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Different Histories of the Present. On the Spanish Reception of Michel Foucault's

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Different Histories of the Present. On the Spanish Reception of Michel Foucault's Surveiller et Punirand the Issue of Political Prisoners Author: Lucia Herrmann 
 El grupo en el aeropuerto Charles de Gaulle. De izquierda a derecha: Régis Debray, Costa-Gavras, Foucault; en segunda fila Claude Mauriac, Ladouze y Montand
EL GRUPO EN EL AEROPUERTO CHARLES DE GAULLE. DE IZQUIERDA A DERECHA: RÉGIS DEBRAY, COSTA-GAVRAS, FOUCAULT; EN SEGUNDA FILA CLAUDE MAURIAC, LADOUZE Y MONTAND

Abstract

In the mid-1970s Foucault's work on the birth of the prison entered contemporary debates about the prison in Spain in various instances. Reading Foucault's writings and their Spanish reception next to each other, it becomes clear that one question central to the Spanish prison debates at the time was hardly mentioned in Surveiller et Punir: namely, the relationship between political and non-political prisoners. After a brief contextualization of Spanish prison debates in the 1970s and their reference to Foucault's work, this paper first outlines in what way the issue of political prisoners was (in the Spanish case) or was not (in Foucault's prison study) discussed and why. Based on this comparison the paper clarifies the link between past and present in Foucault's approach of a "history of the present." It then draws on an interview where Foucault did reflect on the issue of prisoner categories and concludes with a suggestion for productively using Foucault's methods as tools to analyze historically changing debates about the issue of political prisoners as a history of contingent problematizations.
Keywords: foucault , spain , prison , political prisoners , groupe d'information sur les prisons (GIP) , history of the present , problematization , criminality
How to Cite: Herrmann, L. (2018). Different Histories of the Present. On the Spanish Reception of Michel Foucault's Surveiller et Punir and the Issue of Political Prisoners.Le foucaldien, 4(1), 1. DOI: http://doi.org/10.16995/lefou.32
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Published on 23 Jan 2018
Peer Reviewed
CC BY 4.0

1. Introduction

Michel Foucault understood his 1975 study on the birth of the prison as a contribution to "the history of the present."1 The "present" he referred to was marked by a number of prison revolts and protests which had emerged in France and several other countries, such as the United States, Italy and Great Britain, at the beginning of the 1970s. Anti-prison movements, led by former prisoners and supported by intellectuals, fought against the existing incarceration regime. One such movement was the Groupe d'Information sur les Prisons (GIP, Prison Information Group), which aimed to foster contacts across prison walls in order to make prisoners' voices heard in the French public. Foucault was one the GIP'spromoters and his activism for and with (former) inmates influenced his later interest in the history of penitentiary institutions.2

The same year Surveiller et Punir was published, France's neighboring country Spain saw a new level of political crisis. After dictator Francisco Franco's death in November 1975, the country entered a phase, which in retrospect would be called the "transition to democracy." Protest movements in and around Spanish prisons shaped this transitional process in various ways. Some of the actors involved drew on Michel Foucault's activism and his theoretical work on prison to support their own agenda. However, reading Foucault's writings and their Spanish reception next to each other, it becomes clear that one question central to the Spanish prison debates at the time was hardly mentioned in Surveiller et Punir: the relationship between political and non-political prisoners. After a brief contextualization of Spanish prison debates in the 1970s and their reference to Foucault's work, this paper first outlines in what way the issue of political prisoners was (in the Spanish case) or was not (in Foucault's prison study) discussed and why. Based on this comparison the paper clarifies the link between past and present in Foucault's approach of a "history of the present." It then draws on an interview where Foucault did reflect on the issue of prisoner categories and concludes with a suggestion for productively using Foucault's methods as tools to analyze historically changing debates about the issue of political prisoners as a history of contingent problematizations.

2. Spanish Anti-Prison Movements and Michel Foucault

Spanish prisons became a controversial topic long before the dictator died in 1975. For at least two decades clandestine campaigns in Spain and protest movements abroad had been mobilizing public opinion for the release of political prisoners. The fight for an amnesty for all political detainees indeed allowed otherwise conflicting anti-Francoist opposition groups to fight for a common cause. Condemning the state of Spanish penitentiaries became a means to criticize the Franco regime and what it represented. During the time of "transition" in the mid-1970s, several Spanish cities saw massive demonstrations that contributed to making the granting of an amnesty the prerequisite for any further political development.3

When the new government and parliament finally passed the long expected amnesty laws (in 1976 and 1977 respectively), the legal texts primarily targeted those who were prisoners because of "political" offences. As a consequence, groups of non-political prisoners organized protests, riots and hunger strikes in several Spanish prisons, especially in Barcelona and Madrid. Calling themselves "social" prisoners, these detainees also claimed to be victims of Franco's dictatorship and demanded to be released. When in July 1976 "social" prisoners related to the Coordinadora de Presos en Lucha (COPEL, Coordinator of Prisoners in Struggle) climbed the roof of Madrid's biggest prison Carabanchel and publicly manifested their anger, prisoner revolts had reached a new quality.4 Even though there had been some non-political prisoners' protests before, they had never reached this amount of public attention. In fact, in a 1973 report on "political imprisonment in Spain," the international human rights organization Amnesty International had explained that, unlike in France or the United States, the "struggle against penal systems" in Spain was led by political prisoners, as criminal prisoners "generally [did] not have the same kind of awareness of their own situation."5 The continuous outburst of violence in and around the prisons in 1977 gave rise to demands for a reform of the existing penal code and penitentiary regulations.

Valentín Galván has pointed to the various instances in which Michel Foucault's work entered contemporary Spanish debates about the prison in the mid-1970s.6 Prisoners' and solidarity movements in Madrid and Barcelona composed of former "social" or "common" prisoners and their families used the French GIP's pamphlets as inspiration for their own activism and publications, attempting to "give prisoners a voice." One of these solidarity movements listed Surveiller et Punir (the original French version) as recommended reading in its bulletin with the title "Quienes no han tenido jamás el 'derecho' a la(s) palabra(s) la(s) toman Ya!!" ("Those who have never had the 'right' to word(s) [right to speak up] seize them now!").7 There seem to have even been some personal encounters between Michel Foucault and Spanish prison activists. In an interview published in 2003, former members of Barcelona's prisoners' rights movement recalled at one point going to see Michel Foucault at his home in Paris.8 Apparently Foucault also attended a conference against the Spanish "law of social danger" (Ley de Peligrosidad Social) in Madrid in November 1977.9 In spring 1978, after intensive work on reforming the penal code, the new bill was discussed in parliament. A Basque member of the senate, promoting the vision of abolishing prisons all together, referred to Michel Foucault's prison genealogy in order to support his argument.10 Foucault, he explained, had written in 1975 that prisons once constituted a significant progress in the eyes of 19th century French reformers. "Today", however, this progress was rather to be seen as the "lingering on of a social nefariousness."11

3. "As long as there are common prisoners, there will always be political prisoners."

While Foucault's Surveiller et Punir entered Spanish debates in various instances, a reference to the study was particularly prominent in one publication on the history of Spanish prisons: the Libro blanco sobre las cárceles franquistas (White Book of Francoist Prisons), which was published in 1976 shortly after the outbreak of prison revolts in Spain under the pseudonym "Angel Suárez y Colectivo 36" by the publishing house Ruedo ibérico.12 At that moment the publishers were still exiled in Paris but their publications were directed towards a Spanish audience. For a long time this White Book, which accumulated a wide range of source material, was seen as the most important point of reference for historians working on the history of prisons during the Franco period. The book's very first footnote explained that the introductory chapter was "in large parts a critical comment [glosa] on Michel Foucault's excellent study Surveiller et Punir." The anonymous authors noted that the book had served as a "guiding thread" to work out the "reality of the Francoist prison universe."13 This "thread" appears, for example, in the way the prison was interpreted as an integral part of bourgeois capitalist society and in the way the authors challenged the narrative of a civilizing progress in punishment practices. The chosen terminology also resembles Foucauldian writings when describing "penitentiary techniques" and "instruments of power."

Nevertheless, it seems the reference to Foucault's work on the birth of the prison was fulfilling more of a legitimizing purpose than constituting a real analytical tool for the study. The following chapters did neither mention Surveiller et Punir nor did they engage in any in-depth discussion of Foucault's central theses. While it is not known whether and to what extent the authors read or discussed Michel Foucault's publication during their work on the manuscript, the central positioning of the reference in the very first footnote is nevertheless an indication on how they wanted their work to be framed. Furthermore, one could argue that while the study's overall structure did not follow the theses in Surveiller et Punir, it adopted one of GIP's central concerns. Even though the GIP's work was not explicitly quoted, the Spanish White Book correlates more with Foucault's practical than his academic work. After a first, "historical" part that traced the evolution of the Francoist penitentiary system since the end of the Civil War, the second part of the Libro blanco was composed of a collection of commented documents (letters, bulletins, manifestos, etc.). These documents originated from within the Spanish prisons and their reproduction in the book aimed at "letting the prisoners' documents speak" instead of speaking about the prisoners.14

The introductory comment in the Libro blanco that so prominently referred to Foucault is nonetheless thought-provoking, such that it discussed the problem of "political prisoners," an issue Foucault himself did not engage with in Surveiller et Punir. Titled "Reflection on Prisons: Class Struggle or Prisoners' Struggle," the chapter formulated a political program and explained that these two struggles did not exclude or contradict each other. Rather, the controversy on delinquency and illegality represented in itself an insurgency against the bourgeois state, the authors claimed. Franco's dictatorship was seen as part of a "capitalist logic" with all its contradictions.15 The authors further explained that the regime's "nature," namely the persistence of political repression, had led to certain peculiarities within Spanish prisons.16 Because any oppositional movement had been suppressed in Spanish society, the "traditional" distinction between "political" and "common" prisoners had been reinforced.17 This separation, the authors declared, had to be overcome: Political prisoners needed to understand that they were fighting a joint fight together with other prisoners against the ruling social system.18 The chapter concluded that "as long as there are common prisoners, there will always be political prisoners."19 In Surveiller et Punir, the work explicitly mentioned in the Libro blanco's first chapter, Foucault barely mentioned "political prisoners" and did not engage in a discussion of their attitude towards other prisoners. How is this silence to be understood? And how does it conform to Foucault's intention to write a "history of the present"?

4. Giving a Voice to Whom?

In Foucault's present there was no lack of talk about political prisoners. Not only when it came to political imprisonment abroad, as exemplified by cases in Spain, Greece or Eastern Europe, but also regarding debates in France. Indeed, Foucault acknowledged that the beginning of the prisoners' revolts in France had been linked to political prisoners' protesting in French prisons since the 1960s in order to be recognized as "political prisoners."20 Nevertheless, several authors have noted that Foucault himself did not make a distinction between "political" and "criminal" prisoners, neither in his practical nor in his theoretical work.21 Bernard E. Harcourt writes that because Foucault focused on the notion of "civil war," a distinction between political and non-political prisoners would not have made sense.22

This approach is reflected in the writings of the GIP, in which Foucault famously participated.23 When asked in an interview in March 1971 whether they distinguished between "political" and "criminal" prisoners, Foucault and Pierre Vidal-Naquet, speaking on behalf of the GIP, declared, "No, absolutely not."24 The fact that not all prisoners were equal, however, became clear when Foucault and Vidal-Naquet explained that "the political prisoners have opportunities that criminal prisoners don't have. The chance to express themselves. Knowledge, relations, [and] contacts to the outside, so that they know what they say and what they do; and most importantly they experience political support which strengthens their actions."25 Therefore, since political prisoners were able to articulate their demands, the GIP was not primarily concerned with their situation. The GIP's objective was to make those heard in public whose voices had not been heard before in order to "reintegrate" the "fringe of the lower class" (the common prisoners) into political struggles, Foucault explained in April 1972.26 In fact, Foucault considered the French Maoists' initial demand to be treated as "political prisoners" in hindsight as "a sort of political mistake," because they hadn't understood that the "prison's elimination of common-law prisoners was part of the system of political elimination of which they were themselves the victims."27 Furthermore, the GIP's focus was directed at gathering information about the functioning and "intolerable" conditions of incarceration as such.28

Accordingly, Michel Foucault told Niklaus Meienberg in March 1972: "The problem is: One has to provide a critique of the system which allows to explain the process of how society nowadays pushes a part of society to the margins. That's what it is all about."29 Political prisoners did not belong to this part of society; they were not at the margins. In Surveiller et Punir, where Foucault later formulated such a "critique of the system" as part of his theoretical work, he mentioned political prisoners only once. Citing from a nineteenth century journal, he noted that there had existed at the time a shared belief that political prisoners were supposed to speak out for criminal prisoners.30 Apart from this passage, they were not part of the story because they were not part of the problem that he aimed to address, namely an analysis of the emergence of disciplinary power and specific political technologies of the body as exemplified in the institution of the prison.

By contrast, the idea of political prisoners speaking out for common prisoners and the issue of this relationship was essential to the Libro blanco sobre las cárceles franquistas in 1976. Much like the GIP had aimed to give prisoners "la parole," the authors wanted to "let the prisoners' documents speak."31 However, they had to acknowledge that they were mostly relying on "political prisoners' voices."32 Furthermore, they (whose real names were not mentioned in the study) described themselves as former "political prisoners." Behind the pseudonym "Angel Suárez y Colectivo 36" were in fact Ruedo ibérico's editor José Martínez Guerricabeitia, one of his co-workers Alfonso Colodrón (both in France at the time), and the journalist Luciano Rincón, who lived in the Basque Country.33 In fall 1974 Martínez had already mentioned the book project to Rincón in a letter and stressed, "Everything that has to do with prisons is in fashion right now." The somewhat complicated background may account for some of the book's argumentative inconsistencies, and the Spanish authors' biographies were also reflected in their explicit identification as "former political prisoners." Luciano Rincón had only been released from a Spanish prison a couple of months before. He had been sentenced to three years for writing critical texts on Francisco Franco.34 The other person mainly in charge of the Libro blanco, the editor and writer José Martínez, had also experienced imprisonment in Francoist penitentiaries for his political activities. While Rincón had just been released, Martínez' imprisonment dated back to the end of the Spanish Civil War and the beginning of the Franco regime. Martínez, who was considerably older than Rincón, had been exiled in France since 1948.

The Libro blanco's authors wished to give all prisoners a voice but they were well aware of their own situatedness. In order to make all Spanish prisoners' voices heard, these former political prisoners decided to speak up for them. While they affirmed their identity as "political prisoners" and emphasized the importance of political prisoners' historical acts of resistance, they at the same time sought to overcome a perceived division between "political" and "common" prisoners in their country. The Libro blanco should therefore be seen as an attempt to change existing political debates about prisons in Spain (towards questions similar to those raised earlier by the GIP) while at the same time taking into account the historical importance of political prisoners' struggles during the Franco dictatorship.

5. Past and Present

The different ways of addressing the issue of "political prisoners" can partially be explained by the respective political context (France, Spain) and the authors' (non-)identification with the issue that influenced this initial analysis. It should not be overlooked that Foucault explicitly clarified in a footnote that his study on the birth of the prison only referred to the French context.35 One could argue that both studies, Surveiller et Punir and the Libro blanco, were "histories of the present." After all, both were motivated by a concern to understand the present. David Garland has stressed the importance of an initial analysis, a "critical distancing from the present," that preludes a Foucauldian "history of the present."36 Genealogies, Garland writes, "begin with a certain puzzlement or discomfiture about practices or institutions that others take for granted."37 In the case of Surveiller et Punir, it was the institution of the prison and the practice of incarceration that Foucault no longer wanted to take for granted but, instead, question historically. In the Libro blanco, it was the difference between political prisoners and common prisoners, as expressed in contemporary demands for amnesty laws for "political" prisoners in Spain, which the authors aimed to rethink. But even though both studies started from a (context-sensitive) diagnosis of the present, was the Spanish book a "history of the present" as defined by Foucault?

While there is much to be said about Foucault's "history of the present," the point I wish to focus on here is the way past and present relate in this approach, i.e. the function of historical analysis for the present. In the Libro blanco the link between past and present was an immediate one. The authors analyzed the recent history of Spanish prisons during the Franco period in order to explain a present situation in Spain. This analysis was supposed to contribute to a desired and explicitly articulated political consciousness. To this end the White Book provided facts, numbers, and testimonies that were to facilitate the kind of critique of "the system" that the authors formulated. This, in their view, was a necessary political practice. In this way, the book's historical analysis directed readers towards a path in the future and was framed in terms of progress. The issue of "political prisoners" depended on historical conditions that, according to the Libro blanco, were to be overcome. Foucault, in contrast, hardly mentioned contemporary developments in French prisons in Surveiller et Punir. The time period he discussed ended much earlier in the 19th century. Furthermore, in a 1978 interview, Foucault made it clear that he did not want his study to be seen as a "truth-book" [livre-vérité] or an "evidence-book" [livre-démonstration].38In his opinion, it was rather an "experience-book" [livre-expérience].39 Foucault wanted this "experience" to function in two ways: the book was supposed to express an existing, ample "experience" that was in flux. "Experience" in this context, he specified, did not mean something "purely subjective" [échapper la pure subjectivité] but something that others could coincide with [croiser, retraverser].40 Like that, the book was supposed to reflect an "experience" that was linked to a changing "collective practice" or "style of thinking."41 At the same time the book was, as Foucault put it, "an agent" that was, at least to a small extent, supposed to work towards a transformation.42 In this way, Foucault saw Surveiller et Punir as both an analysis of and a contribution to a problematization in the present. This contribution then did not result in formulating readily applicable answers of "truth" or "evidence," nor did it provide simple solutions for contemporary problems. Instead, Foucault demonstrated these problems' contingency and historicity. In doing so, he intended to allow readers to rethink and question the present and, what was more, to reassess their own relation with the present. Reading Surveiller et Punir was supposed to function as a transformative "experience."43

Even though I would agree with Marcelo Hoffman's argument that Foucault's theoretical work was not only informed but animated by his practical work, Surveiller et Punir as a study was not an activist book. Nevertheless, as mentioned above, Spanish anti-prison activists made reference to Foucault's study in order to legitimize their political claims. But while Foucault's analysis of the emergence of disciplinary power might have lead readers to rethink their present, Foucault did not formulate a normative critique of that present nor did he give advice on how to change it. His intervention into the present by means of historical analysis was not as direct as the Spanish Libro blanco's. As Colin Koopman writes, "Foucault never denounced discipline."44 Foucault analyzed the functioning of discipline as part of a complex of power and knowledge in order to identify its inherent dangers, not in order to overcome it.

6. A Matter of Tactics

The fact that Foucault did not problematize the relationship between "political" and non-"political" prisoners in his practical and theoretical work does not mean that he wasn't well aware of such debates and the problematic situation of political prisoners in various countries at the time. In 1975 he actually joined a press conference in Madrid where – together with others – he denounced recent death sentences for Spanish activists.45 So the remaining question is: how did Foucault reconcile his approach with contemporary debates about and claims of prisoners abroad who perceived themselves as "political" or different from "common" prisoners? What resources did Foucault offer to study such debates?

Two elucidating statements regarding these questions can be found in an interview from 1976 when K. S. Karol asked Foucault what he thought of political dissidents in the Soviet Union who had made derogatory comments about common prisoners.46 First, Foucault showed a certain sympathy for this kind of attitude, explaining that these conflicts had to be understood in their "tactical relativity."47 There existed a "valid old historical dispute between the common criminals and opposition members" that Foucault related to a parallel "tactic of all powers" [la tactique de tous les pouvoirs] to try to merge all prisoners into one single and reduced form of "criminality." Therefore, it was in his view comprehensible that dissidents in the Soviet Union tried to distance themselves from the rest of the detainees in order to denounce their own situation of repression and to defend their specific claims. Nevertheless, for Foucault this position seemed to be a "tactical" one. He then clarified, and this is the second statement that is vital in this regard, that in the case of France, his answer would be different. In a country like France, the "important distinction" was not between "political" and "criminal" prisoners, he explained. The dichotomy to be problematized in the French context was one of "illégalismes profitables et tolérés" (those who profit from the legal order because their offences were seen as acceptable) on the one hand and "illégalismes rudimentaires" (those whose offences were dealt with by the "punitive apparatus" thereby producing "delinquency") on the other.48

Following Foucault's argument, as I read it, the identification as "political prisoner" is not stable but a matter of dispute and based on what he calls "tactical positions." If a group of prisoners or detainees claims to be treated differently than the rest, this claim is primarily addressed to the authority that imprisons them. It poses a challenge to that authority's notion of "criminality" or "delinquency." In this way the claim aims to delegitimize the act of imprisonment, the treatment in prison or, on a more general level, the acting authority itself. Similarly, a government's refusal to acknowledge the existence of a separate category of prisoners as "political prisoners" reveals an attempt to generalize and to conceptualize a prison population as "criminal."

Interestingly, the Libro blanco's authors referred to this 1976 interview with Foucault in a paragraph in the second chapter of their book.49 In this chapter they interpreted the fact that "political prisoners" in Spain had so vehemently fought for their status under Francisco Franco's rule in terms of "tactics." The prisoners "permanent demand" to be "differentiated," they argued, was "perhaps the only tactic possible until very recently" to confront a state that had treated them with the same "sentiment of rejection" as the common prisoners.50 During the transitional phase from dictatorship to parliamentary monarchy the assumption that making a distinction between "political" and non-political prisoners was a tactical position that seemed plausible. For the Spanish White Book's authors, writing in the fall of 1976 shortly after a series of prison revolts but only one year after the dictator's death, understanding and re-evaluating the relationship between "political" and "common" prisoners was a necessary step in order to be able to challenge the existing incarceration regime in Spain. They were cautious to stress that Franco's "political prisoners" had not simply disappeared but rather become the monarchy's "political prisoners."51 In an attempt to overcome the perceived division among prisoners and their supporters, they advised to analyze the issue of "political prisoners" not as a separate problem but as intertwined with the cause of "common prisoners." Following their argument, the existing tactics in and around prisons were supposed to be changed. In their concluding chapter they stressed the need for a "total battle" [lucha total] against a "total enemy."52 While one could argue that Martínez and Rincón were inspired by Foucault's approach, the historical analysis they provided, however, was not Foucauldian since it was framed as a direct political intervention in the Spanish present.

7. New Histories

What do we gain from a discussion of the contemporary reception of Foucault's work in the Spanish context and especially in the Libro blanco? I'd like to conclude with three insights from the discussion above and add one suggestion for future research. First, in the mid-1970s, Foucault's theses were referred to and used as analytical tools for political debates within a context of political transition in Spain. Two contemporary Spanish ex-prisoners referred to Foucault's academic work in order to legitimize their study of Spanish prisons during the Franco regime. In their reading Foucault's historical analysis was compatible with their demands for prison abolitionism. Even though a content analysis of the Spanish book suggests that it conformed much more to the work of the GIP than the theses formulated in Surveiller et Punir, it seems like the authors did not bother to separate Foucault's practical work from his theoretical work.

Second, the question why Foucault did not discuss the issue of "political prisoners" in Surveiller et Punir even though it was heavily debated in the 1970s points to how highly contextual Foucault's object of inquiry was. Foucault judged some questions that were fundamentally important in other countries at the time as negligible in the French context. He wanted to understand why the prison, even though it had constantly failed its proclaimed goal of rehabilitating prisoners, was such a stable and enduring institution – a research interest that was animated by experiences made during his practical work with the GIP. Finally, reading Surveiller et Punir against the backdrop of the Spanish White Book helps to clarify not only Foucault's object of inquiry but also his methodology and his specific understanding of a "history of the present." This was not, as in the case of the Libro blanco, a type of historical analysis that should provide evidence for debates of obvious problems in the present. Rather, it was supposed to provide a genealogy of a problem that was not visible at first sight: a history that would enable people to transform their perception of the present.

Remarkably, the Spanish authors referred to Foucault's thoughts that he had formulated in an interview about imprisonment in the Soviet Union in order to explain the problematic situation of "political prisoners" under Francisco Franco's rule. They used Foucault's thinking as a kind of tool to make the Spanish problem comprehensible. Based on this empirical finding and inspired by Colin Koopman and Tomas Matza's distinction between Foucault's "concepts" and "analytics," I would like to conclude with some thoughts on future research.53 Koopman and Matza recommend distinguishing between Foucault's "concepts" and his "analytics" in order to clarify how to properly use Foucault's work in contemporary research.54 "Concepts," they explain, "specify the formulations through which Foucault made sense of the objects of his inquiry" (e.g. discipline, biopower). "Analytics," on the other hand, are the tools, the "methodological constraints, limits, and assumptions" that configure a Foucauldian inquiry (e.g. archealogy, genealogy).55 While Foucault's "concepts" are highly context specific and should therefore not be used as universal categories in contemporary inquiry, Koopman and Matza argue for a productive use of Foucault's "analytics" to work on research questions that Foucault himself did not address.56 Taking "tactical positions" among prisoners and the state into consideration is a useful step to help us reflect on the many complex relationships within and across prison walls, as exemplified in the Spanish case. This holds true for the interpretation in the Libro blanco at the time but also for debates in the years following the publication of the book. The radical view of prison abolitionism that the Libro blanco's authors had promoted in 1976 was not reflected in the 1977 amnesty law, which, although it increased the number of released detainees for "political offenses" and even included Francoist officials, did not guarantee the release of all prisoners. When in 1977 the above-mentioned COPEL and similar anti-prison groups fought for prisoners' rights, there was only little talk about "political prisoners" left. Interestingly, these groups frequently used another alternative term to denominate the prisoners they were fighting for: "social prisoners." In this way, they changed the tactics and made use of another prisoner category in order to denounce what they perceived as an act of criminalization by a repressive state.

Such a historical analysis of changing debates about "political prisoners" or more generally of the contested use of prisoner categories in terms of "tactical positions" should not be an end in itself or, as in the Libro blanco, result in a somewhat teleological understanding of history. Rather, it seems to me that if we look at the "political prisoner" as a "conceptual figure"57 we might ask about the problems this figure was (or is) entangled with. Such a focus would allow us, for example, to better understand contingent problematizations of "criminality" and "legitimate state authority." Who calls him-/herself a political prisoner and why? In what way are certain prisoners perceived as different from "common delinquents"? Who may legitimately be imprisoned and punished by a state? Analyzing the changing answers to these questions over time and the specific practices and knowledge they are based on, we might also contribute to historicizing Foucault's thinking and the work of the GIP. Why did prison activists in France and elsewhere in the 1970s decide that the historical distinction between "political" and "common" prisoners was obsolete? Why has the figure of the "political prisoner" not disappeared? If we make use of Foucault's methods in order to formulate different questions about the issue of "political prisoners" in the past, we can contribute to new histories that might also reshape our understanding of the present.

Notes


1Michel Foucault, Surveiller et Punir. Naissance de La Prison, Bibliothèque Des Histoires (Paris: Gallimard, 1975), 35. For instructive comments on earlier versions of this paper I would like to thank Clara Maier, Peter Fritz and Patrick Kilian; I would also like to thank Le Foucaldien's editors and the two anonymous reviewers for their comments and helpful suggestions on the penultimate version of this paper.


2See Perry Zurn and Andrew Dilts, eds., Active Intolerance. Michel Foucault, the Prison Information Group, and the Future of Abolition (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2016); Cecile Brich, "The Groupe D'information Sur Les Prisons: The Voice of Prisoners? Or Foucault's?," Foucault Studies 5 (2008): 26–47; Marcelo Hoffman, Foucault and Power. The Influence of Political Engagement on Theories of Power (New York, London: Bloomsbury Academic, 2014).


3See Paloma Aguilar, "Collective Memory of the Spanish Civil War: The Case of the Political Amnesty in the Spanish Transition to Democracy," Democratization 4, no. 4 (1997): 88–109, Pamela Beth Radcliff, Making Democratic Citizens in Spain. Civil Society and the Popular Origins of the Transition, 1960–78 (London: Palgrave Macmillan UK, 2011), Carme Molinero, "La Ley de Amnistía de 1977: La Reivindicación Antifranquista y Su Lectura Treinta Años Después," in 30 Años de La Ley de Amnistía (1977–2007), ed. M. Jesús Espuny Tomás (Madrid: Dykinson, 2009), 41–55.


4On the "social" prisoners' movement and the history of COPEL see César Lorenzo Rubio, Cárceles En Llamas. El Movimiento de Presos Sociales Durante La Transición (Barcelona: Virus, 2013).


5Amnesty International, ed., Political Imprisonment in Spain (London: Amnesty International, 1973), 5.


6Valentín Galván, De Vagos y Maleantes. Michel Foucault En España (Barcelona: Virus, 2010), 104–135.


7Galván, Vagos y Maleantes, 110.


8However, in this interview the authors do not specify the date and occasion of this meeting, Centre de Documentaciò – Col.lectiu Arran, ed., "Cárcel y Movimientos Sociales En Barcelona (1969–1979)," Panoptico 4, nueva época, no. 2 (2002): 207–12, 208.


9Galván refers to an editorial note in the Spanish journal Cuadernos para el Diálogo, which accompanied an interview with Michel Foucault conducted by Spanish philosopher Manuel Osorio: Manuel Osorio, "El Poder, Una Bestia Magnífica," Cuadernos Para El Diálogo 238 (19 November 1977): 19–25. See Valentín Galván, "Michel Foucault y Las Cárceles Durante La Transición Política Española," Revista Internacional de Filosofía 48 (2009): 21–37, 31.


10Galván, "Michel Foucault y Las Cárceles Durante La Transición Política Española," 32–33.


11Bandrés Molet, "Sesión Plenaria Núm. 20," Diario de Sesiones Del Senado, Núm. 27 (Madrid: Senado, 24 May 1978), 1089.


12Angel Suárez and Colectivo 36, Libro blanco sobre las cárceles franquistas (Barcelona: Backlist, 2012 [1976]).


13Suárez and Colectivo 36, Libro blanco, 21, footnote 1.


14Suárez and Colectivo 36, Libro blanco, 300.


15Suárez and Colectivo 36, Libro blanco, 21.


16Suárez and Colectivo 36, Libro blanco, 23.


17Suárez and Colectivo 36, Libro blanco, 23.


18Suárez and Colectivo 36, Libro blanco, 44–45.


19Suárez and Colectivo 36, Libro blanco, 48.


20Michel Foucault, "Prisons et Révoltes Dans Les Prisons," in: Foucault. Dits et Écrits I (1954–1975), ed. Daniel Defert and François Ewald, (Paris: Quarto Gallimard, 2001): n. 125, 1293–1300.


21See Daniel Defert, Ein Politisches Leben. Gespräch mit Philippe Artières und Eric Favereau in Zusammenarbeit mit Joséphine Gross (Berlin: Merve, 2015); Bernard E. Harcourt, "Course Context," in The Punitive Society. Lectures at the Collège de France, 1972–1973, by Michel Foucault, ed. Bernard E. Harcourt (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2015), 265–310.


22Harcourt, "Course Context," footnote 21.


23See Philippe Artières, Laurent Quéro, and Michelle Zancarini-Fournel, eds., Le Groupe d'Informations Sur Les Prisons. Archives d'une Lutte, 1970–1972 (St-Étienne: Éditions de l'IMEC, 2003).


24Michel Foucault, "Enquête Sur Les Prisons: Brisons Les Barreaux Du Silence," in Foucault. Dits et Écrits I (1954–1975), ed. Daniel Defert and François Ewald, (Paris: Quarto Gallimard, 2001): n. 88, 1044–1045.


25"Les politiques ont, eux, des moyens que les droits-communs n'ont pas. Des moyens de s'exprimer. Des connaissances, des relations sociales, des contacts extérieurs qui permettent de faire savoir ce qu'ils disent, ce qu'ils font, et surtout le support politique qui fait rebondir leur action.," Foucault,"Enquête Sur Les Prisons," 1045.


26Michel Foucault and John K. Simon, "Michel Foucault on Attica: An Interview," Social Justice 18, no. 3 (45) (1991): 26–34, 31.


27Foucault and Simon, "Attica," 32.


28This gathering of information was explicitely framed as an "intolerance investigation" [enquête-intolérance], in contrast to "sociological investigations" [inquête sociologique] or "curiosity investigations" [enquête-curiosité], see GIP, "Enquête-Intolérance (Mars 1971)," in Le Groupe d'Information Sur Les Prisons. Archives d'une Lutte, 1970–1972, ed. Philippe Artières, Laurent Quéro, and Michelle Zancarini-Fournel (St-Étienne: Éditions de l'IMEC, 2003), 53–54.


29"Le problème est le suivant: offrir une critique du système qui explique le processus par lequel la société actuelle pousse en marge une partie de la population. Voilà.," Michel Foucault, "Le Grand Enfermement," in Foucault. Dits et Écrits I (1954–1975), ed. Daniel Defert and François Ewald, (Paris: Quarto Gallimard, 2001): n. 105, 1164–1174, 1174.


30Foucault, Surveiller et Punir, 294.


31Suárez and Colectivo 36, Libro blanco, 300.


32Suárez and Colectivo 36, Libro blanco, 48.


33Albert Forment, José Martínez: La Epopeya de Ruedo Ibérico (Barcelona: Anagrama, 2000), 497.


34In 1964 Ruedo Ibérico had already published a monograph written by Luciano Rincón (writing as Luís Ramírez) where he reflected on his first experiences in prison at the beginning of the 1960s: Luís Ramírez, Nuestros Primeros Veinticinco Años, Testimonios (Paris: Ruedo ibérico, 1964).


35Foucault, Surveiller et Punir, 35, footnote 1.


36David Garland, "What Is a 'History of the Present'? On Foucault's Genealogies and Their Critical Preconditions," Punishment & Society 16, no. 4 (2014): 365–84.


37Garland, "What Is a 'History of the Present'?," 379.


38Michel Foucault, "Entretien Avec Michel Foucault," in Foucault. Dits et Écrits II (1976–1988), ed. Daniel Defert and François Ewald (Paris: Quarto Gallimard, 2001): n. 281, 860–914, 866.


39Foucault, "Entretien," 866.


40Foucault, "Entretien," 866.


41Foucault, "Entretien," 865.


42Foucault, "Entretien," 866.


43Foucault, "Entretien," 866. For a more detailed discussion on Foucault's concept of "problematization" see Colin Koopman, Genealogy as Critique. Foucault and the Problems of Modernity (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2013).


44Colin Koopman, Genealogy as Critique, 96.


45Michel Foucault, "Aller à Madrid," in Foucault. Dits et Écrits I, 1954–1975, ed. Daniel Defert and François Ewald, (Paris: Quarto Gallimard, 2001), n. 158, 1628–1630.


46Michel Foucault, "Michel Foucault: Crimes et Châtiments En U.R.S.S. et Ailleurs…," in Foucault. Dits et Écrits II (1976–1988), ed. Daniel Defert and François Ewald (Paris: Quarto Gallimard, 2001), n. 172, 63–74.


47"Mais il faut voir les choses dans leur relativité tactique," Foucault, "Crimes et Châtiments," 66.


48Foucault, "Crimes et Châtiments," 67.


49Suárez and Colectivo 36, Libro blanco, 65, footnote 15.


50Suárez and Colectivo 36, Libro blanco, 65.


51Suárez and Colectivo 36, Libro blanco, 641.


52Suárez and Colectivo 36, Libro blanco, 642.


53Colin Koopman and Tomas Matza, "Putting Foucault to Work: Analytic and Concept in Foucaultian Inquiry," Critical Inquiry 39, no. 4 (2013): 817–40.


54Koopman and Matza, Putting Foucault to Work, 819–820.


55Koopman and Matza, Putting Foucault to Work, 825–826.


56Koopman and Matza, Putting Foucault to Work, 837–838.


57Koopman and Matza, Putting Foucault to Work, 825.

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Defert, Daniel. Ein Politisches Leben. Gespräch Mit Philippe Artières Und Eric Favereau in Zusammenarbeit Mit Joséphine Gross. Berlin: Merve, 2015.


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Foucault, Michel. "Michel Foucault: Crimes et Châtiments En U.R.S.S. et Ailleurs…" In Foucault. Dits et Écrits II (1976–1988), edited by Daniel Defert and François Ewald, n. 172 (2001): 63–74. Paris: Quarto Gallimard.


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Foucault, Michel. Surveiller et Punir. Naissance de La Prison. Bibliothèque Des Histoires. Paris: Gallimard, 1975.


Foucault, Michel, and John K. Simon. "Michel Foucault on Attica: An Interview." Social Justice 18, no. 3(45) (1991): 26–34.


Galván, Valentín. De Vagos y Maleantes. Michel Foucault En España. Barcelona: Virus, 2010.


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GIP. "Enquête-Intolérance (Mars 1971)." In Le Groupe d'Information Sur Les Prisons. Archives d'une Lutte, 1970–1972, edited by Philippe Artières, Laurent Quéro, and Michelle Zancarini-Fournel (2003): 53–54. St-Étienne: Éditions de l'IMEC.


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Friday, 29 December 2017

La Masacre de Lérida bajo el bombardeo Fascista


Tulio Riomesta 3:12 pm el 26 December, 2017
La MASACRE de LÉRIDA, la ciudad fue duramente castigada por un bombardeo aéreo fascista en 1937


No fueron los aviones de la Legión Condor, en 2011 el diario La Manyana publicaba un artículo de Antonio Ruiz Mostany y de Josep Pla, explicando con precisión y exactitud todos los datos de la misión, realizada por 9 aviones Savoia S.79 de las escuadrillas 289 y 280 del XXIX Grupo B.T.V. Aviación Legionaria italiana, que partieron de Soria y bombardearon la ciudad, marcada como objetivo alternativo porque el primer objetivo, una fábrica de productos químicos en la localidad tarraconense de Flix, no podía verse debido a una capa de nubes.

El 2 de noviembre de 1937 a las 15.40 horas las bombas convirtieron en pocos segundos la ciudad en un infierno, y sus calles en un campo sembrado de cadáveres. Los aviones dejaron caer los proyectiles en numerosos puntos del casco urbano, especialmente en los alrededores del Puente viejo, la Calle Mayor, el Mercado de San Luis, la sede local del Banco de España y el Liceo Escolar. El ataque provocó unos 250 muertos y alrededor de 750 heridos. Como ha señalado la historiadora Mercè Batallat citada por Solé i Sabaté y Villaroya: “..Si el bombardeo de Guernica los nazionales lo atribuyeron a los republicanos, este bombardeo de Lleida optaron por ignorarlo y hacer desaparecer las víctimas del registro..”

Las autoridades republicanas, ante el temor de que el bárbaro ataque levantara las iras de la población y se produjeran venganzas contra las personas consideradas de derechas, tomaron la decisión de lanzar varias proclamas por la radio para calmar los ánimos. Uno de los escogidos para hablar fue el comandante Sebastián Zamora Merino, que había perdido a una hija en el bombardeo y tenía otra que estaba malherida.

El Liceu Escolar fue alcanzado por las bombas; más de 60 alumnos de edades comprendidas entre los 9 y los 13 años quedaron sepultados bajo las ruinas. De una clase de 63 niños solo 2 sobrevivieron. “Las risas de los niños quedaron soterrada para siempre bajo los escombros y los ángeles de los niños también debieron caer muertos con las alas de plata hechas añicos” (Xandri, el titellaire, 1938). El Liceu Escolar de Lleida, había sido fundado en 1906 por Frederic Godàs y Victorina Vila y seguía el modelo de la Escuela Moderna de Ferrer i Guàrdia, supuso una muestra de modernidad en torno a un país y una ciudad obsoletas. Sus principios estaban basados en la igualdad, la libertad, la ayuda mutua, la cooperación y el saber compartir, aspectos que en la actualidad ya se marcan en las directrices de las escuelas.

Según los franquistas el Liceu Escolar era una fábrica de republicanos y catalanistas. “Rojos”, en su argot. Si aceptamos la peregrina teoría meteorológica, se tiene que aceptar también que el mando militar franquista decidió modificar el objetivo de ataque: de una fábrica a otra fábrica. La práctica del exterminio convertida en cultura, que alcanza el punto culminante de perverso simbolismo cuando los franquistas ocupan la ciudad (1938) y los falangistas que los acompañaban fusilan las lápidas del cementerio rotuladas en catalán. También las de las víctimas de la masacre del Liceu Escolar. Desde la Paeria se intenta inmortalizar el momento con una escultura en lo que fue la sede del Liceu, inaugurada en 2006 y que lleva por nombre Memòria, Dignitat i Vida.

Documentos originales: La Vanguardia (Xavi Francés). Búscame en el ciclo de la vida (Alfonso Camín). Wikipedia. El Nacional (Marc Pons). Roberto Plá. En Recuerdo de. Y la obra de Solé i Sabaté, Josep María; Villarroya, Joan (2003). España en llamas. La guerra civil desde el aire. p. 122. Imagen: Víctimas del bombardeo al Liceo escolar de Lleida, 2 de noviembre de 1937. Fotografía: Agustí Centelles

Monday, 18 December 2017

Helios Gómez: El dibujante de los años rojos


Helios Gómez, fotografiado en Berlín en los años 30 delante de una de sus obras / CG

El dibujante de los años rojos
Ceramista, ilustrador, poeta y soldado, la biografía de Helios Gómez, del que ahora se pretende rescatar la Capilla Gitana que pintó en la Modelo, aglutina las convulsiones de la primera mitad del XX



José María Rondón @josemariarondon


Puede que nunca llegara a intentarlo, pero aunque hubiese querido no podría ser inofensivo. Demasiado talento sin brida el de aquel Helios Gómez. Un nombre que hoy retumba como una psicofonía y que apenas se concreta en unos cuantos dibujos de trazos durísimos, negrura expresionista y figuras esquinadas que representan un paisaje de obreros, de lucha y de tiranos. Él, que puso brújula ideológica a todo su arte, está enterrado en el cementerio de Montjuïc, allí donde Pasolini escribió unos versos que le encajan perfectamente como epitafio: “Hay que venir a España / para ver el silencio / de un hombre que sólo es un hombre”.

Porque la biografía de Helios Gómez (Sevilla, 1905 - Barcelona, 1956) es una rápida secuencia delineada con poemas y dibujos, cárceles y exilios, viajes y guerra. Él, nacido en una familia gitana y proletaria, fue aprendiz en las alfarerías de Triana y pintor en la fábrica Pickman de la Cartuja, donde conoció al anarquista Felipe Alaiz. Frecuentó en esos años las piruetas ultraístas de la revista Grecia --ilustró, por ejemplo, el libro de Rafael Laffón El sol desaparecido-- y fue un habitual en los ambientes de Sevilla la Roja, esa geografía rebelde de los barrios de San Román, San Julián y San Gil donde el mismísimo Lenin había pronosticado que estallaría la segunda revolución bolchevique.



Detalle del dibujo titulado 'El confidente', incluido en la carpeta 'Días de Ira' (Barcelona, 1931) / ASOC. CULTURAL HELIOS GÓMEZ


Tanto es así que la primera noticia de Helios Gómez como grafista está en su detención por participar, con dieciséis años, en un intento de asalto a la cárcel del Pópulo, en el barrio sevillano del Arenal. Arrestado ya con anterioridad en una compraventa ilegal de pistolas, a este adolescente con alma de dinamita las autoridades le hallaron, tras un minucioso registro, un plano en acuarela de la prisión y calles aledañas, todo numerado; un papel con las correspondencias de dicha numeración, y otro más pequeño con muchos nombres y apuntes, según la información recogida en junio de 1921 por El Noticiero Sevillano.
De Sevilla a Barcelona

Ingresó en 1923 en la CNT, cuyas agrupaciones se reunían en los altos del café Kursaal, donde las consignas sindicales se mezclaban cada noche con una extraña bohemia de flamencos, cupletistas, poetas y noctámbulos. En el vestíbulo de aquel célebre café cantante de la sevillana calle Sierpes, donde Eugenio Noel recordaba haber visto actuar a la bailaora Juana La Macarrona acompañada por una orquesta de jazz, Helios Gómez colgó en 1925 por primera vez en público sus trabajos inspirados en el esquematismo en blanco y negro. Al año siguiente, abrió una exposición con acuarelas y dibujos a tinta china en la galería Dalmau, el centro de arte de vanguardia de Barcelona.

A partir de aquí, Helios Gómez fue de sitio en sitio, dando tumbos con escándalo. En París es detenido al final de la manifestación de apoyo a dos anarquistas ejecutados en EEUU. En Ámsterdam participa en una exposición colectiva de arte socialista en el Stedelijk Museum; la estancia en la URSS marca su dedicación a la propaganda desde las filas comunistas, y en Berlín bebe vientos de vanguardia y publica su primera carpeta ilustrada, Días de la Ira (1930), que reeditará en Barcelona un año más tarde con duras críticas contra el rey Alfonso XIII: “Ante el cretino coronado/ bailan los cuerpos/ colgados.../ y ríe la borbónica quijada/ con risa amarilla/ y colorada”, anota.



Fragmento de uno de los dibujos del ciclo 'Horrores de la guerra' (1939) / ASOC. CULTURAL HELIOS GÓMEZ

Pero su vida es escurridiza, clandestina, polémica, cuando no directamente contradictoria. En las fichas policiales aparece, por ejemplo, cometiendo el mismo día asaltos a la cárcel en Barcelona y Sevilla. Ya en el torbellino de las vanguardias artísticas de Berlín, interviene como figurante vestido de torero en una de tantas películas de tema costumbrista que se rodaban en Alemania en las primeras décadas del siglo XX. Finalmente, Rafael Cansinos-Assens lo retrata con dureza en La novela de un literato, donde lo presenta como un joven enaltecido en la discusión política que apaga sus gritos de “¡Muera el rey!” tan pronto como alguien le paga un café.

Guerra Civil y posguerra

A esta confusión contribuyó, sin duda, su itinerancia política: del anarquismo pasó al comunismo para regresar, otra vez al anarquismo en el transcurso de la Guerra Civil, donde participó activamente como artista al poco de fundar el Sindicato de Dibujantes Profesionales de Cataluña (SDP). Colaboró así en la sección catalana de la Asociación de Intelectuales Antifascistas, al tiempo que su estilo derivó hacia el realismo y la denuncia, coordenadas que marcaron su trabajo en la serie Horrores de la guerra o en el óleo Evacuación, seleccionado por Generalitat para su exhibición en el Pabellón de la República española de la Exposición Internacional de París de 1937.



Fotografía de la Capilla Gitana que Helios Gómez pintó en la Modelo de Barcelona
“En tiempos de guerra el artista se vuelca más con el combate militar que en la producción de obras”, señalan su hijo, Gabriel Gómez, y la historiadora Caroline Mignot en el catálogo de la exposición Helios Gómez. Dibujos en acción (Centro de Estudios Andaluces, 2010). Así, luchó en las barricadas de Barcelona contra los golpistas en julio de 1936, se embarcó en la expedición dirigida por el comandante Alberto Bayo para la conquista de Mallorca, peleó en los frentes de Madrid y Andújar e ingresó como miliciano de cultura en la columna Durruti, cuyo entierro se encargó de preparar. También se vio envuelto en un turbio asunto militar, en el que ejecutó personalmente a un compañero por problemas de disciplina.

En mitad de esa tundra, la mayoría de sus obras originales desaparecieron. En ocasiones, autodestruidas en las redacciones de prensa o en las sedes de los sindicatos. Otras veces, expoliadas tras los repetidos registros domiciliarios y detenciones y, finalmente, perdidas de forma definitiva en sus huidas precipitadas ante el ocaso policial y a lo largo de sus exilios. Al terminar la guerra, fue encarcelado en la Modelo, donde le retiraron como castigo los lápices y los pinceles. Con el tiempo, le dejaron pintar en su celda una extraña capilla llena de angelitos gitanos que el Ayuntamiento de Barcelona quiere ahora sacar a la luz tras décadas oculta bajo una capa de cal. Murió en 1956. Dos años después de salir de prisión. Para entonces, la enfermedad ya le había abierto un pasadizo en el hígado.

Tuesday, 12 December 2017

En Europa, en el mundo, saben lo que pasa en España. Rosa María Artal


Su España les gusta... ¿y la europea?


En Europa, en el mundo, saben lo que pasa en España. No es posible ignorar la corrupción, el autoritarismo, la gestión del conflicto catalán. Las cargas policiales contra ciudadanos indefensos que pretendían votar en Catalunya el 1 de octubre fueron más reveladoras que decenas de artículos con argumentos

Lo saben y obran en consecuencia. Nunca hemos tenido tan poca representación internacional en puestos claves como con el gobierno de Rajoy e influye en las políticasRosa María Artal Follow @rosamariaartal
12/12/2017 - 21:05h
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Rajoy responde al periodista Carlos Alsina sobre el Procés con una pregunta que hizo historia "¿Y la europea?"


A ellos, les gusta su España. Lástima que se la vengan a arruinar unos cuantos seres erráticos y descarriados. Les atarán corto. Ya lo hacen. Ha habido tropiezos. Nada que no puedan reconducir los medios concertados, tan expertos en el arte del “afinar” que, a menudo, se pasan produciendo más de un ecce homo. Puigdemont se marchó a Bruselas antes de ser conducido a la cárcel como varios miembros de su gobierno. Se pulió más aún la orden de búsqueda y captura con algunos trazos añadidos y, cuando se vio que la Justicia belga iba a darles un disgusto, se retiró la petición. Entraron en la nueva “figura” jurídica acuñada por Gonzalo Boye: el no prófugo. Si cruza la frontera, el cesado President catalán será detenido pero podría asentarse en Perpignan: España no le persigue en el extranjero. Para redondear el descrédito, el ministro Catalá pidió a Bruselas cambiar las euroórdenes. Le dijeron que no. Y al “corte” comunitario lo cubrió un tupido velo.

Pedro J. Ramírez, desde el ala ultramontana, el furor y la mano dura, se duele de que España haya hecho el ridículo internacional. Al sector de los permanentemente establecidos podía ponerle voz Ignasi Guardans, antiguo miembro de Convergencia: “Los Jueces belgas ya no tendrán la opción de opinar sobre un Código Penal y una sociedad política que ignoran. Acabó el show. O vuelve solo, o ahí se queda. Aplausos, Juez Llarena”. Tiene un punto: La justicia, universal, depende de “la sociedad política” a no ignorar. Rajoy y su amplia y bien seleccionada corte se aplauden de continuo porque cuanto hacen, lo hacen bien. Y los intelectuales tipo Pérez Reverte en lanzamiento de libro dicen que les da asco todo. Todo lo que no sean ellos. A ellos, en conjunto, les gusta su España. Ellos se gustan.

Se habla de Golpe de Estado. De varios. El españolismo feroz ve Golpe de Estado en Cataluña. Puigdemont y los independentistas hablan de Golpe de Estado hacia Catalunya. Algunos parámetros muy serios se han alterado en toda España a cuenta del conflicto catalán, ¿cómo se le llamaría? Bulle una tunda de Golpes sin sentido. O con demasiada intención.

Su problema es que fuera saben lo que pasa en España. Y obran en consecuencia. En el reparto de cargos internacional no nos cae ni uno. El último gran nombramiento fue el de Rodrigo Rato como Director Gerente del Fondo Monetario Internacional (FMI). Ya nos vale. Como para repetir. Dejó plantado el despacho justo antes de desencadenarse “la” crisis. Las críticas a su gestión fueron lacerantes desde dentro del propio organismo. Luego se descubrieron varios presuntos pasteles de corrupción en terreno patrio que aún no ha sentenciado la justicia. Tan rápida para unos asuntos, tan lenta para otros.

Mientras, acaba de ser elegido un portugués como Presidente del Eurogrupo, Mário Centeno, un prestigioso economista, ex ministro, crítico con la austeridad. Un puesto que De Guindos no consiguió en pugna con Dijsselbloem. Portugués es el Secretario General de la ONU Antonio Guterrés. Y el vicepresidencia del BCE, Vítor Constâncio. Otro puesto al que aspira nuestro actual ministro de Economía. No son distinciones formales, influye en las políticas. Nunca hemos tenido tan poca representación internacional en puestos claves como con el gobierno de Rajoy. El último miembro español en el BCE fue González Páramo y acabó en 2012. En su día, España tuvo altos cargos comunitarios como Javier Solana, Josep Borrel, Almunia, o Enrique Barón, todos ellos del PSOE. Loyola de Palacio del PP, también. Ahora nos limitamos a Arias Cañete que, llegado con todo su bagaje que incluía hasta machismo de solera, no obtuvo otra cosa que una comisaría. Arías Cañete en Acción por el Clima y Energía -decisiva pero escasamente valorada- es toda la representación para la cuarta economía de la Eurozona.

En Europa, en el mundo, saben lo que pasa en España. No es posible ignorar la corrupción que suelta a diario su chapapote por distintos puntos del país. Y ya se revuelven hasta jueces que denuncian presiones. Son conscientes del autoritarismo desplegado por el PP y que no deja de dar señales de alarma. De este martes, la imputación por injurias al rey y a España por una pitada colectiva en un partido de fútbol.

Conocen la gestión que se ha hecho del conflicto catalán que debió abordarse con soluciones políticas. Las cargas policiales contra ciudadanos indefensos que pretendían votar en Catalunya el 1 de octubre fueron más reveladoras que decenas de artículos con argumentos. Lo saben desde Estocolmo a Wisconsin. Le pueden poner aquí todas las cintas de colores que quieran, es así. Diarios influyentes de la prensa internacional consideran que la justicia española no es independiente. Vuelve a ser imprescindible buscar información en el exterior menos contaminada que la local de los grandes medios. Es lo que hace de continuo el periodista Fernando Berlín. No se pierdan su resumen: La mano que mece la cuna judicial. Unas elecciones con líderes encarcelados son muy poco presentables en criterios estrictos, y aquí vamos por ampliar la jugada con más implicados. ¿No saben? Los independentistas hacían planes para lograr la independencia.

Europa sin embargo apoya a Rajoy, comentan muchos. Sí, estos tinglados funcionan por sus utilidad, siempre hay gente que se aprovecha dentro y fuera del país. Lo tildas de asunto interno y termina por colar todo. Déjenme que les muestre un ejemplo gráfico. Varios países europeos cuentan ya con gobiernos de ultraderecha. Tras Hungría, Polonia entró en ese bloque. La UE empezó mostrando su “honda preocupación” por la deriva autoritaria de Varsovia. Ya saben que Bruselas lo primero que hace es “mostrar su honda preocupación”. Así llegamos al día que “ advierten”. Pasan a la fase de los proyectos: “ La UE estudia suspender el derecho de voto de Polonia”. Sigue la de los apremios: “ La UE concede un mes a Polonia para rectificar su reformas judiciales”. Para no precipitarse, se prolongan los plazos: “La UE concede tres meses a Polonia para rectificar su reformas judiciales”. Este viernes, Polonia aprobó esas reformas.

El problema no es, a pesar de todo, cómo nos ven fuera. España tiene la costumbre de vivir de espaldas al mundo. La dictadura de Franco fue la última en cerrar fronteras por décadas. Siempre encuentran un contubernio para explicarlo. El judeo-masónico a estas alturas ya no colaría, funciona mejor el maquillaje y la ocultación. El problema es la realidad interior. Una España pringada de corrupción y graves desajustes subsiguientes. Con un presidente que cada día suelta o hace un despropósito. Dice que quienes borraron los ordenadores de Bárcenas 35 veces hicieron “lo habitual” y les felicita. Se coge un spot de Marca España y se lo apropia para la campaña. Es su cortijo. Su España les gusta. A sus socios parece que también.

Rajoy y su PP están en el gobierno porque le apoyan Ciudadanos y la abstención del PSOE. El problema es lo que nos ocurre a los españoles bajo esta administración, por muchos que sean los paripés electorales. El problema son los medios concertados que atribuyen culpas al “enemigo” que minimizan para su bando con la ley del embudo. En corrupción. En sanidad y suma y sigue. El problema es una parte de la sociedad que se mueve por impulsos viscerales, capaz de reeditar las Cruzadas hasta con vencedores y vencidos. Una sociedad que deja pasar en cambio graves desajustes.

No es inocuo. Lo pagamos. Cuando un país se hunde con estas premisas tiene consecuencias. La España del PP y socios no presenta otro modelo productivo que depreciar la vida de los ciudadanos a quienes les toca el lado oscuro. No hay otro modelo de desarrollo y de futuro. El sálvese quien pueda como lema. Y esperen a su relevo Ciudadanos, si ocurre. Ya están condenadas hasta las pensiones que formatean suelos electorales productivos. Nos están quitando todo. Cuando su España no les guste, ya no habrá remedio.

Ha tomado la delantera una vez más la España que desprecia cuanto ignora, la que presume de lo que carece, la que tiene nueve cabezas embistiendo de cada diez como nos advertían voces sabias desde los confines de la Historia. Porque no toda nos manda a la Covadonga de la Reconquista. En tiempos de sociedades muy polarizadas, con una permisividad aterradora a la irracionalidad, sigue habiendo otra España por construir.

Jean-Claude Juncker and the catalan crisis gets the Honoris Causa by fascist PP's

Matthew Parish, 04.12.17

In politics, it is usual that things are not as they first appear. A dispute about the constitutional status of a region of Spain may transpire to have its origins in a crisis about the way the European Union is managed. A politician with a reputation for scandal at the top of the European Union may turn out to be an important factor in determining the trajectory of the Catalan autonomy movement.
Jean-Claude Juncker, one of the most outspoken critics of Catalan autonomy, is the Presi-dent of the European Commission. He took up this post in 2014. Before then, he had the most unusual career. He was Prime Minister of Luxembourg for 18 years from 1995 to 2013. He is the longest-serving European prime minister of modern times (if one discounts fascist dictators such as Spain’s Francisco Franco). He was the Luxembourg Finance Minister for even longer: from 1989 to 2013. When he was Prime Minister, held the second most important position in the Luxem-bourg government simultaneously.
From 2005 to 2013 Juncker was simultaneously President of Eurogroup, an informal but powerful meeting of the Eurozone’s finance ministers. In 2006 he was also President of the European Council (hence holding four jobs at the same time). Mr Juncker has always liked to keep him-self busy. He is one of the hardest-working members of the European bureaucracy, but he is also known as one of the most informal.
Juncker is accused of having been very drunk at several international meetings. He has been undiplomatic and intensely rude to European leaders. Incidents including slapping one in the face, calling another fat, kissing the bald forehead of a third, strangling a fourth and calling a fifth a dictator (the leader was a democratically elected member of Hungary, an EU member state). The man does many things that one might consider beneath the standards appropriate to a western European politician. This behaviour comes from a Luxembourger: one of the politest nations in Europe. Why does anyone put up with it?
Juncker has been repeatedly mired in scandal. He resigned as Prime Minister of Luxem-bourg amidst a scandal in which the Luxembourg intelligence services were discovered to have been wiretapping the Grand Duke of Luxembourg. 

Then he was involved in a tax haven scandal, in which it emerged that European companies had been relocating to Luxembourg under his watch as finance minister. They had thereby reduced their corporation taxes to as little as 1%, even though they had no substantial connections with Luxembourg.

Juncker is a member of the Christian Social People’s Party (CSV), by far the dominant political party in Luxembourg since World War II. There is something strange about Luxembourg politics. If you have been a CSV Prime Minister of Luxembourg and you lose office or fall into disgrace, you may soon become President of the European Commission. The amount of time occupied by CSV ex-Prime Ministers as Presidents of the European Commission is remarkable in its compari-son to the time occupied by all the other (non-Luxembourger) Presidents of the Commission add-ed together.
Juncker has taken uncompromising positions on the Catalan nationalist movement, but he did not always do this. On 14 September 2017, he declared that the European Union would respect the outcome of the Catalan independence referendum to be held on 1 October 2017. Never-theless he asserted that Catalonia would have to apply to rejoin the European Union as a separate member state. This was not an unreasonable position.
By 13 October 2017, Juncker had changed his position. Now he said that Catalonia abso-lutely must not become independent. That is because, he explained, the European Union would become too complex to govern if it were full of small countries. Such a protest rings hollow coming from the former Prime Minister of the European Union’s smallest country, with a population of barely 400,000 people. Catalonia is closer to 8 million: a far more credible prospect for EU mem-bership by Juncker’s standards than Luxembourg. Luxembourg has the highest GDP per capita of any country in the European Union. That may be because by a long way Luxembourg is the biggest tax haven in the EU. This would be thanks to Juncker’s controversial work establishing it as the principal centre for European tax avoidance. Nevertheless his opposition to Catalonian autonomy is hypocritical.
On 26 October 2017 Juncker said that there were no human rights abuses by the Spanish state in Catalonia. He said this even though video had been aired showing paramilitary Police under the control of Madrid, beating voters and confiscating ballot boxes. He said this even though peaceful democratic politicians have been imprisoned without charge by courts based in Madrid under the control of a political party with origins in the fascist regime of Francisco Franco. On 10 November 2017 Juncker described Catalan nationalism as “poison”. On 19 November 2017 he said he unequivocally supported Madrid in the Catalan autonomy dispute. Madrid should be locking up peaceful democrats and the Police should be beating voters. Everyone should vote for Rajoy’s proxy parties in the forthcoming 21 December 2017 Catalan regional elections.
We need to investigate why Mr Juncker has adopted these opinions, and why they are so different from what he said before.
https://l-hora.org/?p=7317&lang=en

Tuesday, 5 December 2017

August Gil Matamala: “La pràctica de la resistència és una lluita constant”


23.11.2017
Carla Mallol Güell. 1 d'octubre.

Anna Gabriel i David Fernández publiquen August Gil Matamala. Al principi de tot hi ha la guerra (Sembra Llibres), una biografia de l’advocat i activista barceloní escrita a quatre mans. Prenent el fil roig de la militància de Gil Matamala, Gabriel i Fernández recorren l’itinerari íntim de l’advocat tot cosint un entremat de veus i confegint un relat col·lectiu. Els dies 19 i 20 de maig podreu compartir un cap de setmana amb ells a Cal Perxe, dins el programa Priorat Versió Original. Us hi podeu inscriure aquí.



August Gil Matamala i David Fernández . Foto: Ester Roig

Dilluns passat, 20 de novembre, quaranta-dos anys després de la mort de Franco, Carla Mallol va entrevista a David Fernández i August Gil Matamala.

Carla Mallol: Molt simbòlic que avui, 20 de novembre, quaranta-dos anys després de la mort de Franco, i enmig de l’escenari polític convuls que estem vivint aquests dies, parlem de l’itinerari íntim de la militància d’August Gil Matamala.

David Fernández: Doncs sí, la veritat. És el mirall del temps. Qui ens havia de dir quan acabaven aquest llibre, a finals d’estiu, que hi hauria presos polítics, de nou un govern a l’exili i un estat d’excepció? És tota una coincidència que avui se celebrin quaranta-dos anys de la mort de Franco, que va donar pas a la impunitat del règim franquista, forjada sobre el silenci de la transició. De fet, el pilar del llibre ha estat, des d’un principi, entendre perquè som on som i perquè la situació que estem vivint ara té les seves arrels en una situació molt deficitària i molt debilitada que es forja el 1978. Aquest era el nostre propòsit, quan vam decidir fer aquest itinerari, que és un recorregut personal però al mateix temps un relat col·lectiu: l’itinerari de l’August a través d’un recorregut per gairebé quaranta anys de dictadura i quaranta de democràcia.

August Gil Matamala: Jo voldria fer un altre paral·lelisme històric. En el curs de la meva vida, sempre he tingut sempre dues fites simbòliques i icòniques que desitjava amb passió viure. Una d’elles, la mort d’en Franco. I l’altra, la proclamació de la República Catalana. Les dues les he viscut, però no les he gaudit tal com esperava: m’han deixat amb un mal regust, de cosa incompleta. En el cas de Franco, va morir però la seva mort no va ser un triomf: va morir en el seu llit de mort. I la proclamació de la República Catalana, l’he viscut també amb aquesta sensació agredolça. Hem viscut una proclamació però no l’hem gaudit. Les dues coses que més he desitjat viure en l’àmbit col·lectiu i polític, m’han deixat un regust d’incompletesa.

DF: Un regust agredolç que recorda els versos de “Final” de Brossa.

CM: Ara que cites a Brossa, un dels valors afegits de l’obra és la seva hibridesa, la seva intertextualitat. Hi barregeu un munt de citacions provinents de personalitats molt diferents: frases, versos, trossos de cançons… Un calaix de sastre de sabers.

DF: Sí… Són fruit de la saviesa de l’August. Les citacions que obren i tanquen capítol estan molt vinculades a la pròpia vida de l’August: fragments de cartes escrites pels seus pares quan estava a l’exili, citacions de companyes com ho va ser Eva Serra o Teresa Rebull. Pilars de resistència política que formen part de la banda sonora de la seva vida. Amb l’Anna vam voler incorporar-hi, també, a persones que estan fent el mateix avui, per això citem versos de Mireia Calafell o Sònia Moll. També hi ha altres citacions, menys polítiques: Paul Élouard, Beckett o Brecht. Perquè no tota la poesia ha de ser altament polititzada; pot parlar, també, de la vida. Les altres citacions són de Manuel Vázquez Montalbán en descriure les aventures i desventures de Pepe Carvalho, on recrea un advocat laboralista –Tomás Biedma– inspirat en Gil Matamala.

CM: Preneu la història de l’August com a fil conductor però, de fet, el vostre llibre és un relat col·lectiu. Entre les vostres citacions, en sobresurt una de Feliu Ventura: “la vida d’un no cap en la vida d’un, sinó en la vida de molts”. Una declaració d’intencions?

DF: Des d’un començament, el propòsit no era fer cap biografia personal i personalista. El llibre va néixer d’una amistat, d’un vincle i vol ser un homenatge a tota una generació. La de l’Anna i i la meva, una generació que ens hem trobat amb molta més lluita acumulada en dues generacions que ens precedeixen. I a partir de l’itinerari íntim de l’August, hem volgut intentar explicar la història d’un país. Les seves conquestes i les seves coses pendents, que en són moltes, encara.

CM: Una dificultat afegida: relatar la història viva, amb tantes coses pendents. I, de fet, des del moment en què vau publicar l’obra, aquest mes de setembre, fins avui hem viscut un munt d’esdeveniments polítics.

DF: Exacte. Quan vam publicar el llibre, ara fa pocs mesos, els escenaris del possible eren molts. No sabíem què passaria i, de fet, l’últim punt de la cronologia acaba amb la convocatòria del referèndum de l’u d’octubre. De fet, si hi ha alguna metàfora en el llibre és que la història mai no s’acaba mai.

CM: Però aquest setembre vau posar punt i final a set anys de trobades i entrevistes. Part del darrer capítol del llibre és una transcripció literal de la vostra darrera entrevista: “apunts per a un epíleg en diàleg”. Una entrevista, feta aquest estiu, on esbossaveu els possibles escenaris postreferèndum.

AG: Crec que, en aquesta entrevista, apuntava els possibles perills i aquests dies, rellegint les respostes de la nostra conversa amb l’Anna i el David, i crec que, malauradament, anava ben encaminat. Ja aleshores, parlava de repressió i de certa incapacitat per entendre el que és la columna vertebral de l’Estat Espanyol. El el seu caràcter autoritari, que ve de lluny, molt més enllà del franquisme. Es tracta d’un estat que s’ha construït al voltant d’un criteri purament autoritari i que no ha estat mai realment democràtic.

CM: La violència inherent en tot estat de dret, pretesament democràtic…

DF: I l’August coneix molt de prop aquest caràcter autoritari: en dictadura i en democràcia. Acabem el llibre amb la el discurs de Gil Matamala a la Primera Jornada Internacional de Familiars de Persones Represaliades, que va tenir lloc aquest mes de març al saló del Tinell de Barcelona. Segons l’Auugust, l’estat espanyol es fonamenta en tres pilars: la unitat indissoluble d’Espanya, que no deixa de ser la permanent negació de l’altre, el principi d’ordre i el principi de jerarquia. I, com recordava aleshores, el procés polític català ha qüestionat aquests tres pilars. L’altra cosa que anunciava l’August en el seu discurs és el fet que no es podia menysprear la violència de l’Estat Espanyol, que jo diria que és fins i tot genètica, per aturar qualsevol demanda de canvi polític i social.

AG: Com tots els processos de ruptura, es veia a venir que acabaria amb un moment de força. S’havia d’haver comptat amb la força pròpia. Una força que no es manifesta encenent espelmes o amb una “revolució de somriures”. La pràctica de la resistència és una lluita constant, de llarga durada perquè la història n’és, de llarga. No s’acaba mai perquè la història no s’acaba mai.

CM: La resistència com a quelcom de llarga durada, allunyada de la protesta fàcil. De fet, en el darrer capítol citeu una frase de La resistència íntima de Josep Maria Esquirol: “la resistència sol ser discreta”.

DF: La primera persona que em va venir al cap quan llegia l’assaig d’Esquirol va ser l’August. És un resistent íntim. La resistència acostuma a ser discreta sempre. Un acte quotidià i íntim, gens sorollós. I l’August és algú que ha resistit tota la seva vida.

CM: I el vostre llibre és una mica aquesta altra història, la història no explicada, la dels resistents. La històrial no oficial.

DF: Exacte. Mal em pesi, la història que no s’explica oficialment, que no trobem en grans publicacions acadèmiques. Si la història l’expliquen els vencedors, també hi ha una esquerra oficial vencedora en la transició que, deliberadament, menysté el moviment obrer. Si és una vergonya el silenci de la transició, també ho és el silenci de les esquerres oficials. Per exemple, no es parla mai de la vaga de Roca, que va ser un fet històric tan desbordant com ho és l’1 d’Octubre on es materialitzen drets prohibits molt abans no arribés la transició. I guanyen. Al gener del 77. No està explicada enlloc, ni tan sols en la història del moviment sindical. Els oblidats dels oblidats de la història. Els qui s’han negat a assumir els dictats del poder. Aquest llibre vol ser un relat col·lectiu, de tota una generació: l’August, les germanes Serra, Julià de Jòdar… Van ser tota una generació, valenta, que es va situar al marge de la història. No al marge en el sentit d’exclusió sinó entenent que la història es cultiva des de les tangències, des dels marges. Davant de situacions d’injustícia o opressió, la resistència i la insubmissió és l’únic que tenim. I, de fet, és imparable. I això, efectivament, evoca a l’1 d’octubre. Per molta violència repressiva que s’exercís per part de l’estat, que a les 12 del migdia van haver de parar. Allò era imparable. No és tan fàcil aturar a 2 milions de persones. Com sol dir l’August, a la història, quan s’avança i es retrocedeix, depèn de la correlació de forces.

AG: Quan hi ha una acumulació de forces, del sentit que sigui. La força ha de ser real i hi ha d’haver sobretot una voluntat d’exercitar-la. No ens poden confrontar absolutament desarmats amb un enemic que no tindrà escrúpols ni miraments. Amb el transcurs dels anys s’ha creat una cultura dominant democràtica i les generacions joves hi han viscut immerses. han crescut en aquesta cultura democràtica dominant, que no deixa de ser una construcció. I aquests joves, que ara estan al capdavant dels moviments polítics, han arribat a uns plantejaments polítics única i exclusivament per vies i processos polítics. I no comptaven amb tanta violència. Fins i tot pels més escèptics, com puc ser jo mateix, ens ha sobtat la reacció repressiva. Superior a qualsevol dels hipotètics escenaris. No comptàvem amb tanta violència. Donàvem per fet que, en l’àmbit de la Unió Europea, hi havia certes coses que ja no es podien fer. Però estàvem equivocats. Ha passat i amb total impunitat. S’ha pecat d’excés de confiança. La cultura democràtica porta a la falsa il·lusió de creure que el bé triomfa sobre el mal. Però hem de saber quin és el nostre nivell de força i constatar les possibilitats d’aplicar-la, exercir-la i de contrarestar la força del contrari. No es pot tirar endavant un projecte de ruptura sense haver avaluat les forces pròpies i desconeixent la brutalitat de la força de l’enemic. Força en el sentit més ampli. La desobediència passiva és força, també. I és l’ordre actiu amb el qual confiàvem.

DF: Exacte, en el sentit d’Hannah Arendt. Força, poder, violència. I què és cada cosa. L’1 d’octubre hi ha una força popular, que són 2 milions de persones, que decideixen exercir el seu poder. I n’estic convençut que sabien perfectament que estaven fent una cosa que el Tribunal Constitucional havia dit que era il·legal i tot i així havien decidit desobeir. El mateix que fa la PAH cada vegada que aturen un desnonament o amb el desallotjament del 15-M Plaça Catalunya. Decidir defensar unes urnes és força, la força contra la violència. Força popular i democràtica. I és aquí on entra la perversió de la fiscalia, que equipara la força democràtica a la violència.

AG: Hem vist diversos exemple en els últims anys, com és el cas d’Arnaldo Otegi, condemnat per fer apologia del terrorisme, quan precisament estava liquidant la lluita armada. La Audiència Nacional, emparada pel sistema judicial. En un moment donat, és capaç de qualsevol cosa.

CM: De fet, aquest és un dels eixos vertebradors del llibre: la dicotomia entre dret i justícia. Vista des de la militància (si em permet) antisistema de l’August.

DF: L’August és un tot antisistema! (Riuen) Un antiadvocat. En Julià de Jòdar, en parlar de l’August en el pròleg, juga amb una figura molt bonica, la del talp: “un talp que dissimula a ple dia, amb terregada jurídica, els forats del túnel obert de nit per la seva tribu”. Algú que al matí utilitza totes les eines legals del dret per intentar restablir mínimament la justícia i a la nit subverteix aquella mateixa legalitat per intentar que la llei sigui millor i per tant, que el dret no només defensi els de dalt sinó als col·lectius històricament discriminats, exclosos, perseguits.

AG: La legalitat és això: qui té el poder crea unes lleis i s’ocupa que es compleixin. La legalitat no sempre respon als criteris universalment acceptats a nivell teòric com a drets, el Drets Universals. La legalitat del 78 és el pacte impune amb la dictadura. Tots els crims i les tortures del franquisme. No ho podem oblidar. Per això és molt important la memòria: serveix com autodefensa.

CM: El llibre en si és un cant a la memòria, però també a la vida. Precisament, acabeu el llibre amb un poema d’Ovidi Montllor, A la vida.

DF: Exacte. Perquè la vida és, també un cant. Està dedicat a tots aquells qui han lluitat però també han viscut. I escriure un llibre així podien caure en el parany del victimisme i ens n’hem volgut allunyar en tot moment. Per això hi ha versos que no necessàriament han de ser militants, petits cants a la vida: Beckett, Élouard…


“August Gil Matalama. Al principi de tot hi ha la guerra”, d’Anna Gabriel i David Fernández. Foto: Ester Roig

Monday, 4 December 2017

Found text on more about Lazare/ Weil/ Bataille Fascism/ Catalonia

Found text on more about Lazare/ Weil/ Bataille Fascism/ Catalonia


Georges Bataille’s Blue of Noon takes questions of political agency to their extremes. The novelfollows the debauched adventures of Henri Troppmann, a self-proclaimed necrophiliac who drinks and cavorts his way around Europe with three women in the 1930s. Written during this same time period—in the midst of those pregnant years between the first and second world wars; a violent period of endemic cultural and political disillusionment across the continent—the rise of fascism in Europe serves as both the novel’s literary and literal backdrop.

The novel’s pivotal scene is an exchange between Troppmann, Lazare—a female acquaintance with whom Troppmann has little in common but feels a certain perverse attraction towards (supposedly based on Bataille’s contemporary, the Christian mystic and philosopher Simone Weil)—and her stepfather, Melou—a teacher of philosophy. Melou articulates the “agonizing dilemma that confronted the intellectual world in this deplorable age”:


Straining his brow in folds, he declared, ‘Should we wrap ourselves in silence? Should we, on the contrary, bestow our help on the workers as they make their last stand, thereby dooming ourselves to an inescapable and fruitless death?’

Sick from days of drinking and little sleep, a miserable Troppmann has little time for Melou’s musings and he asks step-father and -daughter: “If the working classes are done for, why are you both Communists, or socialists, or whatever?” Lazare’s response, it seems, is too stereotypically Christian for the atheist Troppmann to take seriously. She declares: “No matter what happens, we must not abandon the downtrodden.” Melou’s response, on the other hand, is far more affecting for Troppmann. Melou, on principle, seems to agree with his stepdaughter but not without recognising, with all the hallmarks of a petit bourgeois Left melancholia, that doing so threatens his own destruction.

The tension between Troppmann, Lazare and Melou embodies a contemporary melancholia that the Left seems doomed to unceremoniously trip over in pursuit of the oversized band-aid of identity politics. It also mirrors the public disagreement that had erupted between Bataille and Simone Weil in the years before Blue of Noon was written.



In his book Saints of the Impossible, Alexander Irwin explores the pair’s real-life relationship and the commonalities between their thought. He writes that the choice Troppmann is incapable of dealing with is the kind of “decision on which the whole character of life depends: the choice either to turn away from suffering or to enter its sphere fully through obedient acceptance and solidarity with the oppressed, thus exposing oneself to the destruction—but also to the possibility of transformation—that affliction represents.” How best to approach this problematic was furiously debated by Bataille and Weil, and Irwin cites a letter written by Weil which explains her perspective in their disagreement most concisely:


The revolution is for him [Bataille] the triumph of the irrational, for me of the rational; for him a catastrophe, for me a methodical action in which one must strive to limit the damage; for him the liberation of the instincts, and notably those that are generally considered pathological, for me a superior morality. What is there in common?

The conflicts that have been occupying Xenogoth for much of 2017 are here embodied in the thoughts and practices of Bataille and Weil—the internal/external tensions of communities bound by the accursed sharing of endemic mental distress and inchoate care practices; the complex dynamics of Left melancholia; the current mutations affecting the plastic pulsions of the life and death drives. The question of “What is there in common?” is almost comic in this light. In Weil’s formulation, she presents herself and Bataille as absolutists who have chosen sides, but are these sides not always already in orbit of one another, each side pushing and pulling the other through their cyclonic currents? (Bataille seems to openly recognise this in my own readings.) How can one side ever truly “win”? Aren’t both, in some way, essential? What Bataille’s book goes on to do, however, is take these nonetheless complex stances and their entanglements to their gravest conclusion. Irwin writes:


[Blue of Noon] can be read as a response to the question […] by Weil—whether revolutionary spirit must be thought of as “a kind of sickness”—and as an answer to Weil’s claim that “one cannot be a revolutionary if one doesn’t love life.” In [Blue of Noon], the revolution is indeed a sickness, or perhaps several kinds that share a common essence: necrophilia. In opposition to the life-loving revolutionary Weil held up as her ideal, Bataille offers a set of characters deeply and incurably in love with death. More provocatively, he casts Simone Weil herself as the most morbidly avid of his novel’s necrophiles. With his depiction of Weil as Lazare, Bataille wants to claim that the image of the life-loving revolutionary is based on self-deception. Those who proclaim the ideology of life nourish a secret necrophilia. But since sexual perversion carries for Bataille a potent subversive charge, political commitment tainted with the lust for death is not thereby invalidated. Necrophilia may be the only force that can restore political life.

After his encounter with Lazare and Melou, Troppmann becomes so sick that he fears he may be dying—“I felt a violent need for relief; I didn’t feel like dying the way I had on other days,” he says, alluding to the dark depression that has been fueling his recent escapades. Troppmann is a melancholic through and through. There is not one opportunity missed when he could declare his overwhelming misery. His physical and mental pain are compounded by the explicitly political melancholy he has “caught” from Melou. He invites a young acquaintance, Xenie, to his bedside—to him a deathbed—and in his contagious despair almost drives her to jump from an open window. Later, asking her to close it for fear of her falling out of it, he is relieved that now death cannot also come in—no longer allowing the Outside in.

Once he is well again—at least physically so—Troppman travels to Barcelona in order to be a spectator to the brewing Communist revolution and expected civil war between Catalonia and the Spanish south—a revolution that felt “part of the nightmare from which I thought I’d escaped.” With news that Lazare is heading to Barcelona, Troppman is sent into a fit of anxiety about seeing her again. Later, he learns that she has come to Spain to instigate a workers’ revolt by storming a local prison—explicitly a prison, rather than a military target, so that the workers that follow her do not “[succumb] to the old confusion between revolution and war.” Troppmann’s internal and interpersonal conflicts continue to mirror those of Europe around him—and those around us now once again. Every sexual faux pas is mirrored by a political one. His impotency in bed is matched by his impotency to engage politically with the European cities he passes through.

Barcelona’s tense antebellum soon erupts alongside Troppmann’s fraught relationships as Lazare, Xenie and Dirty—the woman with whom Troppmann’s debauchery fleetingly began in London—all arrive in the city. The novel concludes when, soon after the death of his friend Michel during rioting on the streets of Barcelona, Troppmann travels with Dirty to Germany, stopping in Trier—the birthplace of Karl Marx. There they come across a marching brigade from the Hitler Youth and, later that night, overcome with despair and hopelessness, fall into each other’s arms and copulate in a graveyard. Dirty, Troppmann notes, reminds him in that moment “of the soldiers who fought the war in muddy trenches” and he also thinks of Marx in his London grave. The physical presence of death all around him and the symbolic presence of lost Communist ideals finally allows Troppmann to overcome his previous impotency with Dirty.

source: byxenogothic