ought to be sparingly used. It was against this background that the NUM withdrew its support for open cast mining . This support was obtained under the 1974 Plan for Coal and continued beyond 1980 . Today the national union has argued that, in line with the recommendation of the Flowers Commission, open cast tonnage should be cut back from 15 million to nearer 5 million tonnes . In Durham and Northumberland the miners' unions are committed to the contraction of open cast coal mining in both counties and a negotiated reduction of output from the current level of 3 million tonnes . In this context, the Durham unions have, for the first time, attended planning inquiries and presented evidence which argued the case for deep mined coal and a more rational approach to coal production in the North . Their arguments have made an impact, and they point to the possibility of a political alliance between the union, environmental groups and, occasionally, tenant farmers . Certainly the prospect of such an alliance has emerged as a major consideration in the North given that further expansion of open cast mining is dependent upon political decisions within local government and beyond . The prospect of an alliance was accentuated in the summer of 1984 . Then, during the strike, miners became aware (many of them for the first time) of the scale of open cast production in the area . As one young miner from Murton put it : We knew a bit about open cast, but we never knew the scale of it . We were amazed when we came over here and saw what was going on . In part their understanding of the developments was couched directly in terms of economic interests- `this mining is taking our jobs' . This understanding was assisted in Durham by the scale of the private sites, out of the control of the NCB . This became increasingly obvious during the dispute as the private operators

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increased their output and sold coal directly to the power stations . It was those coal movements which brought the striking miners to the open cast areas . Banks' operation at Inkerman in Tow Low was a major scene for picketing in the first months of the dispute . Eventually the company took out an injunction against the Durham NUM and the court ruled that picketing of all of Banks' sites should cease . All this increased the feeling of antagonism between the striking miners, their union and the private operators . They are just out to make as much profit as they can, and they'll do anything to make more profit . Anything . They're just private capitalists . Ruthless capitalists . These words - uttered by the erstwhile moderate Durham miners' leader Tom Callan - carry all the more significance against the background of the nationalisation of coal in 1947 and with it the clear understanding that the private coalowners were to be removed from the industry . This clear political sense of historical change is added to by the reaction of many of the young miners to the physical nature of the open cast sites . Those who visited the large sites around Buckhead and Wam were often deeply affected by the scenes of rural devastation which accompanied open cast mining : I was brought up in the Bishop Auckland area and I remember the valleys and the countryside around there . To see it now . It's like being on the moon down there . What a bloody mess . It's complete devastation . It's terrible . Many of them commented upon the way in which the quest for profit (often referred to as `greed') adversely affected both the countryside and deep mined employment . A man from the threatened Herrington pit put it like this : It's cheap coal . That's what those people and this government is after . Cheap coal and big profits . We can produce this type of coal good quality coking coal - at Herrington . But they'd rather come out here and let those cowboys dig up the countryside because it makes more money . I don't think it makes much sense that . Against this background the more assertive response by the toward open cast expansion is understandable . It was this which initially led the union to oppose the NCB's plan for open cast mining in the Plenmeller Basin . Before the announced closure of Horden, the union argued that the high volatile coals from the Plenmeller site could be used to substitute for deep mined coals . On the announcement of the NCB's intention to proceed, the NUM strongly opposed the granting of planning permission and met NUM

Experiences of Nationalisation with the planning committee of the Northumerland County Council to press home their point of view. More interesting (or at least less orthodox) was their decision to send representatives to a public meeting called by the Parish Council of Bardon Mill, a picturesque village near the proposed site . The people there had been informed that the bunker and rapid loading system at the rail head would be virtually noiseless - `like cornflakes falling into a bowl' . To this the Easington Lodge secretary explained how such a system operated, and the level of noise associated with it in his colliery . One local manual worker commented: `This is the first time we've felt that we've been getting anywhere . You lads coming over .' This view was endorsed by the leading conservative lady in the village : It's so good to sit and listen . You see, these NUM chaps are the experts - they know about the NCB ; they know how it operates . This was in September 1984, at the height of the conflict in the coalfields . It was one pointer of the potential for a new radical political initiative which could grow out of the disastrous experiences of public ownership in this country . The coal and steel industries gave expression to a demand for the abolition of private ownership of industrial capital and a more rational approach toward the planning of production . Both industries, in their different ways, were hijacked by the political appointment of MacGregor . His appointment made acerbic a reality which had long since existed . In the British experience `nationalisation' has been a form of `state capitalism', and in their world of operations these publicly-owned trusts have danced to the tune of the market . In this process what has been lost is an important critical sense of the purpose of production and the nature of a socialist or communistic alternative to capitalist forms of organisation and life . This - in the face of a rampant privatising tendency in the Tory government - is a major requirement for progressive forces in Britain . And the starting point for such a programme and a rethink is an open and honest appraisal of the experiences to date of the state sector industries . In such an appraisal the nagging reality from the North of England is that it is just these industries (state-owned coal, steel, railways, shipyards) and not the multinationals which have heaped most havoc upon the local economy . This is the fact which socialists need to come to grips with and go beyond .

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Notes

1. Coking coal: statement by the coal industry, Mimeo, November 1979, p. 2. 2. Letter from Mr Milburn, Marketing Director NCB (NE) to Mr T . Callan, General Secretary, Durham Area NUM, 10 August 1978 . 3. Letter from Mr D . Mate, BSC Teesside Works Director, 6 July 1984 . 4. Letter from Mr M .E . Bradley, Marketing Manager NCB (NE), 21 August 1984 . 5. Joint Coal Industry Consultative Committee, Minutes, November 1978 . 6. Coal Year Review, Financial Times, 1985 . 7. County Structure Plan, Durham County Council, 1982 . 8. F.J . and J . Davies, Evidence to Witton-le-Wear inquiry, August 1984 . 9. NCB Statement to Northumberland County Council over Plenmeller, 1984 . 10 . Opencast Coal Mining, Circular 3/84, Department of the Environment, February 1984, p . 3 . 11 . Royal Commission on `Coal and the Environment', HMSO, 1982 . 12 . House of Lords Select Committee on Energy, 1984. 13 . For a summary of this discussion see Fred Pearce, `Geologists doubt the extent of British coal reserves', New Scientist, 3 May 1984 . 14 . `Acid Rain - Coal's Unsolved Conundrum', International Coal Report, 24 May 1985 .

References

Berry T . et al (1985) `NCB accounts -a mine of misinformation', Accountancy, January . Beynon H . (1984) Proof of evidence to Witton-le-Wear opencast inquiry . Beynon H ., Hudson R . & Sadler D . (1985) (Mis)Managing Harden, Work and Employment Research Unit for NUM (Durham Area) . Bryer R . H ., Brignall T . J . & Maunders A . R . (1982) Accounting for British Steel, Gower, Aldershot . Coates D . (1980) Labour in Power? Longman, London . Etherington, D . (1983) Local authority economic development policies on Teesside, Unpublished MA thesis, Durham University . Glyn A . (1984) The economic case against pit closures, NUM, Sheffield . Gregory R. (1975) `The Cow Green reservoir', pp . 144-201 in Smith P . J . (ed .), The politics ofphysical resources, Penguin, Harmondsworth . Guerin J .P . & Bowness M .M . (1984) `Preheated coal operations at Redcar coke ovens', Ironmaking and Steelmaking 11, pp . 186-91 . HMSO (1963) The North East: a programme for regional development and growth, Cmnd 2206 . HMSO (1973) British Steel Corporation : ten year development strategy, Cmnd 5226, London . HMSO (1978a) BSC and technological change (3 vols), House of Commons paper 26, session 1977/78 . HMSO (1978b) British Steel Corporation : the road to viability, Cmnd 7149, London .

Experiences of Nationalisation

Hudson R . (1983) `Capital accumulation and regional problems : a study of North East England, 1945 to 1980', pp . 75-101 in Hamilton F .E .I . and Linge G .J .R . (eds), Spatial analysis and the industrial environment Vol 3, Wiley, London . Hudson R . & Sadler D . (1984) British Steel builds the new Teesside? The implications of Bsc policy for Cleveland, report to Cleveland County Council . Mandel E . (1978) The Second Slump, New Left Books, London . Northern Region Strategy Team (1976) Trends and prospects in the iron and steel industry, WP3, Newcastle . Northumbrian Water Authority (1984a) Annual Plan . Northumbrian Water Authority (1984b) Report and accounts for 1983/84 . O'Donnell K . (1985) `Brought to Account : The NCB and the Case for Coal', Capital and Class, Summer.

New Political Science Summer 1986 No . 15 Literature and Politics J . Derrida "On the

Declaration o f Independence"

M . Blanchot "Marx's Three Voices" Plus J . Arac, "Mathiessen and the American Renaissance ." D. Sommer, "Whitman and the Liberal Self ." C . Kay, "Wollstonecraft's Critique of Adam Smith ." T. Norton, "Deleuze and Political Science Fiction ." Single issues : $5 .50 Individual subscriptions : $20 .00 (4 issues) Send check to : New Political Science, Dept . of Political Science Columbia Univ ., NY, NY 10027

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Jamie Gough

Jamie Gough continues the reassessment of industrial intervention from the left, starting with Goodwin and Duncan's critical look at Sheffield's experience in Capital & Class 27 and Cochrane's review of the London Industrial Strategy in Capital & Class 28, but shifts the analysis from their emphasis on the local versus national problematic to the more general implications of the underlying models of intervention . He argues that recent left-wing restructuring policies seek to sidestep the powers of capital and end up by exacerbating divisions between groups of workers, and suggests that we have to return to intervention which takes as its main aim the combatting of these divisions and strengthening of workers' collective organisation .

Industrial policy and socialist strategy : Restructuring and the unity of the working class •

DURING THE seventies and early eighties debate on economic

policy on the left centred on different forms of control to be exercised by the state and the labour movement over capital : extended collective bargaining, planning agreements, partial or total public ownership, workers' control . The economic content of state interventions received less attention . Two rather simple lines tended to predominate : either `modernisation', centering on a more or less radical reorientation of British capital away from the traditional concerns of the City and towards serious accumulation in domestic industry ; or state subsidy of loss-making enterprises in order to preserve jobs . The former has now been given a new lick of paint in the Labour Party's Jobs and Industry campaign ; while the latter was the principal demand of the miners' strike (Glyn, 1984) . Recently, however, a new element has been added to the debate on industrial policy, associated particularly with the economic interventions of the Greater London Council (GLC, 1985a) but also elaborated elsewhere . It has been argued tht state industrial interventions can and should aim to strengthen the

position of labour via changes in production technology, in the labour process, in products produced and in forms of economic coordination . The strategies draw on academic work on the labour process, neo-Fordism and `regulation', but also on a concern with 'enterprise' and marketing which has a politically much broader cur-

Politics of Restructuring rency . This orientation has counterposed itself both to a simple `modernisation' strategy (Introduction, in GLC, 1985a, para 122) and to one of subsidy and protection (ibid, para 120) . In this paper I assess two versions of this approach and suggest an alternative . I start with a critique of two restructuring strategies, the first of which I call `postmodern' (Part 1) and the second the one proposed by Robin Murray (Part 2) . (This article therefore does not make an assessment of the GLC's London Industrial Strategy as a whole, since this contains other quite different strategies .) I argue that the postmodern approach centres on tendencies which are only a limited part of current restructuring, and does not provide a basis for a sustained revival of the economy . Moreover, it is often incapable of strengthening labour in the way it claims, and in fact tends to create divisions among workers and weaken collective organisation . I argue that these political problems are connected with the postmodernists' view of state planning . Murray's alternative (as set out in the introduction to the London Industrial Strategy) correctly insists, against the postmodernists, on the need for strong state intervention into current restructuring in order to increase workers' immediate control over the labour process and combat deskilling . However, Murray shares wih the postmodernists an analysis of long waves and on the present period of stagnation which one-sidedly focuses on the use value aspects of production, to the neglect of value production . As a result he too presents a falsely optimistic view of the possibilities for side-stepping the crisis of overaccumulation of capital by means of 'productivist' interventions . In this respect Murray's strategy has the same divisive effects as that of the postmodernists, and leads back to the `modernisation' strategy of the Labour leadership . If restructuring cannot alleviate the pressure of the crisis of overaccumulation, the central task for restructuring is to help to combat divisions within the working class and to support collective organisation . This can contribute towards building a counterpower that can lay the basis for a systematic reorganisation of the economy in the interests of labour . This approach to restructuring is discussed in Part 3 . While the strategies criticised wish to shift the debate from the form of state intervention to its content, they nevertheless have strong implications for the form of intervention . The postmodern strategy participates in the current general retreat in the labour movement from support for public ownership, while Murray's strategy is weak on this question . Restructuring aimed at strengthening collective organisation, on the other hand, requires public ownership under workers' control if it is to be

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carried through consistently, and can therefore contribute to building support for this aim (section 3 .3) . In this it is politically, and I will argue economically, compatible with the kind of macro policy proposed by the Campaign Group in One Million Jobs a Year (Glyn, 1985) . Part 1 : A postmodern strategy

1 .1 An explicit presentation of this strategy can be found in Best (1984 and 1986) and in Piore and Sabel (1985) .' Examples of the approach at sector level are the strategies for furniture and for cultural industries in the GLC's London Industrial Strategy (LIS) (GLC, 1985a) and for clothing in Zeitlin (1985a) . The postmodern strategy is based on the view that the present crisis is a period of transition between an epoch of 'Fordism' and an emerging epoch of `flexible specialisation' (Fs) . 'Fordism' here denotes standardised products, mass production, the predominant use of semi-skilled labour in repetitive tasks, and distribution to large, undifferentiated markets . `FS', in contrast, denotes medium or small batch, or even customised, production, and the use of predominantly skilled labour to perform multiple and changing tasks . Within the labour process, the transition from Fordism to FS is seen as a result of the use of computer-controlled production equipment and Computer Aided Design (CAD) based on the microprocessor enabling small batches to be produced much more cheaply than before, while cheaper data processing and new developments in telecommunications enable stock control and ordering of small batches of a large range of styles to be handled more easily . The need for skilled labour, however, comes as much from the flexible organisation of the labour process as from the advanced production technology (Best, 1988 : 71-2) . Within consumption, the demand for standardised consumer durables is said to be saturated, while relatively homogeneous taste is giving way to taste which is more varied and `individual' . Flexible specialisation FS is seen as being the new model of competitive behaviour throughout the international economy (or at least the advanced countries) ; any regeneration of the economies of countries or regions therefore depends on their ability to adapt successfully to this model . But FS is not only a necessity for capital ; it also has important advantages for labour . Not only is work more skilled and thus wages higher, but FS requires capital to abandon authoritarian control of labour . Thus Best (1984 : 14) argues that FS `is enhanced by consultative, participating roles for shop floor workers' . Job security is greater because `production here depends on special knowledge and a trained labour force, one that the

Politics of Restructuring employer cannot readily replace in the labour "market" .' Moreover, the quality competition characteristic of FS weakens the motivation for capital to indulge in wage cutting . The transition to FS thus strengthens labour against capital . FS is also progressive in the realm of consumption . Whereas within Fordism product design is tailored to the possibilities of production technology and labour process, within FS production is flexible enough to allow product design to flow from consumer demands and needs ('Furniture' in GLC, 1985a, para 51) . In particular, it can allow production more easily to meet minority or `alternative' cultures and tastes ('Cultural industries', in GLC, 1985a, paras 40-43, 65, 66) . The postmodernists argue that FS gives an edge to small and medium-sized independent companies against large firms and within large firms to substantially independent subsidiaries over tightly controlled ones . Specialisation and flexible equipment weaken the importance of economies of scale ; vertical integration limits flexibility ; detailed knowledge of micro-markets becomes crucial . This undermining of large capital is seen by many postmodernists as itself progressive, in weakening the largest centres of capitalist power and in facilitating greater responsiveness to demand ('Food', in GLC, 1985a, para 64 ; `Cultural industries', in GLC, 1985a, paras 63-66) . FS is thus clearly a Good Thing for both capital and labour, and any progressive state intervention needs to be geared to promoting it . This, it is argued, requires forms of intervention quite different from those appropriate to Fordism . There is less role for state investment or purchasing to support massive indivisible and inflexible fixed investments . State-sponsored concentration and centralisation of capital aimed at economies of scale and vertical integration is now an irrelevance . More generally, state direction and state production are seen as being too `bureaucratic' to be appropriate to the new model, which above all requires fast footwork and entrepreneurial flair (Best, 1984 : 11 ; Warpole, 1984 : 27) . There are, however, two legitimate roles for state intervention . Firstly, the state may have a role in the provision of economic `infrastructure' which firms in the sector are too small to provide for themselves : training, joint marketing organisations, market information systems, or stages of production with large minimum efficient size . The `bureaucratic' state is thought to be better at providing these relatively homogeneous services . It is important that these services do not attempt to transgress the independence of the client firms (Best, 1984 : 9, 11 and 1986 : 74 ; Zeitlin, 1985a : 21-22 ; `Cultural industries' in GLC, 1985a, paras 51,56) .

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Secondly, the state may promote forms of competition appropriate to a regime of FS . FS as an industry is undermined by price wars which reduce the ability of firms to finance R&D and fixed investment, or by wage cutting which undermines the supply of skilled labour power . A stable regime of FS thus depends on minimising quantitative forms of competition and on promoting competition via innovation (Piore and Sabel, 1984) . Moreover, certain types of coordination between firms may be appropriate, for example a carving up of markets, or subcontracting relations (best, 1986 : 71-7 ; Zeitlin, 1985a : 22-25) . The state may be able to play the role of broker in arranging these forms of coordination, and the role of police in sanctioning `harmful' forms of competition . Why `postmodern'? We can now see the justification for dubbing this strategy 'postmodernist' . (For discussion of this concept, see Foster, 1985 .) Firstly, Fordism is modernism par excellence : international standardisation within consumption, scientific management, smashing of craft, ever-increasing scale within production ; postmodern industrial strategy predicts and urges the demise of this system . Secondly, to the extent that modernism is identified with industrialism, postmodernism identifies itself as 'postindustrialist', particularly insisting on the increasing importance of consumption relative to production . Thirdly, this economic strategy places a typically postmodern emphasis on the variety of taste, and on the inability of scientific-rational product design to satisfy this taste . Finally, at the level of organisation, there is the postmodern antipathy to large-scale or centralised planning whether by firms or by the state . Labelling the strategy as `postmodern' points to the fact that it conceives of itself as a social and cultural strategy as much as an economic one, involving a restructuring of social relations between and within the classes and of the relations of consumption (Best, 1986 : 67) . Moreover, it signals that the strategy is part of, and is thus supported by, a major contemporary ideological movement . Connectedly, postmodernism can provide a more sophisticated rationale for the policies of the Labour leadership . (For a recent review, see Harrison and Morgan, 1986 .) Thus it provides an argument for abandoning any serious attempt to control the transnationals and for a concentration on small and medium firms, as in Labour's National Investment Bank (NIB) proposals . Similarly, the forms of state intervention proposed by the postmodern strategy and its antipathy both to centralised planning and large-scale state production dovetail with Hattersley's hostil-

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ity to nationalisation and his enthusiasm for fragmented `new forms of social ownership' . Postmodernism can provide Labour's strategy with a rationale based not simply on Britain's 'backwardness' but on new developments in the international economy . And it can claim to extend the scope of policy beyond numbers of jobs and higher wages to the quality of the labour process . The integration of postmodernism into social democratic ideology would have many parallels and shared assumptions with the Labour Party's appropriation of academic discourse on 'postindustrial society' in the fifties . In the Jobs and Industry campaign the party has indeed started to take up some postmodern themes (e .g . Labour Party, 1985) . If the postmodern approach is to constitute a strategy then the transition to FS which it posits and seeks to promote must be relatively homogeneous, extending across large sections of the economy, and relatively permanent, lasting for a phase of the long wave, for example . However, one can note, by no means exhaustively, a number of points at which this model breaks down . (1) The model of FS proposed contains a misleading analysis of the current fragmentation of demand . This is seen as the result of saturation of demand for mass-produced consumer goods ('Food' in GLC, 1985a, para 24 ; Zeitlin, 1985a : 5-6 ; see also LIS I, para 41), and appears to rest on naturalistic notions that 'everyone has now got a TV, fridge, car . . .' and/or that people's taste has become more `sophisticated' . In fact, there is no reason at the level ofuse values that new markets for qualitatively new goods or updated versions of old goods cannot still emerge (as indeed videos and home computers have done) . The fragmentation of demand should rather be analysed as (a) changes in reproduction of labour power resulting from the crisis : increasing differentiation of incomes, deepening of gender and class differences ; (b) at a more ideological level, a relegitimation of luxury consumption by the ruling class, and widespread aspirations to variety and luxury in consumption as a compensation for insecurity ; (c) an active strategy by manufacturers and retailers of product and style differentiation to meet intensifying competition . This suggests that the fragmenation of demand should be seen not as a sui generis cause of the crisis but rather as an effect of it, and not as concerning a transition between epochs of Fordism and Fs but as relating specifically to the value aspects of the long wave . A number of points follow from this . First, that the stan-

The rule of flexible specialisation?

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dardised consumer good still has life in it . Not only is this so from a use value aspect, but intensified competition is quite capable of producing intensified price competition via standardisation and a concentration of sales onto well-known brands : both these latter processes are involved, for example, in the rise of 'own-brand' sales by supermarkets . Secondly, the tendency to fragmentation of demand is unlikely to last through a whole long wave, but appears to have a much more conjunctural character . Thus (a) and (c) above are features specifically of the downward movement of the long wave, while (b) and (in part) (a) have a highly superstructural and fragile character . A third conclusion concerns political evaluation . In some postmodern formulations the current fragmentation of the market is seen as progressive, representing greater individuality in tastes and an increased responsiveness to needs by producers and retailers . The value analysis of this development, however, suggests that in important respects it is reactionary .

The resilience of large

capital

(2) The point just made about the resilience of mass production in relation to consumer goods can be widened . In the production of machinery, it seems likely that there is a trend away from customised and small batch production towards large batch or mass production (Piore and Sabel, 1984, ch 4) . A very large number of components, even those for varied goods, will continue to be mass produced . Moreover, the use of common modules to assemble diverse products extends mass production ; for example Benneton, a much-quoted example of FS, produces most of its clothes bleached, the colour variation being added as the final stage . Forms of the social division of labour and of production technology which are said to be characteristic elements of FS may well be incorporated into mass production . Amstrad, for example, has a `typically FS' concentration on design and marketing with subcontracted production, but to produce standardised goods . (3) Even within production and selling of varied goods, there are counter-tendencies to the postmodern scenario of an undermining of large by small capital : (i) Within production, large capital is quite capable of organising the design and production of varied, short-run goods, once it appreciates that a large slice of the market is going this way (see `Comments on the Rejoinder' in GLC, 1985b) . For example, Marks and Spencer's largest supplier, S .R . Gent, which employs 5,000 people, produc's samples of 200 new styles weekly, and is capable of putting a style into production in three weeks . (ii) Within distribution, postmodernists argue that the power

Politics of Restructuring

of the retail and media distribution majors is being undermined by their dependence on producers (small producers particularly) to develop the requisite variety of designs (Zeitlin, 1985a : 8-11 ; `Furniture' in GLC, 1985a, paras 42, 43, 52 ; `Cultural industries' in GLC, 1985a, paras 36-39) . But this neglects the fact that the retailers have a counter-strategy : this is to shift quality competition from competition between individual products to competition between inclusive styles ; producers who do their own design may have a quasi-monopoly on individual products, but the retailer has the quasi-monopoly on the style . Thus two of the most successful exponents of the new forms of quality competition, Habitat-Mothercare and Next, do not limit themselves even to one type of consumer good but sell a `life style' across clothes, furnishings, cosmetics, home decorations, etc . The tendencies concerning the balance of power between smaller, FS-oriented capital and larger capital are thus more varied than postmodernism allows . The undermining of skill

(4) The postmodernists see a higher level of skill and greater immediate control by workers over the labour process, compared with those typical of Fordism, as necessary features of efficient FS . This thesis, however, extrapolates from traditional craft work, neglecting the fact that the greater ease of carrying out small-run work, so central to FS, is underpinned by technology which can be used both to deskill and to impose new forms of work discipline . Firstly, many craft and design jobs - the very jobs that FS is said to rest on - are being very substantially deskilled with the aid of microprocessor-based control and information systems . CAD and CAD-CAM systems enable many of the tasks required to translate rough designs into operational production specifications to be automated . CNC machine tools and typesetting technology (and now incipiently even sewing machines) can abolish a multiplicity of complex manual skills and replace them with much simpler operator skills . Secondly, the equation of skilled, small batch work with worker autonomy within the labour process, while it may have had some validity within traditional craft work, is fast losing its validity under the impact of new production control systems . The sewing stage of women's clothing production, involving small to medium batch production with still-skilled producers, provides a good example . Here, computerised production control systems are used by management to plan and monitor the progress of each batch of work through each stage of production, to monitor and judge the performance of each machinist, and to C&C

29 .. . E.

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move machinists from task to task with minimum slack time according to their particular skills . The power of the new information technology from management's point of view is that it can institute this close monitoring and control even over varied and complex work . (5) The postmodern model of firm structure and labour process is unlikely to avoid at least major modification during any future long wave of expansion . Freeman et al (1982, ch 3) have shown that, far from product and process innovations being concentrated in periods of stagnation, if anything they are more dense during waves of expansion . An increased rate of fixed investment and R&D and, later, tightening labour markets, tend to accelerate restructuring . This point, along with those made in (1), tends to undermine a notion of an extended epoch of FS . Three conclusions flow from these points . Firstly, the scope for the postmodern approach is limited to particular parts of the economy, and is likely to be limited in time . Secondly, its supposed beneficial impact on skills and workers' immediate control of the labour process is more limited than claimed . Correspondingly, the restraint on cost cutting strategies is also more limited . (For a critique of postmodernism's characteristically Proudhonist aspiration to have the `good' aspects of competition without the `bad', see Marx, 1976, ed .) A false claim on job creation Thirdly, the postmodern strategy has not justified its claims to be a strategy for job creation, unless this is understood in a purely parochial, and thus class collaborationist way . A FS approach can of course contribute to improving the competitiveness of firms or sections of industries, of regions or of countries (Best, 1986 : 74, 77 ; for a critique see Gough, 1986) . But for the strategy to provide a basis for international recovery, the essential origin of the present crisis must be located in the difficulty of effecting the transition from an epoch of 'Fordism' to one of `FS' . This thesis is implausible in the light of the points made above . It may be objected that sponsoring FS can contribute to job creation, not through the installation of a new regime of accumulation, but more modestly through contributing to increased productivity and thus profitability . But the transition to FS is likely to increase the organic composition, via automation of stages of production and via shorter moral depreciation time of fixed capital, and thus tend to exacerbate the crisis of profitability . It is true that increases in productivity in Department II can aid in increases in the rate of exploitation . But even if FS contributed to a net increase in profit rate, its effect on employment depends

Politics of Restructuring 67

crucially on the phase of the long wave . Only on the upward slope of the long wave does an increase in profit associated with an increase in productivity lead to an acceleration of increase of output sufficient to offset the negative effect of productivity on employment . However, in a period of stagnation such as the present, such increases in productivity (and profitability) contribute at best to jobless growth . (For further discussion see Gough, 1986 : 5-9) . Glyn (1985) is therefore right to argue that a strategy for job creation in the medium term must centre around reflation made effective by serious controls on capital . We may conclude, then, that the postmodern strategy thus cannot create (net) jobs either in the medium or the long term . In those parts of the economy where the postmodern strategy can be applied, what are the likely effects of such an intervention on the politics of the labour movement? The most obvious political problem of the postmodern strategy are the well-known difficulties presented to trade union organisation by fragmented industrial structure (hurray, 1983 ; Rainnie, 1985) . However, postmodernists argue that on the basis of FS, the fragmented structure which they seek to promote is quite compatible with strong labour organisation (Zeitlin, 1985b) . Labour's strength within a system of efficient FS is said to be based on two forms of market `imperfection' : firstly, capital's dependence on skill within the market for labour power ; and secondly, avoidance of wage cutting through quality competition in the market for the final product . I will argue that, on the contrary, the reliance on modulations of these two markets is a source of weakness rather than strength for labour .

The model of the `Third Italy' As evidence of the benefits of FS for labour, postmodernists often cite the `Third Italy', and I will use this case to exemplify my counter-argument . Postmodernists see the Third Italy as something of a model : specialised industrial districts containing many small, highly flexible and innovative firms, but which have a record of adopting and developing advanced production technology (e .g . Zeitlin, 1985a : 11 ; Best, 1986 : 69-72) . In the Third Italy unionisation extends to much smaller firms than is usual elsewhere : firms employing over 30 people are typically organised . Skill levels are high, and average hourly wages are good by Italian standards (Brusco, 1982 : 167-68) . However, there are severe problems in the region from the point of view of labour's solidarity and collective organisation .

The politics of postmodernism

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This is in spite of the leading role of a workers' party, the pci, in the creation of the region's economy (Edwards, 1981 : 1-9 ; Berger, 1981 : 81-3), and in spite of comparatively low unemployment for the last two decades . The problem appears, first, as an enormous uneveness of conditions of work between workers and lack of security of continuous employment which makes organisation for common, class objectives extremely difficult . Secondly, around half of the industrial workforce is non-unionised (Brusco, 1982 : 173) ; and both for workers at the firm level and for the unions at the industry or district level there tends to be a strong identification and compliance with the interests of the employers (Berger, 1981 : 83) . These problems are rooted in the reliance of the postmodern strategy on the economic and social differentiation of the market for . the final products and the market for labour power, rather than on collective organisation . Thus : (i) The market for labour power For postmodernists, capital's need for skill is a major source of labour's strength . But this strength is inherently uneven, firstly because the levels of objective skill necessary vary enormously between workers in a given industry, even in a high skill industrial district of the Third Italy type ; and secondly because the rewards for given skill are dependent on the anarchic system of realisation of the value created by the worker . Thus any bargaining strength that labour derives from skill depends on exploiting differentiations within the labour market, and this encourages an active strategy among sections of workers of protecting and reinforcing these differences . In this situation, access to the skilled jobs tends to rely on, and reinforce, social inequalities . This can take a mediated or unmediated form . The latter is largely the case in the Third Italy, where access to skilled jobs is regulated directly by gender, age and family connections . Thus Solinas (1982 : 338-346) has shown in the case of the Carpi knitwear industry that even among women workers access to work experience and to the more highly skilled and better paid jobs is strongly differentiated by age and by whether the worker's family is indigenous to the region or a migrant from the South . Alternatively, as in many traditional systems of Fs, the union may control access to skilled jobs (or to jobs deemed `skilled' for these purposes : Cockburn, 1983) . This control is often used to restrict entry and thus increase bargaining power, and has typically been used to reserve the best jobs for privileged sections of the working class . Whether in a mediated or unmediated form, the family thus

Politics of Restructuring plays a crucial role in this form of `strong labour' : as position within the family (gender), generation (age), or the family that you are born into (race/nationality) . 2 The exploitation of skill as a major bargaining weapon thus tends both to rely on and to exacerbate reactionary divisions among workers . (ii) The market for the final product Within the postmodern model, strong bargaining power for workers and good employment conditions rest on semi-monopoly prices and profits arising from product differentiation . Wages and conditions are inevitably sharply dependent on differences in the success of firms in establishing and maintaining semimonopolistic positions in the market . Collective bargaining is therefore typically carried out at the firm level, and results in a wide range of wage levels and conditions between firms, even those doing very similar types of work (Brusco, 1982 : 174) . Even in the most design-centred industries, there also tend to be systematic differences in conditions between firms carrying out very varied, high design work and those doing more routine work (Solinas, 1982 : 336, 347) . Design-led competition with a fragmented ownership structure not only produces sharp differences between firms at a given time, but makes the competitive position of each firm subject to sharp reversals . There thus tend to be large fluctuations of employment in each enterprise and frequent closures (Edwards and Raffaelli, 1979 : 16) . Even at times of low unemployment (as for a long period in the Third Italy) this disrupts continuity and strength of collective organisation . The differences I have been discussing between firms and between different parts of the workforce are typically exacerbated by their geographical form . In the Third Italy, for example, low unemployment and good employment conditions, and thus paternalistic capital-labour relations, are maintained in some districts by contracting out low value added work and surplus work at peak periods, together with the poor employment conditions and insecurity these involve, to surrounding areas (Solinas, 1982 : 334, 350) . Brusco (1982 : 17) has aptly compared this relationship to that between metropolis and colony . But the postmodern strategy not only involves these geographical differences but seeks to promote them . The strategy is presented as a way of maintaining higher wages and better conditions in the imperialist countries beside those in the Third World, or in a local industry beside its national rivals (Best, 1986 ; for a critique see Gough, 1986) . We can conclude, then, that postmodernism's reliance on

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skill and product differentiation as the basis for labour's strength tends to lead to divisions between workers and to obstacles to collective organisation . Connectedly, policies for equal opportunities and for promoting trade union organisation are not integral to the strategy ; these therefore tend to be treated at best as moral questions, `social' issues tacked on to the economic substance ('Scientific instruments', `Furniture', `Cultural industries' in GLC, 1985a ; for a critique of the GLC's practice in this respect see Bruegel, 1985) . Postmodernism and the state

Finally, it is useful to note the way in which the postmodernist strategy's reliance on the modulation of markets is theoretically underpinned by a problematic of `the market versus planning' within which the specificity of capitalist planning of commodity production and the capitalist state disappear . The cultural industries strategy in the LIS (GLC, 1985a), for example, sees attempts at planning of cultural production as being threatening to serving the market in a sensitive fashion . The main contrast running through the chapter is between production by a bureaucratic state or multinational capital on the one hand and production responsive to the market on the other (paras 51, 56, 61) . Thus even subsidies to cultural producers are opposed (para 3) . The narrowing of the range of cultural products is seen as a result of the `market' rather than of concentration of capital and strategies specific to capitalist oligopoly (e .g . paras 58, 60, 62) . Past interventions of the British state are criticised, but their class content is not brought out . For example, the BBC is criticised as `elitist' ; state censorship is not mentioned (paras 17-21) . In this way, capitalist and socialist planning come to be equated as `bureaucratic', equally guilty of insensitivity to the market . Consequently, the possibility of democratically-controlled enterprises which produce for the market (the form in which many consumer goods would be produced in a postcapitalist economy) is ruled out in advance . ('What kind of records would we get from a label run by a mangement committee of elected trade unionists, Labour Party nominees and central government accountants?' : Warpole, 1984 : 27) . Strategy inevitably falls back on modulation of markets, rather than confronting capital . The problems I have argued as flowing from this are thus intimately connected to the anti-statism of the strategy .

Part 2 : Murray's alternative

In his introduction to the London Industrial Strategy (GLC, 1985a, henceforward LIS) Robin Murray has put forward an approach which, while it shares much of the analysis of the postmodernists, differs in important ways in its prescriptions . I will argue that while it provides an important advance on postmodernism,

Politics of Restructuring it does not escape its central problems . Murray's strategy shares postmodernism's analysis of the present period of stagnation as arising from a transition between an epoch of Fordism and an epoch of FS . The crisis is therefore seen as originating essentially in problems of institutional and managerial innovation, rather than in overaccumulation of capital (LIs I, paras 100-109) ; see also Murray, 1986) . Indeed, this erroneous view is given a theoretical basis by using `production' to mean only the use value aspects of production, such as production technology or the labour process in its physical aspect (LIs I, paras 47, 51, 69, 79, 91), ignoring the fact that production of commodities is always also production of value and surplus value . (I use `use value' here in its widest sense, to denote the concrete and contingent aspects of commodity production in contrast to its abstract form as value production .) All questions of value become simply 'distributional', and therefore secondary (paras 69, 79). As Levidow (1983) has argued, this tends to make Murray's account of the crisis, and its solutions, technicaldeterminist (e .g . paras 91, 99-105) . However, Murray differs from the postmodernists in seeing capital's use of FS as not being necessarily positive for labour, and in many cases as being retrogressive . As I have already argued, I agree with this conclusion, even if the examples Murray gives are questionable . 3 Murray therefore argues that state intervention is necessary in order to channel restructuring into paths which can maintain or even increase labour's strength . The aspects of labour's strength that Murray highlights are control over the immediate labour process via skill and socially useful products . State intervention aimed at encouraging and enabling these forms of production is entirely progressive . But Murray is contradictory on the extent to which such an intervention conflicts with capital . On the one hand, as just stated, capital is not itself necessarily going to introduce these changes ; it may therefore be necessary to go beyond the 'hands-off' pproach of the postmodernists and intervene directly via substantial state minority shareholdings or outright ownership . Moreover, Murray argues that possibilities for progressive restructuring can only be found in the details of an industry (Murray, 1986 : 31), implying that there are no systematic bases for these opportunities and that they may often be absent . This is consistent with my arguments in Part 1 . An optimistic view of skill On the other hand Murray argues that there always exist labour processes emobodying high skill and worker autonomy

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which are just as efficient and competitive as any deskilled strategies capital may adopt (para 117) . This is really an assertion based on one or two examples, and seems likely to be generally true only within highly specialised production . Only in this case will higher skill leading to better quality generally compensate for the greater time taken in exercising more options and for the high cost of the more sophisticated equipment necessary to exercise them ; and only in this case will direct management control of workers' time to eliminate slack time and produce speed-ups not be worthwhile . Murray's optimism that skill does not conflict with market success is an aspect of his belief that via judicious intervention into the use value aspects of production it is possible to sidestep the contradictions of surplus value production . By using the most `advanced' techniques (which for Murray means FS), it is possible to give public sector-backed enterprises a semi-permanent competitive advantage over their rivals (Murray, 1985 : 31) or even a `strategic place' in the economy (LIS I. para 116). But, even supposing that the policy were able to increase the number of enterprises that are in such a `strategic position', this does not strengthen the position of the working class as a whole . The `strategic' firms are able to charge a price above the price of production for their product; this is deducted from the total surplus value produced (either directly if the firm is in Department I, or through raising the value of labour power if the firm is in Department II), but does not alter it . The net effect of the policy is thus to widen differences of profitability between firms and/or sectors, without even shifting the (average) rate of exploitation . Murray's policy thus reproduces the effects of the crisis and of neo-liberal policies by weakening the weaker capitals in order to benefit the strong . But more dangerously it echoes neo-liberal politics in attempting to link the wages and conditions of sections of the working class more closely to the profitability of their employers (an aspect of monetarism which Murray, significantly, misses : LIS I, para 27) . Like the postmodernists, it ends with a divisive policy by basing labour's strength on strong competitiveness for sections of capital . Restructuring and the crisis However, Murray also argues a stronger proposition : that if restructuring towards `the new forms of productive organisation' were generalised it would resolve the underlying crisis . Thus a systematic national policy of this type could create a `secure economy' (para 195) and eliminate unemployment (paras 192-7,

Politics of Restructuring though the passage is rather ambiguous) . This of course returns us to his (and postmodernism's) analysis of the crisis . Murray avoids the problems of this analysis and makes his prescriptions more plausible by concentrating not on the international crisis but on British `backwardness' (Murray, 1985 : 30 ; LIS I, paras 112-3) . Slow adoption of FS may well be a reason for the low competitiveness of British manufacturing, but it is implausible as a reason for the international crisis . This focus on the need for 'productivism' as a solution to specifically British problems is common gruond with the policy of the Labour leadership . Apart from its chauvinism, it does not address the massive barriers which exist to any `modernising' reorientation of British capital (Leys, 1985) . The powers claimed for a productivist strategy weaken Murray's argument both for public ownership and for strong trade unions . His faith that progressive restructuring does not injure competitiveness means that pressure is needed only to change the culture of management towards the more progressive solutions, rather than to force capital to carry out restructuring to which it is opposed . Similarly, on the question of job security and wages, if the impact of the crisis on enterprises (or the economy as a whole) can be sidestepped through 'productivism', then public subsidy is unnecessary and the strengthening of workers' defensive organisation becomes optimal . As with the postmodernists, this minimisation of the opposition of capital is theorised by focussing on the problems of the market rather than those of capital . For example, Murray rightly points out the pressure on both publicly-backed enterprises within capitalism and on post-capitalist economies from the world market in final products (para 120) . But he then glosses over the vital distinction between these two cases by maintaining that the traditional debate on the left has been between `the plan and the market' : evidently, in both cases one is equally under pressure of `the market' . But the crucial counterposition of strategies is not between the plan and markets in general but between the plan and markets in the means of production, i .e . the basis of capital . The effect of this elision is to avoid posing the question of how capital is to be confronted, by posing the formally ultra-left question of how the market in general ('a political force', LIS I, para 20) is to be confronted . Having rightly pointed out that the latter project is utopian, Murray then falls back on modulating the market through 'productivism' . To summarise : Murray correctly insists, against the postmodernists, on the need for state intervention, particularly through public ownership, to effect progressive changes in the labour process . But like the postmodernists, his ignoring of the

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crisis of overaccumulation of capital and a sole focus on the use value aspects of production leads him to policies which divide the working class . Connectedly, they lead him to minimise the need to oppose capital in order to achieve either these changes in the labour process or simply adequate wages and number of jobs . At the level of policy, then, the crucial gap in Murray's strategy is the lack of restructuring policies aimed at decreasing the divisions between workers and increasing the strength of collective organisation .

I now discuss how such policies might be developed . PART 3 :

Oppositional restructuring

An alternative perspective

`Restructuring for labour', understood to mean a systematic reorganisation of the economy to benefit the working class as a whole and strengthen its unity, can only be undertaken when capital no longer rules . A socialist economic policy which sets itself this aim today should therefore first and foremost be concerned with building the means for this dictatorship over capital, that is, building strong and politically independent workingclass organisation with a perspective of workers' veto over capital's decisions ('workers' control') as a step towards a workers' state . In particular, the aim should be to use state investment to increase the power of labour against capital. That is, its overriding aim should be political, not economic . In contrast to a project of economically strengthening the class as a whole, this aim is achievable, because the self-organisation and political maturity of the working class can change qualitatively under capitalism (albeit with destabilising effects) . This approach is particularly important during a period of crisis . I have suggested that the fundamental coherence of the long wave is to be found, not in the concrete use value aspects of the economy, but in value processes . And during a phase of crisis, the value processes impinging most widely on the working class are the attempts of capital to disorganise and fragment it . Policies to oppose these processes are therefore fundamental . Central tasks for restructuring are, then, combat divisions within the workforce and to strengthen the basis for collective organisation (or minimise its weakening) . Since these are designed to oppose capital, we may call them 'oppositional restructuring' . These interventions are not counterposed, for example, to interventions aimed at increasing skilling . But they are more fundamental than the latter : first, because they are aimed at promoting the unity of the working class rather than seeking benefits for an inevitably limited section of the class ; and secondly, because to achieve advances such as increased skilling in any general and permanent way requires an enormous strengthening of workers' collective organisation .

Politics ofRestructuring Oppositional restructuring without coercive powers

In discussing this approach to restructuring I wish to draw out both its economic content and the forms of state intervention necessary to achieve it . On the latter, let us assume for the moment state intervention into particular firms or a subsector, but without nationalisation of the whole sector and without compulsory powers ; in other words, carrots without sticks . One example of this is the present situation of local enterprise boards undertaking `exemplary' investments . Another would be the 1983 Labour manifesto proposals for pacesetter nationalised firms within particular industries . The main interest here in considering intervention with these limitations is to explore why oppositional restructuring requires going beyond these powers, to nationalisation . Turning to the content of the restructuring : two aims seem to me to be particularly important (though by no means exhaustive) . The first is to combat fragmentation of production and ownership ; we have already noted this as an important contemporary trend, posing problems for workers' organisation (Rainnie, 1985) . The second is to combat the shift of production to more weakly organised workers . While this is a quite general tendency of capital, it has been particularly prominent since the trend to peripheralisation of manufacturing since the 1960s . Restructuring in the private sector with these aims would constitute a common policy with anti-privatisation campaigns in the public sector, where central aims have been to prevent the breakup of unified employment and the transfer of production to more weakly unionised firms . This could therefore be a unifying campaign across the labour movement . (i) Restructuring

The forms of intervention necessary and possible to combat fragmentation are strongly dependent on the internal structure of the fragmented sector and its relation to large capital . To show the variety of policy needed, one may distinguish three types of fragmented sector : (a) small firms operating as sub-contractors to larger firms (which may be producers or retailers/wholesalers) . Here, state investment in the larger production firms can be conditional on, and may materially help to implement, a cut in subcontracting . Lucas Aerospace workers in Liverpool in 1978, for example, demanded that National Enterprise Board (NEB) funding should be linked to reversing Lucas management's move to increasing subcontracting (Four Trades Councils, 1980 : 108) . Where a

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distribution firm is involved, or where a production firm lacks the skills to carry out the subcontracted production, subcontracting can be maintained but focussed on firms which are unionised . In the clothing industry, for example, one would want to carry out both these strategies, cutting down on subcontracting by the larger producer firms, which are generally unionised, and compelling the retailers and designer-wholesalers to contract only to unionised firms . This could deliver a blow to the sweatshop sector (GLC, 1986) . (b) small firms producing their own designs . This is an important group both within capital and consumer goods industries . These firms have a real independencefrom big capital by virtue of carrying out their own design and marketing, even where their ,customers are large firms . 6 As we have seen, the postmodernist strategy towards this type of firm does little to overcome the problems of collective organisation within them . State investment should aim to increase the scale of ownership, by concentrating funds onto a few firms (particularly in order to incresae their design and marketing ability) and through pressing for mergers . The latter will of course often be opposed by the enterpreneurs involved . However, contrary to the postmodernists, increased scale does not necessarily impair the innovativeness or productive flexibility of the firms ('Comments on the Rejoinder' in GLC, 1985b) . (c) small firms supplying a fragmented market but with a low design content . This type of firm is common on the interface between manufacturing and services, and in the service sector . The large number of customers makes it hard to use the approach in (a) . Creation of larger units depends, not on design as in (b), but on increasing scale, possibly exploiting economies of scale, in marketing and production . A method of promoting this, which is not available in (b), is franchising, though this does not usually achieve such a degree of homogeneity of conditions of employment as single ownership . This strategy has been attempted by the Greater London Enterprise Board in the sweated instant print sector, using economies of scale in some lines of production to make the franchised units competitive against low paying rivals . Rainnie (1985 : 159-62) argues that the problems posed for workers' organisation by fragmentation mean that any policies for state investment in fragmented sectors are misplaced . But, precisely because of these problems, it is important to consider state intervention in these sectors, and the examples just discussed suggest how this might be begun . Rainnie's strictures are only relevant to a policy which encourages the enlargement of the fragmented sector at the expense of larger firms, and fails to

Politics of Restructuring combat its fragmentation, which is admittedly the content of most current local authority interventions . (ii) Restructuring against shifts of production to less organised workers In the same way that trade unionists have to oppose the `right to work' for scabs, an oppositional restructuring strategy should oppose the transfer of production from well- to poorlyorganised workers . This could have two aspects : (a) to strengthen the competitiveness of capital employing strongly organised workers threatened to be undercut by firms employing poorly-organised workers . A partial example of this were the demands relating to restructuring made by trade unionists in the well-organised firms into which the National Enterprise Board intervened under the 1974-79 government, which most often were centred on increasing competitiveness via renewed equipment or diversification (Four Trades Councils, 1980) . The need for an international approach to this restructuring is indicated by the fact that, while the aim was to `maintain strong unionisation', in some cases the rival was actually a well-organised foreign firm . (b) to abstain from strengthening the competitiveness of firms employing weakly-organised workers against those employing strongly-organised workers . A recent example of this is the decision of Nottingham City Council to not invest in textile dye houses since the employment conditions and organisation in the Nottingham industry are inferior to those in Yorkshire which is threatened with undercutting . This kind of policy, though a negative one, would be a great improvement on most current local authority economic programmes as well as on traditional central government policy . The need for coercive powers and comprehensive public ownership To carry through the two aims just considered in any systematic and durable way will require greater powers than have so far been assumed . There are a number of reasons for this : (i) The kind of interventions proposed are only acceptable to a limited set of firms, and then only in a conditional, temporary way : as general policies they are opposed to the interests of capital . Insistence on trade union recognition, prevention of subcontracting, creation of larger units, or maintenance of employment in well-organised workplaces are not necessarily against the interests of particular capitals at particular times . But it follows from the discussion of Parts 1 and 2 that these are not

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universal tendencies of capital in the present period . For many firms and subsectors subcontracting and fragmentation are crucial . In any case, even where the restructuring policies are in line with the strategy of capital, there are few firms, and even fewer industries, willing to commit themselves to these policies, since this involves a high degree of certainty not only about the validity of the strategy in the abstract, but also about the future success of each firm in carrying it out . We may put the point in a more abstract way . Capital has a strong tendency to free itself from ties to particular workers : in order to maintain its ability to exploit labour power by asserting its right to fire particular workers, to shed labour through productivity increases or because of realisation difficulties, to liquidate assets in order to begin the circuit of industrial capital anew, and to reproduce the reserve army . These tendencies tend to produce an undifferentiated proletariat, abstract labour power . They are contradicted by capital's dependence on particular, concrete labour powers, to an extent dependent on the period and sector ; I have discussed aspects of this dependence in the present period . But this contradiction does not mean that the underlying tendencies towards undifferentiated proletarianisation are suspended or `cancelled' ; on the contrary, they are `always and everywhere' present . This has to be taken into account to go beyond the partial, favourable interventions discussed above to a more systematic strengthening of collective organisation . Some final points A number of points follow from this . The first is the need for powers for the state to impose investment plans on firms . If oppositional restructuring is only to be done by agreement it is likely to be done only with semi-bankrupt firms who have no alternative source of funds ; this has been the experience of the Greater London Enterprise Board even with its mild insistence on union access . Secondly, capital has to be held to any agreements made . As the GLEB experience again shows, this requires continuous and detailed surveyance of management decisions by the state and with the active involvement of the workforce, and the power to fire managers ; and this generally requires majority state shareholding . Thirdly, oppositional restructuring interventions into particular companies do not have any necessary tendency to spread by being imitated by other managements, in the way envisaged in most versions of `leading firm' investment or 'exemplary projects' . Fourthly, one cannot assume that oppositional restructuring will always be profitable (cf . U S I, paras 115,

Politics of Restructuring 135) . In contrast to the strategies of Murray and the postmodernists, in this perspective the question of restructuring cannot in general be separated from that of subsidy (see Glyn, 1985 : '2829) . (ii) The private and fragmented' ownership of industries creates problems even in interventions which have quite direct benefits for capital (such as policy (ii)(a) in section 3 .2) . On the one hand, fragmentation creates barriers to replicating 'exemplary' interventions : through the unavailability of state funding (in the case of weaker firms), through the availability of more profitable investments in other fields (in the case of stronger firms), and through business secrecy . On the other hand, to the extent that an `exemplary' investment depends for its exemplary character on superprofits, replication will tend to undermine those superprofits . Moreover, business secrecy severely limits the involvement of workers in planning investments (Gough, 1986 : 15-16) . (iii) The state may abstain from promoting undercutting of strong labour (section 3 .2, (ii)(b) ), but this does not prevent capital from doing so (given the argument in (i) above) . To do so requires the state to have a veto over such investment within the particular industry, which amounts de facto to nationalisation . (iv) The tendency of policies (i)(a) of section 3 .2 is to preserve jobs for the better organised, who moreover would typically be white men . A positive intervention is therefor eneeded into sweated sectors competing with well-organised firms (perhaps along the lines of (i)(b) and (c) of section 3 .2) . But to the extent that productivity is increased, the better-organised firms are threatened ; this Catch 22 is only manageable if the whole sector is nationalised . We can conclude, then, that the attempt to carry through oppositional restructuring without coercive powers throws up a number of contradictions whose artial resolution is found in nationalisation of the sector . Moreover, oppositional restructuring requires the trade union movement, backed by statutory powers, to make inroads into capitalist perogatives . The rationalisations required are therefore necessarily of a new type : they are under a substantial degree of workers' control, in the real sense of workers' imposition of their most essential interests . There are many other reasons than the fight for strong trade union organisation for supporting nationalisation . But the discussion of this paper indicates a method for building support for this aim . This method is counterposed to one of propaganda, of `making socialism the common sense of the age' . It is to start from the immediate needs of workers, in this case the need for defensive collective organisation in the crisis, and to map out the actions

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necessary to consistently fight to meet these needs in a nondivisive way . A restructuring strategy which centres on combatting divisions and building collective organisation is capable of this dynamic .

Notes

1. Piore and Sabel however argue that an international Keynesian strategy for mass production is an alternative . 2. This problem is exacerbated by the widespread use of (extended) family labour, where the power relations within and between families directly structure work relations . 3. Murray's principal example is the Japanese dual economy and dual labour market (his I, para 114 ; Murray, 1986 : 30) . But this economy was - in Murray's own periodisation - a feature of Japanese 'Fordism' (a confusion which indicates the problems of this periodisation) . Moreover, the tendency of Fs has been to weaken the distinction between quality of labour process and skill between contractor and sub-contractor and thus erode the division in the labour market . 4. The resulting superprofits can finance benefits for labour (Murray, 1986 : 31) . There is a strong similarity between Murray's redistribution of technical rents to the working class and the traditional social democratic strategy of redistribution which he rightly criticises (us I, paras 45-6) . 5. To this extent both the strategies considered here, like traditional craft trade unionism, are policies for a privileged (though not necessarily fixed) section of the working class. Their preoccupation with the worker's immediate control over the labour process is also similar to that of craft trade unionism . 6. Rainnie (1985 : 152), following Schutt and Whittington (1984), downplays the importance of this type of small firm, regarding them as existing only in marginal market niches . This biases Rainnie's assessment of the relation between small and large firms .

References

Berger S . (1981) `The uses of the traditional sector in Italy : why declining classes survive', in F . Bechhofer and B . Elliott, The Petite Bourgeoisie . Best M . (1984) `Strategic planning and industrial renewal' (Greater London Enterprise Board, mimeo) .

Politics of Restructuring

Best M . (1986) `Strategic planning and industrial policy', Local Economy 1,65-77 . Bruegel I . (1985) `Will women lose out again?', New Socialist, July. Brusco S . (1982) `The Emilian model : productive decentralisation and social integration', Cambridge Journal of Economics 6, 167-84 . Cockburn C . (1983) Brothers (Pluto Press) . Edwards P . (1981) `Black labour and red politics', paper given at the Annual Research Conference of Polytechnics, Reading . Edwards P. & Raffaelli M . (1979) `Free enterprise, economic growth and public policy in the Prato sub-region of Italy', Planning Outlook 22, 1,13-18 . Foster H . (ed .) (1985) Postmodern Culture (Pluto Press) . Four Trades Councils (1980) State Intervention in Industry (Coventry, Liverpool, Newcastle and North Tyneside Trades Councils) . Freeman C ., Clark J . & Soete L . (1982) Unemployment and Technical Innovation (Francis Pinter) . Glyn A . (1984) The Economic Case against Pit Closures (National Union of Mineworkers) . Glyn A . (1985) One Million Jobs a Year (Verso) . Gough J . (1986) `A socialist strategy for local government investment', Labour Party Economic Strategy Group working paper . Greater London Council (1985a) London Industrial Strategy . Greater London Council (1985b) `Strategy for the London Clothing Industry : a debate', Economic Policy Group Strategy Document 39, May . Greater London Council (1986) Textiles and Clothing : Sunset Industries? Harrison J . & Morgan B . (1985) 'Hattersley's Economics', Capital and Class 26, 31-42 . Labour Party (1985) Labour and Textiles and Clothing, Jobs and Industry Campaign pamphlet . Levidow L . (1983) `We won't be fooled again?', Radical Science Journal 13,28-38 . Leys C . (1985) 'Thatcherism and British manufacturing', New Left Review 151, 5-25 . Marx K . (1976) The Poverty of Philosophy (Lawrence and Wishart) . Murray F . (1983) `Decentralisation of production : the decline of the mass-collective worker?', Capital and Class 19 . Murray R . (1985) 'Benetton Britain', Marxism Today, November . Piore M . & Sabel C . (1984) The Second Industrial Divide : possibilities of prosperity (New York, Basic Books) . Rainnie A . (1985) `Small firms, big problems : the political economy of small business', Capital and Class 25, 140-168 . Schutt J . & Whittington R . (1984) `Large firms and the rise of small units', paper for the Small Firms Research Conference, Nottingham . Solinas G . (1982) `Labour market segmentation and workers' careers : the case of the Italian knitwear industry', Cambridge Journal of Economics 6, 331-352 . Warpole K . (1984) `Shut up and listen', New Statesman, 23 November . Zeitlin J . (1985a) `Markets, technology and collective services : a strategy for local government intervention in the London clothing industry', in GLC, 1985b . Zeitlin J . (1985b) `Debating the London clothing strategy : a rejoinder', in GLC, 1985b . CF,C.

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Hugh Lauder, John Freeman-Moir and Alan Scott

What is to be done with radical academic practice?

• `The men who do the most harm,' Oscar Wilde once remarked in an essay on socialism, `are the ones who try to do the most good .' To teachers in schools and lecturers in education departments, it should be a salutary, though ultimately saddening thought, that after fifteen years of a most sustained and trenchant critique of Western education systems, which clearly shows their thoroughly capitalist nature, those in danger of doing the most harm are not the proponents of a, by now, totally discredited liberalism, but the academic Marxist, neo-Marxist, and just plain left theorists . In our view left-wing academics have blundered into a dead end,' the way out of which seems to consist in either redefining tracks just defined, or in posturing ill thought out possibilities which are little more than manifestations of the same bourgeois optimism they seek to eradicate . From this critique we do not, of course, exclude our own past practice . Our point of focus is what we will call `the Monday Morning Chapters', which appear at the end of many radical texts, in answer to the famous question : `What is to be done?' Our parameters, however, are far broader, and include the whole lock, stock and barrel of what is crudely known as the `radical analysis' of education . We seek to critique the `critiques', and while we admit our arguments may sometimes be too general, let us all be clear that the time for reassessment is now, before the whole movement is lost in its own meanderings, or `God' forbid, falls at the wrong barricade .

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Since the mid 1970s, radical analysis of formal educational institutions has become dominated by a form of academic Marxism or neo-Marxism epitomised in the published work of Apple, Willis, Whitty and Giroux, among others . Such work usually includes `Monday morning chapters' which seek to answer the question : What is to be done? The authors subject this form of theorising to a fundamental critique, seeing it as the product of the forms and processes of bourgeois academia and bourgeois publishing houses. Instead of a self-interested search for a revolutionary agency located in academia, the authors advocate a much greater concern with the specificities of the class struggle and the question of revolutionary practice .

They conclude with a discussion of the misreading of Willis's Learning to Labour to illustrate

the need for a return to the revolutionary socialist tradition as the basis for a reorientation of Marxist educational theory .

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Our aim is programmatic - to argue for a halt to the current interminable and increasingly scholastic theorising which centres upon relative autonomy and resistance theory . In its place, we suggest, radical educationists should be concerned with the theory and practice for radical change . In our view such a concern shifts the focus from explanatory theories about the school-society relationship under capitalism to issues of radical practice . For one thing is certain, current writing in the area, is not concerned with these issues and as such is becoming increasingly irrelevant to the major questions of the day regarding the struggle for socialism . In this paper we will document the problematic nature of the `Monday Morning' chapters of authors such as Bowles and Gintis, Sharp, Harris, Apple, Connell and Whitty . 2 These chapters pay lip service to strategic questions concerning the transition to socialism . But in our view the treatment of these chapters is perfunctory - they simply do not begin to provide a guide to radical political practice . Having listed, in general terms, the reasons why these chapters fail to deliver, we seek to explain this unfortunate outcome in terms of the historical and structural conditions under which radical academics labour . But while an analysis of these conditions explains the failure of radical academics to deal with practical questions it does not explain the specific course taken by recent theorising in education . In our view that course is best understood as a search by radical educationists for a revolutionary agency . But it is a search tainted with self-interest because the central theoretical concepts have been constructed in such a way as to suggest that radical educationists have a significant part to play in the formation and development of this agency . More specifically, what this theorising does is to create a division of `revolutionary labour' which enables radical educationists to work within the constraints of the academy and the bourgeois state while nevertheless appearing as crucial agents in the struggle for socialism . In its formative stages this theorising began with the work of Bowles and Gintis and more latterly has focused on the concepts of `relative autonomy' and `resistance' as they have been articulated by Willis and others . It is our contention that these concepts are presupposed, if not always explicitly articulated, by the Monday Morning authors . However, precisely because of the structural constraints created by the academy and the selfinterested theorising by radical educationists, these concepts have been `misunderstood' thereby creating the `Monday morning' debacle . An excellent example of such a `misunderstanding' can be found in the popular reading given to Willis's seminal Learning to Labour. In our view Willis has been systematically

Radical Academic Practice misread to enable the belief that radical academics do, after all, have a significant part to play in radical practice . Such a misreading has been abetted by Willis's theory construction and his ad hoc pronouncements . Perhaps more importantly, where Willis's theory has been read correctly the lessons we believe should be drawn from it have been ignored . In this paper, then, we make the first move in the classic strategy employed to show the ideological nature of theories . This involves identifying the relationships between social conditions which create ideological theories and the self-interest active in their production . In doing so we set ourselves the following tasks : (i) to point out in general terms the unsatisfactory nature of the Monday Morning chapters ; (ii) to explain their failure in historical and structural terms ; and finally (iii) to provide a theory of why current theorising by radical educationists has taken the course it has . It is our contention that this course, because it has ignored the structural constraints under which radical academics work, is destined for the dustbin of defunct theories . Theories cannot live without application in practice and it is our view that prominent contemporary theories cannot provide a satisfactory basis from which to develop strategic theories for effective radical practice . In arguing this we make the second move necessary for showing theories to be ideological . This entails explaining why current offerings are neither internally coherent nor correspond to the demands of the real world . Such a demonstration will clear the way for pointing to a different conception of what radical educationists ought to be doing if they are to engage seriously in radical practice . Isolation from political practice Probably the first thing even a casual reader will note is that all this writing on radical practice is mostly tucked away at the end of academic tomes and in academic journals which live on the shelves of university libraries . Furthermore, so far as the books are concerned the Monday morning chapters usually only represent a few pages, perhaps fifteen, twenty or less, out of works typically consisting of between one and two hundred pages . While we do not overlook the political educational significance of the scientific analyses, it is undoubtedly the case that consideration of revolutionary practice falls into second place . Our point here is first that the physical location of this writing poses a practical problem of access to educational workers and other members of workers' movements and revolutionary parties . But the problem is not just one of physical access but what this

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represents politically . By being denied effective access to this literature the presumed agents of practice are being cut off from these analyses and suggestions in terms of which practice can be corrected . Even worse, this literature is uninformed by the experience of practice and its remoteness means that it will lie uncorrected by practice . Put another way, the physical and political isolation of the Monday morning chapters is a further expression, at the centre of practice in this instance, of the mental-manual division of labour underlying bourgeois social relations in late capitalist society . What superficially looks like revolutionary practice is turned into bourgeois antipractice or reformism, the material consequence of which is the further reproduction of capitalism .

The overconcentration on formal education : imprecision about central and wider struggles A second difficulty centres on the focus of the Monday morning literature which is overwhelmingly directed towards the formally institutionalised structures of education . This is paradoxical given the starting point in the explanation and critique of capitalist education . One of the most important achievements of the Marxist tradition is to undercut the liberal tendency to treat institutions in isolation from the wider society and history . In other words, the overall project has been to contribute to the critique of capitalist society and this has been done by showing the deeply bourgeois nature of education . How, then, is a critique of capitalism so quickly reduced to educational practice in schools with teachers and students? The necessity to be realistically practical is not an adequate answer to this question because the anlyses have shown that capitalist society produces or determines the location, limits and, substantially, the operation of education . In the first instance, then, we would expect theories of revolutionary practice to start with an overall attack on capitalist society and then to fit educational practice into the wider scheme . The first objective of revolutionary practice is to appropriate capitalist social relations so as to effect a socialist revolution . From a socialist perspective struggles in and over education and the state are only important if they contribute to a movement directed at this objective . Whether or not they do cannot be determined by starting with education or by being vague as to how educational struggles relate to the revolution or the development of social consciousness . On this last point the Monday morning chapters do speak generally here and there about `wider social movements' but no attention is given to what these are, and

Radical Academic Practice how they are constituted or what is specifically socialist about them . And even if we allow answers to these questions, how would linkages between education and social movements be formed, let alone sustained and advanced? This relatively exclusive focus on education and imprecision about the central and wider struggles produces the seemingly paradoxical result of defusing revolutionary practice . Indeed, to put the point quite bluntly, the upside-down vagueness of these chapters makes many of their prescriptions indistinguishable from liberal reform proposals, albeit that they are presented in a more radical language . The excessive generality and neglect of specificities Connected with this problem is a third which centres on the typically abstract nature of the Monday morning chapters . Capitalist societies, whatever their similarities and interconnections, demonstrate many peculiarities of circumstance and national development . It is obviously insufficient merely to recognise that capitalism must be overthrown, though this is important, when what is required is an analysis of particular capitalist development on which to base a strategy for revolutionary practice . Part of the difficulty here probably stems from the previous problem of adopting an exclusively educational perspective . At this level schools, teachers, classrooms, pedagogy look remarkably uniform from one country to another . Hence the Monday morning chapters address an international audience of individuals indistinguishable by level of capitalist development or by location in the capitalist system . A phoney international framework is matched by an inability to focus on the tasks of building concrete strategy . For example, Bowles and Gintis make a few comments on the American road to socialism and Sharp (1980) gives some thought to the tasks of building a revolutionary movement . She puts the point in the following way : . . . if the political goal is to build a mass movement in opposition to the power of capital, then thought needs to be addressed to the dynamic changes occurring in the class structure, to the objective basis for the potential radicalisation of different class fractions, and to the kind of issues which can be used to generate class alliances and forge lines of collective action . (p . 161) This, too, is a perfunctory treatment of the basic issue and as stated remains abstractly detached from actual practice . There is, obviously, no way of moving ahead apart from concrete practice . In this respect the Monday morning chapters are very

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different from the manuals of practice - hammered out in practice and not in isolation from it - written by revolutionary Marxists . This abstractness is displayed further in the undifferentiated way these chapters speak of teachers, students, parents, communities, schools . In a class society not all teachers or students or parents will have the same interests and class commitments . Not only are there likely to be important differences in class allegiance but within particular groups different levels of understanding, consciousness and commitment to action . Without taking these class differences seriously the possibility of building a successful strategy is thwarted from the outset .

The dimensions of class struggle

More fundamental still, and this is the fourth problem, is the lack of consistent reference to the class struggle in the Monday morning chapters . For example, Bowles and Gintis spell out the contradictions of capitalism, Sharp claims that schools are arenas for class struggle and Harris identifies the class struggle in schools as an integral part of the wider class struggle . Be that as it may, it is the actual dimensions of the wider class struggle which requires the first attention . The significance of educational struggles for the fight against capitalism cannot be ascertained apart from knowing what precise weight they carry at particular times and in particular historical situations . The Monday morning chapters no doubt influenced by their scientific and ideological critiques of bourgeois education - assume the almost immediate significance of class struggle in the educational arena . Harris (1982) for example, provides an instance of this kind of reasoning in the following passage : Schooling, like other institutions, is thoroughly integrated with the general social relations of production : it neither has an independent existence, nor can it be taken in isolation . It is rather the case that any struggle to change fundamental social relations is at one and the same time a struggle to change the form, function, and process of schooling, and struggle so to change schooling is part of the struggle to change the mode ofproduction . (our emphasis) (pp . 144-145)

Stated abstractly this set of claims is unexceptionable . But there is an important distinction between the general observation of what is encompassed by the class struggle and showing that particular areas of struggle are important or how they are important. There is a gap here between class struggle understood theoretically (an important first step) and class struggle under-

Radical Academic Practice stood in terms of revolutionary practice . Without a practical grasp of the class struggle the Monday morning chapters assume the general significance of educational struggles when this can only be demonstrated concretely . In particular crises and revolutionary conjunctures educational struggles may or may not assume importance and may or may not be worth pursuing. These are strategic and tactical issues which can only be settled by a clearer understanding of what will advance the class struggle in the course of revolutionary practice . Similarly key terms like 'resistance', `relative autonomy' and `social movement' require strategic specification in terms of ongoing struggles . Their theoretical definition is an important aspect in building a socialist movement, though this is only the first step towards realising their practical application .

Vagueness about revolutionary goals A fifth problem in our view is the vague almost embarrassed manner with which revolutionary goals are articulated . Naturally, with all these writers we agree, in the words of Harris, that `Marxism is not utopian, and it has no blueprints for the future' . But neither is socialism directionless ; the point, regularly misunderstood by its critics, is to derive objectives from the real movement of history . A simple demand for socialism or `the progressive democratisation of political life', as Bowles and Gintis put it, or worse, reference to `a just society' or `a new morality' are not sufficient because they are vague . More profoundly they do not make it explicit as to whether socialism is merely a desired utopia or a real outcome of historical development . If the former, then what reason is there to prefer one utopia over another . The Monday morning writers are not at all clear on this fundamentally important issue . Sharp does equate socialism with the real movement of history in these words : Whilst its [Marxism] insights are intellectually satisfying, they are not self-justifying . They rather serve to point the way to an alternative political practice designed to strengthen a social movement committed to overcome relations of exploitation and achieve a better future for human selfrealisation . This does not entail an essentialist view of human nature or of man's essence but involves recognising that human subjects are constituted within the ensemble of social relationships which structure social intercourse, and a belief in the possibility of establishing historically specific social forms which are more conducive conditions for human freedom than those of class societies . (Sharp, 1980, p . 159)

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As a general position this captures the standpoint of anti-utopian socialism but it nevertheless remains sketchy . Announcing a position is not to be confused with achieving it or even with having the remotest idea about what is to be done . Further, the programmes and rhetoric can be revolutionary but the practice reformist and evolutionary . One guarantee against relapsing into liberalism is surely a constant analysis of the real social relations within which action is to take place . As Schorske (1955) showed in his classic history of German Social Democracy the central commitment was to socialist development using the reformist mechanism of parliamentary elections . Gradually, almost imperceptibly - except to a few outstanding critics like Lenin, Luxemburg and Liebknecht - the notion of overcoming relations of exploitation was lost and the rest of the tragic story is too well-known to be retold here . The writers of Monday morning chapters could learn much from such a history for whether they are actually revolutionary or just reformists posing as revolutionaries is a crucial question . Yet without a sound answer to this question no struggle for socialism can distinguish between the revolutionary use of reforms from the bourgeois position of reformist reforms fitting within the adaptive range of the capitalist state . It is precisely this latter problem which belies more recent attempts to take the question of what is to be done more seriously . In the work of Apple, Connell and Whitty there is some appreciation that the flag waving of the earlier Marxist texts is inadequate . Indeed, Apple (1982) specifically asks the question : What reforms can we genuinely call non-reformist reforms, that is, reforms that both alter and better present conditions and can lead to serious structural changes? (p . 134) His answer is : all those reforms that further democratic life . In his view it is a popular struggle for the extension of democracy in cultural, political and economic practice which will unite a divided working class in order to bring about structural change . There is here the ghost of a strategy for popular struggle and change but when we look at the details of how this is to be achieved we are sold short . The reason for this lies in Apple's view of society as a number of relatively autonomous sectors all of which can be sites of resistance and hence democratic struggle . Consequently he argues for an across-the-board grassroots struggle which is reluctant to privilege the economic sphere as the key element in the transformation to socialism, and which ignores the key question of the role of the state in maintaining capitalism . Moreover, his grassroots populism fails to take into account the role of the state in the development of economic democracy . The crucial point is that certain types of economic democracy are quite compatible

Radical Academic Practice with capitalism ; it is only with state control of investment that economic democracy assumes significance for socialism . In other words, Apple fails in what he sets out to achieve, to distinguish between reforms and non-reformist reforms . But even in his own terms Apple is alarmingly vague about how grassroots democracy is to be achieved . Instead of providing us with examples of plausible strategies for the extension of democracy we are offered a glancing reference to `impressive socialist feminist arguments about how one should organise' and the exhortation that : building alternative meanings and practices in our daily institutions does not stand alone . It must be organised, connected to the work of other progressive individuals and groups . Only then can we make a difference at a structural level . (Apple, 1982, p . 168) In our view Apple commits the idealist error of failing to distinguish between action which is a consequence of one's beliefs and actions which will promote those beliefs . Of course as socialists we should promote democracy in all facets of our lives but it is surely mistaken to believe this struggle for personal consistency between beliefs and actions can, in aggregate, lead to socialism . What is required is a strategy which focuses on tactics and priorities and which channels energies in the most effective direction . Apple provides no such strategy . In terms of education, at least, Connell et al (1982) appear to hold out the promise for something more concrete by way of a socialist strategy for democratising schools . In the final chapter of Making the Difference they have a heading entitled `A Democratic Strategy for Schooling' ; it seems at last we are to be offered practical thinking about change . But even in the circumscribed context of schooling all we are in fact given is apother set of vague injunctions . For example we are told working-class schools should have a curriculum which allows their pupils `to get access to formal knowledge via learning which begins with their own experience and the circumstances which shape it .' It is also suggested that working-class schools should become `organic to their class' in the way that ruling-class schools are organic to the class they serve . Now both these suggestions appear eminently sensible but neither are elaborated upon . Instead, there is a brief reference to an experiment by the schools in the Brunswick district of Melbourne which promise to achieve the kind of organic relationship Connell et al have in mind . Yet is is a discussion of the theory and practice of this type of experiment which would be most useful . In terms of the theory the major issue is just how working-class schools can build an organic relationship with their communities when the logic of capitalist

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schooling militates against such a possibility . Moreover an answer to this question is necessary if we are to see the Brunswick district `experiment' as more than a circumscribed Liberal reform because it touches on the significant issue of how state institutions (e .g . schools) can be turned to the working class's advantage . In terms of practice, some insight into the workings of the Brunswick schools would have been interesting because it could have pro- . vided some idea of how similar changes could be initiated elsewhere . However, it seems that within the genre of radical texts sponsored by corporate publishers such relevant detail is to be proscribed for reasons we shall discuss in the following section . The failure of radical academics to adequately address the issue of the theory and practice of revolutionary change is partly recognised in Whitty (1985) . For example, he acknowledges that a sociology of education that can contribute to left policy and practice `has been largely absent from the British scene' . And he also recognises that the American work of writers such as Apple and Giroux `would benefit from a clearer political commitment which would sharpen its broader political analysis' . But instead of asking the self-reflexive question as to why these failures have occurred Whitty looks to Australia, and in particular to Connell and his co-workers, as providing `the most influential example of a radical synthesis between sociological theory and research and left policy and practice' . He goes on to say that Making the Difference :

is as much a political intervention as it is a contribution to academic scholarship, though it is also one of those books that makes it hard to sustain the dubious notion that these are clearly separable enterprises . (Whitty, 1985, p . 95) In the light of the comments we have made regarding this book we may be forgiven for believing that Whitty has lost all sight of what constitutes a political intervention . And this is consistent with his own theorising about radical change . In his final chapter Whitty advocates a comprehensive curriculum which is both meaningful and critical for working-class students, yet (as is by now to be expected) we are given no details of what such a curriculum looks like . We are told, however, that the Labour Party provides the most plausible vehicle for implementing such a curriculum . Indeed Whitty asserts that the Labour Party is among the most relevant movements for bringing about radical educational and social change . But the problem, predictably, is that Whitty fails to confront the major objections to this claim . For example, Sharp (1985) points out that the Labour Party has consistently failed to deliver on its constitutional principle of bringing industry

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into common ownership . Since this is the case how does Whitty believe a future Labour government can be prevented from reneging on this commitment? And to bring the discussion down to an even more concrete level, there is every indication that Kinnock will pursue similar policies to those applied by the Labour parties in Australia : in other words right-wing economic policies and apparently 'left-leaning' social and educational policies . The effect is to give the appearance of progress in education, such as the Brunswick experiment, while undercutting the achievement with economic policies which promote greater inequality and poverty . How, then, does Whitty think the British Labour Party can be prevented from following the lure of a formula which has brought electoral success to its antipodean counterparts? To answer these questions is to say something about how Labour can be shifted from a reforming party to one concerned with fundamental change . But Whitty's failure to even address these questions, when he is aware of the paucity of previous radical texts in raising the issue of change, not only points up the contradictory nature of his own contribution but signals the bankruptcy of a `tradition' . Writers such as Apple, Connell and Whitty have been more aware than earlier radical authors of the importance and difficulties of theorising change, yet their own contributions share precisely the same problems as their predecessors . In our view the solution to this debacle will not be found by searching for some lost tribe of radical academics who have succeeded in uniting radical theory and practice . Nor is the problem to be located in the failure of individuals to prosecute the socialist project in good faith . Rather the solution lies in a self-reflexive critique of the structural constraints under which radical academics labour . In setting out these problems with the Monday morning chapters it is not our position to say that each chapter shows all of the faults we have described . However, taken together these writings on what is to be done are inaccessible, too exclusively focused on formal education, relatively abstract, are insufficiently directed to understanding the class struggle and vague in the stating of goals for revolutionary practice . 3

We have already remarked on how, with the development of the' The structural mental-manual division of labour under capitalism, critical constraints upon theoretical analysis has been divorced from its political and radical academics practical contexts ; a point made tangible, in the Western world, by the situation of so many universities in self-contained campuses on the outskirts of cities . Of course, the geographic isolation of

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universities serves as a symbol of the Platonic ideal that the contemplative life should be removed from social and political pressures : one which allows for `free speculation' and freedom of speech . 4 However, in our view, the concept of academic freedom that academics now work under is a bourgeois concept which serves to frustrate the theory and practice of socialism . The ideologies enshrined in the organisation and legitimation of universities are not neutral and in large part the failure of radical academics has to be explained in terms of these biased structural constraints under which they work . We want to discuss two salient constraints under which radical academics labour . These are : (i) the nature of the organisation of the academy and its accompanying positivist and professional rationalisations, (ii) the structural location of the academy and its relationship to corporate publishing .

(i) The organisation of the academy and its positivist and professional rationalisations

The institutional structures of universities typically have a career ladder for individuals with each ascending rung representing an increment in power and financial reward . Promotion up the ladder is usually dependent upon a publications record . This form of organisation is homologous to the hierarchical and authoritarian institutions of corporate capitalism . And just as promotion in these latter institutions is dependent upon crude measures of profit and productivity so, in the university, the major criterion for promotion rests upon a crude measure of production - publications . In terms of social control this form of university organisation must help to condition faculty and students to accept hierarchical authority as inevitable . It also allows a bourgeois university establishment to impose covert sanctions upon faculty members whose ideas it finds threatening . In recent years there have been well-documented examples of radicals who have had tenure or promotion withheld because of their views . The case of Bowles and Gintis at Harvard is one among many ; while the attack on the concept of tenure by the Thatcher government in the UK is as predictable as it is portentous for radical academics . But the homologies between capitalism and the modern academy run far deeper and so therefore do the constraints upon radical academics . The rationalisation for this form of university organisation is largely dependent upon a now widely discredited theory of knowledge - Positivism . This theory of knowledge is intimately related to the rise of capitalism and its political theory Liberalism . It is not, therefore, surprising that Positivism shares

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similar foundational assumptions to Liberalism . For example, just as Liberalism expresses the doctrine of individualism, so Positivism asserts that knowledge resides in the knowing subject - knowledge is a property of individuals . Similarly, just as Liberalism views the social world atomistically - it merely comprises individuals - so Positivism views knowledge atomistically ; its fundamental concern is to `build' knowledge by establishing ever more abstract law-like regularities between atomistic events . The means by which these law-like regularities are to be established is through the specialisation of intellectual labour into relatively arbitrary subject areas - thus the compartmentalisation of knowledge into the discrete faculties and disciplines typical of the modern academy . Just as the production process under capitalism is broken down into a series of discrete tasks, so it is in the academy, with similar ideological consequences . 5 In both cases the drive to specialisation militates against a critical overview and understanding of the enterprise as a whole (either in the factory or the academy) . It is not, therefore, surprising to find that Positivism has no rationale or aim other than the accumulation of knowledge for its own sake . An aim which sustains the fiction that somehow the pursuit of knowledge is, and should be, independent of society . Now for radicals the compartmentalisation of knowledge obstructs understanding of the real power relations that operate in the social world . This is because the Marxist tradition comprises global theories that cut across the conventional disciplines of economics, politics, sociology, geography, history, psychology and biology . Yet the training of academics and the organisation of research into discrete disciplines militates against such globaltheoretic research . One clear consequence for those radical academics who have been trained in the `discipline' of education is that their work reflects an unduly restrictive concentration on capitalist educational institutions without placing the processes that occur in those institutions in the wider perspective the Marxist tradition demands . This helps to explain why they have been `herded' into the Liberal error of viewing educational institutions as more or less autonomous from the wider society, a point we have already made above . A further aspect of the atomistic nature of Positivism, which militates against radical academics, is the emphasis on observable `facts' as the basic units on which knowledge is built . In the posivist view facts are statements about observable states and events which comprise the bulding blocks for the articulation of law-like regularities . In so far as Positivism prohibits the postulation of hidden or theoretical entities it proscribes any theory (including ones within the Marxist tradition) which postulate

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unobservable dimensions to the operation of power and exploitation . 6 In general, then, theories developed according to Positivist strictures are supportive of the status quo because they cannot capture relevant dimensions of the exercise of political power . 7 But the Postivist construal of `facts' has more immediate implications for the muzzling of radical academics . Positivists hold a strong distinction between facts and the interpretation of them . This distinction has permeated popular consciousness and the media so that facts are now typically contrasted to ideology or to opinion . Moreover, while `facts' are considered cognitively respectable, as the rational basis for science, `ideology', or `opinion', in the sense of a world-view is regarded as nonverifiable and therefore fundamentally irrational . 8 In this view ideologies are a personal choice and enjoy a similar status to the quirks of one's sexual preferences . This means that when radical academics interpret data from a Marxian perspective the interpretation can be and indeed has been interpreted as a personal aberration by both their colleagues and the media . Science and politics, in this view, are radically divorced and when we come to examine what is considered proper professional conduct for academics we will find that this distinction serves to constrain (illicitly) the political dimensions of radical academic practice . This separation of science from politics is pushed a stage further through Positivism's monistic view of knowledge . In this view knowledge grows through the accumulation of `facts' organised within ever more abstract law-like statements . Where there are conflicting theories the `facts of the matter' can always be determined `in principle' by conducting crucial or decisive experiments which will decide which theory is correct . Academic activity in general and science as the paradigmatic case of knowledge production is fundamentally a rational activity to which politics is extraneous . It is on this basis that the professional code of conduct of academics is built and as a a professional code it bears some examination precisely because breach of this code can mean the imposition of sanctions, including dismissal . Fundamental to professional ideologies is the idea that in return for certain privileges there are obligations that have to be met . These obligations are set out in a code of conduct . Academics retain the privilege of the freedom to develop ideas and freedom of speech . They are also, in accordance with the positivist view of knowlede, considered `experts' . They have knowledge of the facts and knowledge of how to obtain them . In virtue of their expertise they are also well rewarded . Now one strong stipulation within the code of conduct is that when academics speak in public, especially on matters of public concern, they should make claims which are unbiased with respect to competing

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ideologies and which are, also, well substantiated by the facts . Within the public arena, academics in their academic role as experts are meant to be politically neutral . The facts, after all, in the Postivist view are `neutral' and in a certain sense, the pursuit of knowledge is supposed to be, in accordance with the Platonic ideal, above politics . Hence, Positivism stresses that the pursuit of knowledge needs no further justification . Academics' professional ideology merely cements the Positivist view of the divorce of the pursuit of knowledge from political life . As a result radical academics have to play the bourgeois game so long as they want to stay in the academy . What this effectively means is that they are always on `the back foot', constantly threated with the charge of bias [sic] and subject to government harassment . The Thatcher government's preoccupation with bias in Open University courses is one example . What this amounts to is the maintenance of a double standard by the bourgeois state and its intellectual wing, the academy . On the one hand, Positivism and the concept of professionalism that rides on its back maintains the privilege of academics, and also secures for the state a concept of academic freedom by which, through the professional code of ethics, it can sanction those whose ideas and academic practice are threatening . On the other hand, the picture painted by Positivism of the development and growth of knowledge has been thoroughly discredited . It is fair to say that post-Positivist philosophy agrees on five general features concerning knowledge and its growth . Theories are undetermined by the evidence, which means that there can be no crucial experiments because evidence cannot be used to adjudicate decisively between competing theories . Observations (and therefore `facts') are always theory impregnated, which means facts and ideologies (more accurately theories construed as world-views) cannot be divorced in the way Positivists suggest . In addition, knowledge growth occurs because of the competition between global theories which like Marxism, have distinctive world-views at their heart . 9 Rather than developing monistically as Positivists suggest, knowledge develops pluralistically . Moreover, knowledge does not reside exclusively in the knowing subject but is socially produced . Researchers work within global theories which are independent of the individual and which have arisen out of particular social circumstances . Finally, though possibly controversially, the aim of the development of knowledge is not the establishment of law-like regularities but an explanatory understanding of the complex, typically hidden structures and causal relationships which hold both within and between the natural and social worlds . but such an explanatory understanding is not regarded as an end in itself, C.&C 29-13

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rather it is used to overcome fundamental human problems including those of exploitation and oppression .' ° These general features of knowledge, identified by postPositivist philosophy of science point to a different form of research organisation for the development of knowledge : one which is non-hierarchical, inter-disciplinary and democratic, and which, most significantly demands a radical redrawing of the bourgeois distinction between politics and academic freedom . For since facts cannot be divorced from `ideologies' or global theories the charge of bias cannot be laid in such a simplistic way . Moreover, if `facts' alone cannot be used to decide between competing ideologies/global theories and if theory creation, development and acceptance is a function of Darwinian competition then politics becomes a necessary feature for the growth of knowledge rather than being extraneous to it, as the dominant ideology suggests . In this context, means such as those of propaganda are legitimate for getting `minority' theories a hearing . And, of course, this is what we find . Claims for new or unfashionable theories are overstated in order to cause controversy and thereby gain attention ; while bias in university appointments in favour of those who are followers of the dominant `theory of the month' are all part and parcel of intellectual life ." From this perspective the point at which the distinction between politics and academic research breaks down completely comes with the promulgation of radical theories of society . Such theories, whatever their cognitive merits, are in a minority because they run counter to the dominant ideologies of the day . More importantly they threaten the hierarchical authority of both the academy and capitalist society in general . Intellectually they may constitute the best theories of society available but to bourgeois society they are totally unacceptable . Arguably, propaganda is a legitimate means of disseminating such theories both within and without the academy . But while the development of such theories are permissible within the confines of the academy they cannot be allowed to `spill over' into popular consciousness . That is why the bourgeois establishment will cling to its indefensible concept of academic freedom, resting as it does on a discredited theory of knowledge . For what it does is legitimate the imposition of sanctions upon radical academics who are deemed to have overstepped the mark .

(ii) The structural location of the academy and its relationship to corporate publishing

One of the most disappointing features of radical academic writing in education is that it has singly failed to address the issue of how

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the transition to socialism is to be promoted . In practical terms, as we have seen, radical academics pay ritual obeisance to the question of how to engineer radical change in the Monday morning chapters, but omit any serious strategic analyses . In part, the failure of these Monday morning writers is a function of their structural position within the academy . As academics, radicals engage in `theoretical practice' (Althusser's unhappy phrase) removed from the practical concerns of ongoing struggles . Saying this is not to deny individual radical academics might be politically active but the context in which they teach and do research is removed from the real interests of groups engaged in political struggle . In part, this removal from immediate political struggle has given radical academics the `freedom' to develop `rich explanations' for the persistence of the dominance structures of capitalism . But precisely because these theories have been developed away from the cutting edge of exploitation and oppression they are often idealist, obtuse in their language and unconcerned with that intermediate strategic-tactical level of understanding that converts abstract theorising into practical political action . The radical academic's audience is also different to the political activist's, being made up of fellow academics and students . In the case of the latter groups their cognitive and social interests are typically different from those of political activists . The fundamental function of the academy under corporate capitalism is credentialling : the business of providing students with a meal ticket, or not, as the case might be . The concern of students and staff in this context is with an abstracted generalised 'knowledge' which gives employers some measure of students' cognitive ability to deal with abstract symbol systems, the manipulation of which is the prerogative of the `new' middle class under corporate capitalism . And, of course, it is this class which the academy helps to reproduce from generation to generation, since recruitment to the university is largely from this class and the credentials issued by the university are a passport back into the same class . By dealing exclusively with abstract theoretical explanations radical academics have been complicit in supporting the system . In our view part of this complicity can be explained by the relationship between the academy and the publishing companies . On the one hand, an ongoing publications record is necessary for achieving tenure and promotion where acceptable capitalist publishing outlets are considered to be those of the international publishing houses . On the other hand international publishing houses are necessarily concerned with making profit . The way they do this is to publish texts which will be of interest to the widest possible audience . Hence a text which makes some general points about capitalism, abstracted from specific historical and

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national contexts, which has incidentally some rousing but inapplicable prescriptions for its conclusion is a saleable commodity . In contrast, a text which discusses, for example, the strategic possibilities and potentialities facing those Maori activists who are struggling to set up an alternative school system is not likely to be a saleable commodity on the international market . Moreover, because radical academics have not shown in any systematic way how the consciousness they have sought to raise can be turned to good political effect, it is a moot point as to whether, in practice, they have done more to defuse than encourage the radical sympathies of their students . It could be argued that the current spate of radical texts represents a classic case of incorporation into the international capitalist system . Given the structural constraints we have outlined, such a consequence, if not inevitable, is also not surprising . On the one hand, radical academics have been constrained by the bourgeois concept of academic freedom, while on the other, their structural location within the academy has created the tendency for explanatory abstractions which have no political force . However, rather than confronting the objective constraints, radical academics have set out on an intellectual yellow brick road in search of self-justification and a revolutionary vanguard . It is to a critique of this journey we now turn in the remainder of this article .

Self-justification and the search for a vanguard : the misreading of Willis's Learning to Labour

During the long economic boom after World War II academics were particularly influential in the formation of educational policy . In turn, psychologists, sociologists and philosophers were called upon to advise on the development of school systems. The discursive practices of a Liberal academy found themselves in harmony with Liberal political practices . This allowed Liberal academics to test their theories in the field . The consequence, as we now know, was that those tests failed and there followed, for many, a rational paradigm shift to the neo-Marxist correspondence theory . In terms of the structural position of radical academics the context in which the theory was presented made it doubly ambiguous . Bowles and Gintis wrote Schooling in Capitalist America in the aftermath of the 1968 student and worker rebellions in Europe and North America . When we also remember that it was at this time Marcuse was arguing for the significance of student revolt for the transition to socialism, it is not surprising to find that Bowles and Gintis's book was contradictory . While presenting a mechanistic view of the school-society relationship their Monday morning chapter was in a much more voluntarist vein and presupposed something of the relative autonomy thesis that subsequent theorists have espoused . In a sense the rather

Radical Academic Practice discouraging implications of the correspondence thesis could be ignored because '68 had shown the radical potential for change . In this more optimistic scenario, students (and by implication faculty) could unite with workers in the final push to socialism . Academics may have had to change their gowns for Levis and sneakers but there was still an important role for them to play . However, as the current depression deepened in the late '70s, '68 was seen as a flash in the pan . The optimism engendered by Bowles and Gintis's final chapter gave way to an almost morbid concern with the determinism of the correspondence theory itself. What, of course, the correspondence theory did was to render radical academics impotent, as it seemed that their training and status would count for nothing . Like everyone else they would have to wait for that decisive rupture between the forces and relations of production . Not a pleasant prospect for those who have been socialised to believe (along with the middle and ruling classes as a whole) in their power to act upon the world . But help was at hand . In 1977 Paul Willis published Learning to Labour, an ethnographic study of a working-class counter-culture in a Birmingham school . The study was notable for many reasons, but what caught the imagination of radical academics was the uncompromising resistance of the `lads' who personified the counter-culture . The lads' street-wise behaviour was both aggressive and humorous and it is tempting to speculate that for radical academics it was cathartic . After all the crude resistance of the lads stood in stark contrast to the morally and socially ambiguous position of radical academics, and it may wellbe that the latter lived out the frustrations created by their ensnared position through the lads' behaviour . Whatever the personal appeal of the lads, Willis's study signalled a shift in radical academics' perception of the source for socialist change . Now the charge against capitalism was to be led, not by middle-class college students, but by working-class youth . It is at this point that the concepts of relative autonomy and resistance are linked to provide radical academics with an explicit role in the resistance created by working-class youth . Willis's notion of resistance presupposed a space in which struggle could take place, and as such, it reintroduced the notion of conflict which was conspicuously absent in the correspondence theory . But in suggesting struggle could take place in the school, Willis was pointing to the potential relative autonomy of the sub-systems within the totality of capitalist society . Theoretically, at least, a space seemed to be created which allowed radical academics some room to help in the struggle against capitalism . The form that help was to take was also made explicit by Willis . In discussing the question of why the lads' resistance finally led to their

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entry into the shop floor and, in a sense, their incorporation within capitalist society, Willis claims that the lads could only partially penetrate the reality of capitalist relations . One reason for the partial nature of their understanding is that they reject mental labour as effete . Now the clear implication is that if the lads had a wider theoretical knowledge of their position, such as that provided by Willis, they would have the type of understanding which would have enabled their resistance to take on a more critically reflective socialist direction . The role, then, of the radical academic was to help teachers form an alliance with working-class youth to a clearer understanding of the structures which oppressed them . This is the scenario within which it appears many radical academics act out their professional roles but it has many problems, not the least being that the scenario is vitiated by Willis's own theory . In order to see why this is so, we need to first sketch out the salient aspects of Willis's theory . Willis sets out to explain why it is that middle-class kids get middle-class jobs and why working-class kids let them . In general terms Willis suggests the reason why working-class kids get working-class jobs is because they resist the imposition of rulingclass culture in the school . Since working-class kids aren't prepared to pay the game, they suffer the penalty, which is leave school without credentials . Consequently, their only option is to join their fathers on the shop floor . 12 Central to Willis's theory is the concept of educational exchange . This is the key to how bourgeois culture attempts to control working-class youth . In return for obedience, teachers offer the `knowledge' needed to gain credentials . In turn credentials offer the possibility of meaningful work which is financially well rewarded . Presupposed by this exchange is an acquisitive view of human nature which suggests people will pursue whatever course leads to greater financial reward, and, a `human capital' view of rationality which assumes that the most efficient way of gaining financial reward is to invest oneself in a lengthy educational chase for credentials . The value assumption is that hard work both in school and subsequently, should be rewarded, which further entails the view that everyone should have an equal opportunity to achieve the glittering prizes that await those who complete the long series of exchanges . In contrast to the 'ear'oles' who passively accept the educational change, Willis suggests the lads who comprise the school counter-culture actively resist it . (Paradoxically, it is because of this resistance that the lads end up on the shop floor .) Willis suggests the lads resist because they have partially seen through (penetrated) the false promises held out by this exchange . They

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`know' that the competition for society's rewards is rigged against them . They also reject the pursuit of lower level qualifications because they understand that the clerical work these qualifications give them access to is as meaningless as manual work . Resistance for the lads means inverting the presuppositions of the ruling culture as it is represented by the educational exchange . According to the dominant ruling-class view a certain degree of autonomy, authority and status is achieved by completing the various exchanges . However, the lads achieve their autonomy, authority and status by rejecting not only the educational exchange, but more importantly, what it stands for . They reject the work ethic and all that goes with it, including honesty, punctuality and reliability . They reject the ground rules implicit in the idea of equality of opportunity, for to them there are no ground rules by which society's games are to be played . Life is a jungle and it's a question of the survival of the fittest, no holds barred . Moreover, they see no necessity for grinding through the various exchanges offered . They are street-wise, they've always got a `bob' in their pockets and they know there are easier ways of making money . The lads have authority because they have money and flaunt it through the clothes they wear, their drinking and smoking . They have autonomy because they subvert the school timetable and most importantly, in a male-dominated society they have status because they ruthlessly exploit others, women, blacks, ear'oles for their own purpose . Their masculine prowess is measured by their fighting ability and the women they screw ; in short they gain their status by using others as objects . In doing so, the lads are merely taking the logic of capitalism to its destructive conclusion . Capitalism, as the view of human nature underlying the educational exchange implies, is fundamentally concerned with the business of acquisition but as Hobbes and other bourgeois theorists were well aware, a society primarily concerned with individual acquisitiveness is likely to turn into a war of one against another, and consequently ground rules under which acquisition can take place have to evolve . It is precisely rules of this type which are presupposed by the educational and succeeding exchanges . But the material conditions for working-class youth in the latter part of the twentieth century are not those conducive to observing the niceties of the rules by which the acquisition game are to be played . For the lads everything, including people, is reduced to commodities to be acquired or consumed in the pursuit of their aggrandisement .

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The potential for fascism

What Willis both describes and explains elegantly and successfully is the way capitalism breaks down and ultimately brutalises elements of working-class youth . What he has provided and what is little recognised is not an account of resistance at school in the cause of socialism but a social-psychological and structural account of the role of capitalist education in the potential development of fascism . Arguably, it is precisely at the point where people have no stake in society of any kind, where they have been so brutalised that all that is open to them is a philosophy of `dog eat dog' that fascism is likely to enter .' 3 We all owe Willis a huge debt of gratitude for showing us that the lads' deviancy has a political and not a psychological base but, let us be clear, so did Hitler's . Obviously the question that needs to be raised is why radical academics ever considered the lads a possible revolutionary vanguard and their resistance a potentially socialist form of resistance .' 4 In our view Willis abets a misreading of the romantic and misguided kind radical academics have subjected his theory to . In the first instance, Willis makes the relationship between working-class counter-culture and the lads problematic and misleading by personifying the counter-culture in the lads . In Willis's study there are two distinct groups, the lads and the ear'oles . While the lads are depicted as remorseless in their resistance, the ear'oles are caricatured as hopelessly passive and apolitical . In a sense, by this sharp demarcation between working-class groups and the identification of the lads with working-class counterculture, Willis makes heroes out of them . For the implication is, there must be something special in their social-psychological make-up which leads them to come out against the system . No doubt every radical movement needs its heroes but the lads are as unlikely candidates as they are unpalatable . To some degree this mythologising of the `lads' is inevitable : an unfortunate consequence of the cinematic technique that the use of transcribed dialogue invariably brings to ethnographic reporting . 15 But what is an `unintended' effect seems turned into a purposive act through Willis's use of `barricades' imagery such as `guerilla warfare', 'battlelines', `act of insurrection' or `sympathiser in the enemy camp' .' 6 On an alternative account working-class counter-culture would be regarded as a set of resoruces that are available to working-class kids when they need it . In this alternative view, which we believe is more consistent with what happens in working-class schools, resistance is not confined to a hard core group but is engaged in by a majority of working-class kids at

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some time or another. Moreover, it is our view that, in his account of the lads' resistance, Willis concentrates on selective elements of working-class culture as the source of resistance to the exclusion of others . Basically it is the privatised `dog eat dog' element in working-class culture that Willis picks up on as motivating resistance . However, there are other aspects of working-class life as it is expressed in schools which is remarkable for its absence in Willis's account . For example, the notions of fairness and justice never come into the lads' reckoning . But it's in the name of these concepts that many working-class kids contest on a daily basis the oppressive nature of much of their school experience . We do not argue that all radical educationists have read Willis in the way his theory and text suggest it should be read . However, where Willis has been read more carefully, the lessons we believe should be drawn from his theory have been ignored . The work of Giroux (1981, 1983a, 1983b) is a case in point . On more than one occasion Giroux has called attention to the possibility that some forms of `resistance' may be fascist rather than socialist in their motivation . Now, we would have thought that anyone concerned with a transformation to socialism would have been concerned with the social conditions under which resistance is potentially socialist rather than fascist in inspiration . But Giroux shies away from this task and is content with the verbal trickery of building into the concept of resistance a commendatory notion such that it always refers to socialist resistance in contrast to other types of 'oppositional behaviour' which might be inspired by fascism ." By this idealist sleight of hand he is able to `wish away' the real world and concentrate only on that which, for him, inspires optimism - resistance in the cause of socialism . But Giroux's idealism penetrates even further into his theory . He is aware that not all forms of oppositional behaviour are, of themselves, political in nature . There is, after all, a crucial distinction to be made between resistance as a form of survival and resistance designed to advance an intelligible cause . For example, a woman's frigidity may resist threats within a personal relationship but on its own it clearly does not advance the feminist cause . 18 By the same token, working-class resistance in schools typically occures because working-class kids are threatened by a system of rules, norms and demands that are fundamentally alien to them . Resistance is a matter of personal dignity (however perversely the notion of dignity is interpreted) not of socialist conviction . In the case of the lads, it is our opinion that `dignity' for them is more likely to be found in the National Front than in say, the Militant Tendency . Nor, for that matter, can resistance be treated in the way the

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old anarchists regarded crime - for them every criminal act was a political act . Giroux understands this . Furthermore, he mentions in passing a point we regard as fundamental - that resistance in school will not have political significance unless it is tied to a wider political movement . Yet when it comes to providing a rationale for the development of his `radical pedagogy' we find that the relationship between the latter and political struggle for socialism is tenuous . He says : Schools will not change society, but we can create in them pockets of resistance that provide pedagogical models for new forms of learning and social relations-forms which can be used in other spheres more directly involved in the struggle for a new morality and view of social justice . (our italics) (Giroux, 1983b, p. 293) This clearly shows Giroux's idealism for now resistance in schools is virtually divorced from wider political struggles and quite how these pedagogical models are to be used in the struggle proper is not elucidated . In short, Giroux is a writer who epitomises the divorce between explanatory theory and radical practice .

Conclusion

In the late seventies and early eighties radical academics have not been disposed to see these problems in Willis's theory and the concepts of relative autonomy and resistance have become the `optimistic' cornerstone of radical thought in education . Precisely why this is so we have already outlined, but there is one further dimension to the constraints under which radical academics have pursued their studies that is as lamentable as it is inexcusable : namely, historical ignorance . It is a sobering thought that we have been pointing out deficiencies in logic and errors of judgement by intellectuals that Marx, Engels, Lenin and others in the revolutionary socialist tradition revealed from sixty to a hundred years ago . The problems of radical educationists are harshly refracted in the current crisis of capitalism and the intensification of the class struggle world-wide . Marxist intellectuals will only be able to think through the questions of educational practice if they confront directly the real requirements for the struggle against capitalism . If Marxist educational theorists are to offer anything then surely it must be in terms of the historical pedagogy centred on this class struggle . In the light of the criticisms we have made in this paper some may be tempted to suggest that the onus is now on us to prescribe practice : to say what ought to be done on Monday mornings . But that would clearly contradict one of our major arguments, namely,

Radical Academic Practice that practice should result from a close analysis of concrete situations . If we, in New Zealand, offered prescriptions to British readers they could only be of the kind of vague injunction we have been railing against . However, we believe that if radical practice is to move beyond utopian reformism there are three areas of Marxism which it is crucial to focus on . First, as we have already hinted, attention should be paid to recovering the long tradition of revolutionary socialism and labour movements that mark out the working-class struggle . In the context of the Internationals and the parties of the left the debates came back again and again to questions of reform and revolution, trade union politics and struggles, party organisation, mass mobilisation, revolutionary training and political education, socialist consciousness, international solidarity, fighting for women's liberation, national freedom for minorities, war and the alternatives of socialism or barbarism . All of these great questions centre on the issue of transforming human capacity by breaking through and transforming capitalism . Familiarity with this vast body of practice is essential if Marxist educational theory is to escape from its currently narrow and pointless parochialism . Second, the current crisis of capitalism must be taken seriously . For all the attention given to capitalism by the writers we discuss, it nevertheless remains a somewhat colourless abstraction, without identifiable political or geographic boundary . This situation can be changed if educational writers locate their discussions in relation to specific accounts of the crisis . What is needed are more concrete analyses of the forces of class struggle in particular capitalist societies, and internationally . The struggle for socialism can only be real if it is situated in relation to the real movement of history . But in order to undertake the concrete analyses we are advocating radical academics may well have to eschew publication by corporate publishing houses since their concern is, typically, with an international market . However, this is one area in which new technology can be pressed into the service of socialism because it has enabled the mass production of relatively cheap pamphlets and books . This would allow publication to be put directly into the hands of socialist collectives . Third, in relation to the crisis, Marxist educational writers are going to have to take up the question -'how does the working class, as a class, learn in the course of struggle?' This will mean speaking about, for example, the course of working-class politics, trade union struggles, social movements - their advances, successes and defeats . It will mean further, asking about how to build a united struggle against capitalism and against the bourgeois state ; how to realise the revolutionary potential of the

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working class, and what can be defended, learned and won through unity . It has been remarked many times that until socialism is seen as a credible alternative by the masses it has no chance of being won . Little that educational theorists have written so far addresses this issue. On balance we have just the opposite ; they discredit socialism with their impressionistic strategies, implausible suggestions for reforming capitalism and their vaguely `socialist' wishes . The revolutionary socialist tradition, the crisis of capitalism, the class struggle and class politics are the three crucial dimensions around which the reorientation of Marxist educational theory must be achieved. In this process some will find themselves after all on the side of capitalism and give up, yet others will search for a reformist path forward, and there will be those who go over to the revolutionary struggle of the working class . This differentiation of radical academics will be part of the educational impact of the current crisis and its conjunction with the struggle against capitalism . As a first step in what is to be done we urge ourselves and our readers to go back and ponder the deep truth about revolution and education contained in the Third Thesis on Feuerbach : `The coincidence of the changing of circumstances and of human activity or self-change can be conceived and rationally understood only as revolutionary practice .'

Notes

1. The end point referred to here is largely marked out by the exhaustion of Western Marxism and the place of the so-called new left within that intellectual and political configuration . Its broad features have been brilliantly characterised in Perry Anderson (1976) and (1984) . 2. See Bowles and Gintis (1976), Sharp (1980), Harris (1982) . See Apple (1982), Connell et al (1982) and Whitty (1985) . 3. These are by no means new problems . In a discussion of Marx and Engels' understanding of radical intellectuals, Draper (1977) identifies five interconnected tendencies moving away from revolution ; elitism and authoritarianism, sectarianism, abstractionism, reformism and sentimental socialism and instability . These tendencies show a remarkable correlation with the five tendencies we have noted in the Monday morning



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literature . The explanation for this correlation is surely to be found in the relationship of `radical' bourgeois intellectuals to bourgeois society despite the elapse of time between when Marx and Engels wrote and the present day . 4. It should be recognised that a fully materialist account of this problem requires a detailed specification of the political, economic and historical context in which the Monday morning writers have been formed . 5. See Stockman (1978) and Wilson (1977) for detailed accounts of the relationship of capitalism to positivism . 6. See Keat and Urry (1975) and Bhaskar (1979) for critiques of Positivism and the development of a Realist epistemology consistent with Marxism . 7. See Lukes (1974) for a Realist account of power . 8. See Ayer (1936) for a rejection of political philosophy on the grounds that all value judgements, which for Ayer includes most political judgements, are meaningless because they are concerned with opinion rather than facts or deductive logic . 9. See Hooker (1975) for an account of global theories . In many respects Hooker builds on the notion of `paradigm' and `Research Programme' developed by Kuhn and Lakatos . 10 . For a discussion of the aims of science in these terms see Maxwell (1984) . 11 . See Feyerabend (1978) for a discussion of the role of propaganda in the politics of science . We owe a debt to Brian Haig for drawing our attention to this point and for forcefully demonstrating its significance for any pluralist account of science, not merely Feyerabend's . 12 . That option has, of course, changed since Willis wrote . A much more likely outcome for many is unemployment . 13 . Arendt (1967) provides an interesting account of the mass socialpsychological consequences of what she sees as the breakdown of `class' society created by `The competitive and acquisitive society of the bourgeoisie' . A graphic account of this breakdown has been given, recently, by Alan Bleasdale in his television series Boys from the Blackstuff. 14 . Willis (1977) himself is careful to distinguish between the partial penetration of the ruling school culture and 'transformative political activity' (p . 145) . However, he also puts his money on `the lads' as potential working-class radicals . He suggests (p . 137) that the privatised worker is `one of the most advanced and potentially radical working-class types' . The lads would surely fit into the privatised worker category, so the clear implication is that Willis sees them as part of the revolutionary vanguard . But this suggestion is ad hoc because he has not analysed the specific social basis for their resistance . Corrigan (1979) similarly views the counter-culture subjects of his study as a possible vanguard for revolutionary change (p . 147) . 15 . Cinematic in the sense that ethnographic protocols are edited and inserted into a continuous narrative . Given the subject matter Willis was dealing with and Western reading conventions centred on the notions of `hero' and `anti-hero' the very nature of the medium used promotes the idea of `hero' . 16 . There's another point, regarding the nature of ethnographic study worth making here . Willis portrays `the lads' sympathetically . In part, that is more or less inevitable given that he worked closely with them on a

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daily basis and got to know them . And their lust for life was no doubt infectious - one step removed from their practical jokes . 17 . See Giroux (1983b) . 18 . This personal act of frigidity which turns in on itself is very different from frigidity as an act of political solidarity, as described for example by Aristophanes in Lysistrata .

References

Anderson P . (1976) Considerations on Western Marxism (London, NLB) . Anderson P . (1984) In the Tracks of Historical Materialism (London, NLB Verso Edition) . Arendt H . (1967) The Origins of Totalitarianism (London, George Allen & Unwin) . Ayer, A . J . (1936) Language, Truth and Logic (London, Gollancz) . Apple, M . (1982) Education and Power; Reproduction and Contradiction in Education (London, Routledge and Kegan Paul) . Bhaskar R . (1979) The possibility of Naturalism (Brighton, Harvester Press) . Bowles S . & Gintis H . (1976) Schooling in Capitalist America (New Yorks, Basic Books) . Connell R .W ., Ashenden D .J ., Kessler S. & Dowsett G .W . (1982) Making the Difference (Sydney, George Allen & Unwin) . Corrigan P. (1979) Schooling the Smash Street Kids (London, Macmillan) . Draper H . (1977) Karl Marx's Theory of Revolution, Vol . 1 (New York, Monthly Review Press) . Feyerabend P . (1978) Against Method (London, NLB Verso Edition) . Giroux H . (1981) Ideology, Culture and the Process of Schooling (London, The Falmer Press) . Giroux H . (1983a) Theory and Resistance in Education (Mass ., Bergin and Garvey Publishers Inc .) . Giroux H . (1983b) `Theories of Reproduction and Resistance in the new Sociology of Education', Harvard Educational Review, Vol . 55, No . 3, pp . 257-293 . Harris K . (1982) Teachers and Classes : A Marxist Analysis (London, Routledge and Kegan Paul) . Hooker C . (1975) `On Global Theories', Philosophy of Science, 42, pp . 152-179 . Keat R . & Urry J . (1975) Social Theory as Science (London, Routledge and Kegan Paul) . Lukes S . (1974) Power: A Radical View (London, Macmillan) . Maxwell N . (1984) From Knowledge to Wisdom (Oxford, Blackwell) . Sharp R . (1985) Review Symposium of Whitty (1985), British Journal of Sociology of Education, Vol . 7, No . 1, 1986. Shorske C . E . (195 5) German Social Democracy 1905-1917 : The Development ofthe Great Schism (Boston, Harvard University Press) . Stockman N . (1978) 'Habermas, Marcuse and the Aufhebung of Science and Technology', Philosophy of the Social Sciences, Vol . 8, pp . 1535 . Whitty G . (1985) Sociology and School Knowledge (London, Methuen). Willis P . (1977) Learning to Labour (Farnborough, Saxon House) . Wilson H . (1977) The American Ideology (London, Routledge and Kegan Paul) .

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Jean Lojkine

From the industrial revolution to the computer revolution : First signs of a new combination of material and human productive forms THIS ARTICLE'S ambitious title should not obscure its starting point : a critical appraisal of the results of empirical research' in which a detailed study of automated processes in the automobile and components industries led me to revise the concepts of automation, automatisation and computerisation that I had been using as hypotheses and guidelines . In the end, this re-appraisal led me to reinterpret the relationship that Marx established between the industrial revolution and the machine tool while at the same time attempting to forge systematic dialectical links between the combination of elements that intervene in the complex of productive forces and capital/labour relations . Three major conclusions can be drawn from the research we have just completed : 1 . As it was confined to studying the automated production lines of four units , 2 it was only possible to grasp indirectly the most innovative feature of the current automation and computerisation process and its all-encompassing nature, notably the beginnings of computer integration of the production cycle as a whole, from product design to after-sales service through Computer Aided Design (CAD) and Computer Aided Manufacture (CAM) . In the long term this comprehensive character could form the basis for a revolution even more fundamental than the one brought about by automation . 2 . Our field of observation was limited both in location and

•

This essay is a theoretical discussion of issues arising from a recent detailed empirical investigation of new automation and computerisation processes in French manufacturing industry by a team of industrial sociologists and economists . These changes pose fundamental problems for neo-Taylorist forms of management and forms of calculation within the enterprise, and open contradictory possibilities for the restructuring of skill and the redistribution of power and knowledge within the factory . Using Marxist categories, Lojkine attempts to identify the underlying potential of these changes and their implications for the relationship between technical progress and socio-economic change .

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field of technology since in the car industry automation is far less advanced than in the chemical and petrochemical industries . However, we were able to ascertain that the switch from hypermechanisation (i .e . the continuous functioning 3 of a series of manufacturing lines, presses or robot welders) to the first new forms of automation4 were already causing a very considerable upheaval as regards the following factors : the criteria for the economic assessment of labour productivity ; the criteria governing labour organisation in the workshop and the division of labour in the factory ; and, consequently, the relations between, firstly, `productive' and `unproductive' labour and, secondly, `direct' and `indirect' labour . 3 . Although the emergence of this new technological phase seems to validate the theory that the material forces of production are propelled by their own dynamics, our research also seems to demonstrate the extremely complex dialectical interrelation between material and human productive forces and between productive forces and the social relations of production . The technician's dream of the `factory without people' is being swept away by the most fundamental problem of capitalist management : no automation or computerisation is possible without the involvement of people . But it is impossible to involve them without training them, recognising their new skills and giving them new functions? On the other hand, however, despite the crisis affecting `traditional' capitalist management, the dominant trend at present is still neo-Taylorist as regards both the organisation of tasks and the division of functions, even though here and there certain forms of task reconstitution are timidly emerging which combine not only machine supervision, programming and maintenance but also optimalisation, intervention in product design and workshop management . It is apparent that no technological change by itself can determine a change in the relations between producers .

New technological possibilities and the crisis in management criteria

I shall not dwell again here on a point already explained at length elsewhere, 5 i .e . the connection observed between technological change in the form of automation and computerisation and the unsuitability of the traditional management criteria for assessing productivity and the distribution of functions and tasks, except to say that what until recently was a mere theory is now becoming a reality whose existence is demonstrated by our observations . Those in charge of production units and factories today acknowledge the unsuitability of former management criteria . Obviously, for instance, calculation of the percentage of capacity utilisation, the breakdown rate and the level of inventories takes precedence in computerised production systems over the ratio of direct

Computer Revolution labour employed to the number of units produced . Similarly, the present tightening of the connections between preparation, maintenance, manufacturing and quality control render the old analytical accountancy (`comtabilite analytique') obsolete . These still set direct labour (considered as the only `variable' and therefore economisable costs) over against indirect labour (maintenance, checking, engineering, foremen, etc .) considered as standing costs (frais fixes) . Management in some workshops has already moved towards the merging of all labour costs by giving priority to calculating the percentage of machine utilisation . However, it would be quite wrong to think that this is enough to solve the problem, as if automation had the power to make us slip unawares by some kind of technological evolutionary process from old into new patterns of management by allowing the priority formerly given to economising on manpower to be switched to economising on capital, thus facilitating true human development and a higher quality of working life . On the contrary, the acknowledgement of the need to readjust the old criteria has not eliminated the predominant tendency of management to combine economies of manpower with improved use of equipment; on the contrary, it has accentuated this trend . In the newly automated sectors such as assembly by robot, small-batch production linked to numerically controlled (NC) machine tools, and computer-integrated manufacturing lines, this has confronted management with the problems that were occurring ten years ago in the stamping sectors . This raises problems which in my view are connected with two types of confusion . The first results from confusing the new fixed capital costs arising from the massive replacement of manual labour by machinery with the problems arising from automation and computerisation ; for instance, the hyper-mechanisation of stamping or finishing should not be confused with the new problems that today concern automated or computerised control of these units . But more of this later . Second, there is a confusion of the criteria for machinery utilisation ('engagement des machines') and manpower utilisation ('engagement des hommes'), as if the latter should be modelled on the former, i .e . on continuous production . In this connection, I believe that the most important result of my research might be that it demonstrates the simultaneous coherence and incoherence of this confusion . It is incoherent precisely because the closed-circuit regulation of the automated production cycle makes fewer and fewer demands on the human element as regards the former tedious tasks of immediate supervision that were typical of mechanisation but makes more and more demands for the development of new functions concerning optimalisation, research and development, and management . C'
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These functions precisely require complete detachment of work rhythms from total dependence on machine-time . On the other hand, the coherence of this confusion is in no way accidental, anecdotal or momentary : what is at stake is neither more nor less than the survival or disappearance of the capitalist rate of profit criterion and therefore the exploitation of workers by continually increasing to the maximum the alienated fraction of their working time . As Marx stated, `the capitalist use of machinery tends to

reduce the price of goods and shorten the part of the day during which the worker works for himself only in order to lengthen the part during which he works solely for the capitalist' . 6 How then can overall productivity, and hence the capital/product ratio, be augmented if satisfactory functioning of machinery today increasingly requires additional training costs and wages for those who work them, and therefore a considerable rise in what are known as `variable costs'? This explains the extremely contradictory character of the reality we observed : on the one hand, in response to trade union pressure against the intensification of work and for the maintenance of purchasing power and a reconsideration of grading and classifications, managements have made great strides in regard to the training and reclassification of NC and automated production line operators . 7 Similarly, the responsibility of the operators for running machinery, tracking down deficiencies, preventing breakdowns and checking quality has been formally recognised by contract . On the other hand, however, there is great pressure to do everything possible to economise manpower costs by, among other measures, reducing the number of computerised production line operators and systematically using temporary staff, subcontracting, night work, and continuous shifts without snack breaks . All this leads to bad results for the rate of machine utilisation and product quality . 8 A vicious circle is thus formed in which considerable saving is achieved by the use of new automated computerised equipment as regards amortisation costs, stocks, and work-in-progress, but at the same time priority is given to economising on manpower in terms of numbers, skills, training and work intensification . The idea that must reign over the dominant capitalist culture therefore remains the conversion of `variable costs' into fixed costs, 9 in other words the transformation of the accountancy items that concern the financing of employment into continuous long-term priority costs, thanks to systematic saving on capital and equipment . Such a claim is beginning to be advanced by various groups which have begun a vitally important questioning of the principle of manufacturing schedules . 10 Consequently, the present crisis in management criteria

Computer Revolution finds its counterpart in a crisis in the systems of organising labour and allocating functions in the plant . I shall only note here the oversimplified nature of the French notion of work distribution and the division of labour as formally defmed by labour sociologists after the Second World War . Whereas the term `work distribution' usually only applies to the sharing out of tasks in the workshop or basic labour unit, the term `management' rightly includes three elements : (i) the economic administration of the plant ; (ii) the functional organisation of its structure which, whether centralised like Ford or decentralised and multidivisional like General Motors, will be either a hierarchy based on functions including engineering offices, a central planning bureau, production plants and a central planning department or what is termed a `matrix' type of structure with different functions grouped around the same product ; (iii) the organisation of labour into the basic work units, comprising workshops and functional departments . I have not yet been able to study the functional organisation (except indirectly), but there is obviously also a link between the computerisation of the production cycle as a whole and the attempt to reorganise the entire centralised pyramidal structure that has enormous financial implications ." What applies to the distribution of functions is just as valid for the system of occupational classification and grading . Thus acknowledgement of the newly acquired polyvalence of Recognised Automated Unit Operators (RAuo) and their training as Grade 2 skilled workers leads to the undermining fo the former distinction between skilled and unskilled workers . Similarly, the recognition of a category of technical production agents following the introduction of NC machine tools into the tool and small batch manufacturing sectors also undermines the distinction between the paths pursued by the unskilled workes and the technicians of th engineering and planning offices . Here again, however, no clear irreversible technological determinism exists as regards the organisation of tasks, occupational grading or management criteria . It must of course be admitted that nowadays it is no longer the class struggle in itself that spearheads this questioning of the old economic and social criteria for assessing work productivity . Consequently, although the new potentialities and demands of the present technological phase are undeniably bringing pressure to bear on the former capitalist criteria of evaluation, the outcome is still an open question . It could take the form either of a capitalist readjustment of these criteria involving a compromise in which the logic of economising on labour costs and the extended accumulation of capital would continue to predominate or - thanks to the struggles of the

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workers - of a fundamental revision involving financial management and the distribution of power as it is at present institutionalised by the separation of the general functions of synthesis (including management and design) from specialisd executive functions both in the field of production and also in the planning and engineering departments . In this connection the beginning of polyvalence, which seems to be becoming the general rule as regards the automated unit operators of Le Mans and Cleon and the new grading system for technical production agents, involves trial systems requiring further adaptation, given that the functions which have been redistributed among the new labour groups are still linked either to direct immediate work or to the semi-direct work whose functions constitute the immediate environment of the tasks of production and execution . In other words, what Marx called the functions of synthesis, monopolised by capital or by the general management of a plant, have as yet been very little affected by this process . This is true of the functions concerning product design, investment policy, economic management, involving the definition of productivity criteria and the objectives for each production unit, and the organisation of labour (the sharing out of tasks, selection of supervisors, etc .). At the same time, the experimental functioning of the labour groups in the robotised assembly workshop which I studied seems to be inclining towards the new polyvalent trend, at least as regards labour organisation .' 2 The problem is perfectly illustrated by the picture that Herve Serieyx paints in his book, Mobiliser l'Intelligence de l'Entreprise. 13 To this intelligent employer, the `mobilisation of intelligence' implies a subtle distinction between `quality circles' which are `centred on the act of producing' and are exclusively staffed by executant wage earners and the `guiding circles' that centre on objectives and organisation and are reserved for the managerial staff. This is exactly the kind of subtle neo-Taylorism that must today be challenged, through the strength in particular of the new rights of the wage earners on departmental and workshop committees, house committees and boards of directors, so as to enforce reforms in management and in the organisation of tasks and functions . Technological trends, capitallabour relations and the class struggle

To state that the realities are complex and contradictory and that the present new technological phase defines new possibilities in social relations does not of course solve the fundamental problem of the precise relations currently being established between the material and human forces of production on the one hand and

Computer Revolution capital/labour relations on the other . Is the action of some factors more decisive than that of others, and if so, what is their position in time? This is a key problem of historical materialism and one that has been little explored . Any attempt to respond adequately to this question must, in my opinion, go beyond the definition of productive forces as exclusively concerning work tools and the abstract man/machine relationship, but this involves trying to come to grips with the difficult question of the link between the dynamics of productive forces and those of capital-labour relations and the class struggle and runs the risk of encouraging the pointless debate between supporters and opponents of `technological determinism' . This methodological requirement is also of foremost importance for the definition of the `new potentialities' of the present technological phase . To me its importance is connected with the difficulties I and my colleagues encountered in trying to grasp the novel nature of the process in which hyper-mechanisation seemed to have completely blurred the distinction established at the outset for theoretical purposes between automation and mechanisation, difficulties which were reinforced by the pressures capitalist managements were exerting to intensify work . I believe that some of these difficulties are due, not to the complexity of the hybrid technological phase studied, but the inadequacy of the theoretical definitions that we used as guidelines . In particular, by adopting the traditional Marxist definition of the two technological revolutions (the industrial and the automation revolutions) as the opposition between objectification of manual labour by the machine tool and the objectification of certain functions of the brain by automation, it seems to me that we did not go far enough in our dynamic and historical analysis of the overall developed characteristics of the technological revolution of the eighteenth century and of the revolution we are now witnessing ." Thus, not only does extreme mechanisation already objectify purely intellectual functions like certain forms of correction, but automation itself groups together objectification processes pertaining to both manual and intellectual work . In this respect the lag observed between the `theoretical' and real functioning of automated units may lead to two types of conclusion that are complementary . Firstly, human intervention is by no means disappearing ; on the contrary, it is becoming crucial for maintenance and the prevention of breakdowns, thus highlighting in effect the close interdependence between the material and human forces of production . Secondly, however, the types of intervention observed did not exclusively correspond to the semi-direct functions whose development automation was supposed to ensure .

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Rather, we found a contradictory mixture of manual intervention, typically concerning the `makeshift' functions of mechanisation (loading, unloading, cleaning, removal of shavings, adjustment of machines, switching of manufacturing cycles, etc .) combined with interventions concerning programming or maintenance . This seems to prove that we were not dealing in our research with advanced forms of automation but with partial, hybrid forms of self-regulation . It is, however, possible to evaluate the crucial effect of a machine system's degree of autoregulation by the depth of the potential upheaval it creates in the organisation of the human productive forces or the type of polyvalence made possible by automation . Thus the flexible cell we studied had not yet been equipped with completely automated loading and unloading of workpieces, its NC machine tools were not connected to a central computer and its manufacturing centres did not have electronic finger systems capable of watching for wear-and-tear on tools and of checking workpiece diameter, cutting and transit speeds, etc ., in order to indicate the need to change tools before they break or even to bring about these changes automatically . These technological limitations have a direct fundamental impact on the type of functions and tasks performed by the human operator . In the present technological phase, which is intermediate between the conventional machine tool and what P . Naville called `complete regulation', the old functions of the professional machine-tool operator and tool-maker still predominate (for example, cutting and transit speeds and wear-and-tear on tools are checked by operators) and the skilled trade of the machine-tool specialist enjoys more prestige than the newly emerging functions in the fields of programming and maintenance . It appears to me symptomatic that for the time being these skilled machine-tool workers consider training for electronic maintenance as either utopian or nonsensical in view of their present relation with NC machine tools . In this they differ from operators of computer-integrated manufacturing lines, a sector in which computerised autoregulation seems much more advanced and does much more to develop the detection and repair of breakdowns by remote control . This, therefore, is a convincing example of the dual link between the material and human forces of production . In addition, there is certainly the continual reciprocal action between optimal functioning and the adequacy of the necessary individual and collective skills . On the one hand, self-regulation tends to shift direct work towards indirect work and the new forms of polyvalence, and on the other, these new characteristics of the collective worker are themselves shaped by capital-labour

Computer Revolution relations and by class relations which have a feedback effect on the type of automation chosen . Thus German NC machine tools are equipped with relatively simple calculators that enable the operator to do the programming on his machinery, which corresponds well to the German division of tasks in which the functions of programming and operating are discharged by a skilled worker . On the other hand, the French NC machine tools of the type with computer numerical control (CNC) used by Renault (uNISURF process) are designed for a hyper-Taylorian division of tasks that separates programming, adjustment, operating and maintenance, and the same applies to the types of repair modules and software . If this `reciprocal action' is surveyed historically it reveals the crucial role of the interaction of the material forces of production with class relations . Consequently in addition to the dimension of time (long-run technological and economic changes), the dimension of space must also be brought into play . This involves relating the instruments of work into a much vaster whole, combining the technical and social sharing out of tasks, the type of agglomeration of work tools and the general conditions of production, including means of transport and communication, technico-scientific relations, the international division of labour and local and global market conditions . If this is done, correct analysis will be possible of the distinction between the abstract person-machine relationship revolutionised by a fundamental but isolated innovation and what is involved in the spreading of this innovation to an entire social system, i . e . the process that really corresponds to what is termed a technological revolution . In other words, a technological revolution cannot be defined solely by the abstract relationship between a human being and an instrument of work ; what must also be taken into account are theforms of co-operation as a whole between the material forces of production (type of agglomeration, task distribution, specialisation, etc .) and the human forces (type of collective worker, know-how, etc .), thus making possible consideration of the capacity of the overall social structure to diffuse these forms throughout its territory, in all branches of its activity . This, in my view, is why Marx defines the emergence of the machine tool as the `starting point', `the simple element of mechanical production', 15 even if, to him, this element is an essential form of the industrial revolution . In the same way as for the forms of value and capital, he contrasts this simple element to the developed, complete forms of mechanical production, i .e . the `system of automatic machine tools whose movement originates from transmission by a central automat', as well as the objectified, socialised division of labour 16 completely exterior to the worker, the separation of

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managerial functions, (supervision, mediation, etc .) from specialised functions based on distinctions between different types of machinery," and the separation of science from production . In this complex organic whole, certain `simple elements' which had served as the `material basis' for large-scale industrial development (for instance, the simple machine tools worked by people, water or wind, or the labour of craftsmen and skilled workers) come into contradiction with the more advanced forms of large-scale industry (steam-driven machinery) . Concomitantly, elements which at first were subordinated to the machine tool, such as power sources or the motor, cease to be under human control' 8 and gradually become `the indispensable condition' for the manufacture of machines by machines, whereas the `isolated machine tool . . . drops to the rank of a simple organ of the operation mechanism . Henceforth, a single motor can set several machine tools in motion' .' 9

In objectifying manual labour, the machine tool is certainly an element of the industrial revolution, but it is, as yet only an abstract form which must be linked to its phenomenal advanced forms . Marx's understanding of this, as of the forms of value and capital, reflects the entire epistemological revolution accomplished by him in defining the relation between essence and appearance : thus for him essence is not an abstract element cut off from reality but a combination of simple and advanced forms, and of abstract and concrete forms, in which certain `essential' elements predominate such as the machine tool when it comes to formulating an overall definition of machinism . This is what we would now like to illustrate, by returning to the examination of what Jacot 20 calls the `alternative forms' of the `widening and deepening' of mechanisation and automation . First of all there is a close connection between what Jacot analyses as a technological system and the types of economic assessment of productivity- and therefore the forms of relations that correspond to these types . However, this can only be done if the study of the material productive forces is linked to that of the corresponding social combinations . Thus, in the realm of mechanisation, the alternative indicated by Marx between a system of homogeneous machine tools and the combining of specialised machine tools also corresponds to the alternatives respectively represented by the primitive and more evolved stages of capitalist co-operation defined by the specialisation of tasks (compartmentalisation of labour) and of functions (design/management/execution) . Such specialisation results from choices to prioritise the intensification of work or to utilise craftsmanship, with its `hierarchical grading' of skilled workers who are masters of their speciality and working hours .

Computer Revolution Similarly, in automation, the choice of the 'press-button factory' (i .e . `substitutive automation') or integrated automation is not purely technological, as B . Coriat seems to think, 21 since it concerns the social use that society wishes to make of automation . In another work, Bouchut and Jacot clearly state that the notion of `substitutive automation' characterises the capitalist mode of evaluating automation when technical choices are made . `Since the robot is there to complete the task of one or several operators', they write, `its rate of replacement of these human operators becomes the essential character . The introduction of the robot should permit the reduction of running costs . . . the main part of which are wages and social insurance . This explains why automation or capital-work substitution is greatly affected by labour costs' . `Profitability' is thus reduced to a `comparison of the total expenses involved in implementing a project on the one hand, and the total savings expected, particularly as regards labour costs, on the other' . 22 On the other hand automation of the overall work process can permit the application of new management criteria in which savings on capital in money and machinery would predominate, especially as regards efforts to cut down on waste in the field of `organisational and structural expenses' . 23 `Can' and not `should' because, as B . Coriat shows, the objective of efforts to cut out idle periods and waste of energy, materials, parts, tools and products in process of manufacture can also be `to obtain a higher rate of involvement for men and machinery' while limiting inventory . The new saving of capital equipment is therefore subordinated here to the chief objective of `the involvement of people and machinery' and consequently to `greater intensification of labour', since `progress in the intensification of labour . . . must be achieved in addition to the savings in fixed and circulating capital' . 24 Here again, as already stressed, there is therefore no clear correspondence between technological progress (automation) and socio-economic progress . It is up to the class struggle to bring pressure to bear so that these new potentialities are used to impose new criteria for the assessment of labour productivity . This would require the ability to define the precise technological alternatives constituted by the capitalist use of automationintegration and the implications of new criteria for the management and organisation of information . 25

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122 A comprehensive The present attempt to place in perspective the complex movedefinition of the ment of the productive forces should now enable us to return to new technological our point of departure, i .e . the difficulty experienced by the revolution now in sociologist during the present technological phase in differentiatprogress ing between mechanisation and automation . First of all it is necessary to recall what seems to us the main point established by the analysis that has just been developed : the distinction between the `simple elements' and `advanced forms' that make up an autonomous new stage in the transition from one technological system to another . This distinction itself corresponds to the epistemological distinction made by Marx between a synthetic and analytical method . As regards the simple elements that characterise both the industrial and the automation revolutions, the opposition is between the `machine tool' (a mechanism replacing the worker who handles the tool or the relation between the human hand and the tool) and the self-regulating machine (a mechanism that replaces the worker who supervises, checks and corrects the functioning of the machine tool) . The subsequent state of development involves opposition between the developed form of machine tool (a system of specialised machine tools automatically and continuously operated by a central automat) and the advanced form of the self-regulating machine tool (comprising a workshop or flexible cell and an integrated system of universal machine tools operated by a control system that can alter its programmes at will and correct and optimalise certain regulatable variables) . 26 Under these conditions, the opposition between extreme mechanisation of the chain-transfer type and automation (or what Bouchut and Jacot call the advanced forms of automation) will result less from the primitive tendentious opposition between the objectification ofthe hand and of certain cerebral function than from the opposition between the different types of objectified cerebral functions .

Not only of course does any human task and therefore any tool handling imply the intervention of certain cerebral functions, but the advanced forms of machine control already imply the objectification of cerebral functions no longer directly connected with manual labour but already with machine supervision . 27 Nevertheless there still exists a whole range of human operations (and therefore of cerebral functions) that under conditions of extreme mechanisation separate the objectification of immediate supervision from the objectification of all the regulatory functions tht permit the transition to automation proper. There, in my view, lies the root of the difficulties and confusion characterising the observations made by labour sociologists . And it is precisely the development of the new forms of automation that

Computer Revolution enables these mistakes to be explained, by highlighting the difference between the extreme mechanisation of the fifties (i.e . the partial objectification of the functions of control and immediate supervision) and the present processes of complete self-regulation (i .e . complete objectification of the functions of regulation comprising both control and retroaction) . 28 From that point on, the opposition between the two technological revolutions is no longer essentially defined by the opposition between the two types of instruments of work - and two types of abstract person/machine relationships - but by the opposition between two types of combination between the material and human productive forces . In the industrial revolution and machine control, the relationship between individual and matter is defined via the machine tool as an immediate, direct relationship between the human operator and the manufacturing process . With the machine tool, the `workers' function' emerges as an extension of the mechanised process, whether it involves the act of handling machinery or its immediate supervision . On the other hand, in the automation revolution, the objectification of direct work as a whole (i .e . handling, supervision and regulation) leads to the creation of new human functions connected with indirect work, including management, maintenance, optimalisation and design . The doubly ambiguous nature of the present period nevertheless persists, since it is characterised at one and the same time by the intermediate technological phase of semi-automation, and by a mode of development orientated by the criteria of capitalist management . Thus, according to J .-P. Bardou, 29 the `synchronous automatic manufacturing lines' whose `technical integration' apparently reached its `maximum degree' in the years between 1960 and 1965 are characterised by the `principle of the production line' . He believes that electronics serve to `ensure the synchronisation of different machines or different operations involving the same machine' . Consequently, the technological principle remains that of the advanced machine tool, that is to say, the continuity and integration of mechanised operations . On the other hand, in our opinion, the computerised production line in its present form derives its chief characteristic, not from the electronic synchronisation of `handling' operations (loading, transfer, and unloading), but from the electronic synchronisation of the operations of supervision, correction and control . Thus electronics, which at first may appear to be an accessory function in the process of the integration of machines and mechanical operations, will become a revolutionary technological element in the emergence of new human functions of information and

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communication . At the same time, the present computer-integrated manufacturing lines do not yet ensure the complete electronic subservience of all the functions of supervision and regulation . Whether electronic equipment is designed for automatic washing, quality checking or the location and prevention of breakdowns, it in fact still requires human intervention in the immediate work process, and this intervention helps to mask and to limit the new human functions required, in particular the man/ computer dialogue, through remote control repair and supervision systems . The computer-integrated manufacturing line is therefore not as yet a self-regulating unit controlled from outside by human operators as is the case in the processing industries . The second ambiguous feature, which derives from the predominant economic reasoning, is that the purpose of the computer-integrated manufacturing line is to cut down on jobs and intensify work even when the logic of functioning `also' requires savings in terms of material being processed, stocks and work pauses . However, comparison of the type of qualification and organisation of work obtained by workers today and twenty years ago makes it possible to go more deeply into the relations between the class struggle and the productive forces . As already stressed here several times, there is no clear technological determinism linking the nature of the man/machine relationship with the type of work organisation and definition of skills . As noted elsewhere, 30 the experiements carried out by semi-autonomous groups with a view to increasing job satisfaction have already proved that several alternative forms of organisation can correspond to one particular type of technology . It is nonetheless true that these experiments, made during the sixties, have remained isolated experiments . This is accounted for both by the fact that the period was one of economic growth during which the intensification of work was `bought' by wage increases and by the technological limits of the alternatives existing at the time . This brings us to the very important problem of the decisive part played by the material forces of production within a whole complex of causes . It is certainly true that the level of objectification of human functions by the machine was too low to permit the radical disengagement of the human operator from the most repetitive functions (machine driving and supervision), and that `stop-gap polyvalence' (rotation of work-stations among a semiautonomous group) only had a remote connection with what can be done today by computerised control, i .e . with the emergence of true functional polyactivity .

Computer Revolution

Whereas J .-P . Bardou very significantly linked the general use of `synchronous automatic production lines' with the 'generalised employment of the specialised worker', 31 J .-P. Durand observed twenty years later that, on the contrary, there was `a reversal of the trend that had up till then predominated, according to which all automation and increases in fixed capital excluded complex work in favour of simple work . The computerisation of production requires highly qualified personnel to operate equipment that objectifies vast areas of knowledge' .32 The growth of the objectification of information requires, in case of breakdown, the use of an ever-increasing amount of information and therefore of human capacities to grasp, process and communicate this information ' 33 combined with new forms of co-operation between operators, electricians, electronic equipment maintenance staff and the planning department required by these new technological characteristics . In an article entitled `La Classe Ouvriere en Mouvement' ' 34 Alain Chenu very pertinently notes the fundamental significance of the computerisation of production . The advent of automation means the transition from the `W-M-P' (Workers-Machine-Product) of the industrial revolution to the four-term combination W-A-M-P, where A represents the `machine that processes information automatically and has a better memory and speed of calculation than the human brain' (p . 29) .

Whereas the machine m still relies on industrial technologies whose main principles have remained unchanged, the machine A is based on information technologies involving the use of artificial languages . This is why the operator-supervisors of completely automated systems are in direct contact, not with industrial processing machines, but with instruments of control and measurement. Consequently, data processing takes precedence over what was the essence of the industrial revolution - product transformation . This gives the technological term of data processing a truly revolutionary character, since it replaces the instruments of work based on product handling (tools and machine tools) with instruments of work founded on the handling of symbols, signs and therefore sense . In that sense, the term `computer revolution' places a new instrument of work in the forefront, i .e . software, as an extension of indirect work and reflective cerebral activities, whereas the term automation is itself still linked to mechanisation insofar as it designates completion of the objectification of direct work . Many authors, including A . Touraine in the fifties ' 35 and later D . Bell,36 connected this new role of information with the opposition between the former `industrial' and new 'post-

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industrial' societies . According to them, a society founded on material production was to be followed by one founded on the activities of communication and information, in which the role of prime mover formerly fulfilled by the working class and labour movement would be taken over by a new class of intellectual wage-earners . On a deeper level still, this idealist conception of a computer revolution cut off from the activity of producing may be said to intensify the opposition that currently predominates in the social sciences between symbolic culture and technical culture . 37 In reality, the introduction of a new medium between homo faber and the outside world (the computer) in no way eliminates the concrete purpose of the computer but fundamentally changes the very nature of the technological process, since it no longer involves a relationship between people and the objective extension of their hands in the form of the tool or machine tool, but a relationship between people and the extension of their symbolic abstract cerebral functions, i .e . memory, reasoning and communication . This means that the activity of conception is no longer separated from the activity of production ; for, even if CAD/CAM does not in itself abolish the division between the deciders and planners on the one hand and the executors on the other, it carries within itself the possibility of contesting the separations between direct and indirect work and between intellectual and material work, and even affords a glimpse of developments that go beyond the present division between biotechnology, automation and computerised communication . As stressed by the joint authors of the `Rapport sur l'Etat de la Technique - La Revolution de l'Intelligence', 38 the question arises as to whether, with the advent of telecomputing, `the real technological mutation is not progress in a mastery of mineral or organic matter that transcends the differences between electrons

and photons . This constitutes the unifying factor of the whole system, in which organic semi-conductors also converge, and decisive progress in the photovoltaic production of electricity is being made with the same substances and very closely related technologies' . Conclusion

Although the new `computer revolution' seems to be linking up all the forms of `decentralised intelligence', from the robot's arm to the word processor, from the large-scale to the home computer, it should not be forgotten that for capitalism this gigantic technological mutation is still a `special method for manufacturing relative surplus value' and for maintaining new forms of the division between those endowed with knowledge of general policy - whether that of an individual undertaking or of the sovereign state - and

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those who are only informed about particular items, i .e . the former unskilled workers or the new `specialists' . Depending on the political and socio-cultural forms of the class struggle, the `revolution of man's intelligence' - which, as Leibnitz would have said, is in itself nothing but a combination of non-real possibilities - will either lead to the birth of a new neo-Taylorist system or to the complete overthrow of the two pillars of our merchant civilisation : the method of assessing labour productivity and the relations between knowledge and power . In the long run, this alternative has, once again, nothing to do with the symmetrical choice between two equidistant possibilities postulated by the models of games theory . It implies, on the contrary, acknowledgement of the irreversibility of historical trends and of the depth of the impulsion that the material productive forces will bring to bear on the societies from which they have sprung . At the same time, however, the historical updating of this trend and the way in which these technological possibilities are selected will continue to be based on both the consciousness and unconscious action of concrete individuals within specific social groups. All this involves the need to combine the long-run, composed of trends, cycles and the past and future generations that influence the brain of contemporary man, with the shortrun, embracing the class struggle and the complete concrete individuals upon whom in the last resort the march of history depends .

1. See J .-P . Durand, Joyce Durand, J . Lojkine and C . Mahieu, L'enjeu Informatique . Former pour Changer l'Entreprise (Les Meridiens, 1986) . 2. The four units studied were the following : Unit A (Jean Lojkine) : Departments of toolmaking and small-batch production in a polyvalent branch plant employing mostly French skilled workers, Paris area . Unit B (Joyce Durand) : Departments of stamping and painting (assembly and mounting plant ; Paris area - workforce mostly immigrants) . Unit C (J .-P . Durand): Computer-Integrated Manufacturing Lines (IML) Mass production of gear-boxes (manufacturing and mounting plant ; Normandy) . Unit D (C . Mahieu) : Robotised assembly and welding shop (assembly and mounting plant, Nord Pas-de-Calais) . The transition from the conventional production line to a completely 3. `automatic' system by the automation of loading, unloading and conveyance, only constitutes a form of supermechanisation described by Marx as `automatic manufacture' or the `system of specialised machine-tools' .

Notes



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In no way is this transition a new form of automation connected with the computer revolution . To Marx, the criterion of continuity is an essential characteristic of the mechanical revolution embodied in the machine-tool system . In the case of the robot production line, the technological novelty of Computer-Integrated Manufacturing Lines lies in their new capacity for regulation and therefore flexibility, thanks to the computer system . 4. See H . Jacot, 'Automatisation et Technologie', Formes Anciennes et Nouvelles de l'Automatisation (Put ., 1980), chap. 2, pp . 59ff. 5. See Jean Lojkine, `Technologies, Gestion et Travail : l'Enjeu de 1'Automation', Issues, no . 15, 1st trimester 1983 . 6. Capital, Book 1 (Editions Sociales, 1967), Vol . 2, p . 58 . (As there will be frequent references to the 4th section of Book 1, chapters 12 to 15 of this edition, the following abbreviated reference will henceforth be used : Capital 1, 2, p . . . . ) 7. For operators of numerically controlled machine-tools (NCMT), this refers especially to a new scale of professional grading that goes from the grade 2 skilled worker to the Technical Production Agent (Agent Technique de Production), and constitutes a springboard for the recognition of the career of Production Technician and a first breach in the present division between skilled workers and technicians . In addition, computer-integrated manufacturing line operators (formerly unskilled workers) have obtained a training period that gives them access to the grade 2 skilled worker category . 8. For the units studied, the actual percentage varies from 57 to 68% ; and 11 to 25% of stoppages are due to requests for the intervention of maintenance staff . In addition to the technological reliability of the machinery, the essential problem concerns the degree of polyvalence of the automated unit operators of the plants studied since their maintenance training is insufficient, as well as the connection established between diagnosis, detection of the breakdown and its repair . A practical survey showed an average loss of 15 minutes for each recourse to the adjuster or foreman, and a 60-minute wit for each intervention by the maintenance staff. 9. On this point, see Paul Boccara's work on the new management criteria entitled : Intervenir sur les gestions avec de nouveaux criteres (Editions Sociales, 1985) . 10 . The management of the units under study themselves raised the problem of the responsibility for manufacturing schedules for parts in the workshops producing machine-tools . They acknowledged that manufacturing time is only a tiny fraction of the total period during which a part circulates from the engineering and planning departments to the marketing departments . 11 . The General Manager of the company studied himself admitted that `it is imperative to reduce structural expenses . . . decision-making must be decentralised, and responsibilities increased in order to lighten the structures . . . Each decision corresponds to a cost and the higher the level at which a decision is reached, the more it costs .' 12 . See C . Mahieu, in Durand et al (eds), L'enjeu informatique (chapter 4) . 13 . (Editions Modernes d'Entreprise), p . 109 . 14 . In an article in La Pensee (1964, no . 115), entitled 'Sur la Revolution Industrielle du XVIIIe et ses Prolongements Jusqu'a 1'Automation', P .

Computer Revolution Boccara rightly indicates that the instrument of work (the machine tool) is only one element in the industrial revolution and the organic complex formed by the material and human productive forces . As Boccara very aptly remarks, it is an essential element of the industrial revolution, but cannot, alone, define the latter's entire essence . 15 . Capital 1, 2, p . 62 . 16 . Ibid, p . 67 . 17 . Ibid, p . 23 . 18 . Ibid, p . 70 . 19 . Ibid, p . 64 . 20 . 'Automatisation', pp . 71ff. 21 . La Robotique (Reperes, 1983), p . 66 . 22 . See Bouchut, Cochet and Jacot, Robotique Industrielle et Choix d'Investissement (Universite Lyon II, Economie des Changements Technologiques) May 1983, p . 109, and C . Laurgeau, `L'Automatisation et ses Incidences Socio-economiques', Le Nouvel Automatisme, April 1981, no . 21, pp . 37-46 . 23 . See H . Jacot, La Pensee, no. 224, p . 96 . 24 . Coriat, Robotique, pp . 69 and 73 . 25 . H . Jacot, op . cit ., p . 97 . 26 . H . Jacot, op . cit ., p . 85 . 27 . `Supervising the machine and correcting its mistakes with one's hand represent a new human function born of the transition from the tool to the machine-tool' . Capital 1, 2, p . 269 . 28 . See Jacot, op . cit ., p . 79 and La Pensee, no . 224, p . 94 . 29 . La Revolution Automobile (Albin Michel, 1977), p . 275 . 30 . See J . Lojkine, Technologies, Gestion et Travail, op . cit . 31 . La Revolution Automobile, op . cit ., p . 277 . 32 . Durand et al, L'enjeu informatique . 33 . Ibid, p . 186 . 34 . La Pense, no . 233, May-June 1983, see also P . Naville, Vers l'Automatisme Social? (Gallimard, 1964) and Yvette Lucas, L'Automation (PUF, 1983) . 35 . L'Evolution du Travail Ouvrier aux Usines Renault (CNRS, 1955) . 36 . Vers la Societe Postindustrielle (R . Laffont, 1976) . 37 . See D . Bleitrach, 'Le Music-hall des Ames Nobles', Essai sur les Intellectuels (Editions Sociales, 1984) . 38 . Sciences et Techniques, Special issue October 1983, pp . 57-58 .

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Katherine Gibson and Julie Graham

Situating migrants in theory : The case of Filipino migrant contract construction workers

The remittances of overseas contract workers have become a mainstay of many Southeast Asian economies, particularly the Philippines . This article suggests that the growth of contract labour migration in the contemporary global context is of great economic and political significance to both international capital and the nation state, but that migration theory as it currently stands finds difficulty in specifying the particular distinctiveness of this new form of migrant labour .

• IN THE CURRENT climate of political instability in the Philippines, overseas workers have become a mainstay of the economy . At present there are over one and a half million Filipinos working abroad in over one hundred different nations . This amounts to more than half the number of workers annually entering the domestic work force (Gosling and Lim, 1984) . While many of these migrants are more or less permanent emigrants, especially to the us, at least one third are working abroad on limited term contracts . The expansion of this type of temporary migrant stream has accelerated over the last decade . Between 1979 and 1983, 280,000 contract workers on average per year were processed by government agencies for labour export (Smart, Teodosio and Jimanez, 1984, Table 1) . Executive Order Number 857 introduced by President Marcos in December 1982 made it mandatory for all overseas contract workers to remit 50 to 80 per cent of their salaries through government authorised channels where exchange rates are manipulated to the government's benefit . Not surprisingly, remittances from these contract workers abroad have become over the last few years the most stable source of foreign exchange in the Philippines economy, especially as the growth of local export processing zones faltered through lack of business confidence in the Marcos regime . For Mrs Aquino's new Minister of Labor, who is an appointment from the left-wing and progressive cause-oriented movement, the manpower export

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business poses one of the major items on the agenda for evaluation and policy attention . In this paper we offer some thoughts on the political and economic significance of contract labour migration to both international capital and the nation state . Over the past decade, the Philippines government has gained control of all labour export either directly or through authorised larger sub-contractors (Gosling and Lim, 1984) . In fact, we have seen in the Philippines the emergence of Southeast Asia's first completely centralised labour export market, with an administrative bureaucracy and legal apparatus to process both the contracts and the migrants (Bohning, 1982) . The government has even conducted a series of marketing conferences in the us, Germany and England in the attempt to advertise `the stability of the Philippines as a manpower partner capable of delivering high quality Filipino manpower despite prevailing adverse economic conditions' (Philippines Overseas Employment Administration, 1984 : 5) . In these conferences labour officials from various countries are brought together with leading Filipino and international contractors in order to obtain pledges for preferential hiring of Filipino labour . Labour is treated like any other export commodity as trading agreements are worked out . The export of Filipino labour is not a new phenomenon . There has been a lengthy history of emigration from the Philippines beginning with the migration of plantation labourers to Hawaii and the us in the 1890s . The massive outmigration of the last ten years is, however, unprecedented . Since the 1970s the employment of third world labour on limited term contracts all over the globe, but particularly in the Middle East, has expanded astronomically . The Philippines is only one of the many South and Southeast Asian countries which has joined the Asian `labour train' . The mass exodus to the Middle East is part of a more widespread response within the Asian region to a growth in demand for labour in the rapidly developing oil-rich states since 1973 . Originally met by migration from the neighbouring Arab states, the labour catchment area has gradually widened to include Pakistan, India, South Korea, Taiwan, the Philippines, Thailand, Indonesia and Malaysia (Birks and Sinclair, 1980 ; Smart, 1982 ; Tsakok, 1982) . For all these developing economies the manpower export business is one of the fastest growing generators of foreign exchange . The World Bank estimated that in 1980 migrant worker remittances to developing South Asian countries alone were more than three billion us dollars (1980 : 22) . From any perspective of examination, the Philippines' case presents extremes and contrasts - the level of political disorganisation, social militance and economic disorder which at present prevails is certainly a contrast to the more `orderly' economic

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development which is taking place all over Southeast Asia . But for the purposes of this analysis we wish to place the Philippines within the context of its region . Along with South Korea and Thailand, the Philippines was one of the first nations to enter the Middle East labour market through national contracting firms who brought the work camp approach to labour recruitment . With this approach the contracting company not only supplies the labour but also provides its housing, utilities, health services and sometimes food for the duration of the project . The work camp provides `physical separation of the expatriate labour from the local community, lower recruitment costs and alleviates pressures on housing and other basic services' (Ecevit, 1981 : 264) . What is interesting, and somewhat alarming, is that the level of overt political control of the contract migration flow, whether it originates in the Philippines or in other parts of East and South Asia, is reminiscent of the indentured labour system of the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries . Today, however, it is donor and host governments who arrange and facilitate the migration `experience' . In that it is national governments who are guaranteeing not only a supply of cheap labour on an international market but also its `controllability' in the international workplace, we see a level of identification between the interests of international capital and those of the nation state in the organisation of the migrant labour market which is perhaps unprecedented . Most of the existing studies on what we identify as the emergence of nationally regulated, international labour markets have been conducted by those who pursue research in the field of `migration' . It is for this reason that the particular object of this paper, as the title indicates, is the situation of migrants in theory . The growth of the Asian `labour train', as illustrated by the Philippines' case, is a phenomenon that places some stress upon migration theory in its current form and provides some grounds for theoretical reorientation . Migration theory

Currently the study of migration is approached from two perspectives (Wood, 1982), each of which finds difficulty in defining the specificity of the contract labour migration phenomenon . The equilibrium approach, which has been hegemonic in migration studies for some thirty years and which tends to use descriptive categories like distance and nationality, is fundamentally too individualistic to grasp the specificity of state-sponsored contract migration ; on the other hand, the newcomer, historical-structural theory, tends to explain migration patterns by invoking the general imperatives of capital accumulation, thereby losing the specificity of the migrant as a particular form of cheap labour and of the industries employing migrant labour as particular sites of

Filipino Migrant Workers labour incorporation . For equilibrium theory, the migrant takes it upon him or herself to conquer the tyranny of space and redistribute labour resources in the spatial economy . Like iron filings moving in response to magnetic forces of attraction (Abu-Lughod, 1975), migrants are propelled by the timeless wish for economic betterment toward employment in a location remote from home . The direction and magnitude of the move are in some way a measure of the seriousness of an individual's response to resource depletion or scarcity in the source region . Thus the location and intensity of `push and pull' forces are important in and for themselves and do not warrant further theorisation . For historical-structural theories of migration, by contrast, the direction and membership of the migrant stream is an indication of relations between different modes of production, or between member regions of an imperial hierarchy . Migration is seen as the double-sided result of the rise of global processes of capital accumulation which have brought, on the one hand, the destruction of traditional modes of production and the creation of surplus labour pools in the third world along with, on the other, capitalist development and expansion and the production of labour shortages in the first world . The structure of migration as it mediates these complementarities is the focus of this type of migration theory . In almost all respects the equilibrium and historical-structural approaches specify the migration phenomenon differently . The unit of analysis is different - individual migrant versus political economic structure ; the scale of analysis is different - resource rich or poor regions versus the global system ; the notion of change is different - equilibration versus progression ; the idea of causality is different - rational decision-making versus structural response ; and the projected outcome is different - balanced regional growth versus uneven development . But for both approaches, the subject - migrant or migration - is delineated primarily in terms of the physical movement of people through geographical space .

When a new and different type of population movement emerges which does not easily fit the existing approaches, one is prompted to question the theoretical clarity of the concepts `migrant' and `migration' as currently formulated . Clearly the specificity of migrant labour is not solely its geographical mobility, for all wage labour is required to be mobile at one scale or another in order to survive . There must be, in addition, some extra or special quality attached to migrants that warrants their examination as a separ-

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ate phenomenon . For equilibrium theory it is the individual characteristics of the migrants and the migration experience which becomes the focus of study . Historical structural study goes further, understanding these individual attributes and experiences in terms of their function within the broad contours of capitalist development . In particular it highlights the cheapness of migrant labour and its vulnerability to political control . Our concern is to go further still and to consider historical differences in the way in which migrant labour has articulated with capital and with the state . We would argue that the distinctiveness of migrant labour lies not only with the fact of its motion, but with the fact of its attractiveness, at certain points in the history of capitalist development, to particular sectors of economic activity under particular conditions of political control . The act of labour migration thus represents more than the movement of individuals from one place to another; it signifies the satisfaction of a demand by those immobile sectors of a capitalist economy which are relatively labour intensive for cheap, controllable labour . We must, then, examine any migration phenomenon in terms of specific (economic) sites of incorporation of migrant labour and specific (political) modes of control over incorporation . (i) Sites of incorporation The pattern and structure of migration is governed at one level by the demand for labour by sectors of capitalist production and the relative mobility of their productive capital . Thus we would expect that at any historical conjuncture migrant labour is likely to be found incorporated into the capitalist labour market at those sites of production characterised by a labour-intensive production process and some necessary or preferred geographical fixedness . Given this line of approach we are less interested in mapping the patterns of migration according to measures of geographical scale (internal or international migration), or development level (core to periphery, or third world to first world migration) as a primary means of organising our thoughts about migration . Instead, focus is to be turned upon the sectoral level of development of productive forces on a global scale, labour supply conditions at particular sites of production, and the suitability of the division of labour to a workforce, fragmented by language, ethnicity or race . While the employment of migrant labour is a stable feature of capitalist history, the specific economic location of migrant labour has varied greatly over time . As the productive forces develop, the tendency is to replace living labour with dead and thus to replace labour-intensive production processes with in-

Filipino Migrant Workers creasingly capital-intensive processes . In some industries, however, the production process has resisted mechanisation and continues to demand a large labour pool . Two such industries are services and construction, sectors which have traditionally provided a major source of employment for migrant labour . Mechanisation is hindered in the service sector, by the heterogeneous structure of the industry and the diversity of labour processes involved which range from child care and prostitution to waitressing, cleaning and nursing . In construction, the importance of a craft-based division of labour has traditionally proved a barrier to mechanisation, although the introduction of pre-fabrication has significantly altered this situation in some areas of the industry . In addition, both services and construction are by their nature geographically tied to a particular site or population . In other industries the level of technical development and the scale of production in a particular historical period has required a large, site-specific labour pool . In the early part of the twentieth century sectors such as mining, and plantation and other large-scale agriculture were major employers of migrant labour ; in the post-war period up until the late 1970s it was the labour-intensive sectors of manufacturing such as the production lines of the car industry, and the sweat shops of the textile and clothing industries that were main sites of migrant labour employment . Increasingly mechanisation has replaced living labour on plantations, farms and mines, and the demand for migrant workers in these sectors continues only in certain interesting cases such as the South African mines and harvest time for us agribusiness (Burawoy, 1976, 1980 ; Fisher, 1951) . In many manufacturing sectors, fragmentation of the labour process has allowed the relocation of labour-intensive parts of production to the source areas of cheap labour ; this does not mean that manufacturing is no longer a site for migrant labour, but does suggest that the migration of capital has tended to diminish the labour flow . (ii) Control over incorporation The attractiveness of migrant labour over resident wage labour is its vulnerability to political and legal control which renders it cheaper in real economic terms . As Castells has argued, . . . the advantage of immigrant labour for capital stems precisely from the specificity of their inferior position in the class struggle, which derives from the legal-political status of immigrants . From the point of view of capital this status

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can be modified in minor ways, but not transformed, because it is the source of the basic structural role of immigration . Thus the basic contradiction concerning immigrants is one which opposes them not directly to capital, but to the State apparatus of capital and to the political status given to them in its institutions (1975 : 53) . One would therefore expect migrant labour to be incorporated in particular situations where political and legal control can be successfully maintained by the state in the medium term, for where mechanisms of political coercion are inoperative and migrant labour is accorded all of the civil and legal rights of indigenous labour, it is rendered indistinguishable from other `cheap' workers . Political coercion can be exercised in more or less overt fashions . For the illegal immigrants and temporary or guest workers employed in industrialised nations during the long boom, a covert form of political control was exercised . In that they were denied the right to organise or were slow to be recognised by the existent unions and structures of arbitration, the state remained `blind' to the conditions of migrant workers and allowed the exploitation of their labour to proceed without regulation . More overt forms of state control over migrant labour were exerted in certain extreme cases during this period, such as the South African mining industry . Just as the economic location of migrant labour is subject to the changing nature of the relations among capitals, so the political and legal mechanisms of control exercised by the state over migrant labour are subject to the changing contours of struggle between capital and labour . As conflict between capital and labour develops in any one context the relationship between a domestic and a migrant labour force may shift from total separatism and fragmentation of the workforce to the gradual incorporation of migrant workers into the established systems of labour representation . In periods of crisis, however, there is the distinct possibility that the relationship will become tainted by fears of job loss which led to the support by domestic workers of xenophobic immigration and labour recruitment policies . Both of the latter two reactions could serve to hasten changes in the methods of production or the exit of productive capital to other sources of cheap labour . In the process of interaction, capitalist competition and working-class struggle combine to shape and reshape the political forces which in turn influence labour migration and the structure of incorporation of migrant labour into the capitalist labour force .

Filipino Migrant Workers In the light of the previous theoretical discussion, a number of features of recent Filipino migration are particularly interesting . First is the fact that a large proportion of Filipino migrant workers are employed by global construction companies on massive development projects in rapidly-developing countries, suggesting that the international construction sector constitutes a significant, and perhaps growing, site of migrant labour incorporation into the capitalist labour market . Second is the changing nature of government scrutiny and involvement with the supply, recruitment and working conditions of Filipino migrant workers . (i) International construction as a site of migrant labour incorporation International construction contracting has experienced rapid growth since the late 1960s to meet the demand for the construction of large-scale infrastructural projects throughout the third world (Rimmer and Black, 1984) . Initially the sector was dominated by international corporations based in North America and Europe, but competition from Japan and from `indigenous multinationals' based in newly-industrialising countries themselves has eroded this preeminence (Rimmer and Black, 1984 : 1) . In his book on the international construction sector, Neo outlines the distinctive capital structure of the international construction contractors : [Firstly, this industry] is not as capital-intensive as compared to, say, manufacturing . Construction firms generally turn over between two and ten times their capital, whereas all industries turn over a national average of only twice their capital . Secondly, the product of construction is fixed which means that production systems have to be mobile, this includes site and area management . The industry works on an inequitable balance of the sexes, attracts transient local labour, tolerates rough physical conditions in remote locations, experiences a high turnover of site staff . . . thus reflecting a general pattern of insecurity of employment . It is mobile not only from contract to contract but from one country to another . It can easily lend itself to being ubiquitous while its existence in a country may be very brief. Since contracting projects are one-off affairs, the need to create and subsequently maintain overseas subsidiaries is less pressing than in manufacturing . Also the product is sold before it is made . The marketing function is thus less pronounced . The

The case of Filipino contract construction workers

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protection of an existing market, therefore, will assume lesser importance (1976 : 74) . From this description we can see that international construction contracting is an industry with a relatively low technical composition of capital in the production process and a high volume of turnover of money capital . A growing proportion of components of the construction process are prefabricated in a factory distant from the actual construction site, and this has meant some deskilling of the manual on-site labour force . The resultant labour process has become increasingly polarised requiring, at one end of the spectrum, building labourers and at the other, a proportion of highly-skilled professionals concerned with construction design . Given its unique demand for sitespecific skilled and unskilled labour in great numbers but for a short time, it is an industry with inherent labour supply problems . Contract migrant labour is the form of wage labour that most logically suits the construction production process as organised by internationally mobile capital . In recent years we have seen the rapid rise of an international migrant labour market which supplies the global construction industry . This market is segmented to fit the requirements of the construction division of labour : Highly qualified jobs call for scarce personnel, trained in polytechnics and universities and in professional practice in the industrialised countries . The jobs at the bottom end of the scale call for a large workforce supplied by the poor nations . The construction industry operates thanks to the conjunction of these two kinds of qualification : it is planned and directed by American, European and Japanese architects and engineers, and carried out by an army of labourers from South and South East Asia (Mechkat, 1984 : 19) . Filipino contract workers supplying the international construction labour market are largely employed in the Gulf states . The beginnings of construction labour contracting can be traced to the experience Filipino construction companies gained during the South Korean and Vietnam wars building facilities for the us army (Smart, 1982 ; Stahl, 1983) . This us connection served well in gaining access to the Saudi Arabian market where American oil companies and construction companies were well established (Stahl, 1983) . The military connection is still quite strong - many of the sites of Filipino migrant labour employment are military establishments . A large proportion of the migrants are skilled tradesmen such as carpenters and electricians . Filipino labour is in particular

Filipino Migrant Workers

demand because workers are fluent in English and are more likely to be able to converse with the professional construction elite drawn from many different nationalities . More importantly, Filipino labour is competitively priced . In 1979 Filipinos worked for 60 per cent of the wages received by South Korean labourers (Vasquez, 1984) . (It is, however, not the cheapest labour workers from Bangladesh work for half the wages received by the Filipinos .) The conditions of employment of the skilled and less skilled workers are the same . All contract workers enter an agreement to work for two years at a specified work site for a particular company . Conditions of the contract include that the workers migrate singly without spouses or families for the fixed period of two years, after which they are required to return to the Philippines to renew the work contract or reapply for overseas employment . At the conclusion of the two-year period the company is under no obligation to re-employ the labour . Migrant labour endures single-sex, labour camp living conditions in rough and remote conditions with the legal threat of dismissal if complaints are made . The company thus avoids the problems of transience which might arise with an indigenous or settled migrant labour force entitled to freedom of movement and the right to change of employment . Filipino migrant workers in the construction industry are usually employed by Filipino companies who are either directly involved in overseas construction or in supplying labour as part of a sub-contracting arrangement to a foreign construction company . Sub-contracting works as follows : The Filipino construction companies approach firms which have secured construction contracts and submit bids with regard to the supply price of different categories of labour . If they secure the labour supplying sub-contract, the Filipino construction company then hires workers and supplies them to the principal contractor . . . The difference between the sub-contract supply price and what the Filipino construction company pays the workers they supply can be significant . It is an extremely profitable operation (Stahl, 1983 : 15) . As the construction contracts have become larger and the financial situation in the Philippines more precarious, the number of indigenous construction companies able to marshal the capital flow necessary to remain in the big league of international contractors has declined . Many companies have made the switch to labour recruitment and supply . In this shift from construction company to labour merchanting the indigenous companies have been disqualified from the megaprofits to be made in the sphere

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of capitalist production and are now reliant upon the more specialised profits to be made from the exchange of labour as a commodity . As a sector of production, construction has long been an employer of migrant labour, particularly of the guest worker type (e .g . in West Germany [Austrin, 1980]) . In the case of immigrant labour in the Gulf states construction labour is employed by companies that hold contracts all over the globe, especially in the third world . The demands of international construction capital are for a cheap, mobile, easily manipulated labour force . From the perspective of the bulk of employees, the international construction sector allows no upward social or economic mobility and there is no on-the-job training beyond what is absolutely necessary to get a particular installation completed . In these features construction contracting is no different from those more labour-intensive manufacturing sectors which have traditionally been employers of what Portes (1981) has called secondary labour market migrants . What is interesting about this particular site of incorporation of migrant labour, however, is not so much the fact of employment in the construction sector but the peculiarities of employment by international construction capital . International construction contractors operate within all the circuits of capital at a global scale ; the vast quantities of finance required by these development projects can only be supplied by the international money market, technical and manual labour power is globally sourced, as are raw materials and machinery, and construction production is undertaken simultaneously at many different geographical sites . Importantly, it would appear that the mobility of international construction capital has facilitated the emergence of a new variant of the capital-migrant labour relation - embodied in a wage contract which specifies, in addition to the usual agreement to exchange labour time for a monetary sum, company control over many aspects of the individual's work and domestic life . What distinguishes this contract from that of any worker living and working in a company-owned town is that this contract is for employment in a geographical context which will always remain `foreign' to the migrant worker . Significantly, this implies that the migrant worker enters into a contract in which his or her individual rights are not directly protected by anybody independent of the company of employment . (ii) The overt state and control over incorporation The expansion of the labour export business has been ardently supported by the Philippines national government under

Filipino Migrant Workers Marcos . In effect, the Philippines Ministry of Labor has taken upon itself the task of facilitating the flow of labour out of local production and service activity and into the lap of international capital . The Philippines government offers restrictive legislative control on workers' behaviour, political rights and conditions of employment at the worksite . The contract worker must agree to abide by the laws of the host nation when it comes to termination of the contract, granting of compensation benefits and other general behaviour . In the Middle East this means that behaviour such as taking pictures without permission, staring at women, possessing any material on Israel or erotica may be punishable by Islamic law . Although the labour law of the host country must be abided by, the resolution of labour disputes is the jurisdiction of the Philippines government agency arranging recruitment, guided by the Philippines Labor Code . The penalty for troublemaking is non-renewal of passports and employment contract and removal from the list of eligible workers for overseas employment . From the perspective of the state in both places the economics of cheap labour procurement has articulated with the necessity for political stabilisation . Embedded in the labour contract are the roots of worker disenfranchisement . The economic `freedom' to sell labour power has been separated and isolated from the political freedoms of speech, assembly and organisation . In return for a dilution of the democratic rights of large numbers of Filipino nationals, the Philippines government receives significant revenue spinoffs and the political safety valve offered by the export of unemployment . In terms of revenue, Central Bank figures show that in 1983, the salary remittances of Filipino workes overseas have contributed about US$955 million to the country's foreign exchange reserves, equalled only by the dollar earnings of the export manufacturing sector (Philippines Overseas Employment Administration, 1984 : 3) . With the political events of recent months and the associated decline of Filipino export processing zones, remittances from contract workers abroad have assumed even greater importance as the only stable source of foreign exchange . What is significant about the role of the state in the case of Filipino contract construction workers is the way in which the strategies of national control have been conjoined with the requirements of international capital in the evolution of a distinctive variant of the capital-state relation . No longer a gatekeeper and regulator of capital investment and mobility on the international scene, the nation state in this case has taken upon itself

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the role of national body hire agent . In return for a commission (migrant licensing fees, departure taxes, exchange rate cuts) and political expedience (reductions in unemployment, foreign exchange earnings), the Philippines government offers international capital an appropriately docile, trained and controlled labour force . The role of the state here is very different from that of the governments of nations supplying guest workers or permanent migrants during the long boom . During this period migration was negotiated on an individual to host government level, perhaps through the mediation of an immigration department or independent labour recruiter . The benefits of the resultant migration, while certainly flowing to the capitals of the industrialised host nations, were presented as primarily accruing to the individual migrant and family whose life chances were deemed to be, at least temporarily, improved . Control of migrant labour was generally exercised covertly by the host nation state in the form of non-recognition by state and labour authorities . In the case of the Filipino contract construction workers, however, covert control by the host nation and the somewhat ad hoc benefit to national capital of a cheap and larger labour supply has been transformed into overt control by the labour supplying nation and direct and planned benefits to international capital.

Comment

Can the distinctiveness of this type of migrant stream be understood within the frameworks of existing migration theory? We have already argued that when it comes to accounting for the changing nature of population movement as a social phenomenon, existing theory is too focussed upon the migrant as such, in his or her role as economic decision-maker or pawn of the capitalist system . To take a broader view we must see the migrant worker not only as a mobile individual but also as the occupant of a series of historically changing structural locations within the capitalist system . One of the clearest statements of the economic role of migrant labour in the functioning of the capitalist system has come from Micheal Burawoy, writing within the historical-structural approach : . . . the significance of migrant labour lies in the separation of the process of maintenance and renewal, so that renewal takes place where living standards are low and maintenance takes place within easy access of employment . Thus, wages earned by migrant workers are lower than those of domestic workers, because the former require fewer resources to sustain the renewal process than the latter (1976 : 1082) .

Filipino Migrant Workers There is a considerable literature which takes up this point and empirically explores the reproduction of a cheap migrant labour force for use in capitalist production (e .g . Castles and Kosack, 1973 ; Sassen-Koob, 1980) . Much of this literature examines labour market structures characteristic of developed capital's long boom . During the postwar period which ended somewhere in the mid to late 1970s, conditions of near full employment prevailed in western economies and labour shortages were felt particularly in the labour markets supplying the least desirable jobs of industrial production . Capitalist reproduction continued seemingly unchallenged over this period and it is not surprising that social scientists interested in the structure of capitalist society emphasised social reproduction in areas such as education (Bowles and Gintis, 1976), the labour process (Braverman, 1974), labour force structure (Edwards, Reich and Gordon, 1975), and migration (Burawoy, 1976) . While most of these writers were aware of the other face of capitalism, namely its crisis-ridden nature and tendency towards structural transformation, their theory tended not to focus upon either the resistance offered by labour to capitalist control and reproduction of the status quo, or upon the structural contradictions inherent within capitalist competitive relations themselves . Significantly, it has been during the current period of capitalist upheaval (alternatively acclaimed as a crisis or a period of restructuring and rationalisation) that problems with the simple structural reproductionist model have been raised . In the migration field Bach and Schraml have criticised the view which has treated migrants as `agents' of social change only in so far as their movement either equilibrates the system or is functional to its continual expansion . Building upon Abu-Lughod's analogy between migrants and iron filings, they remonstrate : No longer metal pieces, migrants are now treated more like empty grocery carts, wheeled back and forth between origin and destination under the hungry intentions of world capital (1982 : 324) . As they imply, the migrant is rarely constituted in theory as a social being capable of non-reproductive actions . Yet migrant struggle and involvement with organised labour in actions which challenge the smooth reproduction of capitalism has clearly hastened the development of mobile productive capital and thus played a role in the global restructuring of the capital-labour relation . For today it is clear that labour migration is only one of the many mechanisms by which cheap labour is incorporated as wage

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labour into the capitalist economic system . In the current context we cannot ignore the increasingly important impact of productive capital migration as a means by which new, cheap wage labour is tapped . The cheap labour which mobile productive capital employs in export processing zones is not radically different from migrant labour . It is often from a peasant background, where the costs of upbringing have been borne . Its wages are very low by world standards, though usually higher than the host economy can offer . While fixed in geographical site, this labour has a high rate of turnover owing to the intensity of the labour processes employed ; its tenure is insecure and the right to organise is restricted while within the boundaries of the export processing zone . In the Philippines, international capital has not been slow to tap sources of cheap labour. As part of its double-pronged, integrated, economic development strategy, the Marcos regime ardently supported the growth of export-oriented industry in Filipino free trade zones along with the export of Filipino manpower . Export processing zones (EPzs) have been established in a number of locations, the oldest being Bataan, not far from Manila . The most noticeable difference between the labour force of the export processing zones and the contract migrant workforce is that of gender - while the majority of contract migrants are male, the majority of EPZ workers are female . Both workforces are young, most workers being under 35 years of age . A second obvious difference is the type of production process the workers are engaged in. Industries locating in the EPZ are `footloose' and include apparel, electronics and light industry (Vasquez, 1984) . The capital involved is largely foreign - us and Japanese - though there is a significant proportion (just over one third in the case of Bataan EPZ) of investment by Filipino capital . This local capital is usually involved with foreign transnational capital as a subsidiary, or in a joint venture, licencee or sub-contracting relation . The legal rights of the EPZ worker are significantly curtailed . Union organisation is officially banned, and a high degree of control is exerted over the personal freedoms of the young, largely female workforce . Some workers live in housing within the zone, though the majority rent rooms in boarding houses locally . Clearly, contract migrant workers have much in common with workers employed by global capital and its local subcontractors in the export processing zones of the third world . Both are migrants (internal in the case of EPZ workers and international in the case of contract workers), living at some distance from their friends and family . For each individual, the work is conceived of as temporary and objectively there is no career path offered . Both sets of workers labour under conditions

Filipino Migrant Workers of restricted personal freedom . The labour market which supplies both export processing zones and the contract labour sites with cheap labour is virtually one and the same . It is a labour market defined not in terms of the differential mobilities of labour but by the cheapness of labour and by its incorporation into capitalist employment by international production capital . That is, it is a labour market defined by the international mobility of capital in its productive form . Does this mean that any theoretical specificity attached to the concept migrant labour has disintegrated upon the emergence of truly global capital? With the creation of an international labour market by global capital, the cheapest labour can be employed in production by virtue of either capital or labour mobility (or even the mere threat of such mobility) . In the economic dimension employees of global capital are becoming increasingly undifferentiated . Whether contract migrant, worker in a third world EPZ, domestic outworker in a developed economy or peripheralised worker in an industry suffering decline or rationalisation through competition with global capital, all are subject to the same intense downward pressure upon wages and bargaining power . In the political dimension, however, the migrant worker must be specified separately . Nowhere is this more clear than in the case of the Philippines . The process of politicisation of EPZ workers and contract migrants appears to have diverged dramatically . Though both sets of workers are engaged in a collective labour process on large centralised production sites, the experience of industrial production is greatly tempered by the geographical location - whether on or off national soil . Despite restrictive conditions, workers at the Bataan EPZ have organised themselves into genuine unions and have staged several zonewide strikes . With the help of under and above ground organisations from outside the zone, the EPZ workers have become one of the most militant and well organised in the independent labour movement (Philippines Support Group, 1985 ; Vasquez, 1984) . Contrary to all expectations, the largely female workforce of the EPZ has translated their particular experience of international capital into working-class mobilisation . The barbed wire, sand bags and military checkpoints separating the EPZ from its surrounds have not been able to prevent the social and political consciencisation of its workers . By contrast, the experience of overseas contract migrants has been translated in the Philippines context into class differentiation . A recent study of returnee contract workers and their families by sociologists at the University of the Philippines noted very little politicisation of workers employed in the repressive C&C

2<3 .. ..J

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conditions of the Middle East (Bautista, 1985) . While overseas, the migrant workers are strictly prevented from organising and at the same time they are divorced from the intense political climate back home . On their return they are less involved in the daily struggles of their countrymen, are reluctant to resume employment in the local labour market, and spend much time trying to get another contract . At the village level, the most noticeable change is the differentiation which has emerged between those families with a family member overseas and those without . The `Saudi money' injected into some families has contributed to changes in the social structure . Some returnees, or their families, become money lenders, and rather than continue to farm their land they are more likely to hire farm labour or lease it in order to be free to take up another contract when and if it materialises . While the `Saudi' families experience some embourgeoisement, they can do so only while a family member continues to migrate . There is, therefore, incredible pressure upon the returnees to take up further contracts . It would seem that the political specificity of the migrant is twofold . At the international scale, the contract migrant worker is still more attractive to capital because of the complete control able to be exerted over political expression, especially in the form of union organisation and labour solidarity . On the domestic scene, the contract migrant worker is likely to be insulated from politicisation over local issues by the continual pressure or attraction of escape and the eternal hope of permanent emigration .

Conclusion

In this paper we have argued that the descriptive category `migrant' is a useful tool of analysis when mobility is specified not just spatially but in terms of economic location within a structured system of production and in terms of political location within a framework of individual rights and freedoms . To focus upon the individual aspects of the migration experience, as does equilibrium theory, and upon the broad contours of its economic function, as does historical-structural theory, is to miss the characteristics of its economic specificity but, more importantly, it is to depoliticise the whole process whereby capital creates and maintains its labour supply . We suggest that the dimensions of economic and political location which also define the category `migrant' can be elicited by examining the historically specific sites of incorporation of migrant wage labour into the capitalist system and the way in which these sites have been created by the interplay of capital-labour and capital-capital relations on a global scale, along with the unique and changing mechanisms of political control to which migrant labour is subjected . Who migrates, and

Filipino Migrant Workers

where they migrate to, is thus explained by the changing nature of capitalist production and in particular the way in which capitalist competition affects the technical compositions of different industrial sectors ; whereas the conditions under which migrants work and live are explained by the covert or overt nature of state involvement in the capital-migrant labour relation . The recent emergence of contract labour migration as reported in the Philippines case is of both theoretical and political importance . It suggests evidence of a new structural location for migrant workers in the global construction industry, replacing traditional sites in labour-intensive manufacturing and augmenting continuing sites in the service sector . Moreover, it represents yet another step towards overcoming barriers to the internationalisation of labour in conjunction with capital . In this development, the role of the capitalist state is transparent . Contract migration is organised and legitimated by the Philippines government in its role as an agent for global capital . Increasingly, the state-labour relation has become the primary contradiction for international migrants and internal migrants to the export processing zones alike . Considering the significance of revenues generated by contract migrants for the state and the migrants' families, it will be interesting to monitor in the coming months the changes to labour legislation, particularly with respect to contract labour migration, instituted by the new Aquino government .

Acknowledgements We would like to acknowledge the Department of Human Geography, Research School of Pacific Studies, at the Australian National University, which provided support in 1982 for K . Gibson to conduct the initial field work in Manila and Hong Kong upon which this paper is based . During this first trip documents were collected and interviews with 100 contract workers were conducted . In connection with this research, we would like to thank Geozita Haygood, Yasmin Jose and Kathy Mackie for research assistance . A subsequent visit to Manila in late 1985 enabled further research to be conducted, and we would like to thank Cynthia Bautista, Randolph David, Francisco Nemenzo and Noel Vasquez for their comments and interest . Finally, for their theoretical and editorial assistance, we would like to thank Rochelle Ball, David Tait and Mike Cowen .

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References

Abu-Lughod J . (1975) `Comments : the end of the age of innocence', in B . Du Toit and H . Safa (eds), Migration and Urbanization (Mouton Publishers). Austin T . (1980) `The "lump" in the UK construction industry', in T . Nicols (ed .), Capital and Labour, A Marxist Primer (Fontana Paperbacks) . Bach R .L . and Schraml L .A . (1982) `Migration, crisis and theoretical conflict', International Migration Review 16, 2 . Bautista C . (1985) Department of Sociology, University of the Philippines, Diliman, personal communication . Birks J . S . & Sinclair C .A . (1980) International Migration and Development in the Arab Region (International Labour Office) . Bohning W .R . (1982) Foreword to Contract migration policies in the Philippines, by L .I . Lazo, V .A . Teodisio and P .A . Sto . Tomar, International Migration for Employment Working Paper (International Labour Organization) . Bowles S . & Gintis H . (1976) Schooling in Capitalist America (Basic Books) . Braverman H . (1974) Labor and Monopoly Capital (Monthly Review Press) . Burawoy M . (1976) `The functions and reproduction of migrant labour : comparative material from Southern Africa and the United States', American Journal of Sociology 81 . Burawoy M . (1980) `Migrant labor in South Africa and the Us', in T . Nicols (ed .), Capital and Labour, A Marxist Primer (Fontana Paperbacks) . Castells M . (1975) `Immigrant workers and class struggles in advanced capitalism : the Western European experience', Politics and Society 5, 1 . Castles S . & Kosack G . (1973) Immigrant Workers and Class Structure in Western Europe (Oxford University Press) . Ecevit Z .H . (1981) `International labour migration in the Middle East and North Africa : trends, effects and policies', in M . Kritz, C .B . Keely & S . M . Tomasi (eds), Global Trends in Migration : Theory and Rsearch on International Population Movements (Centre for Migration Studies). Edwards R ., Reich M . & Gordon D . (1975) Labor Market Segmentation (D .C . Heath) . Fisher L .H . (1951) `The harvest labor market in California', Quarterly Journal of Economics 65 . Gosling P . & Lim L . (1984) `The labour train in S .E . Asia : "stopping at all stations" ', Euro-Asia Business Review 3, 2 . Mechkat C . (1984) `Production of architecture, concentration of capital and labour migration in the Persian Gulf, translated by Susan Greenoff, Production of the Built Environment Working Paper 3, Bartlett International Summer School, University College London . Neo R . B . (1976) International Construction Contracting : a critical investigation into certain aspects of financing, capital planning and cash flow effects (Gower Press) . Philippines Overseas Employment Administration (1984) Annual Report. Philippines Support Group (1985) Genuine Trade Unionism in the Philippines, Report of the UK Philippines Support Group Trade Union Committee Delegation, London .

Filipino Migrant Workers

Portes A . (1981) `Modes of structural incorporation and present theories of labour immigration', in M . Kritz, C .B . Keely and S .M . Tomasi (eds), Global Trends in Migration: Theory and Research on International Population Movements (Centre for Migration Studies) . Rimmer P . & Black J . (1984) `Japanese, Korean and Filipino international construction contractors, structure and performance', Development Studies Centre Working Paper 44 (Australian National University) . Sassen-Koob S . (1980) `The internationalisation of the labor force', Studies in Comparative International Development 5 . Smart J . E . (1982) `Saudi demand for Filipino workers : labour migration issues in the Middle East', Asian and Pacific Census Forum 9, 1 . Smart J .E ., Teodosio V .A . & Jimanez C .J . (1984) `Skills and earnings : issues in the developmental impact of Middle East employment of the Philippines', paper presented at The Conference on Asian Labour Migration to the Middle East September, Honolulu : East-West Population Institute. Stahl C .W . (1983) `International labour migration and the ASEAN economies', Asean-Australian Economic Relations Project Working Paper (Australian National University) . Tsakok I . (1982) `The export of manpower from Pakistan to the Middle East, 1975-1985', World Development 10, 4 . Vasquez N . (1984) `The impact of the new international division of labour on ASEAN labour: the Philippines case', unpublished PhD, University of Sussex, Brighton . Wood C .H . (1982) `Equilibrium and historical-structural perspectives on migration', International Migration Review 16, 2 . World Bank (1980) World Development Report, Washington .

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Scott MacWilliam

Much has been asserted about the comprador status of the bourgeoisie in Africa and the way it has been blackenised at the behest of old colonial powers and new international agencies such as the World Bank . Scott Mac William takes up this issue which has been extended to Australia's former colony of Papua New Guinea to show whether and how an indigenous bourgeoisie is capable of subverting the strategy of the World Bank in promoting smallscale production, especially in agriculture . Mac William argues that money capital which is advanced as loans to schemes based on peasant production can become finance to propel the accumulation propensities of indigenous capitalists . Equally, he concludes, the small-scale basis of production blocks the further acquisition of land by the local capitalist class.

International capital, indigenous accumulation and the state in Papua New Guinea : the case of the Development Bank

THE POLITICAL economy of Papua New Guinea has been situated previously according to the prevailing ideas of the 1960s and 1970s . Typically, since indigenous ruling classes were described as only a pale reflection of a `real bourgeoisie', neither their pre-capitalist origins nor present condition could allow them to be designated as other than compradors . Whether as a bureaucratic bourgeoisie, a national bourgeoisie or as comprising an educated petty bourgeoisie/rich peasant alliance, the function of indigenous rulers was seen as a front for the continued domination by international capital . Multinationals and the compradors subjugated a small South Pacific nation-state of approximately three million people in conditions typical of the `Third World' (Amarshi, Good and Mortimer, 1979 ; Donaldson, 1980 ; Donaldson and Turner, 1978 ; Fitzpatrick, 1980a, 1980b) . Largely related to the continued reliance upon budgetary aid from the former colonial power of Australia, the post-colonial state is described as expressing a fundamental continuity with its predecessor (Donaldson, 1980) . Formal independence in 1975, after two years of self-government, did not represent a major shift in the character of the state . With the compradors firmly enmeshed in international alliances, state power continued to be exercised against the national interest . Furthermore, the purpose of state apparatuses which were established in the passages of transition between colonial and post-colonial states, was to main-

•

Papua New Guinea tain this continuity . Transformations in the structure of the state, like changes in the composition of the power bloc, merely resulted in new means for the existing pattern of domination to be maintained . In some respects, the basis for a critique of this position has been developed already for other cases . There are also accounts of Papua New Guinea (PNG) which provide documentation for the fact that indigenous accumulation of means of production, and thus the possible basis for the formation of indigenous capital, preceded independence (Epstein, 1979 ; Finney, 1973 ; Salisbury, 1970) . More recently, it has been suggested that major struggles of the transition represented tussles within the class of indigenous capital to secure areas of state power (MacWilliam, 1985a) . A forthcoming study details that in the Highlands region, international and settler forms of capital were rapidly pushed out of one arena after another, in the processing and marketing of the most important agricultural export commodity, coffee (MacWilliam, forthcoming) . The present paper develops, the critique of the prevailing position in two directions . Through locating a source of money capital in one state apparatus, the Development Bank,' I describe a means by which the class of primitive accumulators was transformed into indigenous capital . Displacing the settlers from ownership of land and other assets could not occur through crude expropriation tactics when the major political problem of the late colonial period was a growing revolt of the landless . Most prominent in the Gazelle Peninsula, where they forced even the largest plantation companies on the defensive, the squatters also threatened the indigenous class of capital by raising the banner of land to the tiller. These appeals set one form of property right against another, and the squatters opposed the central right of the aspirations of the indigenous bourgeoisie, to accumulate land as a means of production rather than to possess land as the basis of meeting consumption requirements . Furthermore, when a substantial proportion of state revenues came from Australian aid grants, and given that the major international companies which were also threatened had leverage in metropolitan politics, only a buy-out of local assets was ever possible as the initial strategy of the indigenous bourgeoisie . Loans provided the means by which local forms of capital pushed out expatriate and other capitalists in the late colonial and post-colonial periods . But the international source of loans is not sufficient to maintain that the resulting accumulation is to be characterised as the actions of a dependent class, or the ruling class as compradors . While there is no simple fit between the spatial quality of capitals, and the badges of race and ethnicity which attach to companies, Development Bank

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loans provided an important source of the money capital advanced after 1967 and promoted accumulation within the colony and subsequently nation of PNG . Secondly, along parallel lines to previous studies of Kenya (Cowen and Kinyanjui, 1977 ; Cowen, 1979, 198 1 a, 198 1 b, 1982, 1983, 1984) and Tanzania (Mueller, 1981), I construct an account of a further clash between indigenous and international capital in PNG . The contest over the structure and policies of the Development Bank/Agbank stems from the opposition between two forms of production in the countryside, and distinct periods of capital accumulation . In many rural areas, particularly the coffee-growing region of the Highlands, as well as the major copra-cocoa provinces of East New Britain and North Solomons, the ambitions of indigenous capitalists are opposed by household producers . Having taken over numerous largeholdings established by settler families and international companies in the colonial period, the further growth of indigenous capital in agricultural production is now inhibited by barriers of household producers (MacWilliam, 1985b) . An expansion of smallholdings, producing coffee and cocoa in particular, begun in the 1950s and 1960s under the stimulus of state policies and merchant capital, has accelerated in the last two decades as an expression of the relation of international money capital, coordinated through a range of government departments and state agencies . What appeared as a simple tussle over the uses of Development Bank funds and state revenues, between the political representatives of the indigenous bourgeoisie and the World Bank, with Asian Development Bank, was underpinned by an important question . The question is whether the funds are to constitute one form of money capital, central to the accumulation prospects of an indigenous class of capital, or provide a means by which peasant households are subjugated to capital . Contrary to one account (Donaldson and Turner, 1978), there is no continuity between colonial and post-colonial practices on bank lending where practice is a matter of racial definition . Rather than the Development Bank fuelling the accumulation of expatriates, barriers were erected against expatriates and indigenes favoured to a spectacular extent . Further, if practices are defined by whether loans constitute money capital requirements of the indigenous bourgeoisie or capital for expanded household production, the outstanding quality of the post-independence shift towards indigenous borrowers illustrates the success of indigenous capitalists in turning the Bank to their own purposes . With minimal additional revenues committed to the Development Bank's funds out of

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annual national budgest, the use of state power by the indigenous class of capital in turn provoked a reaction by agencies of international capital . 2 The conflict between the representatives of the bourgeoisie and international banks peaked after the election of the government led by Prime Minister Michael Somare in mid1982, and resulted in threats to halt all further loans . The threats were incited by proposals, stemming from election commitments, to restructure the Bank through a sell-off of major assets and the provision of loans through a new Agriculture, Housing and Industry (AHI) Bank . 3 The new Bank opens up the possibility that the priority of agricultural production can be combined with the prevailing accumulation project of the leading edge of the bourgeoisie, associated with both import substituting and exportoriented forms of manufacturing. It is highly likely that there will be a prolonged tussle over the definition of rural projects, so that funds are provided for the establishment of processing and other factories geared to primary commodities . Circuits of capital and ownership of companies

A previous account of the Development Bank concentrated on whether loan policies fostered the accumulation of indigenes, or international capital and expatriates . Donaldson and Turner (1978 : 46-48) concluded, on the basis of loans for one year, 1975, that the first Somare government in power was, through state institutions, ` . . . fostering foreign control of the economy, and furthermore, the state is most actively fostering not manufacturing, nor agriculture, but commerce . Both in what they lend money for, and in whom they lend money to, government agencies are fostering dependency' . It is clear from the vantage point of 1985, that Development Bank lending practices after 1975 were certainly governed by the racial or ethnic badges worn by borrowers . As Table 1 shows, the break has been spectacular and by 1980, all loans to non-nationals had ceased . Similarly it will be shown later that Donaldson and Table 1 Papua New Guinea Development Bank loan approvals to Papua New Guineans as proportion of total loans 1967-1983 1967-75 (A) Amount of loans to Papua New Guineans (A$m) (B) Total loans (A$m) (C) A/B Source : Development Bank Annual Reports

21 .5 49 .0 44 .0%

1975-83 128 .3 137 .3 93 .5%

Papua New Guinea

Turner's choice of 1975 was unfortunate, at best, in respect to suggesting any long-term trend of loans towards industrial `sectors' . However, it is not simply empirical refutation but conceptual clarification which is required if central elements of the prevailing argument are to be challenged . Underlying both alternatives, international and expatriate capitals on the one hand, or indigenous on the other, is the idea of Development Bank loans as solely one form of money capital . It is necessary, firstly, to distinguish between two forms of advances of money capital, where the second constitutes loans made to engage households as a form of labour's subjection to capital, in circumstances which are not identical with those described by the first, earlier circuit of productive capital, specified originally by Marx (1976) . Secondly, it is important to deal with the claim that even where money capital is advanced to indigenes, it cannot, and does not, expand accumulation within the national state . As Donaldson has claimed, on the basis of a study of shareholding in companies, which was conceded as a `rather inadequate measure' : A group of capitalists who own a mere 10% of the shares in the businesses in their own country are powerless enough, but when it is considered that some (presumably large?) proportion of these shares are minority holdings in foreign businesses, they are revealed as even more powerless, i .e . as essentially comprador . In addition, the areas in which they invest are essentially unproductive areas . Commerce, finance and real estate do not create jobs, nor do they increase the wealth of the nation . These areas of investment are essentially non-productive, being concerned more with the circulation of already existing wealth than the creation of products either for the domestic market or export (1980 : 82) . The problem which this formulation conceals is that members of the indigenous class of capital may have seen the takeover of the spheres as central to a well-defined accumulation strategy, providing `cash flow' for subsequent moves into production (MacWilliam, 1985a) . Moreover it is because circuits of capital are either defined by the race/nationality of company shareholders, or the location of a head office, that the question of capital's capacity to propel accumulation, within the `peripheral' nation-state is determined . Yet no such determination holds : an international manufacturing capital is not automatically distinct from a national form of capital on these grounds (cf . Leys, 1978 ; Leys and Borges, 1980 ; Leys, 1982a, 1982b) . This is because accumulation, the production of surplus value, occurs within all

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circuits of productive capital . It is not even possible to conclude, on an a priori basis, that either mass or rate of surplus value is greater or higher within international rather than national or regional capitals . For mass and rate are not territorial qualities of capitals but expressions of surplus labour time produced . Furthermore, and most importantly, `the wealth of the nation' is not reducible to the wealth of the national capitalists where these wear particular racial or ethnic badges . This point requires clarification through the distinction between capitals and companies, as well as the moments of production, realisation and appropriation of commodities . Only by separating out questions of locii of circuits, and ownership/control of companies, will it be possible to deal with the proposition, implicit in Donaldson and Turner (1978) that the Development Bank did not and could not, fuel the accumulation of capital on a national scale of reckoning. Money capital and In Capital, Marx described a means by which capital subjected production labour to its demands, firstly without altering the labour process inherent in previous forms of production and/or separating workers from ownership of means of consumption, and then, later, by doing both . The first was termed the formal subsumption of labour to capital, the second real subsumption . Under the specific historical circumstances Marx drew upon, the abstractions of formal and real subsumption also took on a temporal quality . Thus : It [the process which constitutes the production of relative surplus value : SM] requires a specifically capitalist mode of production, a mode of production which, along with its methods, means and conditions, arises and develops spontaneously on the basis of the formal subsumption of labour under capital . This formal subsumption is then replaced by a real subsumption (Marx, 1976 : 645) . Real followed formal in one conjuncture : in Marx's case, the transition to capitalism in England . However the abstractions do not depend upon any one set of historical conditions, nor do they propose any automatic movement between the two forms . In PNG, the most recent form of capital which subjugates labour to the necessity of surplus value production does so without separating workers from land, and other means of consumption . It is not an early form of manufacturing, but money capital advanced by state agencies such as the Development Bank . This form of production takes place upon the basis of loans advanced to peasant producers to expand production . In Papua New Guinea, initially, there were substantial funds for oil palm

Papua New Guinea

growers in West New Britain and cattle smallholdings in other provinces . More recently, from the late 1970s, replanting and extensive new plantings of cocoa, coffee and more oil palm have taken place in several regions including the Highlands, Islands and Sepik, on smallholdings' land . Loans for seedlings, fertilisers, insecticides and vehicles press a lengthened and intensified working day upon producers who receive constant supervision, incessant exhortation to raise productivity, as well as coordination from state bureaucrats and private management personnel . The subsumption of labour to capital, under either the earlier or more recent form, is precisely what it meant by capitalist production . As has been shown for Kenya by Cowen, and for Papua New Guinea (MacWilliam, 1984a, 1985b), the major contemporary conflicts in the countryside are underpinned by the clash between two forms of production which derive from distinct historical periods . One of the themes which recurs throughout this paper is that a major function of the Development Bank was to expand accumulation of capital within PNG . While the point is perhaps obvious where loans stimulated the production of tree crops (coffee, cocoa, palm oil) in households, which in turn as exports contributed to the national balance of payments, it is less so for those funds advanced as money capital to the bourgeoisie . These loans, as Donaldson and Turner (1978) have argued, benefitted international and expatriate companies, at least until the early postcolonial period . The central purpose for which the Bank was established, by their account and beneath the rhetoric about fuelling indigenous accumulation, was to meet the requirements of these predominant companies . A fundamental continuity in the state was maintained, they insist . Even laying aside the post-1975 shift, and the significant proportion of loans to indigenes before independence, as indicated in Table 1, this distinction of capitals according to the race and ethnicity of directors and shareholders in companies conflates a number of issues which must be disentangled . Only by so doing will it be possible to respond to the central theme raised by dependency theorists : that money capital advanced to international and expatriate capitals is necessarily antithetical to accumulation within the colony/nation . To show that there is no simple attachment of particular companies to specific circuits of capital, I first take the case of productive capital . The expansion of value which is the necessary condition of capital occurs through a circuit M --- C . . . P C' - - - M', which is one of production and reproduction as capital, or the unity of production and valorisation (Marx, 1976) .

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(The circuit of merchant capital, based upon unequal exchange, is M - - - C --- M' where money M, is advanced to buy commodities C, in turn sold for M', or the original sum of money plus the surplus value which accrues as capital at the end of the circuit .) What terms like international manufacturing capital ascribe to this circuit is the space occupied in the act of production and reproduction of capital as value-in-motion : international capital valorises on an international circuit, national capital on a national circuit, and regional capital regionally (Bryan, 1984) . Similarly, international merchant capital is the form in which the movement of capital, as value-in-motion or self-expanding value, occurs through the internationally ascribed circuit M --C - - - M' . The totality of these individual capitals, or the aggregate of the circuits, where aggregation is a contradictory unity, is the circuit of total (global) social capital (Bryan, 1985) . This description of the capitalist form of wealth is logically prior to the description of the means of appropriation by particular capitalists . The priority is established because the relation of competition between individual capitals provides the cement for capital accumulation in general, a social entity where the forms by which particular capitalists appropriate particular shares of the socially created wealth arise from and are contained by the totality of capital. While individual capitals comprise the forms of production and realisation of capital as well as appropriation, there is no neat line between the production and valorisation of capital, and appropriation within any individual enterprise, company or firm, as the popular forms of capital are known . For individual enterprises, appropriation does not equal either some amount of surplus value produced by a specific manufacturing capital or that amount realised through a merchant capital's sales to consumers . Accumulation by specific capitalists, out of the total pool of surplus value, takes place through competition which establishes rates of profit for capitals ; the cement or cohesive force of competition also divides all capitalists, setting each at the other's throat . The primary juridical form taken by the enterprise, whether in Papua New Guinea or elsewhere, is the company . The juridical form only approximates to, in a manner subject to many determinations including state practices adjudicating the competition between capitalists, the earlier concept of circuits of capital . The usual practice, and one which plays a major part of inciting all manner of criticisms of practices such as transfer pricing, is for an interlocking web of companies which guard the interests of one set of accumulators from either or both the assaults of others or the taxation apparatuses of national states . This web is joined to facilitate both the circuits of productive and

Papua New Guinea

merchant capital as part of the production and realisation of capital as a whole, and to ensure that appropriation at a maximum rate of profit secures the continued existence of particular capitalists . Appropriation through companies by capitalists of a particular description such as nationality conforms to specific cases where, for instance, national companies with operations conducted on a national scale maximise profit rates for one set of capitalists . However the total social capital is a global aggregation . While companies do not appropriate a share of surplus value according to their own productive `output', it is also the case that these do not represent forms of appropriation of surplus value produced on a particular terrain . Companies, whatever their territoriality, are in competition for part of the social surplus produced globally . Furthermore, and however much it is accurate to say that commerce, finance and real estate are not productive, it is incorrect to conclude that these activities do not `increase the wealth of the nation' (Donaldson, 1980 : 82) . For where wealth represents appropriation of surplus labour time, as in capitalism, all modes of appropriation express wealth whether or not they constitute forms of increasing the total social capital . The takeover of areas of retail trade in PNG comprised both a strategy for particular capitalists and for the class of indigenous capitals as a whole, as well as political allies in the petty bourgeoisie, to increase their wealth as shares of the total global social capital. It is another matter whether this is to be applauded or, indeed, advocated . Yet advances of money capital for the indigenous bourgeoisie were not confined to promoting their movement into unproductive spheres . Loans, including those from the Development Bank, played a major role in the rapid takeover of plantations and estates . It is important, therefore, to show how such a shift in race/nationality of company ownership (i .e . directors and shareholders) represented this particular form of increasing the wealth of the nation . As already noted, the first meaning attached to capitals is a circuit described in the act of production and valorisation ; the spatial quality of capital (international, national, regional) is uppermost . Capitals as self-expanding value constitute accumulation upon a particular space, such as nation-states . The transition from primitive to capitalist accumulation in Papua New Guinea, from the late nineteenth century onwards, occurred as a particular unity of capitals . The period considered here, after World War II, is one in which this unity contains a specific flavour : for the first time, an indigenous class of capital was involved in changing circuits through joint-stock companies of various forms .

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The involvement was secured, first and foremost, through a particular alteration in the circuits of capital : international companies in agriculture which started production through money capital raised upon British and Australian stock exchanges, and then subsequently paid dividends to shareholders dispersed world-wide, were displaced by companies occupying national, or more usually regional, circuits . International sources of money capital were replaced by sources within the colony/nation-state, in particular state institutions such as the Papua New Guinea Banking Corporation and the Development Bank . Whether or not these financial institutions were also involved in international circuits of banking capital, their advances in Papua New Guinea meant the displacement of one form of capital, international, by others, national and regional, as the predominant form of production in key commodities, especially coffee . As I emphasise below, this break in the circuits was accompanied by the takeover of international companies, headquartered in overseas cities, and of those erected by resident Europeans, usually known in Papua New Guinea as expatriates to cover a range of national origins . The latter companies were based predominantly in the colony, though occasionally in the late colonial period, a company formed in PNG was linked to a holding company registered elsewhere, such as Sydney, Melbourne and London . While the insecurities of the political transition between colonial and national states played an obvious part in these international moves, access to sources of money capital was facilitated also by placing companies on stock exchanges in major centres, since Papua New Guinea was then, and still is, without an exchange . Enlarged requirements of money capital signified the fact that the changes in the intersection of circuits were linked to the growing centralisation of capital . Furthermore, the subsequent takeover of companies, especially those engaged in the marketing of agricultural commodities, provides a salutary warning against any easy reading of indigenous as implying simply national or regional . Although the indigenous class of capital still largely represents accumulation upon internal (national and regional) circuits, since the late 1970s at least it has not been confined to internal exchange . The acquisition of the major coffee marketing company, Angco, first through the national state's Investment Corporation, then subsequently privatised in extending shareholdings to indigenes, highlights the international reach of the class (MacWilliam, forthcoming) . Accompanying moves through large joint-stock companies, the bourgeoisie continue to invest via family and small joint-stock companies in other South Pacific and South-East Asian nations, including Australia and New Zealand . The takeover of estates

Papua New Guinea and plantations in some regions, particularly the Highlands, also indicated a further centralisation of capital . However indigenisation of ownership did not have uniform effects across PNG, particularly in regions of copra-cocoa largeholdings . In such areas, important barriers to further concentration of holdings were in place before the ascendancy of indigenous capital to a greater measure of state power (MacWilliam, 1985b) . If the change in the forms of productive capital represents the continuity of accumulation in the capitalist mode, the general appropriation of surplus labour-time as surplus value or wealth, what share of this is appropriated by the indigenous class of capital? Apart from drawing attention to the rather odd concern which underlies the question, the health of one or other faction of capitalists' appropriation, very little can be said here . However in PNG, since the mid-1970s at least, the indigenous bourgeoisie moved against expatriate and international companies through takeovers, mergers, joint ventures and new companies . The sustained onslaught, no less such because it has occurred without any major political break so far with the former colonial power (MacWilliam, 1984b), arose from and contributed to a realignment of capitals . Since World War II, accumulation of capital in PNG has occurred through a range of private and state forms . During the late colonial period from 1945 to the early seventies, and under the sway of social democratic politics in Australia, colonial policy was directed towards more state intervention in production . At the same time, successive colonial governments sought to block the advance of a class of capital that reproduced through circuits internal to the colony . Some of the central political conflicts of the late colonial and post-colonial years have revolved around removing barriers erected against indigenous accumulation . Unlike in the colonial period when expatriates had briefly held ambitions to become leading elements of a national class of capital, this conflict is now expressed as blackenising the bourgeoisie . Prior to the war, the colonial administration made spasmodic efforts to expand production . However, with Australian strategic-political considerations uppermost in a period dominated by the long depression and attendant downturn in commodity prices, it was the major merchant companies which stimulated production . 4 In addition to the plantations, another form of largeholding was significant from the end of the nineteenth century to the early 1960s (Downs, 1980 ; Finney, 1973 ; Robson, 1979 ; Stuart, 1977) . These were estates, on which the labour process was coordinated by the individual owner(s) of the holding, C&C

1

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who invariably resided there as well, at least after initial planting was secured by coupling wage/salaried employment with establishing the estate . The plantations were run by managers, employees of the owning companies, who also frequently lived upon the holding . Occasionally, employment was seen as the precursor to obtaining skills, savings and contact with state officials who could facilitate access to leases for uncleared or partly cleared land which formed the basis of a new estate (Stuart, 1977) . After World War II, the leading role of the state apparatus was firmly established . Whether under the direction of a Labor Government (1946-49), or successive Liberal-Country Party coalitions (1949-72) in Australia, state policies were designed to develop roads and bridges, extend primary, then secondary and subsequently tertiary education, and raise health standards through hospitals plus rural aid posts . Extension services promoted indigenous cash crop production . Under state direction, merchant companies bolstered by estate and plantation plantings of coffee, coconuts and cocoa, expanded into new regions, particularly the Highlands which was in the process of being opened up for the first time (Lam, 1984) . The pace of expansion which coincided with the thrust of the global post-war long boom, was considerable (Cartledge, 1978) . Furthermore, as Downs (1980 : 290) indicates : `By 1968 almost half of the land under commercial agriculture was cultivated by Papuans and New Guineans . Their holdings contributed nearly 40 per cent of the total value of cash crop production' . This growth was not confined to smallholdings as the five-year programme of 1968 placed `larger holdings in indigenous hands' (Finney, 1973) . Downs (a former district administrator, former President of the Highlands and Farmers and Settlers Association, foundation chairman of the Coffee Marketing Board in 1964, and managing director of companies with important coffee interests) was particularly well placed to recognise the future significance of indigenous production . He and other captains of expatriate companies knew long before the 1965 World Bank mission's report, which urged policies of indigenisation, how economic advance was propelled by the twin necessities of blackenising the larger holdings and expanding household production . The planting of settler estates, which started in the Highlands mainly after a brief land rush between May 1952 and late 1953, was checked amidst fears of its resulting in a `second Kenya', where the Mau Mau revolt had begun (Finney, 1973 : 45-48) ; administration officers in the colony, who had encouraged the settlers, were over-ridden by Canberra. From the 1960s, a new policy was implemented whereby land was alienated for tea and

Papua New Guinea

oil palm largeholdings . In general, this meant the `nucleus estate' form, where a core plantation was surrounded by smallholders whose production was processed at the central factory . Implicit in the policy was a barrier to small private capitalists, whether settler or indigenous . However, the settler move into coffee in the Highlands was instrumental in securing a space which could later be occupied by indigenous capital . At the same time, the distribution of seedlings to `native' growers, when coupled with the attentions of merchant capitals, stimulated a state response to encourage further smallholder plantings . The consequence was that in 1962, when oversupply on world markets led to a revised International Coffee Agreement (ICA) and moves were undertaken to prevent new plantings of coffee bushes in major producer countries, no such barrier against expansion in production was erected in Papua New Guinea . Under the terms of the ICA, PNG as a Trust Territory of the UN, was given a special export quota which would allow further plantings of coffee bushes to facilitate general economic development objectives . The colony's quota was calculated through a formula permitting the Territory's exports to be netted with imports into the metropole by companies based in Australia, producing and marketing a range of coffees for consumption there . Once again, accumulation in the metropole was not antithetical to accumulation in the colony (Cartledge, 1978 : chs 8-15) . As a result, smallholder acreages almost quadrupled between 1962 and 1970, while continuing plantings on largeholdings, mostly leased but not fully developed in the 1950s, expanded production on these by one-half, from 10,300 to 15,000 acres . In the North Solomons and East New Britain, there were similar rapid increases in household production of cocoa, and to a lesser extent coconuts (Epstein, 1968 ; Moulik, 1977 ; Treadgold, 1978 ; Ward, 1975) . With an initial quota in excess of current coffee production, plus subsequent expansion in world demand and the continuation of state policies blocking further large-scale alienations in the Highlands, conditions were ripe for a speedy growth of smallholder production which now accounts on average for 70 per cent of total PNG production . The imposition of limits upon further leases of largeholdings for coffee, combined with the effect of other state policies, such as the 1959 introduction of income tax, stimulated the tendency for large capitals to replace small : estates were combined as family firms disappeared, and a range of joint stock companies oversaw the further centralisation of estate holdings into plantations during the 1960s . At this point, the most astute of the expatriate directors began to open shareholdings in their com-

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panes to indigenes . In several cases, the strategy both provided injections of money capital and then facilitated defensive moves to fend off the dramatic takeover of the remaining estates and many plantations which occurred between 1971 and 1979 . In this burst, three major indigenous companies acquired 18 holdings over just four years (1975-1979) from non-national interests in the Eastern Highlands Province alone (Donaldson, 1980 : 82) . These had been previously operated through a much larger number of settler estate and plantation companies . By 1985, even Steamships, one of the largest international companies operating in PNG, has been pushed out of its coffee plantations in the province where indigenising of ownership for over 50 holdings is almost complete . In pushing forward export tree cropping by indigenes, and so blocking settler ambitions, the appropriate explanation by social democrats in the Australian government was to propose a defence of small over large property . In the context of the 1960s, the ideology of small property rights covered the space through which the indigenous class of capital squeezed as the gate was closed ever more certainly against expatriate expansion . Hasluck, the Minister for Territories between 1951 and 1963, expressed the point perfectly in a 1959 debate in the Australian parliament when under censure from back-bench members of his own party who sought to advance the expatriate cause in the Territory . He said : The liberal respect for property is a respect for small property no less than a respect for a large property . . . and, applying liberal principles to Papua and New Guinea, I assert that the private enterprise of every native villager is just as sacred to liberalism as is the private enterprise of any European (Hasluck, 1978 : 217-218) . What the categories of large and small conceal, as does the accompanying preoccupation with race and ethnicity, is whether the property rights so defended are means to reproduce consumption or means to guarantee accumulation of capital . While colonial policies after the war had sought to constrain settler accumulation of land, and imposed labour laws which limited the length of time workers in wage labour could be continuously employed without returning to their rural `places of origin', barriers against indigenous capitalists were harder to erect . Transition to political

independence

As the anti-colonial movement gathered pace in international forums, and there were increased pressures within Australia to

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hasten independence as well, the question of `preparing' the indigenous population for this development was pushed to the fore. Thus in the 1960s, with the colonial government anxious to tout, in annual reports to the United Nations, its contribution to constitutional advance, an unintended consequence of state policy was to ease the transformation of a class of primitive accumulators into indigenous capital . 5 In part, this was because the expansion of wage jobs, particularly within the colonial state, opened up the possibility of straddling between wage employment and accumulation of land plus the hiring of labour . Conditions in the late 1960s, including the establishment of the Development Bank, gave the class's prospects a further substantial boost . Yet much of what had gone before undercut the formation of capital, whether expatriate or indigenous, which was reproduced through circuits within the colony . The expansion of the colony's post-war economy was predicated upon state forms of production (education, health, roads and bridges), and international merchant companies, especially the `Big Three', Burns Philp, Carpenters and Steamships . The central state role required a continuing rapid rate of growth in expenditures : between 1959 and 1969, the total gross expenditure of the colonial state rose from $A35m to $A150m (Downs, 1980, table 9 .1) . Grants-in-aid by the Australian government expanded from $A4m to $A96m between 1947 and 1970 (Oran, 1973 : 6) . This in turn brought increasing pressures to expand the revenue base of the colony, through promoting export and domestic food crops, and imposing taxes on income at the same time as easing those on exports . However, the share of revenues from internal sources barely climbed from 33 per cent in 1960 to 37 per cent in 1968 (Downs, 1980 : 320) . Concomitantly, shortages of skilled labour within the colony led to international recruitment, particularly from countries such as Australia which faced tight labour markets . Wage rates higher than those prevailing in Australia were necessary to obtain workers for jobs, many of which were within the rapidly enlarged colonial state . While the political effect of prevailing labour market conditions was to later provoke confrontations with indigenous skilled/ supervisory workers in state employment, the economic consequences were to increase demands for import substituting manufactured goods, and make the expatriate presence indispensable for the tax base . The appeals for moves towards wage parity between indigenes and expatriate workers resulted in a major industrial loss for expatriates when the colonial official hearing the 1965 Local Government Officers' case ruled for a minimal increase in wages, leaving differentials with expatriates intact . Nevertheless, it provided an immediate stimulus for the

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political organisation of a nationalist front, led by a later prime minister Michael Somare, then a union official and radio announcer with the colonial information service (Somare, 1978) . The efficacy of this political bloc, coordinated through the PANGU Party, was enhanced by the underlying trend to indigenisation of state posts : by 1969, 65 per cent of jobs within the public services were filled by Papua New Guineans (Oran, op . cit . : 6). The party's formation, and subsequent radical nationalism, pushed key factions within the indigenous bourgeoisie even closer to groupings of expatriate businessmen and politicians, especially in the Highlands and Islands regions . The emerging class of capital could be branded as conservative with their most prominent representatives initially excluded or subjugated by the more radical edge of the petty bourgeoisie . The significance of the 1972 election, which preceded self-government, was that with no one party gaining sufficient seats to take office alone, a coalition was stitched together which united the radical nationalists with elements of the bourgeoisie . This alliance gained state power in the transition to political independence between 1973 and 1975 . Expansion of indigenous capital

To reduce the pressure on the Australian balance of payments, and generate revenue within the colony, efforts were made to expand agricultural production and the manufacturing of a range of consumer goods . International companies were encouraged in both sectors . For export crops, this meant the beginnings of the `nucleus estate' form of largeholdings . This was initially used to encourage tea growing in the Western and Southern Highlands, but the most substantial subsequent expansion has been in oil palm production in West New Britain . There, a joint venture between the colonial state and the British multinational, Harrisons and Crosfield, transformed a region previously little touched by the production of commodities for the international market . Also in the mid-1960s, the first moves to encourage import substituting manufacturing started, which included legislation providing for tax relief and the Industrial Development (Incentives to Pioneer Industries) Act of 1965 . The major thrust of the bill was to secure a five-year tax holiday for companies prepared to invest in areas of manufacturing not previously undertaken in PNG . Between 1965 and 1973, when the last Pioneer Certificate was granted under the Act, companies engaged in food processing, metal fabrication, ship and boat building, packaging, industrial gas production, soap making, the manufacture of wood preservatives and wire fabrics received relief (Wyeth, 1984) .

Papua New Guinea

Four years later, an ad hoc committee on protection for manufacturing through tariffs was replaced by a Tariff Advisory Committee . However, after an initial burst of activity, this body had only occasional effect through the 1970s . The continued dominance of international merchant capitals providing consumer goods deflated pressures for state action to support import substituting manufacturing . By the next decade, especially after the mid-1982 election victory of the Somare-led PANGU Party, the tide turned once again . While multinational companies were still reluctant to enter into production, except in limited areas of food processing (tea and coffee, flour, stockfeed and baking), and timber (Boutilier, 1984), now the drive for import substitution comes from the ambitions of an indigenous bourgeoisie . Combining joint ventures with international companies and with heavy state support, including highly protective tariffs securing the entire domestic market for specific commodities, such as poultry products, members of the class are currently striving to twist the state in a new direction . 6 These moves by indigenous capital into manufacturing, however minor they may be judged on an international scale of reckoning, should alert us to the outstanding quality of the class over the last 20 years . It has removed a series of barriers in major areas of agricultural production, including processing, marketing of crops, as well as urban real estate, transportation and retailing . In short, the order of its moves, and those of class allies in the petty bourgeoisie, are not entirely unprecedented in a range of other countries (Leys, 1982a, 1982b ; Lim, 1981 ; Swainson, 1980) . Gathering momentum in the late 1960s, and stimulated by the certainty of the imminent removal of colonial authority, the class increasingly wielded a measure of state power to push expatriate companies out of production and marketing of commodities . Urged on by the more radical nationalists, the bourgeoisie moved into area after area at a spectacular rate . In Eastern Highlands Province, for instance, the move into ownership of plantations, noted above, was accompanied by an equally rapid turnover of coffee processing and marketing (MacWilliam, forthcoming) . The expansion of indigenous capital, while most prominent in the Highlands where the 1976 coffee boom gave a major impetus against the general international downturn, has not been confined to that region . In East New Britain, the initial push by indigenous capitalists meant grasping the leadership of a particularly militant section of the nationalist front . Their local advance was blunted subsequently by the limits of agricultural production in that region, in particular declining yields of senile coconut

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trees and in the late 1970s, the collapse of cocoa production . In turn this forced expansion into Port Moresby, West New Britain and northern Australia . However in the North Solomons Province, the construction stage and then operations of the large copper and gold mine at Panguna, on Bougainville Island, has created spaces for accumulation which are now filled by indigenous capital . From this base, the bourgeoisie subsequently moved into light manufacturing, coffee and cocoa marketing . It also moved into Port Moresby real estate, and now, in conjunction with other members of the class from adjoining New Guinea Islands Provinces, to take over a major shipping line between Australia and PNG (MacWilliam, 1985a) . The North Solomons bourgeois faction, organised through the Bougainville Development Corporation, has set sights on gaining a major share in the next mine on the island, through a joint venture with Conzinc Riotinto Australia (cRA), a subsidiary of Riotinto Zinc (RTZ), which is the majority shareholder and operator of the first mine (interview, 28/8/84) . Of particular significance for this study is the sustenance which the class received from financial institutions, both private and state . By 1983, the total outstanding loans from all sources to Papua New Guineans amounted to approximately US$300-350m . Alongside this, `the share of total commercial banking loans outstanding to 100 per cent Papua New Guinean owned businesses had increased from (being) negligible in 1970 to 41 per cent by 1983' (Gupta, forthcoming : 89) . The remainder of this paper deals with the Development Bank's part in the provision of money capital for the bourgeoisie, and how their grip on one state agency is in turn subject to continued challenge by international capital and the advocates of further smallholder expansion within PNG.

Development The establishment of the Development Bank had more to do Banks and lending with the intentions of colonial government policy to advance policies indigenous aspirations, whether for means of production or increased masses of consumption goods, than with the money capital requirements of international manufacturing or merchant capital . From 1967 to the present, as indigenous companies moved into the areas previously indicated, the Bank has been subject to demands for money capital loans on a scale and terms satisfactory for the class's appetite . At the same time, the crucial part of the petty bourgeoisie in the nationalist alliance was emphasised and cemented through extensive loans to take over trade stores and passenger transportation, both urban and rural . However, commencing in the late 1960s, international banking agencies began to assert a substantial presence .

Papua New Guinea

In December 1965, there was unanimous support for the passage of the Development Bank Ordinance through the House of Assembly, which then contained official members of the colonial administration as well as settlers and indigenes . Urged by the 1963 World Bank mission, whose report stressed planning and more state intervention through policies for expansion of the colony's economy, as well as an enlarged space for private capital, the Bank's establishment was also favoured in Canberra . The flavour of the alliance which produced the legislation can be captured from the functions of the Bank described in the Act . It was intended : (a) To provide finance for persons - (i) for the purposes of primary production ; or (ii) for the establishment or development of industrial or commercial undertakings, particularly small undertakings, in cases where, in the opinion of the Bank, the provision of finance is desirable and the finance would not otherwise be available on reasonable and suitable terms and conditions ; and (b) To provide advice and assistance with a view to promoting the efficient organisation and conduct of primary production or of industrial or commercial undertakings . Given the initial scale of the Bank's funds (approximately $Allm over the first four years out of Territory budgets and direct supplementary grants from the Australian Treasury), there was clearly little here to attract the attentions of major international companies . Even without access to the records for all individual Development Bank loans, it is apparent that the intention was to sustain smaller companies and smallholder agriculture . The outlines of policy received a sharper focus in the subsequent Annual Reports . The `finance for persons' phraseology of the 1965 Ordinance gave way in Bank practice to a definition of persons which asserted priority to indigenes, and a more restrictive policy to other applicants . In 1971, in a period of funding shortage, lending to non-indigenes was further curtailed . In 1973-74, with the Bank's Board, including the Chairman, almost entirely indigenes, interest rates were restructured to favour indigenous borrowers at a time of substantial increase in trading bank lending rates (Annual Reports 1969-70 to 1973-74) . Linked to the move of indigenous businesses into bars, service stations, and real estate, as well as the major priority for transportation, attention was directed to the agricultural holdings of settler and international companies . The Bank's charter was again changed, to permit financing transfers of expatriate assets to Papua New Guineans (Annual Report, 1973-74) . In adopting this practice Territory-wide, the Bank was following

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the lead given in the late 1960s when the administration used it to finance the takeover of expatriate-owned largeholdings in an attempt to dampen the political revolt headed by the Matanguan Association in East New Britain (Downs, 1980 : 434-435) . Whether this transfer occurred via companies `entirely indigenous' or those where both indigenes and settlers were shareholders and directors, Development Bank loans were of considerable importance . The self-congratulation in the Bank's 1975-76 Annual Report accurately reflects the movement in train at independence . Thus : The Bank has had an important role in shifting the ownership of productive assets from foreigners to Papua New Guineans . This is done by the normal process of financing the purchase of businesses and plantations by nationals . Furthermore, the terms provided to indigenous borrowers were extremely favourable . While it is still impossible to document the full extent of the assistance to the class from the Development Bank, an illustration will suffice . In 1978, an Eastern Highlands coffee plantation passed to one of the large indigenous companies, cited previously as being amongst the three at the centre of a significant centralisation of capital in the province . The purchase was effected through a loan for K375,000, which represented the total price paid ; the company was not required to provide any collateral . The interest paid on the loan was considerably below prevailing commercial market rates . Although this was not the largest loan made, the fact that no collateral was required other than the plantation, the price of which was then near an all-time high, is indicative of the favours extended to the indigenous class of capital at a critical point in its advance . Over the pre- and post-independence years, agriculture and commerce accounted for the bulk of loans . Agricultural advances ranged between 40 and 55 per cent of all money lent between 1967 and 1983 . With the brief exception of 1973-75, industrial loans have been always less than 25 per cent, and for many years below 15 per cent of the total . Commerce

Commerce claimed 50 per cent of all loans in the first year of the Bank's operations, declining steadily to 30 per cent by 1973 ; after independence in 1975, commercial loans as a proportion of all loans increased dramatically to nearly 70 per cent by 1977 and then declined to less than 30 per cent of total loans in 1983 (Annual Report, 1983) . Over the first period, until 1973, the

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indigenous share of all commercial loans climbed to a peak of 70 per cent, and then reached almost 100 per cent four years later . The quite distinct concerns of indigenous capital and the petty bourgeoisie are also apparent in Bank loans, as the expatriate presence was reduced prior to self-government . However, most of the loans were to small-scale enterprises in the areas of transportation and retail trade, emphasising the political role of the Bank in clasping the non-capitalist strata within the nationalist bloc . Since 1970, transport loans have always averaged less than $A/K10,000, and for many years have been smaller than half of that . The self-employed dominated an area where even larger than average loans often enabled Papua New Guineans to enter the field of sub-contracting to major construction projects through buying heavy haulage or earthmoving equipment . Retail trade loans are even more the preserve of the petty bourgeoisie . For both transportation and retail trade, the number of loans made indicates the spectacular expansion of the indigenous presence : between 1967 and 1977 transport and retail trade accounted for 80 per cent of all commercial loans, itself subsequently a declining area of overall Bank lending . For retail trade, however, the burst of loans ran for most of the 1970s, resulting in the near total removal of expatriate storekeepers . In the two main areas of agricultural loans between 1967 and 1975, oil palms and cattle (Philipp, 1975), the former best illustrates one direction taken under the weight of international money capital . A major project, begun in 1967, involved founding a nucleus estate and oil mill through a 50/50 joint venture between the colonial administration and Harrisons and Crosfield (ANZ) Ltd, a subsidiary of the British agricultural commodity company of the same name . The Development Bank provided credit to the joint venture company, New Britain Palm Oil Development Ltd, whose funds were matched by Harrisons and Crosfield from its own sources . Between 1967 and 1972, when the bulk of the smallholder plantings of the first stage of the project were made, there were nearly 1,600 loans for just over $A3 .2m (Longayroux, 1973 ; Valentine and Valentine, 1979 ; Development Bank Annual Reports) . The joint venture company, NBPOD, was to establish initially a largeholding of 3,000 acres of oil palms and construct an oil mill with a capacity to process the plantation crop together with an equivalent tonnage of fruit from adjoining smallholder settlements . This project and later village plantings, were supervised by state personnel and financed through the extensive loan scheme which was managed by the Development Bank . The smallholdings, worked largely by migrants from other provinces, were at first to total 12,500 acres (Longayroux, 1973) . 8 This

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particular project and cattle schemes took up more than one half of all agricultural loans until 1975 . Subsequently, two more oil palm projects operated along similar lines, if smaller in scale, in other parts of Papua New Guinea, and were also funded heavily by the Development Bank (Annual Reports, 1977-1980) . Previously I showed how coffee in the Highlands expanded in the two major producing provinces, Eastern and Western Highlands, through both large and small holdings . Until 1975, the Development Bank played a minor role in this growth, providing a small number of loans generally averaging below $A5,000, which went into new plantings, fencing, and processing equipment . While there were isolated large loans, at a time of generally unfavourable international market conditions, coffee production did not attract much attention from either international agencies or the state apparatus . Instead, the indigenous bourgeoisie used accumulation from wage employment and extended networks to establish largeholdings through labour hired for cash or other exchange values (Finney, 1973 : esp . c h . 5) . All this changed with the coincidence between independence and the 1976 coffee boom . Although the number of loans did not increase greatly, the Bank, along with other state financial institutions, was instrumental in the takeover of largeholdings which really gained momentum from the price increases of the period . However it was not the initial movement, in aggregate terms still fairly small, but a second wave of Bank loans to coffee, reaching a peak in 1982, that later provoked sustained criticism from international agencies . With population pressures growing in the Highlands, especially in the most fertile ares, and a changed mass of goods in the consumption requirements of households, there is an underlying demand for increased cash, and state provision of services (schools, health services, roads and bridges) . However, the imposition of the barrier against extending largeholdings, first erected in the colonial period and not since pulled down to any significant extent, has precluded this demand being met through wage employment . It is a semi-proletariat, not wage labour separated from land, which has been created . At first sight, the bulk of lending to new coffee planting on 20 and 5-hectare plots appeared to strike both against the checks on alienating largeholdings and household production . Business groups, registered under post-independence legislation, usually organised around lineage ties of landholding, are formed to enclose land behind fencing . The barriers have the added purpose, beyond establishing land tenure, of keeping pigs from foraging around the coffee bushes which is believed to be a common limit upon productivity in smallholder coffee . Initial

Papua New Guinea work on behalf of the group is required as `sweat equity', a necessary prelude to loans of approximately US$4,000 per hectare . These are advanced to be repaid once plantings come into full production . Furthermore, a condition of loans is that the business group must sign a management contract with either a state authority, the National Plantation Management Agency (NPMA), or a private management company . Fees for this supervisory role are deducted from the loan, and in return management personnel carry out most of the accounting, purchasing of inputs and marketing tasks for the project . In addition, the labourers employed in planting, weeding, pruning, spraying and picking are paid out of loan funds through practices supervised and scrutinised by NPMA or company officials . The combination of land enclosure, as well as the hiring of wage labour particularly for the larger plots, and the attachment of small businessmen and salaried employees in supervisory posts to the business groups, gives the impression that these projects are steps for the bourgeois and would-be bourgeoisie . Moves within state apparatuses to channel funds to smaller 1-2 hectare projects which aim to rehabilitate existing village coffee rather than establish new, large plantings reflect antagonism towards accumulation by those `already rich' . However, what cannot as yet be deduced is if the accumulation on these holdings reflects the acquisition of means of production for accumulation or means for reproducing consumption, i .e . bourgeois or household producer aspirations . While Development Bank loans have allowed wages to be paid for labour-power of lineage members or workers from nearby provinces during the planting stage, the crucial test will arise when loans have to be repaid at the same time as increased labour inputs are required for harvesting, in addition to continuous maintenance tasks . Significantly, as the first projects established in 1979-80 are now at that point, there is a rising crescendo of public criticism against Bank interest rates, the amount of repayments and, especially, the level of management fees charged . The significant point is that now loan funds have been exhausted, hired labour will either have to be paid for out of savings or group members will have to lengthen working days to provide the necessary inputs, with wages only appearing after loan instalments and management fees are met . It is not coincidental, either, that in the recent Agbank restructuring, the role of the Department of Primary Industry in supervising loans and managing smallholder projects is being elevated . In this way, direct costs to borrowers can be reduced and borne moregenerally by state budgets .

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In short, for coffee there is a continuing, intense struggle over which form of money capital the Bank's loans are to consitute . World Bank demands in 1983 to cease all further loans for coffee put immense pressure on commercial banks and the government to devise other loan arrangements for both smallholdings and the bourgeoisie ." Development Bank structure and operations

Indigenisation of personnel in the Development Bank accompanied the indigenisation of loans and, despite a very substantial increase in staff numbers and areas of activity, by 1977 over 90 per cent of staff were nationals ; the Board was also indigenised . In twisting the Bank towards smallholder agriculture, loan supervision over smallholdings now dominates all operations, and has forced a heightened emphasis on training of supervisory staff, along the lines favoured by international financial institutions (Annual Report, 1983) . The most important feature of the transformation of the Bank was the supervisory role which it carried . The functions went far beyond mere processing of applications and collecting repayments, to assembling and putting together means of production . One early instance involved using World Bank credits to finance imports of cattle breeding stock from Australia to extend large-scale breeder herds in Papua New Guinea, `the progeny of which are purchased and held on agistment pending distribution to new smallholder ventures' (Annual Report 1971-72 : 6) . More recently, the links between the Development Bank, the National Plantation Management Agency (NPMA) and private management companies have been tightened to coordinate and superintend smallholder coffee and cocoa plots . Further, when repayments of loans slumped in 1980-82, at a time of international depression, an added impetus was given to the development of the Bank's supervisory role . Reinforced by the attachment of officers from the World Bank and Asian Development Bank, and prodded by the result of a review of the loan portfolio which showed a need to substantially increase the provision for doubtful debts, the Bank expanded its apparatus for loan supervision . The 1982 Annual Report explained the shift in the following terms : The Bank deals with a large proportion of borrowers who are, at best, semi-educated, have little experience of institutionalised credit, and who are taking a huge `leap' from the subsistence to the cash economy, in embarking upon their proposed projects . To be successful therefore, the Bank's lending programme needs to be responsive enough to provide continuity of contact throughout the life

Papua New Guinea of the loan, at an adequate level to ensure proper use of loan funds, to provide the right sort of technical advice and to create a personal relationship between banker and borrower which will result in a successful project for the borrower and a successful loan clearance for the Bank . The field supervision is therefore vital for success . Utilising technical advice from international agencies, the Bank developed a Training Division with : ` . . . a long-term Training Programme to cater specifically for (Bank) officers from Recruitment to Management, with continually upgraded material including the latest methods in Financial Analysis and Project Appraisal as used by Development Finance Organisations throughout the world' . To assist in propagating this internationalist banking perspective, the Bank sent officers to overseas centres, in addition to conducting in-house programmes . It was also the recipient, in 1984, of training assistance from the New Zealand government, whose personnel supplemented World Bank and Asian Development Bank funded consultants of the previous year (Annual Reports, 1982, 1983) . The Development Bank also commenced operating a range of other projects, either as the sole shareholder in the relevant company or in conjunction with other companies and business groups . These activities, which depended upon Bank advances of money capital, also date from the mid-1970s when it extended into wholesale merchandising (in part to supply the small retail stores), agriculture, food processing and car rentals . Through either buying out or setting up new companies, establishing their management, then transferring parcels of shares or selling entirely, the Bank has lent further assistance to indigenous capital . In one prominent case, between 1980 and 1983, the bank's share in a major Port Moresby suburban supermarket declined from one-half to nothing . Another company `was disposed (of) at a satisfactory price to a syndicate of Papua New Guineans' (Annual Report, 1983) . In general, the agricultural projects run by the Bank, through its own rural management agency, which parallels the retail organisation coordinating the Stret Pasin Stoas Scheme of importance in the earlier takeover of the retail trade stores, operate upon similar lines to the West New Britain oil palm scheme described previously . Whether through a piggery or poultry farm, both on the outskirts of Port Moresby, or cattle in other provinces, smallholders are organised around a larger unit which also either processes the animals or provides complementary facilities to market the produce live . Again, in another area of activities, operations have been structured around the tension between the

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two forms of money capital, where the labour inputs of households are coordinated by Bank, and, thereby, state personnel . Further restructuring: the Axr Proposal Within a year of coming to power in mid-1982, the Somare government began moves to privatise assets held by a number of state authorities, including the Development Bank and the Investment Corporation . One step was the formation of a committee, reporting to the Minister for Finance, and required to recommend how the electoral commitments to establish a new Bank would be implemented . As befitted a plank in the Pangu Pati's platform, the change had been espoused as `a solution to combine and rationalise existing lending and technical services' . 10 The task was to mediate the conflicting demands for loans, while serving the indigenous bourgeoisie . The consequences of this sell-off, and the attendant moves to shackle the Development Bank's lending to small and mediumscale agricultural investments were obvious to the committee . It would become more dependent on state revenue for funds and confined to sectors with low returns . Given the reluctance of national governments to commit funds to the Bank's capital since independence, except in the crisis years of 1981-82 when a coalition of smaller parties held power, the opposition of the Development Bank's managing director to the proposal was unsurprising, as were his efforts to invoke the supporting image of the World Bank . 11 Almost immediately, and concurrent with objections from international agencies against the substantial loans to 20hectare coffee projects, there was public criticism from the Asian Development Bank against restructuring . The result of these pressures was for the government to ditch the proposed AM Bank, and separate out the question of agricultural funding from housing and industrial loans . In order to secure the support of the World and Asian Development Banks, the national state's revenues have been committed to the tune of US$30m over 5 yers, representing 40 per cent of the total additional capital to be injected into the Agbank's funds . However, the proposed loan's guidelines suggest that the change does not represent the defeat for the indigenous class of capital, as may appear at first sight . Firstly, this is because underneath all the public statements about sustaining smallholder agriculture as a first object, loans to large-scale agriculture have been included as within the Bank's objects . Secondly, 20 per cent of the Bank's loans are to be directed to rural commercial and industrial projects - precisely one of the current targets of indigenous businessmen . Finally, to



Papua New Guinea

overcome the problem of cost effectiveness in providing managerial services to smallholders, there is a clear attempt to direct funds in a manner which will provoke consolidation and set in motion forces to achieve further proletarianisation in the countryside . Preference is to be given to smallholder projects which involve groups with up to 100 hectares enclosed for cash cropping . 12 While the questions of race and nationality for borrowers were easily resolved within a few years of independence, the contending forms of production set in motion by money capital have a more lasting resonance . Contemporary political developments in Papua New Guinea suggest that it is the opposition between the forms of representation of bourgeoisie and small-scale producers which is being sharpened . It seems unlikely that this will be as speedily resolved as was the recent conflict between international banking institutions and the Somare government, in the circumstances described in this paper . In early 1985, the parliamentary sphere was transformed by the formation of a left nationalist party . The Peoples Democratic Movement, split out of the majority Pangu Pati, and in November 1985 had rapid success in organising a parliamentary coalition to topple the incumbent Somare government . The PDM's members, headed by the previous Deputy PM, Paias Wingti, attacked the government for having forgotten the objects to which the original nationalist movement was directed . In effect, the nationalist movement is denounced for becoming the organising centre of the class of indigenous capital . Characteristically of much of such criticism, it is the crudity of the accumulators which is confronted, not the project of accumulation . After all, accumulation is sacrosanct, especially now that the PDM has taken on the political task of organising an alliance which contains a number of other, smaller parties, themselves various regional factions of the bourgeoisie and petty bourgeoisie . However, at present the bourgeoisie does not merely require sources of money capital needed to push out the remaining international and expatriate companies . A more consequential barrier blocks the class's ambitions . Household production which is entrenched upon rural holdings embodies limits deriving from an opposition between forms of production and these are approaching major points of conflict . The vociferousness of the nationalist attack on accumulators should not cause any such confusion in supposing that the source of the attack is located elsewhere other than in these forms of the relation between capital and labour. Suitably in such circumstances, with the economy drifting in treacherous international currents, and C&C 29-L..

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urban as well as rural lawlessness only held in check by an increased use of repression, the Prime Minister leads a party which purports to represent `the workers, peasants and masses' . Nevertheless, one direction open to the indigenous class of capitalists is to move more ruthlessly against international companies, which are clearly preparing for the attacks by the nationalists (Macwilliam, 1984b, forthcoming) . Once again, there are important reasons, both internal and external, why takeovers will involve forms of purchase rather than wholesale appropriation of external capital . But international markets for exports of tree crops are both volatile and limited in their capacity to absorb production increases . While gaining hold of the domestic import markets which are now controlled by major merchant companies will open up short-term possibilities, the class's project embodies various forms of confrontation with labour, particularly in the countryside . This struggle cannot occur without also choking off the flows of money capital which have sustained peasant households over the past twenty years . In comparison, the displacing of large international companies will be seen to be a minor exercise . Acknowledgements The author is indebted to David Goldsworthy, Kevin Hewison, Peter Larmour and Herb Thompson, as well as Capital & Class reviewers, for comments on an earlier draft .

Notes

An initial result of the tussle outlined here has been a restructuring 1. and renaming of the Development Bank . From February 1985, it became the AGBANK under a new charter which requires 80 per cent of all its loans to go to agricultural projects . While the implications of this change are briefly considered in the Conclusion, here it is pointed out that the two institutions Development Bank/Agbank refer to separate periods and do not coexist . The Development Bank, in operation from 1967, is the main object of the study . From independence until 1981, the Bank's capital received no 2. further injection of funds out of national state revenues . Loan capacity depended upon (a) finance from international agencies, for whom the PNG state acted in an on-lending capacity ; (b) in excess of A$25m injected into the Bank by the Australian administration between 1967 and 1975 ; (c) repayments from borrowers, including interest charged ; and (d) approximately Klm, a transfer resulting from taking over the assets of two earlier small loans schemes administered by the Native Loans Board and the Ex-Servicemen's Credit Board . In 1981, for the first time, state revenues were directed to the Bank in the form of a K2 .9m loan, outside the funds derived from international institutions . 3. Times of Papua New Guinea, 20 January 1984 .



Papua New Guinea 4. Kay (1975) and Cowen (1979) consider limits on production imposed by merchant capital . Buckley and Klugman (1981, 1983) provide extensive documentation on the leading Australian company, Burns Philp, which combined inter-island trading in the South Pacific with a role of productive capital on copra and cocoa plantations . 5. There is as yet no adequate description of the class of primitive accumulators . Instead there are many accounts, primarily of an anthropological nature, which emphasise forms of accumulation out of trade, warfare and ceremonial exchange, but avoid or deny the class relations these forms embody . See : Epstein, 1968 ; Foster, 1985 ; Strathern, 1971 ; Strathern, 1982 . 6. The White Paper on Industrial Development (1984) documents the degree to which state action was directed towards the thrust of indigenous accumulation ;, Hughes (1984) keeps to the tradition of comparative advantage which is regularly espounsed by expatriate commentators . 7. Interview, 28 August 1984 . 8. Also, Register of Companies No . 1874, NBPOD Ltd . 9. Medium Term Development Strategy : Financial Institutions (1984) . 10 . Report on the proposal for an agriculture, housing and industrial bank, 1983, 3 . 11 . Ibid, Appendix III, 29 . 12 . Niugini News, 13 March 1984 ; Post Courier, 14 March 1984 ; The Times, 15 March 1984 .

Amarshi A ., Good K. & Mortimer R . (1979) Development and Dependency: The Political Economy of Papua New Guinea (Melbourne : Oxford University Press) . Arthur W . A . (1978) `Tea' in Agriculture in the Economy : A series ofReview Papers (Port Moresby : Department of Primary Industry) . Banaji J . (1977) `Modes of Production in a Materialist Conception of History' in Capital and Class no . 3, Autumn, 1-44 . Bernstein H . (1976) `Underdevelopment and the Law of Value : a critique of Kay', in Review ofAfrican Political Economy no . 6, May-August, 51-64 . Boutilier J .A . (1984) `Hungry Sharks : Japanese Economic Activity in Melanesia, 1960-1980' in Pacific Studies no . 1, v . 8, Fall, 71-94. Bryan R . (1985) `Monopoly in Marxist Method : A View from the Abstract', Capital and Class no . 26, Summer, 72-92 . Bryan R . (1984) The State and the Internationalisation of Capital in the Australian Mining Industry, 1965 to 1980 (PhD Thesis, University of Sussex) . Cartledge I .V . (1978) A History of the Coffee Industry in Papua New Guinea (Goroka : Coffee Industry Board) . Cowen M .P . (1984) `Early Years of the Colonial Development Corporation : British State Enterprise Overseas During Late Colonialism', African Affairs v . 83, no . 330, January, 63-76 . Cowen M .P . (1983) `The British State, State Enterprise and an Indigenous Bourgeoisie in Kenya after 1945' (mimeo) . Cowen M .P . (1982) `The British State and Agrarian Accumulation in Kenya after 1945' in M . Fransman (ed . ), Industry and Accumulation in Africa (London : Heinemann) .

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Cowen M .P . (1981b) `Commodity Production in Kenya's Central Province' in J . Heyer et al (eds), Rural Development in Tropical Africa (London : Macmillan) . Cowen M . P . (1981 a) `The Agrarian Problem', Review ofAfrican Political Economy no . 20, January-April, 57-73 . Cowen M . P . (1979) Capital and Household Production : The Case of Wattle in Kenya's Central Province, 1903-1964 (PhD Thesis, Cambridge University) . Cowen M .P. and Kinyanjui K . (1977) `Some Problems of Capital and Class in Kenya', Occasional Paper 26 (Nairobi : Institute for Development Studies, University of Nairobi) . Donaldson M . (1980) `Class Formation in Papua New Guinea : The Indigenous Bourgeoisie' in Journal of Australian Political Economy no. 7, April, 63-85 . Donaldson M . and Turner D . (1978) `The Foreign Control of the Papua New Guinea Economy and the Reaction of the Independent State' (University of PNG : Political Economy Occasional Paper No . 1, December) . Downs I . (1980) The Australian Trusteeship of Papua New Guinea 197475 (Canberra: Australian Government Publishing Service) . Epstein T . S . (1968) Capitalism, Primitive and Modern : Some Aspects of Tolai Economic Growth (Canberra : Australian National University Press) . Finney B . (1973) Big Man and Business: Entrepreneurship and Economic Change in the New Guinea Highlands (Canberra : ANU Press) . Fitzpatrick P . (1980b) `The Creation and Containment of the Papua New Guinea Peasantry' in E .L . Wheelwright and K . Buckley (eds), Essays in the Political Economy of Australian Capitalism vol . 4 (Sydney : ANZ Book Co .) 85-121 . Fitzpatrick P . (1980a) Law and State in Papua New Guinea (London : Academic Press) . Foster R . (1985) `Production and Value in the Enga Tee', Oceania, vol . LV, no . 3, March, 182-196 . Government of Papua New Guinea (1967-83) Development Bank Annual Reports and Financial Statements (Port Moresby) . Gupta D . (forthcoming) The Political Economy of Papua New Guinea . Hasluck P . (1976) A Time for Building (Melbourne, Melbourne University Press) . Hughes H . (1984) Industrialisation, Growth and Development in Papua New Guinea (Port Moresby : Institute of National Affairs, Discussion Paper No . 17, December) . Kay G . (1975) Development and Underdevelopment : A Marxist Analysis (London : Macmillan). Lam N .V . (1984) The Commodity Export Sector in Papua New Guinea (Boroko : LASER, Monograph No . 22) . Lenin V .I . (1974) The Development of Capitalism in Russia (Moscow : Progress Publishers) . Leys C . (b) `Accumulation, Class Formation and Dependency : Kenya' in M . Fransman (ed .), op . cit ., 170-192 . Leys C . (a) `Kenya : What Does "Dependency" Explain?' in Ibid, 226233 . Leys C . & Borges J . (1980) `State Capital in Kenya', Canadian Journal of African Studies no . 2, vol . 14, 307-17 .

Papua New Guinea Leys C. (1978) `Capital Accumulation, Class Formation and Dependency - The Significance of the Kenyan Case' in R . Miliband and J . Saville (eds), The Socialist Register 1978 (London : Merlin Press), 241-266 . Lim M .H . (1981) Ownership and Control of the One Hundred Largest Corporations in Malaysia (Kuala Lumpur : Oxford University Press) . Longayroux J . (1972) Hoskins Development: The Role of Oil Palm and Timber (Canberra : ANU, New Guinea Research Unit, Bulletin No . 49) . MacWilliam S . (forthcoming) Capital and Companies in Papua New Guinea 1945-1985 . MacWilliam S . (1985b) `Against the Compatability Thesis : Forms of Production in Papua New Guinea', YAGL-AMBU no . 4, vol . 12, December . Mac William S . (1985a) `The Politics of Separatism in Papua New Guinea :' Secessionist Tactics in North Solomons', mimeo . Mac William S . (1984b) `Nationalism and Social Democracy : Papua New Guinea-Australia Relations Since World War II', YAGL-AMBU no . 2, vol . 11, September, 4-28 . MacWiliam S . (1984a) `Electoral Politics and State Power', YAGL-AMBU no . 2, vol . 11, June, 33-53 . Marx K . (1976) Capital vol . 1(Penguin : 1976) . Mueller S . (1981) `Barriers to the Further Development of Capitalism in Tanzania', Capital and Class no . 15, 23-54 . Oran N . (1973) `Administration, Development and Public Order', in A . Clunies Ross and J . Langmore (Eds), Alternative Strategies for Papua New Guinea (Oxford : Oxford University Press) 1-58 . Philipp P .F . et al (1975) Four Papers on the Papua New Guinea Cattle Industry (Port Moresby and Canberra : ANU, New Guinea Research Bulletin No . 63) . Salisbury R . F . (1970) Vunamimi: Economic Transformation in a Traditional Society (Melbourne : Melbourne University Press) . Somare M . (1975) Sana (Port Moresby : Nwigini Press) . Strathern A . (ed .) (1982) Inequality in New Guinea Highlands Societies (Cambridge : CUP) . Strathern A . (1971) The Rope of Moke: Big-men and Ceremonial Exchange in Mount Hagen, New Guinea (Cambridge : cup) . Stuart R . (1977) Nuts to You! (Sydney : Wentworth Books) . Robson R . W . (1977) Queen Emma (Sydney : Pacific Publications) . Valentine C . A . & Valentine B .L . (1979) Going Through Changes : Villagers, Settlers and Development in Papua New Guinea (Port Moresby : Institute of Papua New Guinea Studies) . Wyeth J . (1984) Incentive Legislation and Pioneer Industries in Papua New Guinea (Boroko : LASER, Discussion Paper No . 47, January) .

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Maura Banion and Cherrie Stubbs

Rethinking the terms of tenure : A feminist critique of Mike Ball

In this article Maura Banim and Cherrie Stubbs offer a critique of Michael Ball's failure to address the question of gender relations in his work on housing tenure . They argue that gender relations are centrally created both in the production and consumption of housing and therefore must be seriously addressed if a socialist housing strategy which can overcome gender as well as class dominations is to be developed . The authors also examine the links between tenure, familism and gender domination, by drawing on material from research which they carried out in the North East of England .

• The recent growth of owner occupation in Britain is of more than academic interst . As well as generating a body of work addressing the economic, political and ideological impacts of housing tenure,' it has also directly affected political understandings, policies and practices . Michael Ball's contribution to the current debate about tenure 2 has been particularly important in shifting the analysis away from an over-concentration on a narrow range of consumption issues, which has tended to over-privilege individual levels of analysis . Ball has argued that a sound, socialist housing policy cannot rest on an understanding of consumption issues alone, but must involve an analysis which looks at how housing is provided, in conjunction with the costs and consequences of living in a particular tenure (Ball, 1985, p . 15) . In the same Capital & Class article, he contends that the

Left in Britain has misunderstood the nature and role of tenure, and consequently has misunderstood the link between tenure and voting behaviour . He points out the misguided electoral calculations that lie behind the Labour Party's continued uncritical support for owner occupation as presently constructed, despite the dilemmas that this has presented over such issues as the sale of council houses, and points out that it has given priority to maintaining existing mortgage subsidies rather than to reforming housing finance . Similarly, Labour's current espousal of decentralised housing management in the council sector, though

Gender and housing tenure admirable on other grounds, does little to address the problem of a deteriorating council housing stock . Ball is equally critical of the alternative housing strategy being advocated by the Labour Housing Group (1984), arguing that they too have `accepted the terms of the traditional debate' (p . 22) in not recognising that tenures are socio-historically constructed sets of relationships rather than ahistorical categories . Against such approaches, Ball argues that an analysis which situates tenure in the context of historically specific relations of provision will enable socialists to break out of the sterile politics that set tenure against tenure . We welcome this attempt to redefine the terms of the debate about tenure . Unfortunately, in common with most male academics, Ball takes little serious account of the importance of gender relations in his discussion of housing issues . 3 He ignores gender in his analysis of the agencies of provision, and by choosing not to discuss consumption issues, misses opportunities to investigate the links between the production and consumption of housing which so obviously connect with gender inequalities . He consequently ignores a number of major and urgent political questions, and indeed espouses policy recommendations that miss some of the fundamental housing problems in Britain and do little to challenge gender subordinations . In Ball's view, most `housing experts' have accepted as given the current realities of tenure experiences, instead of looking at the ways in which these experiences are constructed by the social agencies and relations of housing provision . Ball's own work which concentrates on owner occupation attempts to redress this weakness . He demonstrates the ways in which building societies, exchange professionals, landowners, speculative builders, and banks all articulate with the state in forming a system of housing provision that involves high costs to the consumer, low quality newly-built housing, casualisation of employment in the construction industry, and chronic instability and volatility in many aspects of the housing system . Thus he argues that the way forward for the Labour Party is to develop policies that concentrate on these contradictions of provision, rather than on misguided attempts to bring equality to the tenures as presently constructed. He suggests the removal of housing provision from , the sphere of the domination of capital', which would involve public ownership of land, a monopoly of housebuilding by publicly owned agencies, and public control of the financing of housing . His policy implications also include a form of democratic control by the workers in these agencies of provision, together with the protection of consumer rights such as access to decent cheap housing that is provided under some (unspecified) form of decentralised social accountability .

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Ball's argument against those who see tenure simply as a category of consumption is one that has many strengths . Sharing his concern about the political opportunism that seems to accompany the contemporary debate about tenure, we would ally ourselves with him on many fronts . We agree that a narrow focus on consumption issues alone is misguided, and that the ideological `effects' of state housing policies have too often been oversimplified and, consequently, overemphasised . (The sale of council houses provides a particularly clear demonstration of this) . We agree that a more balanced view is needed : one that would involve consideration of production and provision issues, together with an assessment of the material and ideological impacts of particular state housing policies as they impact on households . We also agree with Ball that any belief in a so-called `natural desire' for home ownership ignores the social relations of tenure . Analysing these social relations is a crucial task that is long overdue . Finally, we agree that the Labour Party needs to confront directly the question of the nature of the state, if it is to be able to produce a housing strategy that is in any real sense progressive or socialist . That other analysts have made similar points for a number of years now does not negate their importance . However despite these areas of agreement, we are not convinced that Ball's own analysis overcomes the problems that he identifies : nor does it provide the foundation for an adequate housing strategy . At the heart of the problem is Ball's usage of a simplified production/consumption dichotomy . We would argue that more is involved in the understanding of housing than this . The housing question involves at least five different dimensions, in each of which the state is directly or indirectly involved . These dimensions include 1) the production of a built stock of dwellings ; 2) the provision or allocation of these under certain market and bureaucratic constraints to certain people at certain times ; 3) the inequalities of locale and spatial location ; 4) the tenure relations (ideological and political as well as economic) that traditional consumption studies have addressed ; but also 5) the occupation dimension of consumption that such studies ignore . Houses are, after all, used and lived in as well as being bought and sold, and because of this, housing is a very particular commodity, involving relations of occupation and use together with relations of production and market relations . Those relations of occupation necessarily involve meanings that are spatially and historically mediated, and necessarily involve gender as well as class relations . It is by neglecting such conceptual distinctions that Ball is able to leave out of his account the critically important gender relations that are involved in housing . In pointing to this neglect, we do not wish in any way to

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undermine his concern with the `social agencies' which have interests in housing production and provision . Indeed a critical account of the paradoxes and exploitations of the structures of capital involved in housing provision is obviously urgently needed . Similarly, associated proposals for restructuring these relations of production and provision are to be welcomed . We do, however, take issue with the marginalisation of gender in Ball's analysis . This occurs in a number of ways in addition to his continued use of the production/consumption model : for example, by the omission of gender from his own analysis of production and provision issues, by his decision not to address consumption issues in the article, and by his consequent neglect of the occupation dimension of housing consumption . This marginalisation of what he refers to as `the position of women' (p . 23) reflects the continued refusal by most `housing experts' to recognise that gender relations are centrally created in both the production and consumption of housing . They are not something to be put aside for separate, later discussion . The omissions in Ball's work are all the more startling, given the blatant (as well as the not so blatant) centrality of gender relations in the operation of the social agencies of production and provision . The young couple saving together ; the proportion of mortgages based on two incomes ; the defining of houses as `starter homes', `family homes', `bachelor flats', are all phenomena based on the patriarchal/familial relations of our society . Builders, building societies and other finance agencies understand this : it helps them to sell houses and to attract savings . It is all the more regrettable, then, that male academics continue to treat gender as optional . 4 Ball recognises that there is an issue to be dealt with here, making almost ritual references to sexual divisions in his article . He acknowledges for instance the `patriarchal' form of the nuclear family (p. 6), endorses Massey et al's description of Labour's , new realism' as `the Great Male Moving Right show' (p . 22), and even draws attention to his own omissions . Yet such `nods' do little to allay our basic criticism that no analysis of the social relations of tenure is complete whilst consumption continues to be regarded as a separate area of activity from production and provision . It may be analytically neat to separate production and consumption, but it is basically unnecessary and ultimately harmful if such a separation leads to the subordination of one to the other . Gender relations acting in combination with class relations must be recognised as being central to the analysis of production, provision, tenure, locale and the occupation of housing, and to discussions of state interventions in all of these

The role of gender relations in the production and consumption of housing

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spheres . Ball's reluctance to address consumption issues amounts to an implicit acceptance of the current dominant (i .e . male-centred) understanding of these issues . By choosing not to consider consumption relations, he is able to ignore the extent to which all tenures in differing degrees privilege nuclear families . Housing is neither provided for individuals, nor consumed by individuals, but by women, men and children embedded in family-household relations within particular class locations . Both the consumption and production of housing are therefore bound and structured by familism, gender and class relations . It is crucial to see that the gender and family relations implicit in production and provision articulate with those of consumption and occupation . Building family houses, financed by family based loan assumptions, allocated on family need values or inherited on a family basis will encourage their occupation on a family household basis whatever the tenure . The interesting questions are whether, under what conditions and with what consequences such structuring relations are transcended . We live out our class-and-gender relations in the housing we occupy - regardless of tenure - and the production and provision of that housing both form and are formed by those relations . Ball also ignores the fact that the 'property-owning democracy' is based not only materially but also ideologically on nuclear family relations . Indeed, there may well be circumstances in which nuclear families are not given material encouragement by the agencies of provision, as in private landlordism at the present time, for instance . His reluctance to address consumption issues results in him missing the point that it may be easier to opt out of familism (and still occupy good housing) in a private tenure than it is in the public sector . For example, lesbians and gay men have more access to housing that relates to their desired lifestyle in the private sector (perhaps particularly via owner occupation) than they do in the public sector-provided, that is, that they can fulfill the material obligations entailed. Although the financing of private renting or of owner occupation is based on gender/family structures, these structures can be, and increasingly are, overcome by those with the resources to pay . This understanding of a specific combination of class/gender relations emerges from a consideration of the agencies of provision together with the occupation part of consumption . It becomes apparent in this consideration that Ball is correct to point out that `private housing provision cannot deal adequately with low income households, the unemployed or unwaged', but he is mistaken to include in this bracket `families that do not conform to the small, nuclear, patriarchal form' (p . 16) . On the contrary, privately bought

Gender and housing tenure

space can in some circumstances allow for alternative households in a way that the council sector does not . Perhaps the most worrying part of Ball's implicit acceptance of traditional notions of consumption is his omission of the occupation dimension of housing . Housing is a commodity, but one that is consumed uniquely . Although it is bought, sold and rented in the fashion of other commodities, it is not strictly used up and it generally remains intact whilst it is being consumed . Moreover, under current conditions much owner-occupied housing can also be expected to increase in real value, though whether this is realisable on an individual basis is a matter of debate. 5 This makes the consumption of domestic property different from other commodities, in that part of the consumption process involves day-to-day living, i .e . it is occupied . The meanings and implications of that occupation are spatially and historically specific . The occupation part of the consumption process therefore presents us with sets of class-and-gender relations that sometimes coincide and sometimes conflict with the broader relations traditionally associated with consumption and production . The associated question of locale, too, remains unexplored in Ball's approach . Quite simply, as well as locale having implications for gender relations, any tenure takes on different meanings in different locations, and involves inequalities on the basis of this . In sum, our concern is not merely that Ball leaves out the `position of women' : more critically, gender domination is rendered non-problematic by its absence . Whilst he is right to assert that `one of the major problems of debates over housing is the way in which tenure is conceptualised' (op . cit ., p . 23), the conceptualisation of the social relations of tenure presented in his own article is flawed and leads to a view of the social agencies of provision and of the relations of provision which does little to challenge current gender relations or to provide non-sexist `socialist strategies' . This weakness is particularly clear in his comments on the state, and what he sees as the deficiencies of current Labour Party thinking in this area . For Ball the state in British society is a capitalist state, regulating and influencing class relations . He suggests that the Labour Party has not faced up to this, and that its policies are consequently flawed . He ignores, though, the fundamentally patriarchal nature of state interventions, in housing as in other spheres . We see the state as a capitalist/patriarchal state acting in a civil society that is presently structured by both capitalist and patriarchal social relations which are always experienced as acting in combination .

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The patriarchal nature of the capitalist state

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We would argue that this state is not (as Ball's diagram on p . 30 seems to imply) an `influence', acting on agencies of housing provision via housing policy, taxation, employment and planning policies . The state is rather both the outcome of and an influence on those class-and-gender relations that give tenure, housing, locale, and the family, the meanings they have in contemporary society . Seeing the state in this way - as an agency whose boundaries are socially and historically constructed - involves the perception that, at the same time as the state is constituted out of the social relations of civil society, so it also reconstitutes those relations through its activities in spheres such as tenure and family relations . These `activities' and `interventions' are at the same time material, political and ideological and negotiate a complex dialectic between the public and the private . 6 This view of the state allows a more limited and realistic understanding of the state's potential future role in housing . It does not allow any room for reification of households or of families, and consequently the issue of gender is revealed as being at the very heart of the social relations of tenure . Ball's neglect of the patriarchal nature of the state allows him to conclude by calling for `the removal of the dominance of capital from housing provision' (p . 40) . As we suggested earlier, the removal of private tenures would at present mean that sizeable groups of people were less able to lead the lifestyles of their choice - thus reducing the opportunities for future generations to develop alternative forms of living . However Ball's `solution' is predictable given his analysis of the state - and thus his analysis of the agencies of provision - as simply capitalist . These agencies are not merely capitalist organisations but are also at the same time patriarchal organisations . They are male dominated in composition, and operate in practice with criteria that have many implications for gender relations . For example, the control of finance (for building or for borrowing) is essentially based on patriarchal notions as well as on the imperatives of profitability . Agencies of housing provision are engaged in creating, as well as reacting to, movements in the realm of class and gender . Just as landowners, speculative builder-developers and building societies took advantage of the increased affluence of white- and blue-collar workers in the '50s and '60s (and of course vice versa) so too the agencies of provision part-created/part-responded to the growth of female independence (for certain groups of women) in the '70s and '80s . The point here is this : if the patriarchal nature of the social agencies of provision is not considered, and if their activities are not conceived as `outcome of . . . influence on', then the housing experience (and indeed the wider experience and active political role) of

Gender and housing tenure women in our society will be fundamentally misunderstood . Thus Ball's `solution' of bringing finance, building, etc ., under state control is insufficient in as much as he does not recognise the dynamic, transforming nature of movements in the realm of class and gender relations . Responses to changing class and gender relations are not always as apparent in the public sector, but this is not merely because the state - especially in an era when council housing is being residualised - is slow to recognise and respond to change . In fact the state does recognise, respond and part-create change by increasingly denying decent housing (and often any housing at all) to many groups of people . For example, the shifting of young single people or single parents off the council house waiting lists and onto the books of housing associations, is a growing phenomenon . The state and the social agencies of provision then do not merely provide housing - they are also involved in complex negotiations between classes and genders about the social relations of tenure . Further, although this negotiation is bounded by the same parameters (capital, patriarchy), it is the terms of these discussions, not simply the level and quality of provision, that form the essential difference between the public and private sectors in housing .

We would argue then that not only is Ball's analysis theoretically flawed, but it is also in consequence only partially helpful in understanding the workings of tenure as it affects the lives of particular households and/or individuals . In our own work, looking at public and private tenures, the issue of the way class-andgender relations are constructed and reproduced via tenure experiences has become a central issue for analysis . One study concentrated on households that had bought or were buying houses formerly owned by Sunderland local authority ;' the other concentrated on the changing meanings of owner occupation on a post-war private estate built on the site of a former pit village in Newcastle . 8 In different ways, both studies illustrate the importance of seeing tenure as a social construct, and also of analysing the gender relations of housing . The Sunderland study demonstrated very clearly the restricted group of working-class households that were able to derive economic gains from this change of tenure ; those who by conforming to ideological family and gender `normality' had achieved `desirable' council housing at an appropriate stage of the life cycle . The buyers fell into two categories ; those who had purchased in the early seventies, when sales were permitted

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Gender, class and housing tenure - a North East study

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during a short period of Conservative local control, and those who were buying under the 1980 Housing Act . The groups were similar in many ways in that both had been resident in the area for at least twelve years and some for much longer ; the employment and housing histories of both men and women were similar for the two groups ; and their family experiences were very similar . Compared to another group of long-standing residents who were not buyiung, the buyers in both periods were more likely to be an intact, long-standing nuclear family . The women in both kinds of buying households shared with non-buyers an employment experience of part-time jobs in traditional `women's work' areas like catering and textiles that they had juggled around domestic commitments . The men's jobs were in the skilled manual sectors, though of course some people, women as well as men, have experienced the unemployment that the restructuring of the local economy has meant . The buyers shared many of these class positions and experiences with the non-buyers . It was life-cycle stage and family relations that differentiated buyers from non-buyers rather than employment patterns . A particular intersection of class-and-gender relations had structured the `decision' to buy ; but that decision carried with it further implications for class and gender relations and consciousness . For instance, though in one sense the households that bought had escaped from the familism in the practices of the local state, the change of tenure was accompanied by a recreation of an intensified familism in the practices of household members . The home improvements and gardening are only part of this . Equally noticeable was the retreat from collective `community' participation and the channelling of women's earnings into `extras' for the house . The wives' earnings in this case were not central to the decision to buy, and at least for the early buyers, smaller weekly outgoings over time had presented some of the women with an opportunity to leave paid work . Domestic life for them was privatised at the same time as tenure was privatised . Some husbands' attitudes ('I bought it for her') further signified both the secondariness and dependence of the wife's position and the construction of the home as the woman's place . However there were paradoxes, political and ideological, at the level of both class and gender consciousness . Some women for example affirmed a pride in ownership and control of the home, seeing owner occupation as offering real gains in security as a woman, at the same time as (and perhaps because) it consolidated family life . There was certainly little to indicate that this was perceived as anything but a gain in the minds of the women involved . This familism was not experienced as being

Gender and housing tenure contradictory, nor was it recognised as being oppressive . On class issues, however, much more ambivalence was expressed . Many buyers were concerned to make clear how little they thought the class relations of their own lives had been affected by their change of tenure . Nonetheless, a recognition of the collective class gains (however imperfect and partial these may have been) that their own council housing had represented sat slightly uneasily for some of them with the individualism of the material gains that they were making . Even though there was a general awareness of the material gain that buying had entailed, there was equally an awareness that this gain was unlikely to be realised . As one said, `We're still the same people . We're still working class .' Most asserted that housing issues played little part in their political affiliations or voting behaviour, and in summary, peoples' social consciousness was as mixed and fragmented as one would expect in a declining, paternalist Labourist stronghold . The `effects' of sales in other words were ideological as well as material . The political implications were by no means secured, and were contradictory for individuals as well as for classes and genders . The issue of council house sales needed to be thought through in terms of how state relations, national and local, intersect with these contradictions, and how individual men and women make sense of them . This complexity of the `effects' of council house sales remains obscured in Ball's assessment . All he can claim is that the financial effects of sales have been `disastrous' (p . 16) for the central state . The use of the varying possibilities of tenure forms to secure alternatives, to make sense of living out the contradictions of class and gender experiences was also apparent in the study of a large exclusively owner occupied estate in West Newcastle . This study also illustrates quite vividly the point that tenure experiences have different meanings and affect class and gender relations differently in different social and spatial contexts . For example, the effects on women's employment patterns was different, and consequently, the impact on social consciousness was different . The intention of examining the effect on class consciousness of the tenure of owner occupation on resident households who were largely experiencing the tenure for the first time, was rapidly broadened to include analyses on the lines of gender-and-class . It became clear that the experience of owner occupation was tempered and affected by the fact of the woman's/wife's/mother's employment - which in contrast to the Sunderland women was often necessary to obtain and pay off the mortgage . Not only did this affect the woman's self-image (in and outside the home) together with gender/family relations in the home, but it also marked a considerable historical shift in the meaning and actuality

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of community in this locale . Thus the social relations of provision and consumption involved in this negotiated, private tenure were subject to, and the object of, the changing meanings and realities of the lives of the reasidents, whose experiences are bound by class-and-gender-and-locale relations . Implications for socialist housing policy

The role of the state and its relation to the other agencies of provision of housing, then, should be looked at as a contradictory, open-ended attempt to secure class and gender relations of domination . Ball's analysis which privileges provision is inadequate, because it leaves out the gender relations that the present structures and agencies of provision, including the state, attempt to secure . He repeats the fundamental error of seeing the state in the present social formation as being axiomatically capitalist rather than patriarchal/capitalist . Furthermore, his suggestion that we ignore consumption issues because of the possibly divisive impact of tenure in the electoral sphere smacks of the same political opportunism that Ball so rightly criticises . Production and provision are important in the construction of tenure relations and we do see Ball's shift of focus as necesary ; but so too are consumption and the social relations of occupation and locale . Class and gender dominations articulate in both spheres and any attack on the capitalist interests involved in provision cannot be taken seriously until the gender relations that underpin that provision are also addressed . Similarly, the different dimensions of the social relations of tenure have to be understood and analysed not separately or partially, but in their relationship to each other and as potentially and tangibly dynamic . Ball's clarion call to `take on the powerful lobbies for owner occupation and against the reform of council housing' (p . 42) on the grounds that existing structures cannot achieve high housing standards or genuine accountability, is only part of the way forward . The plea for gaining control over production (p . 41) is not as unproblematic as it first appears and Ball's parallel with the National Health Service is rather misleading . Health care in Britain is more heavily service-reliant than is housing, and service relations could be qualitatively changed by political will alone . Housing, on the other hand, is predominantly a physical form that embodies a legacy of familistic assumptions . If we do remove `capitalistic interests' from housing production, and use public agencies for building, then that building must not reproduce a housing stock that merely replicates the built forms of previous phases of building such as the spacious, family sized council housing of the 1950s . Similarly, control of the production and provision of housing

Gender and housing tenure

(whether through tenancy allocations within a publicly-owned stock or through the allocation of publicly-owned finance) must be thoroughly reformulated to meet real households' needs in a flexible way . Not much will have changed if the same restricted group of people are given tenancies or credit, but from public rather than private sources . Again, workers' control of the production and provision of housing must not just imply control by the male workers in those industries . Ways must be found to allow a variety of tenure forms to coexist, meeting people's changing needs in a flexible way . Satisfying housing need, in other words, must represent a commitment by the Left to take on the forces of capital and of patriarchy - a commitment which would involve struggle on both fronts . Otherwise, any possibility of pursuing housing policies that lead to the formation of `non-sexist, anti-racist, socialist social relations' (Jacobs, 1985, p . 16) will stay remote . If the `top priority for the left' remains the struggle with capitalist interests and if theory stays at this level, then the `Great Male Show' will still be on the road . Whether it is moving to the Right (as the Labour Party seems to be doing), or back to the Left (as Ball would prefer), other dominations will stay unchallenged . What really needs to be analysed is the politics of providing genuine choice, genuine accountability and democracy on a basis that attempts to overcome gender as well as class dominations .

193

We would like to thank the following people for their helpful comments on an earlier draft of this paper : Angus Erskine, Dave Glover, Derek Stubbs, Jane Wheelock. 1. This literature is extensive and growing . Amongst the more important contributions are those by Dunleavy (1979), Gray (1982), Hamnett (1984), Heath et al (1985), Karn & Ungerson (1981), Martens (1985), Merrett (1982), Saunders (1978, 1979, 1984), Thorns (1982), as well as Ball's own work . 2. This was a contribution begun in his book Housing Policy and Economic Power (Ball, 1983) and developed in a recent Capital and Class article (Ball, 1985) . 3. Clearly it is also important to be aware of the relations of racial dominance involved in housing . These are not covered in the present article - although this is not to deny the impact of these relations because a) they are not centrally bound up with the production and consumption of housing in the way that gender relations are, and b) they were not crucial relations in our own empirical work . For a recent discussion of this, see Jacobs (1985) . 4. It is interesting that most work on the gender relations of tenure has been done by women (see for example Austerberry & Watson, 1981 ; Madigan, 1983 ; Ravetz, 1984 ; Rose, 1981) . Even male theorists who draw attention to some of the phenomena that illustrate gender inequalities (Barnes, 1984, in his discussion of the building societies for instance), C :&C 25-M

Notes



Capital & Class rarely incorporate this into their theoretical framework . 5. The question of the nature of the `capital' tied up in housing has been one of the issues that has taxed theorists in this context . The long term viability on a social or on an individual level of owner occupation of an ageing housing stock is another . 6. A stimulating account of the indirect interventions of the state in such `private' areas of life as responsibility for children and personal caring within the family is provided by McIntosh . She stresses both the material and the ideological nature of that intervention . 7. This information is based on a questionnaire survey of long-standing residents on three Sunderland council estates, supplemented by interview material . Some of the residents had bought their council houses in the early 1970s, some under the current Right to Buy legislation, and some had no intention of buying at the time of the survey . For further details, see Stubbs (1985) . 8. For details see Banim (1986) .

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References

Austerberry H . & Watson S (1981)'A Woman's Place : a feminist approach to housing in Britain', Feminist Review, No . 8 . Ball M . (1983) Housing Policy and Economic Power : the Political Economy of Owner Occupation . Ball M . (1985) `Coming to terms with owner occupation', Capital and Class, No . 24 . Banim M . (1986) Occupying houses : the social relations of tenure, PhD thesis to be submitted to the University of Durham . Barnes P . (1984) Building Societies, the Myth of Mutuality . Dunleavy P . (1979) `The Urban Basis of Political Alignment', British Journal of Political Science, Vol . 9 . Gray F . (1982) `Owner Occupation and Social Relations', in Merrett S ., Owner Occupation in Britain . Heath A . et al (1985) How Britain Votes . Jacobs S . (1985) `Race, Empire and the Welfare State : Council housing and racism', Critical Social Policy, Issue 13 . Karn V . & Uugerson C . (1980) The Consumer Experience of Housing . Madigan R . (1983) `Women and Housing', in Glasgow Women's Study Group, Uncharted Lives . Martens M . `Owner occupied housing in Europe : post-war developments and current dilemmas', Environment and Planning A, Vol . 17, No . 5. Merrett S . & Gray F . (1982) Owner Occupation in Britain . McIntosh M . (1984) `The family, regulation and the private sphere', in McLellan G . et al, State and Society in Contemporary Britain . Ravetz A . (1984) `The home of Woman : a view from the interior', Built Environment, Vol . 10, No . 1 . Saunders P . (1978) `Domestic property and social class', International Journal of Urban and Regional Research, Vol . 2 . Saunders P . (1979) Urban Politics: a sociological approach . Saunders P . (1984) `Beyond housing classes', International Journal of Urban and Regional Research, Vol . 8, No . 2 . Stubbs C . (1985) An Interest in the Kingdom, Sunderland Polytechnic Working Paper . Thorns D . (1981) `Owner occupation : its significance for wealth transfer and class formation', Sociological Review, Vol . 29, No . 4.

195

Review article Two models of class analysis

Over the past decade the works of Erik Olin Wright have come to exercise an important influence on Marxist debates about the state and Reviewed by Guglielmo Carchedi social class . Taking up his most recent By transporting the concept of capitalism from its production book, Classes, relations to property relations and by speaking of simple Carchedi argues forcefully that individuals instead of speaking of entrepreneurs, he moves the Wright's question of socialism from the domain of production into the fundamental project domain of relations of fortune - that is, from the relation represents a revision between capital and labour to the relation between poor and of the fundamental conceptual rich . (R . Luxemburg, Reform or Revolution, p . 65) framework developed by Marx, and a negation of the IN RECENT years E .O . Wright has emerged as an influential originality of the sociologist of the left . In his most recent work, Classes, he materialist analysis undertakes a complete reformulation of his theory of social classes . of social classes and . In this process of reconceptualisation, Wright touches upon a class struggle number of issues which lie at the core of Marxist analysis . A review of Classes is thus an important occasion to clarify the issues and assess the consequences of choosing among the different, alternative, formulations of those issues . Thus, the importE .O . Wright Classes pp . 344, London, Verso, 1985 £20 .00 (h/b), £7 .95 (p/b), ISBN 86091812 2

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ance and significance of the following discussion goes much further than the assessment of this work . There are two dimensions to this work . A `biographical' one, which deals with the reasons for Wright's theoretical shift and with a comparison between his previous and his new conceptualisation . In this review I shall not dwell on it . Rather, in what follows I shall focus on the second dimension, i .e . on the characteristic features of Wright's new approach . Wright has a clear and immediate style of writing . He can present complex issues in an attractive way . He also undertakes a difficult task, that of providing empirical evidence for a Marxist theory of class . He should be given credit for this and the difficulty of the task should not be forgotten in assessing his results . But, unfortunately, and contrary to Wright's own conviction, on the whole, his new conceptual apparatus does not constitute an advance compared with his previous one . I shall argue this by examining both his theory's internal difficulties and his claim to be faithful to Marx's political agenda and theoretical goals . Since a point by point substantiation of this claim would require a whole volume, I shall restrict myself to consider only some of the nodal points in Wright's theory . Epistemology

Classes opens with a discussion of the `logic of concept formation' . Concepts, says Wright, are produced by human beings, i .e . by individuals . The production of concepts `takes place under a variety of constraints' (p . 20) i .e . under both empirical and theoretical constraints . The latter are the theoretical suppositions which determine the range of possible concepts that can be produced . The former are the `real world' constraints and `operate through data gathered using the concepts of the theory' (ibid) . The key word here is `individuals' . A critical remark should be made at once . Wright's epistemology is individualistic, i .e . it is based on individual producers of knowledge and thus on individual `actors' . Within this theoretical constraint all one can do is to inquire into how classes affect individuals . However, the basic unit of analysis remains the individual, not classes . The difficulty with this kind of 'micro-individual logic' is, as Wright is well aware, that it is unsuitable to explain `historical trajectories of struggle and chance' (p . 182) . His answer is that people (individuals) are `systematically affected in various ways by virtue of being in one class rather than another' (ibid) and that his theory explains the effects of classes on individuals better than rival interpretations do . Wright does not consider this result to be a definite proof of

Review Article

the superiority of his theory . However, he sees in this feature an element which lends more credibility to it than to other rival conceptualisations . Whether Wright's theory is really a better explanation of the effects of class on individuals (as we shall see, he considers the effects on individuals' incomes and consciousness) depends on the validity of the method chosen . This is a question which will be considered later on . Let us assume, for the time being, that Wright's theory does fare better than alternative ones on the grounds Wright himself chooses . This does not show yet that his theory is a better explanation of `historical trajectories and change' . But it is this latter which is the basic aim of the Marxist theory of classes, not Wright's problematic . From this perspective, the theoretical link which alone can lend meaningfulness to Wright's careful statistical research is the one which shows that the ability to explain individual features in terms of class positions is also a proof of the ability to explain social phenomena (and thus that the theory which fares better as an explanation of individual determinations by classes is also the one which is more suitable to explain class phenomena) . But this is the link which is missing, this is the theoretical nexus which Wright has yet to provide . Personally, I believe that this is an impossible task . Once one starts with a 'micro-individual logic', the only way to come up to the social level is by aggregation of individual units . But aggregation of individual units cannot explain the social, i .e . what constitues the units as units of a whole . This is not the place to elaborate on this theme . Here suffice it to mention that the burden of providing the missing theoretical link falls on Wright . One point should be stressed, in order to avoid misunderstandings . It has been mentioned above that the basic focus of Marx's theory of class is social phenomena and change . This does not imply that the concern for how classes affect individual phenomena is illegitimate . On the contrary, the importance of this area of study cannot be underestimated . But one thing is to inquire into how social phenomena (e .g . classes) affect microindividual ones . This can be done only after the alternative theories have shown their merits on the basis of their ability to explain social phenomena and change them . Another is to suggest that, somehow, the ability to explain how individual phenomena are affected by social phenomena is an indication of the ability to explain the nature and laws of development of the latter and to bring about social change . This is methodologically illegitimate because one logic of explanation is substituted by another . Moreover, as the last section of this review will argue, in Wright's case this substitition is accompanied by the adoption of a method which has a built-in inability to explain social change, a method

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which requires a static concept of both structure and consciousness and a deterministic notion of the relation between them. Exploitation Having presented his epistemological frame of reference, Wright goes on to introduce what could be regarded as the major element of novelty in his new formulation of classes : the concept of exploitation . This concept is adapted from John Roemer's notion of exploitation and is thus influenced by game theory . Therefore, in what follows I will have to briefly comment on this type of application of game theory to the theory of classes . For Wright class locations structure the objective interests of the actors (p . 145) . One can find two notions of objective interests in this book . The first is that people `have an interest in reducing the toil necessary to obtain whatever level of consumption they desire' (p . 36) . The second is that people have an interest in increasing their capacity to act (p . 28) . The relation between these two notions of `objective interests' is unclear, just as it is unclear why the term `objective' is used here . In any case, it is around the former notion that Wright conceptualises exploitative relations . The link is `game theory' . In terms of this approach the following question is posed : `if one of the classes would disappear, would there be more consumption and/or less toil for the other class?' If this question is answered positively, then there is exploitation . More concretely, and by way of example, `the lord is rich because lords are able, by virtue of their class relations to serfs, to appropriate a surplus produced by the serfs' (ibid) . In this view, then, the rich are rich because they appropriate the fruits of the poor's toil . There is a causal link `between the wellbeing of a class and the deprivation of another' (ibid) . But this link (1) is at the level of appropriation/distribution and (2) is an ahistorical concept . On the contrary, Marx's concept of exploitation is at the level of production and is an historically specific concept . Let us see why . In order to conceptualise a general notion of exploitation, Wright shifts his analysis from the level of production to that of distribution . For him exploitation is `an economically oppressive appropriation of the fruits of the labour of one class by another' (p . 77 ; emphasis added) . But in so doing Wright looses sight of the specificity of capitalism : the fact that exploitative relations are first of all production relations . `In other words,' says L . Colletti, `capitalist appropriation is not exclusively or primarily an appropriation of things, but rather an appropriation of subjectivity, of working energy itself, of the physical and intellectual powers of man' (1972 : p . 102). Suppose that the capitalists would

Review Article give back to the labourers the surplus they appropriated . This is an absurd example which I use only for didactical purposes, not to build a theory on it, as game theorists do . Ini this case there would be no exploitation, in terms of distribution . Yet, at the level of production there would have been no change . The labourers might not be exploited any more in a distributional sense . But the nature of the exploitative relations at the level of production, the fact that the workers would still have no say as to what to produce, for whom to produce it, and how to produce it, would not have changed . Both the distribution and the production aspects of exploitation are necessary . But Wright's `game theory approach' simply erases the latter, specific, one . As a result, there is implicit in this approach to exploitation the notion that if the rich would disappear there could be an equitable redistribution of wealth produced in the same way, i .e . in a capitalist way, under a system of capitalist production relations . The congeniality between game theory and reformist policies becomes then clear . Wright's notion of explanation is not only distributional, it also ahistorical . If one's starting point is that in all class-divided societies there is appropriation of surplus by one class from another, then a general concept of exploitation is found principally at the distributional level of analysis . If, on the other hand, one's starting point is that in all class societies there are classes which produce for other classes, then a general concept of exploitation is found principally at the level of production . At this level of abstraction there are no compelling reasons to prefer either one of these concepts . If, however, one wants to analyse specific types of exploitation (e .g . feudal as against capitalist exploitation) then one has to proceed from the distributional level to the level of production . In fact, a notion of exploitation based on production can be made immediately historically specific by inquiring into the specific forms of production relations. The same can be done for a notion of exploitation based on distribution (i .e . how is the surplus appropriated in specific societies?) only if one disposes to begin with of a theory of how that surplus has been produced . E .g . the distribution of surplus under capitalism is distribution of surplus value, of the surplus produced under specific relations of production . An historically specific theory of distribution presupposes an historically specific theory of production . Or, if one remains at the level of distribution, one cannot descend to the analysis of concrete forms of exploitation . All one can say is that in all class-divided societies there is appropriation of surplus . It is often said that a distributional theory of exploitation can provide a general framework . This, it is proposed, can then be filled with an historically specific content (specific forms of exploitation) when specific societies are considered, much the

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same as a bottle can be filled with different types of wine . Unfortunately, in social theory, different wines come in different bottles . From the above, it is now clear that an analysis in terms of production relations, conceptualised as historically specific relations, and one in terms of distribution relations, conceptualised as ahistorical relations, are antithetical because they are the result

of,

and presuppose, two antithetical methods of abstraction .

These two analyses exclude, rather than integrate, each other . One method, which is highlighted by Marx in the Grundrisse, is based on concentrating and focussing on the historical specificity of a socio-economic system . The other method, typical of bourgeois social sciences, is based on disregarding what is historically specific and focussing on formal, ahistorical similarities . In the case of exploitation, the focus of distribution presupposes remaining at the level of ahistorical similarities . It is because of this that Wright's and Roemer's concept of exploitation cannot be considered to be a general case under which the Marxian concept can be subsumed . One of the novel features of Wright's new theory is that classes are rooted in three forms of exploitation : besides the traditional economic form (based on the ownership of capital assets), he considers also the exploitation rooted in the control of organisation assets and in the position of skills or credential assets (p . 283) . Wright himself has doubts about his new categorisation . To these, I shall add two of my own . First, ownership for Wright means `effective economic control' (p . 80) . To own organisation assets, then, means to be able to control them . But suppose somebody has an effective economic control of the organisation of capital assets . How can then somebody else own those capital assets? This is possible only if by ownership of capital assets one means legal ownership . But this is inconsistent with Wright's claim that `the basis of the capitallabour relation should be identified with the relations of effective control (i .e . real economic ownership) over productive assets as such' (p . 72) . Or, to have the effective economic control of the organisation of capital assets means in fact to be able to decide what to produce, for whom, and how ; i .e . it means to have the effective economic control of capital assets, to own them . The separation between ownership of capital assets and ownership of organisation assets is meaningless since to control the organisation of capital assets is to own them, in the effective, economic sense . To hold to this distinction would mean to reduce ownership to legal ownership, an absurd result in terms of Wright's problematic . Second, it is equally impossible to uncouple skills from labour power as a separate `productive asset' : the former are what

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makes the latter more or less skilled and thus more or less productive . Here, I shall not dwell further on this critique . I shall only consider one aspect of Wright's `skill exploitation' to indicate the width of the gulf separating Marx's and Wright's concept of exploitation . Skills exploitation is based on credentials . `When credentials are operating, employers will bid up the wage of the owners of the credentials above the costs of producing the skills' (p . 76) . This means that the owners of credentials (skills) exploit the nonowners . In terms of the Marxian labour theory of value, this only explains the payment of wages higher than the value of labour power due to a situation favourable to the sellers of labour power : in short, the labourers with credentials reduce their exploitation . In Wright's theory this is a case in which the labourers with credentials exploit those without credentials, i .e . both other labourers and the capitalists . Four more considerations can be made on Wright's use of game theory . First, the game theory approach explains at most the actors' behaviour . It is thus powerless to explain the laws of motion of society : yet this is the core of Marxist analysis . The game theory approach is thus perfectly consistent with Wright's individualistic epistemology but both are inconsistent with a Marxist approach to social phenomena. Second, for Wright `the labour-transfer approach to studying exploitation and class is a powerful and compelling one under certain simplifying assumptions . . . [but] it runs into difficulty . . . when some of these assumptions are relaxed' (p . 67) . It is because of these 'complications' that a second strategy is introduced, the `game theory approach' . One of the two . Either one does not relax those simplifying assumptions, and then there is no need for the game theory approach . Or one does relax those assumptions and then one cannot use the labour transfer approach and must use only the game theory approach . However, Wright seems to opt for a compromise . He uses the game theory approach but specifies that, to have exploitation, there must also be `the appropriation of the fruits of the labour of one class by another' (p . 74), i .e . the appropriation of surplus product (p . 100) . But this does not work . In fact, in this case, neither the product nor the surplus product can be measured in terms of labour . How can we know then that `a person consumes more than they produce' (p . 75)? i .e . that there is exploitation? How do we know e .g . how much a factory worker produces in the absence of a unit of measure in terms of labour? It would seem that Wright has to rely only on the game theory approach . But this implies two further difficulties . Third, in Wright's game theory approach, `the essential strategy adopted for the analysis of exploitation is to ask if

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particular coalitions of players would be better off if they withdrew from this game under certain specified procedures in order to play a different one [i .e . if they would be better off in an `hypothetically feasible alternative', G .C .] . The alternative game differs in the way the assets are allocated (p . 68) . But there are no methodological guidelines in setting up the `hypothetically feasible alternative' . Therefore, there is arbitrariness in both setting up this alternative and in interpreting the results . Take the unemployed . They are economically oppressed, says Wright, since they `would surely be better off under the counterfactual conditions of the withdrawal rules' but they are not exploited because they do not produce anything and thus cannot be expropriated of the fruits of their labour (p . 75) . Wright does not say what this counterfactual condition is, nor can we find anywhere in his book the principles for envisaging such an alternative condition . Should we just let our imagination loose? Would they be better off if they withdrew from this society to form their own society? We do not know . Since they would have no capital assets, they might have to work more and consume less than in their previous situation (where they did not work but did consume something) . This comparison implies of course that we are willing to disregard the objections raised in the second point . But let us assume that the unemployed would be better off . This means that they are economically oppressed . Now take the point of view of the employed . In the alternative situation (i .e . without the unemployed) they too would be better off since they would not have to finance the unemployment benefits . Who is now oppressing whom? And, if we do not like the results of this `hypothetically feasible alternative' (whatever it might mean), what are the methodological reasons which allow us to discard it and to choose another one? Fourth, as implied in what was just said, the game theory approach is built upon the analysis of phantastic models . These models are not a simplified depiction of reality, they are not models which encompass only the basic elements of reality . Rather, they are figments of the imagination, `fanciful examples' (p . 74), like the 'credit-market island' and the 'labour-market island' or the `hypothetically feasible alternative' to an existing situation . K . Kautsky remarked eighty years ago that bourgeois economics rests on the belief that `the best way to discover the laws of society is to disregard them completely' (1975 : p . 112) . Does not this summarise the nature of the game theory approach as well? Finally, a few words on the labour theory of value . There are incontrovertible signs that Wright abandons it . Let me mention briefly four examples . First, organisation, skills and capital are

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productive assets on a par with labour power . For the Marxian labour theory of value, on the other hand, only labour power is the source of value : other factors can only increase its productivity . Thus, Wright chooses a variant of the `factors of production' approach . Second, exploitation is `rooted in the monopolisation of crucial productive assets' (p . 106) . It is, in other words, the appropriation of the surplus product (p . 100) as a result of a monopolistic situation (p . 101) . This is a purely redistributional concept . Third, the `value' of a commodity is the price it would have in conditions of perfect competition (p . 101) . Value here is a price category, a misnomer . Fourth, wage is both the cost of producing skills in terms of labour content (p . 70) and the price of the marginal product (p . 76) but not the value of labour power . Wright quotes Roemer to the effect that `the labour theory of value should be dismissed entirely' (p . 99) without giving, however, his opinion on the matter . But what has just been said shows clearly that he too withdraws from it . The point of this critique is not that Wright casts off the labour theory of value. One is free to retain it or not . The point is that he replaces that theory with an eclectic mixture of elements of different theories while avoiding taking an explicit stand on it . This is unfortunate . The neo-Ricardian arguments, which seem to have made such an impact on Wright and which focus principally on the transformation problem, are unsound . As I show elsewhere (1984), Marx's labour theory of value is perfectly consistent . Classes

On the basis of what has been said above it is now easy to see that Wright's notion of exploitation does not disregard the ownership of the means of production . On the contrary, he raises ownership relations to the status of production relations . The game theory approach is not interested in what people produce, for whom, and how (the production relations) . In this approach classes confront each other over the distribution of the product on the basis of property relations (i . e . who owns the capital assets as well as the other assets, seen as property) . In fact, `property relations of classes . . . define classes . . . by the productive assets which classes control' (p . 73) . Ownership of the means of production is seen here as property, as distribution relations, not as production relations . And this cannot be otherwise since for Wright the class structure `constitutes the basic mechanism for distributing access to resources in a society, and thus distributing capacities to act' (p . 28) . But this is not all . Wright collapses classes (which should be defined in terms of production relations) into distributional

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groups (defined in terms of the distribution of assets) only for the bourgeoisie, the small employers, the petty bourgeoisie, and the proletarians . The first three categories own the means of production, the latter does not . However, Wright introduces eight more `classes', defined in terms of contradictory class locations . These locations have different degrees of ownership of organisation and skill assets but do not own the means of production . They are : expert managers, expert supervisors, expert non-managers, semicredentialled managers, semi-credentialled supervisors, semicredentialled workers, uncredentialled managers, and uncredentialled supervisors (Table 3 .3, p . 88) . But, as it has been argued above, if the control of organisation assets is simply the economic control (or real ownership) of capital assets and if skills are not separable from labour power as productive assets, the basis for deriving class relations from these categories collapses . We are then left with occupational groups, in no essential way different from the categories of stratification theory . Thus, in Wright's game theoretical approach classes are distributional and occupational groups with only a pale resemblance to Marx's original categories . If time and space allowed, it would be interesting to compare Wright's concept of classes with Weber's concept of `class situation' (1968 : p . 302) . There are four problematic areas which Wright himself recognises to be such and for which he admits not to `have entirely satisfactory solutions' (p . 92) . The importance of these difficulties for his theory should not be underestimated and they, as Wright says, `may prove "fatal" to the proposed concept of classes' (ibid) . One of these difficulties has already been alluded to : the identification of organisation assets as a separate productive asset (force) . Reasons of space prevent me from dealing with the other areas of difficulty . Suffice it to say here that Wright's answers are far from being convincing . Class structure and class consciousness When it comes to testing his new theory, Wright inquires into the effects of class structure on individual incomes and consciousness . I shall disregard here the discussion of the effects of structure on income and will focus on consciousness . Basically, Wright constructs measurements of consciousness and relates them to his twelve classes by means of statistical tests . He uses `t-tests' to test the statistical significance of the difference in means between groups (p . 161) . In slightly different words : he fills his class categories with occupational categories, constructs measures of class consciousness (on the basis of eight questions), asks a representative sample the relevant questions, and then

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applies statistical procedures to find out whether differences in consciousness can be explained by differences in class positions . It will come as no surprise that there is no difference here between this procedure and the one followed by a stratification analysis of consciousness . It could be objected, of course, that the difference is in the concepts, in the categories to which the procedure is applied, and that the procedure in itself is neutral . My view, on the contrary, is that Wright's application of these statistical procedures to the study of the relation between structure and consciousness (1) requires a static definition of both concepts, and (2) replaces dialectical thinking with deterministic thinking . If these points can be substantiated, then Wright's basis for `empirically adjudicating contending class definitions' (already challenged above in the section on epistemology) is weakened on yet further grounds .

a . Consciousness . To begin with, Wright chooses attitudes as indicators of consciousness . He is aware of the weaknesses of this procedure but, nevertheless, chooses to disregard them (pp . 143ff and 188) . I shall not repeat them here . Rather, I shall comment on the notion of consciousness employed by Wright . This is revealed by the respondents' answers to eight questions . On the basis of these answers, a measurement of consciousness is constructed, which goes from maximally pro-capitalist to maximally pro-workers . It will be immediately evident that this is an inherently static definition of consciousness, one which does not see consciousness in its concrete historical conjuncture . The question is not whether, according to a certain scale, a type of consciousness is always pro-capitalist or pro-worker, irrespective of the concrete situation . Rather, the question is whether that type of consciousness is a form of domination of one class over another under specific and concrete circumstances . For example, the first of Wright's eight questions is `corporations benefit owners at the expense of workers and consumers' (p . 146) . A positive answer is supposed to reveal a pro-worker consciousness, a negative answer a procapitalist attitude . Is this right? Well, it all depends on the concrete situation . There are enough 'anti-capitalist' elements in European fascist ideologies to move a hypothetical fascist respondent to answer positively . This would hardly be a symptom of a pro-worker consciousness . Or, one can believe that `a main reason for poverty is that the economy is based on private profit' (Wright's fifth question ; ibid) without revealing a pro-worker attitude . This would be the case, for example, of a respondent's belief that there are no alternative feasible social systems, and

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thus that poverty is inevitable . The real, ideological, content of such an answer is then pro-capital . The issue here is not that one should be more careful in the formulation of questions nor that the number of questions seems to be extremely limited in relation to the task assigned to them . Even a different formulation or a great number of questions would not answer the criticism that this method (1) assumes that there are questions whose answers always reveal a pro-capitalist (or pro-worker) attitude, abstracting from the ideological context of which they are part (a doubtful proposition), and (2) assumes that the simple addition of these answers gives us the contours of the individual respondent's consciousness . This method, the addition of the parts in order to arrive to the whole, is diametrically opposed to that of Marx, which starts from the whole in order to explain the parts . In it the parts get their meaning from the whole and thus from their reciprocal interrelation . Consciousness should thus be seen as something in which it is the character of the whole which gives meaning to the parts, i .e . as something in which the character of the whole is not given by the addition of the parts and thus cannot be reconstructed by adding the parts (the individual answers, in Wright's methodology) . According to this alternative approach the same objectively determined consciousness (e .g . ideology) is internalised by each individual in a different way . However, all these individuals can be said to share that consciousness inasmuch as they share its dominant features, its class content . Thus, the task becomes that of searching the dominant forms of consciousness in a specific situation, those forms which are shared, in a variety of individual ways, by a number of individuals sufficient to make of those consciousnesses social phenomena, social forces . Even assuming that there are questions the answers to which always reveal a pro-capitalist or a pro-worker attitude, what is important : to discover this immutable form of consciousness or to discover the dominant forms of consciousness under the concrete circumstances, the changeable forms of ideological domination shared in their class content by a great number of individual forms of consciousness? It is clear that this latter view of consciousness is unsuitable for tests of statistical significance . Or, alternatively, if one chooses to measure consciousness as conventional sociology does, one has to adopt a static and 'micro-logical' notion of it . b . Structures . But Wright conceptualises structures too in a static manner, i .e . in a structuralist fashion . Structuralism sees structures as crystallised realisations . A structure becomes a complex of positions (pigeonholes) to be filled by people . Structuralism does not see that the relation between structures and people is not one between pigeonholes and pigeons but one in

Review Article which people are the personifications of the structure, of its inner contradictions, and thus can also be the agents of change . This is why positions should be seen as processes and thus as elements of a whole, as the expressions of definite relations but also, at the same time, of the dynamics inherent in those relations . For example, it is not structuralist to define the new middle class in terms of production relations and to stress that people filling those positions belong to the new middle class, provided that those positions are seen as the result of a specific dynamic and thus historical process . One could thus define the new middle class in terms of a contradictory combination of those elements of the production relations which define the two fundamental classes but, in the same breath, would have also to stress that the emergence of these positions is the result of the needs of capital accumulation . At the same time, the same needs subject those positions to a process of dequalification as soon as they realise themselves and this process is, in its turn, counteracted by the introduction of new techniques which create new, qualified, jobs in a constant process of tendential and countertendential phenomena . More generally, a Marxist dialectical approach defines positions in terms of relations of production but also inquires into whether those positions are in the process of being qualified or dequalified, whether they belong to a production process subject to technological innovations or not, whether they are part of a process organised on the basis of, say, scientific management or of the human relations approach, whether they are part of a branch of industry being threatened by restructuring or one in the process of economic expansion, whether that category of agents has qualifications which match those required by the positions they fill, whether those qualifications are in the process of being brought down or up to the level required by those positions, etc . The study of structures does not lead necessarily to structuralism and is, needless to say, essential for class analysis . But the study of structures without dialectics cannot but fall into a structuralist, i .e . static, analysis . In short, the difference between a structuralist (Marxist oriented or not) and a Marxist dialectical approach is that the latter sees both consciousness and structures as processes, in their movement . From the point of view of dialectics, consciousness, seen as the dominant forms of class domination under specific circumstances, must be related to positions seen as the dynamic expression of production relations . Thus, both structures and ideologies must be seen in their historical and conjunctural specificity . They must be seen as representing (in a contradictory way) the interests of the different classes in the sense that the

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ideological form of these interests is not fixed and pre-determined but

changeable as the conjuncture, and thus the interrelation with all other social phenomena, changes . If structures, positions, are seen not as a process but statistically, and if positions determine consciousness, then changes in class consciousness can only be determined by extra-structural, or non-class factors . Alternatively, if changes in positions do occur, then Wright's approach must move directly from these changes to changes in consciousness without being able to examine within the framework of class analysis the role political parties, trade unions, schools, social movements, etc . have in the formation of class consciousness . As Leo Panitch convincingly argues (1984-5) it is this kind of crude determinism which is at the basis of much contemporary, as well as past, reformism . c . The relation between structures and consciousness . As I have just hinted at, Wright conceptualises the relation between structure and consciousness in a deterministic way . Let me elaborate on this . Within Wright's theoretical frame of inquiry, only structures determine consciousness . Of course, other factors, the so-called 'non-class mechanisms' affect the concrete form taken by consciousness (p . 29), but they fall outside the explanatory power of the model ; they only account for the deviations of these concrete forms from what should be the consciousness of the respondents as indicated by their positions and in a form independent of the historically specific conjuncture . Thus, somehow, positions account for the `pure' form of consciousness while the actual, concrete, form taken by consciousness is the result of both class determination (which accounts for this pure form) and of the non-class mechanisms (which account for the deviations) . In short, class determination is insufficient to explain concrete realisations . But a theory which relies on non-class mechanisms for the explanation of the concrete form taken by phenomena - in this case, consciousness - cannot but fall into a view in which consciousness is somehow pre-determined by the structure and in which the real, concrete form taken by social phenomena falls outside class analysis's explanatory power . This tremendous, but unnecessary, constraint imposed on class analysis is nothing else but the result of having collapsed class determination into class determinism . Wright attempts to escape this criticism by pointing out that class positions do not `strictly determine class outcomes, but only the probabilistic tendencies for such outcomes' (p . 186) . This seems to cleanse this approach from its deterministic features, it seems to introduce the concept of tendency, a dialectical concept . But whether class positions explain the class consciousness of the respondents or the probability that the respondents have a certain

Review Article consciousness, the fact remains that in Wright's scheme class position is the only determinant of these dependent variables, the only independent variable . As Wright puts it, `where deviations occur it is due to factors which are contingent relative to the effects of the positions themselves' (ibid ; emphasis added) . (Concrete examples of institutions through which these deviations take place are political parties, trade unions, schools, etc . (p . 251) .) The addition of the probabilistic element does not change the deterministic character of the model in which there are dependent and independent variables into a dynamic one, in which there are determinant and determined social phenomena . This is obviously not the place to discuss the dialectical method of analysis . However, a few remarks are necessary to clarify the meaning of my critique . The dialectical method does not consider phenomena as dependent and independent variables . Rather, there are determinant and determined social phenomena . They all interact with, and modify, each other so that a certain instance's realisation is the result of the interaction of all instances, determinant as well as determined . However, the determinant instance is `more important' than (i .e . determinant of) the other instances . There are various interpretations of what `more important' means . One of them, the one to which I subscribe, is that a certain instance is determinant when it can be said to call into existence the other (determined) instances as conditions of its own supersession or reproduction . Structural determination, then, does not mean that the structure determines a certain form of consciousness and that this form is modified by other non-class factors, so that the structure is accountable for a part (percentage) of a certain class consciousness . Structural determination means that the structure determines the class content of a certain consciousness (almost inevitably a contradictory content) and that the realisation of, the concrete form taken by, that consciousness is the outcome of the complex interrelation of all instances (determinant as well as determined) in their concrete, realised, form . For Wright structural determination does not mean that the determinant instance gives its class content to the determined ones ; rather, for him structural determination becomes a separable step in the concrete realisation, in the specific form taken by, the determined instances . But the `homogeneity of the effects generated by the structure' (p . 137), i .e . class consciousness, is not something which can be observed empirically aside from the modifications produced on class consciousness by other `effects' generated also by the same structure . This is so because both the structure and the `effects' realise themselves in their specific form in a process of mutual interrelation. Wright does not seem to realise that the attempt to find out by statistical means the C'.C 29-. N

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`pure' structural determination of consciousness is precisely the point where a dialectical view is replaced by a deterministic one, the point where the `reflection' (even if only a partial and distorted one) of the structure into consciousness is sought . This can be easily seen if one considers that the greater the explanatory power of the model (i .e . the match between positions and consciousness) is, the less relevant schools, parties, unions, etc . become for the formation (and thus for the explanation) of class consciousness . At the limit, a theory finding a perfect match between positions and consciousness would be the best theory in terms of Wright's problematic . This theory, however, would leave no room for the influence all other phenomena (both social and individual) have on class consciousness . Thus, the better a theory is, the less realistic it becomes ; or, the best theory is also the least realistic . In short, the best theory leaves no room for human agencies in the production of class consciousness and thus in effecting social change . Again, this is a consequence of the structuralism implied in Wright's approach . If this critique is accepted, then to inquire into concrete, realised cases of structural determination, into the `homogeneity of the effects generated by the structure', takes on a different meaning. The empirical observation that, say, 65% of the incumbents of a certain type of positions have a certain ideology (consistent, somehow, with their structurally determined interests) does not mean that the other 35% have another ideology due to extra-structural (or non-class) factors . On the contrary, if the structure (due to its inner contradictory nature) generates its own (contradictory) conditions of reproduction or of supersession, then the 35% holding an `inconsistent' ideology do that for reasons no less structural than the ones explaining why the other 65 % holds a `consistent' ideology, i .e . they do that because of the influence on class consciousness of social phenomena other than the class positions of the individuals . The so-called non-class mechanisms (i .e . social phenomena non-specific to classes as for example the oppression experienced by women and minority groups), become then so many conditions of reproduction or of supersession of the structure since they too are elements shaping the formation of class consciousness . Thus, to inquire into the empirical relation between positions and consciousness is methodologically valid only if (1) both positions and consciousness are seen as processes, and (2) the relation between them is interpreted not in the sense that the discrepancy is due to non-class factors (so that the less the discrepancy the higher the explanatory power of the theory) but in the sense that it too is an element of class determination, a result of class struggle . From Wright's 'micro-logical' perspective, in which

Review Article statistics are used to test whether differences in consiousness are due to differences in class positions, it is logical that what is not explained by class positions must be the result of non-class factors . From the point of view of classes, in which dialectics is used to inquire into the relation between structures, i .e . classes, and their realised conditions of existence or supersession, what is not a condition of supersession of the system (e .g . a pro-worker ideology) is a condition of its reproduction (e .g . a pro-capitalist ideology) . Statistical tests of significance here are inapplicable . They are thus not neutral, they have a class content, because their application requires a redefinition of the dynamic concepts of ideology and structure into static ones as well as a radical (micro-individual) re-conceptualisation of the relation between them . This last remark raises an important question in class analysis : the conditions of applicability of certain techniques of social research . Let me consider another technique of social research on which Wright relies heavily in order to inquire into the respondents' class consciousness : the method of the interview . That this method can be applied within any type of logic of social research is a self-evident truth for the great majority of social researchers, no matter what their strategy of social research is . Yet there are reasons indicating that we should apply this method cautiously . When a worker is confronted by an interviewer, s/he is alone . Chances are that s/he would answer the same questions differently in a different situation, e .g. in a workers' assembly . This is so not only because of psychological reasons (i .e . because s/he is not alone with, and intimidated by, the interviewer but is part of a group, of a community) but also because of deeper epistemological reasons . In fact, in this collective situation, the individual worker becomes part of a process of collective production of knowledge in which his or her individual knowledge both is enriched by the collective one (through discussion with the other members of the community) and contributes to (and thus enriches) that collective knowledge . But, it could be argued, this is the use of the questionnaire made by conventional sociology, and by Wright . The same method could be applied in a different situation, e .g . during a workers' assembly . This is true . Yet, this application would not cancel the capitalist nature of this technique . The nature is given by the fact that this technique is an `acquisitive' tool of research, an appropriation by the researcher of the knowledge of the respondents, instead of being a process which also provides information, a process which shapes consciousness . It is this capitalist nature which makes this technique contradictory to socialist social research . This, however, does not mean that the

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method of the interview should never be used . This, as other methods of conventional sociology, can be used within a Marxist dialectical framework on condition that they can be immersed in this framework, if they are not incompatible with this framework, and on condition that their use is limited and subordinate to this framework . Let me elaborate on this latter point by providing a short example of the conditions under which the method of the questionnaire can be used to inquire into the determination of consciousness by structure . First, we need a theory of classes which has been tested, verified, in terms of both its internal consistency and, especially, in terms of practice, in terms of its ability to explain and change social phenomena . This (and not statistical tests of significance) is the ground on which alternative theories should be compared and chosen, assuming, of course, that our main interest is, as Wright puts it, Marx's theoretical agenda and political goals . Second, on the basis of this theory, we should identify positions within the social structure and analyse them as processes, as the contradictory result of a process of development . I have given an indication above of what elements to look for when conceptualising positions . Third, we consider ideologies . Three points must be made in this regard . To begin with, we consider ideologies not only in terms of what people say but also in terms of what people do (e .g . voting patterns) . Also, we do not look at ideologies as construed by the sociologist, not at the ideal type of what the respondents' ideology should be under any circumstances . Rather, we must look for actually existing, realised social phenomena (e .g . a certain racist ideology) . Then, the individual discrepancies, internalisations of that ideology become unimportant since they all share the dominant features, and thus the class content, of that ideology . Finally, these ideologies must be considered dynamically, as processes, as the contradictory result of a process of development . Fourth, the relationship between structure and ideology should be looked at dialectically . Le . the concrete form taken by ideologies as social phenomena (i .e . disregarding the variety of individual internalisations) should be seen as conditions of either reproduction or of supersession of the concrete form taken by the structure, by positions . Fifth, it is within this framework and only at this point that questionnaires can be used to inquire, for example, into how many of a certain position's incumbents share an ideology functional for the reproduction of the system (and thus, for example, contrary to their own interests) and how many share another ideology (functional for the supersession of the system and consonant with their interests) .

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This last point requires some further comments . The questionnaire can be used to study individual class consciousness but this must be done along lines different from those followed by Wright . Having identified, as mentioned above, those ideologies which have become social phenomena, we look at those which have penetrated the individual's consciousness . We only look at the dominant features, i .e . we disregard the individual, particular ways they have been internalised . Then, from this point of view, an individual consciousness appears as the particular and contradictory internalisation, at the individual level, of socially realised ideologies, all of them being conditions of reproduction or of supersession at the ideological level of the capitalist production relations . Therefore, the individual consciousness can be considered as an individual, i .e . potential condition of reproduction or of supersession of the capitalist production relations, something which, because of this potentiality, can become an actual, socially realised, condition of reproduction or of supersession . Since many social phenomena go into an individual's consciousness, an individual's class consciousness is formed by the internalisation of all those phenomena, of all those conditions of reproduction or of supersession . Therefore, class consciousness is given not only by the individuals' ideas concerning, and attitudes towards, capital but also by the ideas concerning, and attitudes towards, unions, women, migrants, blacks, homosexuals, peace, etc . Or, class consciousness is the consciousness of the need to abolish capitalism by substituting not only the capitalist production relations with different, socialist production relations, but also all other capitalist social relations (relations of subordination of women, coloured people, etc .) with socialist social relations . If we do not follow this approach, we separate artificially the different fields of struggle for socialism, we foster (once more) a notion of class struggle as the struggle to replace a system of production relations by another system of production relations . This is a limited, and ultimately self-defeating concept of class struggle . Since all social phenomena influencing the individual's class consciousness change continuously, it is important to consider the individual forms of consciousness not as immutable, a priori, forms which are modified by non-class factors . Rather, they must be seen as the changeable forms social phenomena take at the individual level, as the contradictory potential conditions of reproduction or of supersession, the concrete form of which must always be inquired into . It is this form of consciousness which should be studied by using the questionnaire, it is this form of consciousness which should be related to positions, seen as

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moments in a process of historical development . Thus, the questionnaire can be used in dialectical class analysis in spite of its class content (it is acquisitive) because it can be immersed into, and thus subordinated to, a radically different analytical approach . This is possible because the adoption of this technique does not force us to reconceptualise our notions of structure and consciousness . On the other hand, statistical tests of significance cannot be used within a dialectical approach to the study of the determination of consciousness by structure because these tests force us to reconceptualise these notions in a static and individualistic way . These tests are thus incompatible with a dialectical class analysis of the determination of class consciousness by structures . Therefore, whether a technique can be applied to dialectical class analysis (in spite of its class content) or not is a question which can be answered only by considering the specific features of each technique, only case by case : if the application of that technique does not require the static and individualistic reconceptualisation of dynamic class phenomena, it can be immersed in the dialectical frame of analysis in spite of its class content, in spite of its being contradictory to it . If such a reconceptualisation is required, then there is incompatibility between that technique and dialectical analysis . To conclude, that Wright's theory fares better then rival ones only means that it explains better individual consciousness, a feature which, as Wright admits, is not a proof of being a better theory of social change . Wright advances a more limited claim : if his theory's explanatory power is no proof, it is perhaps an indication of its usefulness for a socialist strategy . But even this limited claim must be properly assessed . How useful can this theory be if it uses static concepts instead of dynamic ones, if it is based on a deterministic (instead of a dialectical) relation between them, if this relation is inquired into by exclusively using techniques of social research unfit to both research and form collective consciousness, and if it is to these techniques that this theory owes its credibility? In what measure can such a theory both analyse and influence social change, i . e . the movement of history? If these questions are answered negatively, is this not the result of Wright having shifted to a terrain in which concern for social change is not built-in any more into the logic of social research, a terrain alien to socialism no matter how one wants to define it? If this is the case, then Wright's rival theories, as he construes them, are not a relevant term of comparison . Conclusions

This review has touched upon only some of the most import-

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ant aspects of Wright's most recent work . My thesis is that Wright's approach is undermined by extremely serious internal difficulties . Only some of them have been mentioned in this review : the separation of the control of the organisation of capital assets from the real, economic ownership of those assets as separate productive assets ; the separation of skills from labour power also as separate productive assets ; consequently, the collapsing of the concept of social class based on those separations ; the methodological problems inherent in the game theory approach ; consequently, the collapsing of the notion of exploitation based on this approach ; the use of attitudes as indicators of consciousness ; the extremely limited number of questions used to measure consciousness . These are all elemens of a critique based on the internal consistency of Wright's new approach . But my critique has also a different dimension . My thesis is also that Wright has chosen a frame of reference in which the Marxist unit of analysis (classes) has been replaced by individuals ; the Marxist labour theory of value has been replaced by an eclectic mixture of neo-Ricardian and neo-classical economics ; the Marxist method of historically determined abstractions by the phantasies of game theory ; the Marxist concept of classes rooted in production relations by a concept rooted in distributional and occupational categories ; Marxist dialectics by determinism ; and the Marxist concern for social change by the concern for the explanation of individual consciousness . In opening his book, Wright remarks that his answer to the question `what constitutes a class?' is not the one Marx would have given if he had completed the last, unfinished chapter of the third volume of Capital . I agree . However, he also remarks that Classes proposes an answer faithful to Marx's theoretical agenda and political goals . With this, I could not disagree more . If the above conclusions are valid, then it is the meaning itself of Wright's enterprise which is called into question .

Carchedi G . (1983) `The Logic of Prices as Values', Economy and Society, Vol . 13, No . 4 . Colletti L . (1972) From Rousseau to Lenin (Monthly Review Press) . Kautsky K . (1975) Etica e Concezione Materialistica della Storia (Feltrinelli) . Luxemburg R . (1970) Reform or Revolution, in Waters M .-A . (ed .), Rosa Luxemburg Speaks (New York) . Panitch L . (1984-5) `The Impasse of Working-Class Politics', TheSocialist Register .

Weber M . (1968) Economy and Society (University of California Press) . Wright E .O . (1985) Classes (Verso, London) .

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3 A . Giddens The Nation-State and Violence pp . 399, Cambridge, Polity Press 1985, E19 .50 (h/b), ISBN 0 7456 0031 X Reviewed by Bob Jessop THIS IS the second volume of a projected trilogy concerned with a contemporary critique of historical materialism . This particular volume focusses on the development of the state and its culmination in the reflexively monitored international system of modern nation-states . Its value for readers of Capital and Class is likely to be found in four areas : the juxtaposition of the capitalist determinations of modern societies with two other main influences the development of industrialism and the rise of the nation-state ; the focus on the international dimension of state formation in the sense that there is a mutual relation of production between nation-states and the international system ; its discussion of the dimension of internal and external violence in the state ; and its analysis of the institutional bases of different social movements . But readers may also be disappointed that Giddens does not directly confront Marxist theories of the state (as opposed to the general evolutionary and class-reductionist schema of historical materialism), that he hardly touches on the connections between the capitalist economy and the modern state, that he curiously neglects the modern welfare state

Book Reviews in favour of the modern warfare state, that he glosses over differences among modern capitalist states as well as among traditional states, and that he does not develop his arguments in relation to the more general theory of structuration with which he is so closely identified . Before amplifying some of these comments, let us briefly review the main arguments in this book . Giddens's main criticism of historical materialism is that its positive contributions to the analysis of modern societies (notably in its discussion of capitalism) are located in an evolutionary theory which leads Marxists to underestimate the fundamental discontinuity between capitalist societies and all preceding societies . His own work stresses this discontinuity . Giddens also argues that capitalism is only one of four key institutional orders in modern societies and that historical materialism is less incisive on the other three orders . The latter are industrialism (which historical materialism does not properly distinguish from capitalism), the extension of internal surveillance as the key source of modern state power, and the industrialisation of war . Thus, although Giddens strongly defends the concept of capitalist societies against sociological theorists of industrial society and does not simply restrict capitalism to the organisation of the economic sphere, he also criticises historical materialist approaches as inadequate to the task of analysing such societies . For these are always industrial, always linked with the nation-state system, and always associated with specific forms of internal and external surveillance, control, and violence . Giddens correctly describes his text as typological and comparative . It does not develop a theory of the state nor does it provide detailed historical genealogies of particular state systems . The key typological contrast is between traditional C&C 29--u

states and the modern nation-state and 217 history is invoked largely to underpin the decisive break involved in the transition between these state forms . The absolutist state occupies a crucial position in this regard . It has some modern features but it remained traditional rather than modern . In discussing absolutism Giddens reverses normal accounts by first focussing on the emergence of a reflexively monitored international system of states (whose energising force was changes in the organisation of war rather than in that of production) as a key indicator of the modernity of absolutism . But he also stresses the more general development of the concept of sovereignty linked to the notion of centralised, impersonal administrative power and the dissolution of the traditional distinction between city and countryside such that the nation-state becomes the key `power container' and develops firm borders . Giddens emphasises that traditional states are very different, as `social systems', from modern ones . Indeed their internal heterogeneity means that they are composed of numerous societies . Moreover, although traditional states are able to generate both authoritative and allocative resources through the intersection of city and countryside, they remain fundamentally segmental in character and can sustain only limited administrative authority . That such states have frontiers rather than boundaries indicates their relatively weak level of system integration . Indeed Giddens claims that traditional states did not actually `govern', if this means to provide regularised administration of the overall territory they claimed as their own . Their policies were mainly limited to governance of conflicts within the dominant classes and/or within the main urban centres . This overall lack of administration was compensated by sporadic resort to military force .

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We can develop this contrast between traditional (class-divided) and modern (capitalist) societies by considering six points of comparison emphasised by Giddens . Firstly, whereas traditional societies have a ruling class (i .e . the dominant class occupies the key political positions) with limited governing capacities, modern societies have a governing class which is relatively insulated from the economically dominant class but whose power is extensive . Secondly, although traditional societies do have classes, they do not have endemic class conflict . In contrast modern societies have such conflict both in the workplace and in the state system and their overall development is strongly shaped by their class relations . In part this contrast is related to the form of economic organisation in traditional societies and in part to their lack of a broad public sphere . In the latter respect Giddens claims that they lacked a discursive sphere for the articulation of generalised policies and their integration with the systematic collation of information with the result that those excluded from the political centre had limited opportunities to press their class (or other) demands . Thirdly, economic and political life are `severed' in traditional societies : the economic existence of peasant communities is conducted independently of what happens in the state . But these two spheres are closely intertwined in modern societies but are also insulated from each other through the dominance of the commodity form in the economy and the resulting problems this poses for state intervention by the modern state . This third point should be understood in terms of the lack of a clearly demarcated economy in traditional societies coupled with a restricted sphere of state action in contrast with the clear institutional separation of the economy in modern societies coupled with a

much broader scope for state intervention . Fourthly, whilst property is not readily alienable in class-divided societies, it is highly mobile and fluid in capitalist societies . Fifthly, whereas labour markets are largely absent in traditional societies, a highly organised labour market exists in modern societies . And, sixthly, whilst the main sanction over subordinate classes in traditional societies is the use of violence, in capitalist societies it is the economic compulsion to work . For Giddens the rise of the modern state is associated with (a) a centralised legal order, (b) centralised administration, (c) a centrally organised taxation system articulated with a rational monetary system, (d) major innovations in military organisation reflected in the international state system and the separation of external military force from internal policing, (e) the development of the modern nation in conjunction with the nation-state, (f) the development of communication, information, and surveillance possibilities, (g) internal pacification through the disciplinary society, and (h) the development of democracy in the sense of a pluralist polyarchy and citizenship rights - as the reciprocal of the enhanced surveillance and the ideology of the general interest involved in the modern state . In the last three chapters of his book Giddens considers how the nation-state system became global in the twentieth century . Among other elements which receive detailed discussion are the industrialisation of war (particularly under the impact of two world wars), the world military order (with its super-power hegemony, arms trade, and military alliances), the development of a capitalist world economy, the rise of intergovernmental organisations as a means of consolidating the spread of nation-states, the phenomenon of totalitarianism as an

Book

ever-present possibility in all modern nation-states, and the types of protest movement which develop in response to the four key institutional orders of modern society (capitalism, industrialism, the nation-state, and military and police force) . In the last respect Giddens emphasises that no critical theory of modern society which merely poses the choice between capitalism and socialism can do justice to the complexities and problems involved in modernity . In many ways this book must be read in conjunction with two other recent studies by Giddens : A Contemporary Critique of Historical Materialism and The Constitution of Society . But this does not always resolve difficulties with the present book . Thus, although CcHM provides a more detailed critique of Marxist theories of the capitalist state, it remains the same limited connection between state and economy . This is restricted to a general comment that the modern state has a key role in maintaining the `insulation' of economy and state, that the modern state is asymmetrically dependent on the economy because it is a tax state, and that politicians have an interest in securing the reproduction of capital . Thus Giddens does not explore the problems involved in the modern state form for its functions for capital ; the structural or strategic selectivity of the state in class or non-class terms ; the limits to polyarchy ; the economic functions of the warfare economy ; the rise of the welfare state (as opposed to civil, political, and economic rights) ; nor many other issues raised in recent theories of the state from a Marxist or state-centred perspective (on the latter, see, for example, Evans et al, 1985) . In posing these questions I am influenced by Giddens's own insistence that modern societies are capitalist societies . This implies a priority for their capitalist character of such societies which fits ill

Reviews

with his emphasis on the need to consider 219 their four institutional orders as distinct elements . In turn this raises the problem of how modern societies are successfully reproduced as capitalist societies . This question does not mean that I am calling for a return to a class reductionist or functionalist `capital logic' account . In many respects I find Giddens's criticisms of historical materialism compelling and his insistence on the need to consider other dimensions of the state is clearly right . But I am asking Giddens to spell out what his approach implies for the expanded reproduction of capitalism . Giddens appears to adopt none of the usual nonreductionist explanations : he has no concept of hegemony, global strategy, dominant institution, or master discourse . Instead we seem to be faced with the concept of a gradual co-evolution of four different spheres without any serious attempt to move beyond an historical account to an analysis of system integration around the capitalist character of modern societies . Here one could have benefitted from a more specific application of Giddens's general theory of structuration (e .g . as presented in TCS) to the state and capitalism . It should be noted that I am not asking Giddens to develop a general theory of the modern state . For such a theory is impossible . Giddens does succeed in providing a general account of crucial historical and/ or institutional preconditions for the rise of the modern state and he provides an interesting analysis of the fundamental discontinuities that this transition involves . But in presenting his account of the modern state in genealogical and typological terms he reduces this state to a set of institutions whose functions and implications for capitalism are basically unclear . What we have is an institutional analysis of the state and an account of its institutional

Capital & Class

220 logics as a system of administration, as a site for industrialised warfare, and as a component in the international order . But these logics are not connected (even contingently) with a detailed account of how they affect the reproduction of capitalism . That Giddens provides a broader-ranging analysis than do orthodox Marxist texts is to be welcomed . In this respect his book represents a fundamental challenge to historical materialism and a call to develop a more wide-ranging and non-reductionist analysis of the state . But, for those working within a historical materialist approach, it is disappointing that Giddens gains additional scope through neglecting fundamental questions about the expanded reproduction of capitalist societies . Let us hope that these worries will be resolved in the final volume on capitalism and socialism .

Steven Lukes Marxism and Morality pp . 163, Clarendon Press, Oxford, 1985 . ISBN 0 19 876015 Reviewed by C .J. Arthur

is concerned with what Marxist theory has to say about morality . It also addresses to some extent the alleged effect References of this theory on `the moral record of Marxism as a social movement and system Evans B ., Rueschemeyer D . & Skocpol T ., eds of rule' . It concludes that the Marxist ethic (1985) Bringing the State Back In (Cambridge, is disabling in certain crucial respects, Cambridge University Press) . notably its disregard for human rights, Giddens A . (1983) A Contemporary Critique of and that socialism should break with it . Historical Materialism (London, Macmillan) . Giddens A . (1984) The Constitution of Society The book contains three chapters outlining, and resolving, the `paradox' in Marx's (Cambridge, Polity Press) . thought that moral criticism and exhortation is both rejected and adopted . There follow chapters on `Justice and Rights', `Freedom and Emancipation', and `Means and Ends' . The book is thoroughly researched and clearly argued . It poses a considerable challenge to Marxist theory . Although I think Marxism does have conceptual resources with which to meet it, it must be admitted also that most of the work remains to be done . Lukes resolves the above-mentioned paradox by distinguishing the morality of Recht (rights and duties) from the morality of emancipation . The former is inherently abstract and ideological . It springs from material conditions predisposing individuTHIS BOOK

Book Reviews als to conflict with one another and with the collectivity, and tries to contain such clashes within bounds . Proletarian revolution has to break through this ideological miasma, and should not ape its terms . This does not mean Marx has no conception of the good life . Like the Utopians, he does . As Lukes rightly says, its central category is freedom . In a society in which the freedom of one is the freedom of all there is no longer a place for moralism . This is where some of the Second International thinkers went wrong . Identifying Marxism with positive science they tried to supplement it with Kantian ethics, especially Kant's dictum : `treat others always as ends in themselves and never as means merely' . This whole approach missed the point that Marx's socialism does not need such an imperative as its basis . Lukes objects strongly to the Utopianism of Marx's perspective . Conflict is inherent in the human condition ; now, and always, we need moral guidance at least with respect to `what is not to be done' . `Human rights' is his watchword . As part of his argument, he claims that Marxists trace all significant conflict to class divisions . He goes on to claim that the Marxist canon `is virtually innocent . . . of any serious consideration of all the inter-personal and intra-personal sources of conflict and frustration that cannot, or can no longer, plausibly be traced, even remotely, to class divisions' . In this connection I am reminded of William Morris . In his socialist Utopia, News from Nowhere, it is striking that there is only problem left without solution - sexual jealousy . This still leads to murder and suicide . In his fourth chapter Lukes has an excellent discussion of justice, focussed on the problem of capitalist exploitation . There are four possible positions in interpreting Marx's view of it .

(1) Marx thought the relation between 221 capitalist and worker was just . (2) He thought it unjust . (3) He thought it was both just and unjust - that is, just in one respect and unjust in another . (4) He thought it was neither just nor unjust . All four positions have defenders in the secondary literature and they can all be substantiated from the texts . Up to now I held to the first thesis, on the materialist principle that such ideological notions can be given content only in terms of the prevailing relations, and relying for textual support on the Critique of the Gotha Programme . Lukes asserts that Marx held all four positions . So is he simply a muddlehead? No, says Lukes . He shows that Marx's view was both internally complex and hierarchically organised . In his summary : `What Marx offers is a multiperspectival analysis in which capitalism's self-justifications are portrayed, undermined from within, and criticised from without, and then both justification and criticism are in turn criticised from a standpoint that is held to be beyond justice' . The last chapter, on means and ends, I found the least convincing . This was partly because of the treatment of controversial issues in the account of the degeneration of the Russian Revolution . The Bibliography is deficient in that Luxemburg is missing, as is one Kautsky reference ; this is particularly annoying in that the Harvard system of referencing is used in the notes . The book is one of a useful series of `Marxist Introductions' from Oxford . It is somewhat negative in that no attempt to provide an alternative is presented . The notion of `human rights' remains untheorised . Nonetheless, it has to be taken seriously, and should generate some useful debate .

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Barry Troyna & Jenny Williams Racism, Education and the State : The Racialisation of Educational Policy London : Croom Helm, 1986 £6 .95 (p/b) ISBN 0 7099 4316 4 Reviewed by Rachel Sharp of black 'underachievement' in education has provoked often bitter controversy among educationalists and others seeking to influence policy . For those not directly engaged in or affected by such struggles it is often difficult to tease out the essential issues since even on the Left there has not developed a consensus about how the `problem' should be defined or tackled . Racism, Education and the State is a lucid, informative and provocative book which deserves to be widely read . The themes it discusses are pertinent to a range of policy questions affecting the life-chances of blacks . They warrant further intellectual and political clarification if a politics of anti-racism is not to generate counterproductive effects . The authors position themselves theoretically within the broad thrust of Marxist and neo-Marxist theorising about education which has evolved in Anglo-American academic discourse in the last decade. This discourse, now something of an unquestioned Left orthodoxy elaborated by such authorities as Apple, Whitty, Dale, Giroux and others, opposes itself to functionalism, THE ISSUE

economic reductionism and determinism, speaking the language of relative autonomy, contestation, struggle and resistances and stressing the relative openness of central and local state structures to political and other pressures . Whilst Troyna and Williams recognise structural constraints emanating from international and national processes, they argue that these do not mechanistically determine their own reproduction at the local level . Here a degree of indeterminacy exists, a function of specific local and conjunctural circumstances of which differential political and social mobilisation is a crucial variable . The focus of the book is both a charting of and a critical commentary on the way in which systematic discrimination affecting blacks in education has been understood and the policies which have been evolved in Britain at LEA level designed to ameliorate the situation . Using Frank Reeves' concepts of discoursive deracialisation and racialisation, the authors show how the deracialised educational discourse of the 1960s, which focussed on cultural and linguistic deficits, gave way in response to social, political and economic pressures to various multiculturalist discourses in the 1970s . The latter, now racially explicit, emphasised cultural pluralism and sympathetic understanding as the key to educational equality for blacks whilst simultaneously endorsing the meritocratic conceptions of education which earlier deprivation theory presupposed . Engaging in a radical critique of both the assumptions and policies which were generated to deal with the `problem', the authors then proceed to explore the development of more explicit anti-racist discourses and their incorporation into the educational policies of a number of authorities, most noticeably the ILEA and Berkshire from the early 1980s . The strength of the book is the ruthless

Book Reviews dissection of the various elements of multiculturalism and anti-racism as these are revealed in LEA policy documents . The latter are seen as necessarily riddled with compromises and contradictions, being the product of negotiated settlements, the outcome of professional, bureaucratic, local political and ethnic groups' struggles to bring to bear influence on the local state . This dialectic of pressure group politics takes place against the background of international and national developments which structure the context but not the outcome of local forces and their interplay . Special attention is given to the educational discourses of anti-racism and their failure to question significant aspects of the status quo . Troyna and Williams argue that the radical potential of the concept of institutional racism has often failed to materialise in educational policy prescriptions . Rather it is more appropriate to emphasise the fundamental continuities between anti-racist and multiculturalist discourses in both their silences and emphases . Whilst sympathetic to the anti-racist intent, Troyna and Williams raise a series of fundamental questions which need to be answered if a coherent basis for antiracist strategies in education is to be developed : the nature of the local state and the extent to which its forms and processes can be seen as rational, benevolent and open to conversion ; the relationship between educational and extra-school institutions and processes and the producers and reproducers of racism and differential life chances ; the autonomy of `racial' identity and the interrelationship between class, gender and ethnic disadvantage ; the relationship between individuals such as teachers, local educational officials and advisers and the structures within which they work ; the economic and ideological bases of racism

and the mechanisms of their reproduction 223 in society and schooling; and the extent to which a meritocratic schooling system based upon an acceptance of social hierarchy is compatible with anti-racism (or anti-sexism or classism) . Whilst not claiming to provide conclusive answers to these questions, in their interrogation of a range of LEA policies they document wide variations in the definitions of the problem and the targets for change, vagueness and incoherence in the prescription for action, and contradictory thrusts of the policies examined . In so doing they demonstrate convincingly that anti-racist educational policies tend to share the same commitments to meritocracy, cultural pluralism, harmony and cohesion as their multicultural forerunners, given their institutionalisation in a context of contradictory social and other pressures . In order to strengthen the antiracist thrust they argue for a strategy based upon a recognition of the interrelationship of class, race and ethnic oppressions, and a struggle for building alliances around broad conceptions of equal opportunity which must extend beyond the school and be based upon an extended notion of the state in both its national and local forms . Despite the cogent and trenchant critique of trends in LEA policies, Troyna and Williams do not manage successfully to resolve some of the tensions and contradictions in their own argument . Some of these undoubtedly stem from an uncritical acceptance of the dominant theoretical assumptions they utilise . Whilst they stress the significance of international and national trends, they have no theoretical means of specifying the limits of manoeuvrability at the local level . In fact their theoretical commitments tend to support social reformist and social democratic assumptions about politics which are ultimately incompatible with a conception

Capital & Class

224 of structural limits emanating from the mode of production and its contradictory tendencies . It is difficult to see how, given the forms and structures of state schooling and its historically legitimating function for capitalism, it is going to be possible in periods of crisis to substantially improve, through reformist policies alone, the class chances for significant numbers of blacks - or women or the handicapped or the white working class for that matter . Indeed, both in the 1930s and the present the reverse has been the case . Such a view does not imply purism or abstentionism over issues of race but a political strategy directed ultimately to the abolition of the underlying structures that produce class and ethnic and gender divisions . This has to involve in this social formation the articulation of the kind of struggles in education in which black groups and other progressives are involved with an anticapitalist politics . It is questionable whether the latter can be identified merely with the kind of politics touched on by Troyna and Williams or unleashed by the GLC and other progressive urban authorities, however much those identified with the Labour Party might want us to see it that way . Such a perspective does not deny that racism and sexism ante-date capitalism or that there are specific inequalities suffered by blacks and women and gays . It does assert, however, that there are common oppressions suffered by all subordinate strata which stem from the capitalist nature of the mode of production and that these provide the best basis for mounting an effective anti-capitalist politics to dislodge capital from its coercive heights . It is, after all, capital which is the chiefbeneficiary of the structuring and restructuring of patriarchal and racist social forms . The construction of broad alliances may be crucial,

but around what issues, and to what ends are themes which require further debate . Troyna and Williams have begun this task with respect to racism in education ; it is by no means self-evident, however, that ,anti-racist education' in multi-racial and racist Britain is a feasible goal without a socialist Britain . Equally, a socialist Britain that has not taken seriously the anti-racist struggles discussed in this book would not be worth its name. To autonomise the struggle for socialism and the struggle against racism is, however, short-sighted . It is not inconceivable that a capitalist ruling class which has long interpellated most of its subjects as white Britons is not delighted with the development of black politics organising autonomously around issues affecting blacks in education . This is undoubtedly the reason why the most centralising political regime in Britain's educational history has left such issues to the permissive arena of local politics . It is not benign neglect but a calculated strategy designed to fragment and localise opposition and intensify racial antagonism as black and white struggle, often against each other, to defend themselves against depleted resources and the effects of rate-capping .

Book Reviews

B . Fine and L . Harris The Peculiarities of the British Economy Lawrence & Wishart, London, 1985 pp . 345, £7 .50 (p/b), ISBN 0 85315 525 5 Reviewed by Kevin Morgan THIS BOOK (clearly a long time in the making, judging by some of the data) attempts to disinter the peculiarities of British capitalism . The notion that there is indeed something peculiar or exceptional about Britain has been endorsed by a section of the Right as well as of the Left . For instance, the Anderson and Nairn thesis on the `unfinished' bourgeois revolution resonates in the outpourings of Thatcherites like Keith Joseph . To illustrate their own case Fine and Harris (along with Kathy O'Donnell and Martha Prevezer, joint-authors of three chapters) address a broad canvas of issues . For example, there are chapters on the City, the Banks, Multinationals, Coal, Nuclear Power, Armaments, Vehicles, Electronics, and a concluding chapter on the Alternative Economic Strategy . It has to be said that the `peculiarity' thesis is more successfully substantiated in some areas than in others . The major peculiarities, it is argued, are (1) the chronic weakness of (domesticallybased) industrial capital ; (2) the cosmopolitan orientation of the City and the independence which it has won from industrial capital ; (3) the prevalence of

multinationals in the British economy ; 225 (4) the limited character of the labour movement ; and (5) the absence of a rationalising or modernising impetus from the state . Although many of these 'peculiarities' are familiar refrains, the authors undoubtedly offer some novel interpretations, especially as regards the effects which banking capital and organised labour have had on industrial capital . With respect to banking capital they argue (against received left-wing notions) that the level and terms of bank lending to industry have been more than adequate . The problem, they say, is the opposite of what is commonly thought, namely, that banks have supplied the industrial demand for credit `all too comfortably', but they have not used their influence to modernise British industry . Furthermore, because of the adequacy of bank finance there has been little pressure on the state to develop alternative sources and conditions of finance for industrial investment . This argument flies in the face of so much evidence to the contrary . For example, there was the ACARD report which singled out the lack of `patient money' as the major hindrance to industrial innovation in Britain . More recently, the House of Lords Committee on Overseas Trade recorded that large swathes of British industry operated under the `tyranny of the immediate'. Finally, why is the Labour Party intent on the creation of a national investment bank if City banks are adequate to the task? The other novel interpretation offered by Fine and Harris is that the backward state of industrial capital in Britain is associated with the economic weakness of organised labour . They argue : `the idea that union strength is to blame for industrial backwardness is so ingrained that the opposite is worth emphasising. Successful union pressure for high wages would have

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226 helped to push industry into modernisation' . This argument, often used to account for the success of Swedish industry, is not one that can be settled in the realms of abstract theory . There seems no a priori reason to suppose that stronger unions and higher wages would not have had other effects, like more bankruptcies or greater offshore production . Ultimately, this is an empirical question . Fine and Harris are on stronger ground when they consider the positively perverse role of the military in the British economy . At a time when civilian industry is unable or unwilling to raise its technological platform, we find that over 50% of all public R&D expenditure is devoted to military purposes . Apart from this peculiarity one might have expected the authors to say a good deal more about that other glaring peculiarity, namely, the incredibly low priority attached to training and skills . Britain's record in this field is so peculiarly bad that it drove the chairperson of the MSc to declare that from top to bottom, Britain's workforce is a'bunch of thickies' . What of the future? Fine and Harris pin their colours (and their hopes) to a vigorous dose of the AES . Rightly enough, they contest the view that the `shift to the right' is inevitable . They, also emphasise the need to focus on central state strategies, an area that has been overshadowed of late by the local state debate . The point is, surely, that we need to work at both levels if we are to begin to tackle the peculiarities of the British economy . All in all a fascinating book which is well worth reading, even if some of the claims are unconvincing .

E . Preteceille and J-P . Terrail Capitalism, Consumption and Needs Oxford, Basil Blackwell, 1985 pp . 216, £19 .50 (h/b), ISBN 0 631 124616 Reviewed by Mick Dunford The first three chapters of the book were originally included in a volume published in French by Editions Sociales in 1977, while the fourth and final chapter was written for the translated English version . Chapters One and Two were written by Terrail, and Three and Four by Preteceille . The authors have attempted three things . Non-Marxist theories of the character and determinants of social and individual needs are outlined and rejected . An alternative Marxist approach is developed . And the strategic political implications of that alternative theory are outlined . In the first chapter non-Marxist theories are attacked . Included are liberal accounts which make no attempt to explain needs and confine them to the sphere of consumption while regarding production as a sphere of instrumental action . Other nonMarxist approaches fail because of the inadequacy of the conception of the connection between consumption and production and the inability to deal with needs relating to the organisation and quality of work . Included under this second heading are economic theories which go no further than acknowledging that consumption depends on income distribution and the determination of

Book Reviews

relative prices, or sociological theories according to which consumption is a process in which an individual's position in society is symbolically manifested . After criticising these views of consumption, which dwell on questions of social status, value systems, imitation, the manipulation of needs by corporate groups and of symbolic meaning, Terrail develops an abstract Marxist alternative . In 1986 many readers may find his exposition excessively reductionist . There are, he claims, no `social needs which are not required and produced by the action and reproduction of the mode of production' (p . 39) . Yet if more simplistic formulations are overlooked in favour of the ones in which more complex processes of determination are acknowledged, and if the words used are read with care, several important and, I think, sustainable propositions can be identified, especially if the more concrete material in Chapter Three is invoked by way of illustration . Needs are, it is argued, a subjective expression of the requirements of practices through which labour power and the social agents of capitalist production are produced . What is accordingly opened up is the question of the real movement of the dialectic of use value and value . The determination of needs is, however, argues Terrail, contradictory . On the one hand the emergence of specific needs and the repression of desires and ambitions can be viewed as a product of an individual's need to be re-employed and to cope with the work performed in the capitalistor state-dominated sectors . Individuals reproduce themselves for capital . On the other the development of the forces of production and the contradictions of capitalist development generate a need, or a consciousness of needs, necessary for the reproduction of the system, but that capitalism is incapable of meeting . (Needs

are accordingly placed in the domain of 227 class struggle .) In so far as these unmet needs are translated into the struggles of dominated groups an acceleration of the development of the forces of production will be imposed on capital, as with the acceleration of mechanisation that followed the 19th-century Factory Acts . Yet gains, it is emphasised by Terrail, are always subject to renegotiation and and reappropriation by capital and the state . Secondly, there is no mechanical relation between consumption and production . Indeed, suggests Terrail, such a method would block an assessment of the real effects of specific differences in consumption relations on production practices, as is required by the need to understand employers' labour market strategies and the insertion of workers with similar production capacities in different consumption processes . The use of immigrants, women, and peasants in similar jobs is a case in point . In the third place production itself includes, as Preteceille subsequently points out, every mode of human appropriation of the natural world . Cultural and artistic as well as educational activity accordingly all belong to the sphere of production . In Chapter Three the abstract arguments of Chapter Two are given more specific content in an analysis of social needs under state monopoly capitalism . At first the transformation of the socioeconomic structure of French society associated with the reorganisation of work and the growth of collective consumption is outlined . With the restructuring of work, consumption was transformed, but, argues Preteceille, a seeming increase in the standard of living of dominated groups and a `facade of progress' often concealed a deterioration in real conditions of existence .

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Increased incomes were needed to cope with the consequences of increasing work rates . Car ownership was an expensive necessity for households decanted into suburban housing estates lacking adequate public transport provision . Consumption practices themselves involve work of which some can be classed as committed time as opposed to time free for creative activity . Often, he argues, cheaper methods of consumption chosen owing to the inadequacy of household incomes involved more work on the part of the consumer . In addition increasing work by women and shift work resulted in a progressive desynchronisation of family life . These arguments are clearly very important challenges to some of the myths of the `consumer society' . In the same chapter the development of the sphere of collective consumption is outlined . In the view of Preteceille the development and determinants of collective consumption are deeply contradictory . The needs that are met are expressed in ways that are strongly shaped by the state and frequently conform with requirements of capitalist reproduction : capitalistically produced commodities are circulated, and a labour force is reproduced . The content and social effects of collectively supplied services are a product of the internalisation by the suppliers of these services of views concerning the respect of authority, the need to promote individualisation, and so on . Yet the skills acquired through, say education, are real and not simply subordinated to the interests of capital . Similarly issues concerning the financing and income distributional implications of collective goods provision and the consequent limits placed on the sphere within which profit-seeking activity can occur lead to conflict with capitalist interests . Yet while important questions are raised, analyses of evidence concening the problems of financing collective services and

the question of differential access in particular are lacking . In the last chapter some of the political implications of the theory are outlined especially in relation to the trajectory of the French Communist Party in the years of the common programme, the break with the socialists, and the socialist electoral victory of 1981 . At least three political goals are identified : (1) increased individual and collective consumption by the working class and underprivileged groups ; (2) a qualitative transformation in the use value of consumer goods and in the way they are produced ; and, (3) a reduction in wasteful types of consumption, that have increased under state monopoly capitalism, but whose function is to cope with the consequences of and compensate for problems whose roots lie elsewhere: social work, prison services, some health provision, anti-pollution measures are all part of a use, destruction, restoration cycle that should give way to a qualitatively superior way of responding to needs . `More must be produced, but of a different kind, and in a different way . More must be consumed but of a different kind and in a different way.' What follows are some important arguments about political strategy . According to Preteceille a full expression of individual and collective needs in all their diversity is central to any revolutionary politics . Through the decentralised practices of political organisations and collective struggle involving the active and creative mobilisation of ordinary people, needs should be given full expression and are transformed in ways that come up against the definitions and limitations posed by capital and the state . (It is the enlargement and transformation of needs in relation to (1) work where workers at present can only express needs defensively,

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(2) the organisation and character of consumption, and (3) political control that poses the need to break with capitalist relations and differentiates revolutionary and reformist politics .) `The development of social struggles today calls for their selfmanagement, just as the success of selfwing policies depends on the active and creative mobilisation of the workers' (p . 216) . On these counts the strategy of the PCF, the institutions of existing socialism, and the statism of social democratic politics are all found wanting . Nonetheless moments of generalisation of demands and of recombination of social movements are also necessary . On the one hand socialism cannot be established at a municipal level . Accordingly the distinction between small-scale and large-scale politics must be transcended . On the other the diverse problems of daily life, the family, sexuality, education, and so on, and the diverse social movements acting with respect to them, need bringing together without reducing everything to politics and economics . Just how the diversified content of demands and the growing tendency to self-management can be reaggregated is finally left open .

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