many children will not hold their parents tonight. It could have been you or me.21
It’s delivered in the style of an art-house movie narration: Wim Wenders in Farsi, with Tehran instead of West Berlin. But it is real— just as Neda’s death, the karate-kicking woman, the surging crowds and baton charges are all real. The reality of protest, self-sacrifice and solidarity surged through the songlines of the Internet. Not everybody saw them: only the netizens sitting up late at night in Santa Cruz, in Marrakech, in Beijing, in Cairo, dipping beneath the barriers of Internet censorship in search of a better world. And it turned out there were more of these netizens than anybody thought.
The Iranian uprising was defeated: in part because the youth and the professional classes overestimated the break the poor were prepared to make with the hardliners; in part because the workers—having created strong, semi-legal organizations in defiance of repression, and having staged a wave of strikes which would continue into 2011—were not prepared to stake everything on an alliance with Mousavi.
But all the ingredients were present of the uprisings that would, eighteen months later, galvanize the Middle East and beyond: radicalized, secular-leaning youth; a repressed workers’ movement with considerable social power; uncontrollable social media; the restive urban poor. And there was an élan, a poetry about it, an absence of postmodern cynicism. If you had met Neda Soltan or Oldouz84 in a Starbucks in New York, they would be just like you.
But still the media and the politicians failed to see it coming. Most reports placed Gaza and Iran in the category ‘Islam versus the rest of the world’, and heard Greece as merely sound and fury, signifying nothing.
Communiqué from an absent future
last night around midnight, there was an out of control electrocommunist dance party with maybe 300 people dancing to justice in quarry plaza with glow sticks chanting STRIKE! STRIKE! STRIKE! i’m not kidding, i don’t drink but i think it’s pretty awesome that we violated every single party regulation the university has for 4 or 5 hours and there was no police action.22
On 24 September 2009, students at University of California Santa Cruz occupied their own common rooms and held a dance party. By November, student occupations had spread to Los Angeles, California, Fresno, Davis, Irvine and Berkeley. While students have always sporadically protested over politics, this was an economic movement, and its targets were spelled out on the banners they had hung at the rave in Santa Cruz: ‘Take over the city, Take over campus, End capital’. The occupation movement continued to gather momentum throughout the winter of 2009, culminating in a coordinated walk-out on campuses across America on 4 March 2010.
Something new was happening. Throughout the first decade of the twenty-first century, students had been told they were society’s new archetype. Their knowledge work would ensure a prosperous future; their passion for personal electronics would keep China’s factories in business; and their debt repayments would fuel Wall Street for half a century.
But by 2010, students all over the developed world were coming under economic attack, through a combination of fee increases, hikes in the cost of student credit and a jobs downturn that had seen casual work dry up. If the students who led the struggles at Berkeley in the 1960s had been a prosperous, nerdy elite fighting for the rights of African Americans, their successors were now themselves victims, on an economic front line. ‘The arriving freshman’, they complained, ‘is treated as a mortgage, and the fees are climbing. She is a future revenue stream, and the bills are growing. She is security for a debt she never chose, and the cost is staggering.’23
Among students and graduates, this sudden loss of confidence in the future was tangible. One of its most eloquent expressions was penned by the Research and Destroy group of activists at UC Santa Cruz. Entitled Communiqué from an Absent Future, it became required reading among student radicals everywhere. It perfectly captures the impact of ‘capitalist realism’ on the youth of the 2000s: ‘Safety … and comfort have been our watchwords. We slide through the flesh world without being touched or moved. We shepherd our emptiness from place to place.’ But now the postmodernist dreamtime was at an end:
‘Work hard, play hard’ has been the over-eager motto of a generation in training for … what?—drawing hearts in cappuccino foam, or plugging names and numbers into databases. The gleaming techno-future of American capitalism was long ago packed up and sold to China for a few more years of borrowed junk. A university diploma is now worth no more than a share in General Motors.24
And General Motors, by this point, had gone bust. As the stimulus packages ran out, and the first waves of post-Lehman austerity began to hit public-sector pay and pension rights in 2010, those in power comforted themselves with one thought: that postmodern society had eradicated solidarity. The young would never go out onto the streets to fight for the rights of the old, established workforce; the feral youth of the inner cities would never combine with the educated elite. There might even be an ‘age war’ between the baby boomers and the iPod generation. There would be strife, but it would never be coherent.
On 19 October 2010, the Paris bureau of Associated Press issued the following newswire: ‘Masked youths clad in black torched cars, smashed storefronts and threw up roadblocks Tuesday, clashing with riot police across France as protests over raising the retirement age to 62 took a radical turn.’
The age of capitalist realism was over. Things would now kick off in the most unlikely places, and involve people nobody ever expected to resist.
‘Trust Is Explosive’: Britain’s Youth Rebel Against Austerity
London. She walks into Soho’s Bar Italia looking like a postmodern Sally Bowles: black top, black skirt, black tights; bobbed black hair. Black cowl modelled on an outfit worn by Lady Gaga. Outsize black sunglasses. Blue glitter beneath the eyes. She says,
I was at a dinner party the night before the occupation and they said to me if you don’t come with us you will have to stay in the flat on your own and you won’t like it. You can tweet as much as you want. They kind of tricked me because we were on this march, and I was tweeting, and then suddenly we were in a room and that was the occupation.
This was on ‘Day X’, 24 November 2010, and the venue was University College London: just the kind of place a privately educated, Lib-Dem-voting twenty-one-year-old might go to get an English degree, in between drinking large amounts of gin and attending Paris Fashion Week:
The people who sat down at the media table turned out to be a working group: I knew most of them on Twitter but had never met them in person before. I think they recognized me from my Twitter picture because it’s, er, quite distinctive. Then, once we started tweeting, we got loads of messages of support and I started replying with this hashtag: #solidarity. I had no idea of, like, its historical meaning. I just thought: that’s a great word.
Had she heard of the Polish trade union Solidarity? Shakes her head. Nothing at all: only three weeks later somebody told her. Had she heard of the song ‘Solidarity Forever’? Ditto, but she can sing it now.
I had no politics. I still don’t subscribe to any. I’d probably say I was quite far left now—although I am not radical. I don’t read newspapers. I bought the Guardian once because there was a picture of me. I read blog posts. The books I read, apart from coursework, are mainly chick-lit.
Guy Debord? Toni Negri? Any of the books traditionally found strewn on the floors of student occupations? ‘I haven’t and I wouldn’t,’ says @littlemisswilde, whose real-life name is Jessica Riches.
I would rather read new stuff: the old ideas are nice to know; they’re context. But I would rather know what’s happening now. I can’t believe there are still people who read articles. If everybody had a Twitter feed you could just see the news as it happens. You don’t need 100 words of background.
If the political elite had understood the power of the militantly