Conghaileach
22nd July 2002, 12:24
Raising the Temperature
http://www.monbiot.com/
George Monbiot
Asking the G8 leaders to decide what to do about third world debt is
like asking the
inmates of Wormwood Scrubs to decide what to do about crime.
Debt is the direct
result of the banking structure which has enriched the G8
nations. Our leaders are
the last people on earth who should be charged with tackling it.
The same goes for poverty in Africa. For 150 years, a few rich
nations have decided
how Africa should be "helped". The G8's new "Marshall Plan" for
the continent is no
more enlightened than the schemes some of its members were
devising in 1860.
The problem is not the decisions the G8 makes. The problem is
that it's the G8 making the decisions.
I had imagined that this was so obvious it scarcely needed stating,
but some of the
big development charities criticising the G8's new plans are now
arguing not that
these constitute a new form of colonialism, but that this
colonialism is insufficiently
funded. Reading the responses of some of the organisations I
have long admired, I can't help wondering whose side they are on.
My bewilderment has been compounded by a recognition, painful and
reluctant as
it is, that the G8 leaders, the press and the millions of people
for whom these
issues were meaningless just a year or two ago are now
discussing them only
because of the fighting in the streets. Having campaigned
against violence
towards people for years, I find this perception terrifying. It
is simply not true to say
that Carlo Giuliani died in vain. By contrast to the hundreds of
thousands of people
who, like me, have spent their working lives making polite
representations, he was
acknowledged by the eight men closeted in the ducal palace. They
were forced, as
never before, to defend themselves against the charge of
illegitimacy.
This discovery is hardly new. I have simply stumbled once more upon
the fundamental political reality which all those of us who lead
moderately comfortable lives tend occasionally to forget: that
confrontation is an essential prerequisite for change.
The problem with the fighting at Genoa is not only that the
confrontation was of the
kind which hurts people, but also that it was not always clear
what they were being
hurt for. The great Islamic activist Hamza Yusuf Hanson
distinguishes between
two forms of political action. He defines the Arabic word
"hamas" as enthusiastic
but intelligent anger and "hamoq" as uncontrolled, stupid anger.
The Malays could
not pronounce the Arabic 'h', and the British acquired the word
from them. On
Friday and Saturday, while the white overalls movement practised
hamas, seeking
to rip down the fences around Genoa's Red Zone but refusing to
return the blows of the police, the black block ran amok.
The important thing about hamas is that, whether or not it is
popular, it is
comprehensible. People can see immediately what you are doing
and why you are
doing it. Hamoq, by contrast, leaves its spectators dumbfounded.
Hamas may
have demolished the McDonald's in Whitehall on May Day 2000, but
it would have
left the Portuguese restaurant and the souvenir shop beside it
intact. Hamas
explains itself. It is a demonstration in both senses of the
word: a protest and an
exposition of the reasons for that protest. Hamoq, by contrast,
seeks no public dialogue. Hamas is radical. Hamoq is reactionary.
If, like some of the black block warriors I have spoken to, you cannot
accept this
distinction, then look at how the police responded to these two
very different
species of anger. On Friday, though they were armed to the teeth
and greatly
outnumbered the looters, the police stood by and watched as the
black block
rampaged around Brignole station, smashing every shopfront and
overturning the residents' cars.
Then on Saturday night, on the pretext of looking for the people who
had caused
the violence, the police raided the schools in which members of
the non-violent
Genoa Social Forum were sleeping, and started beating them to a
pulp before they
could get out of their sleeping bags. The police, like almost
everyone else in
Genoa, knew perfectly well that the black block were, at the
time, camped in a car park miles away.
It is not hard to see which faction Italy's borderline-fascist state
feels threatened by,
and which faction it can accept and even encourage. If Carlo
Giuliani did not die in
vain, it was because the Genoa Social Forum had so clearly
articulated the case
he may have been seeking to make. His hamoq forced a response
because other people were practising hamas.
Hamas instructs us to choose our enemies carefully. And if there is
one thing
upon which all the diverse factions whose members gathered at
Genoa can agree, it is the identity of some of our enemies. There are
some corporations, for example, which activists and non-activists
everywhere regard as a menace to society.
Almost everyone agrees that the world would be a better place without
the companies which are lobbying against action on climate change,
building Bush's
missile defence system, producing fragmentation grenades,
demanding control
over health and education services, privatising water in third
world cities then
selling it back to their people at inflated prices, ripping up
virgin forests, designing
plants with sterile seeds. The state was once empowered to
destroy such
menaces: in the 18th century, for example, the British
government could dismantle
any commercial enterprise "tending to the common grievance,
prejudice and
inconvenience of His Majesty's subjects". Now the state has
renounced this power and refuses, whatever its people may say, to
demolish the dens from which the thieves of the public realm raid our
lives. Hamas insists that we pull them down ourselves.
Those who will be most horrified by this suggestion were doubtless
also delighted
to see the public demolition of the Berlin Wall. It is surely
obvious that the
excesses of corporate power are no more likely to be reversed
voluntarily by the
states which it has captured than that the Berlin Wall would
have been pulled
down by the governments which built it. And I suspect that, in
private, most British people would be as happy to see the headquarters
of, say, Balfour Beatty or Monsanto dismantled by non-violent direct
action as they were to see Lord Archer go to prison.
These things can be done, as peaceful protesters have demonstrated in
fields of
GM maize, nuclear laboratories and military aircraft hangars all
over the country,
without hurting anyone. Indeed, when actions are clearly
focussed, then violence
towards human beings is far less likely to take place, as it's
harder to forget what
we are seeking to achieve. While it would cause some of our
liberal supporters to
shudder, it would also generate the massive public debate
without which no political change can take place.
Ours is, in numerical terms, the biggest protest movement in the
history of the
world. We have, perhaps, a better opportunity for generating
progressive,
democratic change than at any time in the past 50 years. But,
though I am scared
to say it, it's now clear to me that we cannot win without
raising the temperature.
The disorienting, profoundly disturbing lesson from Genoa is
also the oldest lesson in politics: words alone are not enough.
http://www.monbiot.com/
George Monbiot
Asking the G8 leaders to decide what to do about third world debt is
like asking the
inmates of Wormwood Scrubs to decide what to do about crime.
Debt is the direct
result of the banking structure which has enriched the G8
nations. Our leaders are
the last people on earth who should be charged with tackling it.
The same goes for poverty in Africa. For 150 years, a few rich
nations have decided
how Africa should be "helped". The G8's new "Marshall Plan" for
the continent is no
more enlightened than the schemes some of its members were
devising in 1860.
The problem is not the decisions the G8 makes. The problem is
that it's the G8 making the decisions.
I had imagined that this was so obvious it scarcely needed stating,
but some of the
big development charities criticising the G8's new plans are now
arguing not that
these constitute a new form of colonialism, but that this
colonialism is insufficiently
funded. Reading the responses of some of the organisations I
have long admired, I can't help wondering whose side they are on.
My bewilderment has been compounded by a recognition, painful and
reluctant as
it is, that the G8 leaders, the press and the millions of people
for whom these
issues were meaningless just a year or two ago are now
discussing them only
because of the fighting in the streets. Having campaigned
against violence
towards people for years, I find this perception terrifying. It
is simply not true to say
that Carlo Giuliani died in vain. By contrast to the hundreds of
thousands of people
who, like me, have spent their working lives making polite
representations, he was
acknowledged by the eight men closeted in the ducal palace. They
were forced, as
never before, to defend themselves against the charge of
illegitimacy.
This discovery is hardly new. I have simply stumbled once more upon
the fundamental political reality which all those of us who lead
moderately comfortable lives tend occasionally to forget: that
confrontation is an essential prerequisite for change.
The problem with the fighting at Genoa is not only that the
confrontation was of the
kind which hurts people, but also that it was not always clear
what they were being
hurt for. The great Islamic activist Hamza Yusuf Hanson
distinguishes between
two forms of political action. He defines the Arabic word
"hamas" as enthusiastic
but intelligent anger and "hamoq" as uncontrolled, stupid anger.
The Malays could
not pronounce the Arabic 'h', and the British acquired the word
from them. On
Friday and Saturday, while the white overalls movement practised
hamas, seeking
to rip down the fences around Genoa's Red Zone but refusing to
return the blows of the police, the black block ran amok.
The important thing about hamas is that, whether or not it is
popular, it is
comprehensible. People can see immediately what you are doing
and why you are
doing it. Hamoq, by contrast, leaves its spectators dumbfounded.
Hamas may
have demolished the McDonald's in Whitehall on May Day 2000, but
it would have
left the Portuguese restaurant and the souvenir shop beside it
intact. Hamas
explains itself. It is a demonstration in both senses of the
word: a protest and an
exposition of the reasons for that protest. Hamoq, by contrast,
seeks no public dialogue. Hamas is radical. Hamoq is reactionary.
If, like some of the black block warriors I have spoken to, you cannot
accept this
distinction, then look at how the police responded to these two
very different
species of anger. On Friday, though they were armed to the teeth
and greatly
outnumbered the looters, the police stood by and watched as the
black block
rampaged around Brignole station, smashing every shopfront and
overturning the residents' cars.
Then on Saturday night, on the pretext of looking for the people who
had caused
the violence, the police raided the schools in which members of
the non-violent
Genoa Social Forum were sleeping, and started beating them to a
pulp before they
could get out of their sleeping bags. The police, like almost
everyone else in
Genoa, knew perfectly well that the black block were, at the
time, camped in a car park miles away.
It is not hard to see which faction Italy's borderline-fascist state
feels threatened by,
and which faction it can accept and even encourage. If Carlo
Giuliani did not die in
vain, it was because the Genoa Social Forum had so clearly
articulated the case
he may have been seeking to make. His hamoq forced a response
because other people were practising hamas.
Hamas instructs us to choose our enemies carefully. And if there is
one thing
upon which all the diverse factions whose members gathered at
Genoa can agree, it is the identity of some of our enemies. There are
some corporations, for example, which activists and non-activists
everywhere regard as a menace to society.
Almost everyone agrees that the world would be a better place without
the companies which are lobbying against action on climate change,
building Bush's
missile defence system, producing fragmentation grenades,
demanding control
over health and education services, privatising water in third
world cities then
selling it back to their people at inflated prices, ripping up
virgin forests, designing
plants with sterile seeds. The state was once empowered to
destroy such
menaces: in the 18th century, for example, the British
government could dismantle
any commercial enterprise "tending to the common grievance,
prejudice and
inconvenience of His Majesty's subjects". Now the state has
renounced this power and refuses, whatever its people may say, to
demolish the dens from which the thieves of the public realm raid our
lives. Hamas insists that we pull them down ourselves.
Those who will be most horrified by this suggestion were doubtless
also delighted
to see the public demolition of the Berlin Wall. It is surely
obvious that the
excesses of corporate power are no more likely to be reversed
voluntarily by the
states which it has captured than that the Berlin Wall would
have been pulled
down by the governments which built it. And I suspect that, in
private, most British people would be as happy to see the headquarters
of, say, Balfour Beatty or Monsanto dismantled by non-violent direct
action as they were to see Lord Archer go to prison.
These things can be done, as peaceful protesters have demonstrated in
fields of
GM maize, nuclear laboratories and military aircraft hangars all
over the country,
without hurting anyone. Indeed, when actions are clearly
focussed, then violence
towards human beings is far less likely to take place, as it's
harder to forget what
we are seeking to achieve. While it would cause some of our
liberal supporters to
shudder, it would also generate the massive public debate
without which no political change can take place.
Ours is, in numerical terms, the biggest protest movement in the
history of the
world. We have, perhaps, a better opportunity for generating
progressive,
democratic change than at any time in the past 50 years. But,
though I am scared
to say it, it's now clear to me that we cannot win without
raising the temperature.
The disorienting, profoundly disturbing lesson from Genoa is
also the oldest lesson in politics: words alone are not enough.