What does an anarchist think of the EU referendum?
Heh, I actually meant my expectations re: my ability to answer this thread in a timely or effective manner.What did you think within grasp that now seems unattainable?
From an anarchist perspective, it's a rock and a hard place decision. It's a choice between two versions of the state, so it goes without saying that there can be no "anarchist position" on this, and that anybody claiming to espouse such a position is deeply mistaken.What does an anarchist think of the EU referendum?
Are your expectations even lower than ours?Heh, I actually meant my expectations re: my ability to answer this thread in a timely or effective manner.![]()
Not sure. The SNP will start pushing right away, but I'm not sure if they'll have the support for it, or if a Britain-less EU will remain stable enough to be worth breaking the Union over. Scots certainly seem to prefer the EU by a solid margin, but it's not clear that they we strongly enough about it to tempt us into an other referendum, or if a "Leave" outcome on the strength of English votes will sufficiently offend our sense of sovereignty. But I think that it will mean a second referendum, whatever the circumstances, and sooner rather than later, if not so soon as the SNP might like.If Brexit occurs, how long do you think it will be before Scotland tries to leave the UK again?
Not much, to be honest. The SNP are in a strange situation right now: on the one hand, they've successfully challenged Labour as the party of the working class, but at the same time, they're trying to establish themselves as the Party of Government, and those aren't happy bed-fellows. Sooner or later, they'll be the ones setting cops on protesters.If Scotland does go solo, do you think the Scottish government will be any better at protecting civil rights than the EU or Westminster?
I think the general rule is to tread carefully. We can recognise that certain governments are better than others, but that doesn't make them good, and it doesn't legitimise them as institutions. We have to be pragmatic enough to recognise that some virtues are relative, and that some aren't. We should avoid mystifying states, and while that means avoid the hysterical attitude that all states are the Third Reich waiting to happen, we also have to avoid the trap of thinking that some states are possessed of nobler traditions or more virtuous functionaries. They're groups of people in power, trying to stay in power, reliant to a greater or lesser degree on forceful repression; nothing more.So, what do anarchists (in their own media, which I only rarely read) say about having to choice between one government and another, when they are both, ultimately, well, governments?
(I mean, those who don't just say ‘let them all die’![]()
Yes, but I'm not obliged to listen.Also, a general anarchistic conundrum:
Are we allowed to tell you what to do?
First Scotland will fall, then Stormont. Then Arthur will return to finish the job of driving the English into the sea. This has already been decided in the Protocols of the Learned Elders of Hibernia.If Brexit occurs, how long do you think it will be before Scotland tries to leave the UK again?
If Scotland does go solo, do you think the Scottish government will be any better at protecting civil rights than the EU or Westminster?
They're at least higher than mine.Are your expectations even lower than ours?![]()
They're groups of people in power, trying to stay in power, reliant to a greater or lesser degree on forceful repression; nothing more.
Built by East European and Muslim-world immigrants with no actual experience of democracy, the Israeli state is, on paper at least, worryingly monolithic and intrusive. The local traffic cop, the school textbook, the neighborhood rabbi, even the local ritual mikveh bath, are all appointed and administered by watchful bureaucrats in Jerusalem.
Nor did Israel’s early history favor democracy. For the first 29 years of the state’s existence, the center-left, today called the Labor Party, never lost an election. This de facto one-party regime controlled not only the country’s powerful security services, but much of the economy. Israel’s largest industries were state-owned and -run (and thus de facto Labor-owned and -run) in those decades.
There are almost no formal checks and balances between the branches of Israel’s government. The prime minister is not chosen directly by the people, but in a complicated process of parliamentary coalition-building. He or she cannot govern without a parliamentary majority, and is thus not meaningfully constrained by any American-style opposition legislature.
Nor does Israel possess any clearly articulated ideology of political liberty. There was no Philadelphia Convention at Israel’s founding, no Federalist Papers, no explicit public debate about the nature and shape of the country’s political institutions. The Declaration of Independence, which refers in broad terms to notions of freedom and equality, lacks the force of law.
Only in 1992 were some key rights delineated in two pseudo-constitutional “basic laws,” yet even these are in an important sense only halfheartedly constitutional. The Basic Law: Human Dignity and Liberty, which articulates fundamental rights such as bodily safety, privacy and freedom of movement, can be changed or overturned by a simple majority of MKs present in the Knesset plenum.
Add to that Israel’s bitter history of near-constant warfare that gave the military a central role in the formation of national identity, the heroicizing of military leaders that naturally flowed from this experience – indeed, add in the enormous number of generals who moved seamlessly out of uniform and into the highest elected offices in the land: Yitzhak Rabin, Moshe Dayan, Ariel Sharon, Ehud Barak – and one begins to feel that it is not the allegedly looming collapse of Israeli democracy that should surprise us, but the fact that so robust a democracy ever took root here in the first place.
The extent of [England's] strength is best shown by comparing it to Fukuyama’s counter-example: the French monarchy. For all their famed pageantry, French kings were never strong enough to meaningfully tax their nobility, and so resorted to conspiring with them against the peasantry. Unconstrained in any formal sense, but also lacking the legitimacy of their English counterparts and only tenuously in control of the land-owning classes of their country, the Bourbon monarchs gave up on ever imposing a uniform tax system in the country and resorted to selling tax-collection offices to local lords, all but exempting them from taxation while subjecting the lower classes to a double burden. In the end, the French monarchy was felled as an “enemy of the people” by the very classes it had abused.
But in England, the very fact that he was forced to confer with Parliament over taxation and war gave the English king the ability to do both effectively. In the eighteenth century, English state spending reached as high as 30% of GDP, while France’s, even in the two decades of nearly constant war with England from 1689 to 1713, could not surpass 12-15%. The English could double and triple the size of their navy when need arose without compromising the national finances; the French drove themselves repeatedly to the brink of bankruptcy.
This empowering effect of power-sharing lies at the heart of English liberty, and of Britain’s eventual preeminence. For English democracy, Fukuyama explains, did not begin in the weakening of government, but in a more complex standoff, exemplified at Runnymede, that empowered all sides.
The key to the standoff was just that: that it was a standoff. The nobles could sometimes defeat the king, but not topple the monarchy. The king could win battles against armies assembled against him, but never entirely crush the regional lords when they banded together. The result was a tense equilibrium between more or less matched opponents — king vs. nobles, monarchy vs. Parliament — with no side able to comprehensively quash the other. The rights and obligations each eked out of the other were initially extracted by force — quite literally at sword-point at Runnymede — then by implicit agreement, and eventually, over the centuries, by the institutionalization of these arrangements in the peculiar unwritten traditions of Britain’s monarchic democracy.
And it would not have happened without a strong king, one to whom commoners could turn through regional “king’s courts” for redress of grievances against the nobility, one who could unite the country in war, one who could serve as an embodiment of a shared national identity in peacetime.
This ethos of refuge lies at the heart of Israeli solidarity. It is responsible for the deep-seated taboo against intra-Jewish violence. Amid countless wars and terror attacks, bordered on all sides by an imploding, war-ravaged Arab world, Israelis usually say they find the rare instances of Jew-on-Jew violence more unsettling and traumatic than even the largest and most frightening of the wars they have fought with outsiders. The sinking of the Altalena in 1948, the 1983 killing of Peace Now activist Emil Grunzweig or the assassination of Yitzhak Rabin in 1995 — all instances when Jews killed other Jews — are better known to most Israeli high schoolers than the full-blown wars that took place in those years. They are studied as watersheds of the Israeli experience because they are seen by so many Israelis as events that violated the premise of collective responsibility at the heart of the Israeli Jewish narrative.
The essential elements at the root of Anglo-Saxon liberties, then, were all present at the dawn of the Israeli Jewish polity: an unwinnable competition among mutually antagonistic groups shackled to each other in a unifying ethos of solidarity, a simultaneous push and pull that forces on Israel’s Jews the compromises that make up what Israelis call “democracy.”
Israel’s democracy, like Britain’s, is thus in a deep sense accidental, organic, rooted as much in the collectivist instincts of this refugee nation as in any self-conscious notions of individualism or political liberty.
Some states are more effective at utilizing power than others. That's not really surprising, it's been going on since they arouse. Sometimes it's a fun intellectual curiosity to examine their workings, but being effective at a fundamentally illegitimate act doesn't provide much ground for appreciating it.How do you square that with the apparent effectiveness of ethnically-based countries like Israel? (I'm not picking a fight here; I'm genuinely curious at how you view such phenomena.)
What exactly is praxis? I've heard the term, but it's been a long time, and I'm not sure if I ever really understoodMy general perspective is that fragmentation of states is a good thing for Praxis, for two reasons:
What exactly is praxis? I've heard the term, but it's been a long time, and I'm not sure if I ever really understood
What do you think about "Bash The Fash!" and other forms of political violence?
What do you think about "Bash The Fash!" and other forms of political violence?