[R-G] Klein & Lewis: "Occupy, resist, produce"
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Sat Sep 1 11:33:36 MDT 2007
Copyright 2007 New Statesman Ltd.
All Rights Reserved
August 30, 2007
LENGTH: 1514 words
HEADLINE: "Occupy, resist, produce"
BYLINE: Naomi Klein and Avi Lewis
In response to Argentina's economic catastrophe of 2001, unemployed
workers took over the running of bankrupt factories. In this
exclusive essay, Naomi Klein and Avi Lewis explain how, six years on,
these tiny co-operatives have nurtured a powerful social movement
On 19 March 2003, we were on the roof of the Zanón ceramic tile
factory, filming an interview with Cepillo. He was showing us how the
workers fended off eviction by armed police, defending their
democratic workplace with slingshots and the little ceramic balls
normally used to pound the Patagonian clay into raw material for
tiles. His aim was impressive. It was the day the bombs started
falling on Baghdad.
As journalists, we had to ask ourselves what we were doing there.
What possible relevance could there be in this one factory at the
southernmost tip of South America, with its band of radical workers
and its David and Goliath narrative, when bunker-busting apocalypse
was descending on Iraq?
But we, like so many others, had been drawn to Argentina to witness
first-hand an explosion of activism in the wake of its 2001 crisis -
a host of dynamic new social movements that were not only advancing a
bitter critique of the economic model that had destroyed their
country, but were busily building local alternatives in the rubble.
There were many popular responses to the crisis, from neighbourhood
assemblies and barter clubs to resurgent left-wing parties and mass
movements of the unemployed, but we spent most of our year in
Argentina with workers in "recovered companies". Almost entirely
under the media radar, workers in Argentina have been responding to
rampant unemployment and capital flight by taking over businesses
that have gone bankrupt and reopening them under democratic worker
management. It is an old idea reclaimed and retrofitted for a brutal
new time. The principles are so simple, so elementally fair, that
they seem more self-evident than radical when articulated by one of
the workers: "We formed the co-operative with the criteria of equal
wages and making basic decisions by assembly; we are against the
separation of manual and intellectual work; we want a rotation of
positions and, above all, the ability to recall our elected leaders."
The movement of recovered companies is not epic in scale - some 170
companies, around 10,000 workers in Argentina. But six years on, and
unlike some of the country's other new movements, it has survived and
continues to build quiet strength in the midst of the country's
deeply unequal "recovery". Its tenacity is a function of its
pragmatism: this is a movement that is based on action, not talk. And
its defining action, reawakening the means of production under worker
control, while loaded with potent symbolism, is anything but
symbolic. It is feeding families, rebuilding shattered pride, and
opening a window of powerful possibility.
Like a number of other emerging social movements around the world,
the workers in the recovered companies are rewriting the script for
how change is supposed to happen. Rather than following anyone's ten-
point plan for revolution, the workers are darting ahead of the
theory - at least, straight to the part where they get their jobs
back. In Argentina, the theorists are chasing after the factory
workers, trying to analyse what is already in noisy production.
These struggles have had a tremendous impact on the imaginations of
activists around the world. At this point, there are many more starry-
eyed grad papers on the phenomenon than there are recovered
companies. But there is also a renewed interest in democratic
workplaces from Durban to Melbourne to New Orleans.
That said, the movement in Argentina is as much a product of the
globalisation of alternatives as it is one of its most con tagious
stories. Argentinian workers borrowed the slogan "Occupy, Resist,
Produce" from Latin America's largest social movement, Brazil's
Movimiento Sin Terra, in which more than a million people have
reclaimed unused land and put it back into community production. One
worker told us that what the movement in Argentina is doing is "MST
for the cities". In South Africa, we saw a protester's T-shirt with
an even more succinct summary of this new impatience: "Stop Asking,
The movement in Argentina is frustrating to some on the left who feel
it is not clearly anti-capitalist, those who chafe at how comfortably
it exists within the market economy and see worker management as
merely a new form of auto-exploitation. Others see co-operativism,
the legal form chosen by the vast majority of the recovered
companies, as a capitulation in itself - insisting that only full
national isation by the state can bring worker democracy into a
broader socialist project.
Workers in the movement are generally suspicious of being co-opted to
anyone's political agenda, but at the same time cannot afford to turn
down any support. More interesting by far is to see how workers in
this movement are politicised by the struggle, which begins with the
most basic imperative: Workers want to work, to feed their families.
Some of the most powerful new working-class leaders in Argentina
today discovered solidarity on a path that started from that
essentially apolitical point. Whether you think the movement's lack
of a leading ideology is a tragic weakness or a refreshing strength,
the recovered companies challenge capitalism's most cherished ideal:
the sanctity of private property.
The legal and political case for worker control in Argentina does not
only rest on the unpaid wages, evaporated benefits and emptied-out
pension funds. The workers make a sophisticated case for their moral
right to property - in this case, the machines and physical pre mises
- based not just on what they are owed personally, but what society
is owed. The recovered companies propose themselves as an explicit
remedy to all the corporate welfare, corruption and other forms of
public subsidy the owners enjoyed in the process of bankrupting their
firms and moving their wealth to safety, abandoning whole communities
to economic exclusion.
This argument is, of course, available for immediate use in the
United States and Europe. But this story goes much deeper than
corporate welfare, and that's where the Argentinian experience will
really resonate with us. It has become axiomatic on the left to say
that Argentina's crash was a direct result of the IMF orthodoxy
imposed on the country with such enthusiasm in the neoliberal 1990s.
In their book Sin Patrón: Stories from Argentina's Worker-Run
Factories, to which this essay forms the introduction, the Lavaca
Collective makes clear that in Argentina, just as in the US
occupation of Iraq, those bromides about private sector efficiency
were nothing more than a cover story for an explosion of frontier-
style plunder - looting on a massive scale by a small group of
elites. Privatisation, deregulation, labour flexibility: these were
the tools to facilitate a massive transfer of public wealth to
private hands, not to mention private debts to the public purse. Like
Enron traders, the businessmen who haunt the pages of this book
learned the first lesson of capitalism and stopped there: Greed is
good, and more greed is better. As one Argentinian worker says:
"There are guys that wake up in the morning thinking about how to
screw people, and others who think: how do we rebuild this Argentina
that they have torn apart?"
In the answer to that question, you can read a powerful story of
transformation. Capitalism produces and distributes not just goods
and services, but identities. When the capital and its carpetbaggers
had flown from Argentina, what was left was not only companies that
had been emptied, but a whole hollowed-out country filled with people
whose identities - as workers - had been stripped away as well. As
one of the organisers in the movement wrote to us: "It is a huge
amount of work to recover a company. But the real work is to recover
a worker and that is the task that we have just begun."
On 17 April 2003, we were on Avenida Jujuy in Buenos Aires, standing
with the Brukman workers and a huge crowd of their supporters in
front of a fence, behind which was a small army of police guarding
the Brukman factory. After a brutal eviction, the workers were
determined to get back to work at their sewing machines.
In Washington, DC, that day, USAID announced that it had chosen
Bechtel Corporation as the prime contractor for the reconstruction of
Iraq's architecture. The heist was about to begin in earnest, both in
the United States and in Iraq. Deliberately induced crisis was
providing the cover for the transfer of billions of tax dollars to a
handful of politically connected corporations.
In Argentina, they'd already seen this movie - the wholesale plunder
of public wealth, the explosion of unemployment, the shredding of the
social fabric, the staggering human consequences. And 52 seamstresses
were in the street, backed by thousands of others, trying to take
back what was already theirs. It was definitely the place to be.
In 2004, Naomi Klein and Avi Lewis released "The Take", a film about
worker-run factories in Argentina.This essay is an edited extract
from their introduction to "Sin Patrón: Stories from Argentina's
Worker-Run Factories", written by the Lavaca Collective (Haymarket
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