What’s the problem with taking state power?

by Mark Engler and Paul Engler

As social movements move beyond the default anarchist sensibility that prevailed through Occupy, they must still reckon with hard questions about bureaucracy and cooptation.

Published in Waging Nonviolence, The Forge, and In These Times.


In 2002, in the midst of a wave of global resistance to corporate globalization that would produce major protests at trade meetings from Seattle to Genoa to Hong Kong, a book appeared that captured much of the spirit of the period’s activism. Written by John Holloway, an Irish-born political theorist who had long made his home in Mexico, it was entitled “Change the World Without Taking Power.” The volume, which argued that “the radical change that is so urgent cannot be brought about through the state,” made Holloway a prominent voice on the international left. A decade later, U.S.-born anthropologist David Graeber gained a wide hearing while championing the anarchist elements of Occupy Wall Street and defending the movement’s suspicion of engaging with established political institutions. “[T]he refusal to make demands,” he would write, “was, quite self-consciously, a refusal to recognize the legitimacy of the existing political order of which such demands would have to be made.”

In staking out such ground, these two thinkers took firm positions on a question of perennial concern to social movements: Should we maintain independence and function as a critical force outside of mainstream politics, or should we attempt to take hold of the levers of institutional power in order to create change?

In the period between the end of the Cold War and Occupy’s emergence in the Obama years, a pronounced anarchist disposition held sway on the left, both in the U.S. and internationally. This was particularly true in the mass protest movements that produced some of the era’s defining confrontations. This sensibility was profoundly distrustful of the American two-party system and wary of mainstream politicians who might attempt to co-opt movement issues and energies. For thinkers such as Holloway and Graeber, the price of playing the game of insider politics was simply too high. Movements, they believed, did better to work from the outside.

Recently, however, the prevailing mood on the left has changed — especially since the unexpectedly successful 2016 presidential campaign of Bernie Sanders, who presented a vigorous challenge to Hillary Clinton while running as an open socialist in the Democratic primaries. Subsequently, interest in mounting radical drives from within the electoral system has greatly increased. In recent years, organizations ranging from Justice Democrats and People’s Action to the Sunrise Movement, Our Revolution and the Democratic Socialists of America have entered electoral politics with new vigor. The dividends of this changed approach are already becoming evident with the rise of “The Squad” in Congress and with a variety of high-profile wins in city and state politics throughout the country. Veteran activists who have lived through earlier periods when the left’s political marginalization was taken for granted have noted the altered strategic orientation, as well as the reanimating spirit that has come with it.

There is certainly cause to celebrate this shift. And yet, a move toward insider politics cannot be undertaken lightly. While writers with anarchist or autonomist leanings such as Graeber and Holloway may have been unduly fearful of cooptation and overly pessimistic about the possibilities of creating change through entering the system, they also voiced some valid concerns. In fact, their critique of bureaucratic institutionalization presents a critical challenge to progressives looking to chart a path forward in the coming decade that involves entering mainstream politics. Their central warning: As much as activists may seek to transform the state, the state may succeed in transforming them instead.

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Breaking out of anarchist self-isolation

The anti-statist mood that long prevailed on the left was a logical outgrowth of the end of the Cold War. As Leo Panitch, a Canadian political scientist and prominent socialist thinker, observed in 2020, “Following the demise of the communist regimes, and the collaboration of so many social-democratic parties in neoliberal, capitalist globalization, a strong anarchist sensibility emerged, quite understandably, on the radical left, and remained influential for a considerable period of time.” This predominant mood, Panitch remarked, “reflected a widespread suspicion, if not disdain, for any political strategy that involved going into the state.”

Panitch pointed to Holloway’s work as the key text that gave theoretical backing to this position. “Change the World Without Taking Power” expressed profound disappointment with a century of socialist failures to implement a truly transformative program through attempts to win state control. In it, Holloway argues that radicals who took up arms and established governments in the name of the people — in the Soviet bloc and beyond — “may have increased levels of material security and decreased social inequities in the territories of the states they controlled, but they did little to create a self-determining society or to promote the reign of freedom[.]”

Meanwhile, reformers who pursued change through electoral avenues gradually accustomed themselves to becoming part of the political establishment. By the 1990s, many center-left parties around the world ceased pursuing socialist aims at all, instead turning towards neoliberalism and becoming partners in deregulating the market and whittling away the welfare state. As Holloway explains, “most social-democratic parties have long since abandoned any pretension to be the bearers of radical social reform.”

In the end, the result has been the same: “For over a hundred years,” Holloway writes, “the revolutionary enthusiasm of young people has been channeled into building the party or learning to shoot guns; for over a hundred years, the dreams of those who have wanted a world fit for humanity have been bureaucratized and militarized, all for the winning of state power by a government that could then be accused of ‘betraying’ the movement that put it there.”

In the U.S. context, Bill Clinton’s implementation of “welfare reform,” his pursuit of corporate deregulation, and his championing of neoliberal trade deals dispelled any notion that, in the wake of the Cold War, the Democrats would reverse the advances of Reaganism. For David Graeber, Barack Obama’s subsequent failure to push radical policies was perhaps even more galling. After all, Obama was elected on a platform of “change,” came to power with strong Democratic majorities in both houses of Congress, and possessed a sweeping mandate to address the failures of capitalism that were laid bare by the financial crisis of 2008.

And yet, under his watch, Wall Street emerged unscathed, with its “too big to fail” institutions bailed out and its political power left intact. As Graeber put it in “The Democracy Project,” his book about Occupy, “Clearly, if progressive change was not possible through electoral means in 2008, it simply isn’t going to be possible at all. And that is exactly what very large numbers of young Americans appear to have concluded.”

To break from what they identified as this history of failure, the likes of Graeber and Holloway venerated uprisings that were playful and inventive, but not necessarily oriented toward winning control of the state. As Holloway quipped, they were more about having a “party” — creating celebrations of resistance that could create cracks in the system — than about building a “Party” in the organizational sense. The theorists found beacons of hope in the Zapatistas in southern Mexico and the Kurds in Rojava; they celebrated communities in El Alto, Bolivia that used popular assemblies to run the city’s water system, and workers in Buenos Aires, Argentina, who at least temporarily took over factories and other enterprises in the wake of the country’s financial crisis in 2001. Graeber identified their approach as a form of “dual power” strategy, oriented toward creating “liberated territories outside of the existing political, legal and economic order” and developing “directly democratic alternative[s] completely separate from the government.”

Citing a similar set of examples, scholar and activist Marina Sitrin, a leading advocate of the decentralized organizing model known as horizontalism, wrote that “since the 1990s, many popular movements around the world have been animated by something that I would call an anarchist spirit — a way of organizing and relating that opposes hierarchy and embraces direct democracy.” For her, this was “a spirit that we should applaud and help to flourish.”

Others, however, were more skeptical. In a probing 2001 essay on “Anarchism and the Anti-Globalization Movement,” Barbara Epstein, a professor in the history of consciousness department at the University of California, Santa Cruz, acknowledged that anarchism regularly served as “a too-often ignored moral compass for the left,” bringing a focus on democracy and egalitarianism, while also integrating art and creativity into movement practice, insisting that radical politics did not have to consist of dull and repetitive marches. Yet, at the same time, she contended, its “absolute hostility to the state, and its tendency to adopt a stance of moral purity, limit its usefulness as a basis for a broad movement for egalitarian social change, let alone for a transition to socialism.”

While the anarchist sensibility retained influence into the Obama era, a shift away from it became pronounced by 2016. As journalist and popular podcaster Daniel Denvir writes, Occupy, immigrant rights protests, and Black Lives Matter had energized the left in the years prior. And yet, “the idea that we might and must win state power didn’t become clear until Bernie Sanders’ 2016 Democratic primary challenge. That run shattered the decades-long presumption that the left would be a protest movement and not a governing force, and with it, our self-righteousness, the belief that our very marginality signaled our correctness.”

Panitch noted the international context for the change: “[R]ather suddenly,” he wrote, “there seemed to be a widespread realization that you can protest until hell freezes over, but you won’t change the world that way.” Mass mobilizations in city squares in Madrid and Athens gave rise to new parties that reshaped politics in Spain and Greece. This momentum, in turn, influenced electoral insurgencies inside the U.K.’s Labor Party and the Democrats in the United States. In short order, the prospect of taking institutional power was back on the table for the left.

In truth, in other parts of the world — notably in Latin America — this shift had begun years before. Mass protests in places such as Bolivia and Uruguay against neoliberal trade policies, austerity and privatization were much more quickly linked with rising progressive parties and electoral campaigns. Many of them emerged victorious. By 2009, left-of-center presidents had won election not only in those countries, but in Venezuela, Brazil, Argentina, Chile, Honduras, Nicaragua, Ecuador, Paraguay and El Salvador as well.

Even Holloway granted that “The rise of the ‘pink’ governments in Latin America had the effect, both in the countries directly concerned and internationally, of giving a new legitimacy to state-centered attempts to bring about radical change.” For him, this was an unfortunate development. But as progressives in office pushed forward redistributionist social policies, and as they offered a plethora of rich examples to examine, many protesters were ready to take a closer look at what upstart parties might do in government — and how social movements might respond, whether collaboratively or critically.

The activist left had experienced a taste of power, and a new generation would no longer be satisfied with romantic evocations of the Zapatistas that failed to acknowledge this changing reality.

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The danger of losing radical critique and alternative vision

Left organizers may now be more enthusiastic than their predecessors of a decade or two ago about pursuing an approach to creating change that marries outside protest with inside maneuvering. But this shift does not come without its own difficulties. Even as today’s more electorally-minded activists may disagree with the strategic choices of dissidents averse to engaging in party politics or brokering compromises with policymakers, they would do well to acknowledge that thinkers like Graeber and Holloway raised problems that must still be tackled if radicals are to maintain the integrity of their movements.

Specifically, these thinkers raise three challenging points about the costs of cooperating with the system: that movements aspiring to inside influence have a track record of muting their radical vision and critique; that they over-rely on the power of official players; and that they fail to grapple with the challenge of bureaucratic cooptation.

First, Graeber and Holloway charge that by attempting to win control of mainstream institutions, movements risk losing their ability to uphold a radical vision for change.

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