Tag Archives: mark fisher

cw: discussion of depression and suicide

It was with great sadness that I learned of the death by suicide of Mark Fisher.

My first encounter with Mark’s writing was during the explosive and bitter controversy that followed the publication of his Exiting The Vampire’s Castle. I wrote a response, without really having much idea who I was responding to, in which I treated it a case of “neoconservative Marxism”, following Judith Butler’s usage of the term in ‘Merely Cultural’.

Subsequent to this, I dived into Mark’s writings, and discovered an altogether different mind to the one I thought I had been engaging with. It became clear that this was not just another bog-standard Marxbro threatened by feminism, nor a conservative in any sense (although I maintain that my usage was strictly-speaking correct in line with Butler’s, whatever that’s worth). What I discovered was a wealth of perceptive, thoughtful, lucid and emotionally sensitive writings on life in late capitalism, and as I read I had the sense of thoughts at once clicking into place and opening out onto new possibilities – the kind of sensation you only get from the thought of someone you feel sees the same things you do and has been able to understand them in ways you have not. In particular, as someone who has struggled for most of my adult life with depression, and more recently with suicidal impulses, I found Mark’s writing on mental illness extremely important in understanding my own condition as part of a collective phenomenon imposed by a bleak, ugly, inhuman world that never should have been. I think it’s no exaggeration to say that these works have made a significant contribution to my still being here.

At the same time, as I gained a greater understanding of the politics around ideas of intersectionality, privilege and social justice, and as I was forced to slog through numerous bad faith interactions with people weaponising these ideas, my patience for the more excessive aspects of this discourse waned. My perception is that I am far from the only one whose sympathies have shifted in this way: most of the people I know who at the time of the VC controversy were, like me, finding a footing within politics that were relatively novel to the much of the left, and to some degree enmeshed in its more problematic tendencies, have since grown bored and frustrated with the ritualised combat and rule-driven emotionally impoverished forms of engagement it often produces, and have come to a more nuanced and constructive understanding of what that politics is and is for.

While I still consider ETVC to be a bad intervention that paints its borders too broadly and ends up implicating a range of political tendencies that deserve much greater consideration than they are afforded, it is nonetheless clear that the tendency being criticised is real. But the problem was not, as the piece heavily emphasised, the class background and interests of those engaged in these discourses, but that we had ended up, for whatever reason, with a superego politics that enabled a self-destructive indulgence in cruelty at the expense of compassion, and this was more-or-less all that actually needed to be said about the phenomenon. It would have been better expressed, better received, and more effective had it been approached with sensitivity as a warning from within, rather than an attack from without. I’ve come to regard the piece as an outburst, an embittered and clumsy effort to tackle a real problem which he had not properly understood – one that is very much at odds with the tone and ethic of Mark’s other work, and which can be safely bracketed in considering his legacy as a writer and thinker as a whole. It is very much not what I would like to emphasise and remember in light of his death.

But sadly and predictably, those on both sides of the controversy least capable of learning and growth have chosen to respond by attempting to re-ignite it. On one side, prominent internet feminist stavvers response to the tragedy was to attempt to blame Mark for the mental illnesses of others, and to express the wish that “left misogyny would die with him“. Not to be outdone, Ross Wolfe’s response was to blame those targeted by the piece for the suicide of its author, albeit with sufficient caveats to evade responsibility for stating this directly.

Is this the best we can do? Could we not treat the suicide of a comrade beloved to many as an occasion for reflection on the inter-implication of our lives, our vulnerabilites, our need for hope, within the collective project for liberation in which all of us are entangled-together? After all, if there is to be a better world at all, those of us struggling towards it need to keep one-another alive, and that calls for the practice of compassion and love even across profound and deeply-entrenched internal battle lines. Must we re-open old wounds and rehearse our nastiest conflicts as if nothing has been learned and nothing could ever be learned from them?

The central problem with Mark’s piece, and the present renewed attacks on forms of feminist, queer, anti-racist etc. politics implicated by it, is that the critique remained entirely immanent to its object: bad tempered, essentialising, disinterested in active listening and constructive dialog, and ultimately no less identitarian. Its main effect has been to legitimate the desire to dismiss and refuse engagement among those on the side within which it placed itself, thereby retrenching precisely the problems it aimed at overcoming. If, in retrospect, it appears to some as an apt diagnosis, that’s at least partly down to the diagnosis being self-reinforcing. If there is to be a way out of the Vampire’s Castle, the interventions that make it possible must be qualitatively different in form and content from the phenomenon we wish to escape. What I think now in this regard is more or less what I thought at the time, although I didn’t then have the language to put it succinctly: the only useful way for the class-struggle left to interact with this politics is to refuse to treat non-antagonistic contradictions antagonistically, even if the gesture is not reciprocated, to place ourselves within these discourses (which, after all, whatever their faults, are expressions of the desire for the universal emancipation of humanity, often coming from those who are young and very new to political consciousness) and proceed patiently, via immanent critique, towards an overcoming-together of their limitations and problems.

Whatever “side” we’re on, if we’re serious about what our politics means, that means placing compassion before competition, and fostering forms of collectivity that refuse lines of division laid down for us to reinforce our impotence. If a lesson is to be drawn from reflecting on the Vampire’s Castle at this moment, let it be that.

This is an essay I wrote for my Critical Theory class. We had to respond to a passage from Marcuse (below). It’s a bit hurried towards the end and a bit messy in its organisation, but I’m generally fairly happy with the argument I make here. The extract:

6. The Happy Consciousness – the belief that the real is rational and that the system delivers the goods – reflects the new conformism which is a facet of technological rationality translated into social behaviour. It is new because it is rational to an unprecedented degree. It sustains a society which has reduced – and in its most advanced areas eliminated – the more primitive irrationality of the preceding stages, which prolongs and improves life more regularly than before. The war of annihilation has not yet occurred; the Nazi extermination camps have been abolished. The Happy Consciousness repels the connection. Torture has been reintroduced as a normal affair, but in a colonial war which takes place at the margins of the civilized world. And there it is practiced with good conscience for war is war. And this war, too, is at the margins – it ravages only the “underdeveloped” countries. Otherwise peace reigns. (p. 84)

Who is the Marcuse of One Dimensional Man? That is: who is the subject that can pose, as critique of society, the proposition that society now forecloses all possibility of radical critique? It is my contention that this Marcuse is impossible: that one cannot coherently speak from the subject-position Marcuse claims for himself; that the mere fact of posing such a critique performatively contradicts its substance. (Or, at the very least, to claim such a position contradicts the materialist presuppositions of Marcuse’s critique, and instead takes us into the magical-idealist realms of a Great Man theory of philosophical knowledge.) And yet, in a certain sense, leaving historical details aside, Marcuse’s account of the closure of discourse, of thought, seems strangely apposite to the post-industrial, post-crisis, neoliberal context in which we read him today. Today “[i]t’s easier to imagine the end of the world than the end of capitalism” (Fisher, 2009, p.1). Our time is characterised by the seeming impossibility of conceiving of an alternative to the world of capital and by “the morose conviction that nothing new can ever happen” (Ibid., p.3) to which only a pathological consumerist indulgence – a “depressive hedonia” (Ibid., p.21) – appears as a possible response. Today, it would seem that the total identification of the real, the rational, the good and the possible identified by Marcuse (2002, pp.87-8) or, somewhat equivalently, the domination of the social by an unquestionable spectacular reality in which “[w]hat appears is good [and] what is good appears” (Debord, 2004, pp.9-10) is more complete than ever. If Marcuse is on unstable epistemological ground, it appears he is nonetheless capable of expressing a truth. We are left with the question: how can one lament the disappearance of a possibility of which one holds oneself to be incapable of conceiving? How can one desire an escape from that which sets the very limits of the desirable? This, I claim, is the paradox of Marcuse’s Happy Consciousness, which will serve as the central problematic of this essay. My contention is that Marcuse offers a unitary conception of the fetisished forms of late-capitalist social relations, which fails to grasp the fundamentally unstable and contradictory mode of existence of these forms, leaving Marcuse trapped in the pessimism of the world of surface appearances, and that the resolution of this paradox is to be found in the apprehension of the dual character of these fetish forms.

For Marcuse, the transition to the consumerist phase of capitalism has brought about a great enclosure of thought and a massive expansion and development of the forms of administration and control – what he calls the “administered society” (2002, p.243) – and with it, the recession of the possibility of the revolutionary transformation of society. Capital has achieved what he calls “the conquest of the Unhappy Consciousness” or “repressive desublimation” (Ibid., p.59), that is to say, capital has effectively abolished the ability of culture to express an authentic protest against or critique of existing society by “the flattening out of the antagonism between culture and social reality through the obliteration of the oppositional, alien, and transcendent elements in the higher culture by virtue of which it constituted another dimension of reality.” (Ibid, p.60) Capital no longer operates primarily through repression, but rather has incorporated desire into the process of accumulation by offering the fulfillment of human needs that it simultaneously produces. (Ibid., p.78) As a result, culture is no longer capable of articulating a need that capital cannot meet, so even apparent rebellions are recuperated into the univocal valourisation (in both senses) of the existing society: “reality surpasses its culture. Man today can do more than the culture heros and half-gods; he has solved many insoluble problems.” (Ibid., p.60) The gap between cultural and social reality, which in previous stages of development was a source of antagonism, collapses to a single dimension, and in the process destroys the dimension of alienation in art. (Ibid., p.73) Language too is impoverished, robbed of its immanent spaces and tensions, and therefore left unable to differentiate between “reason and fact, truth and established truth, essence and existence, the thing and its function”. (Ibid., p.89) The result is “The Happy Consciousness — the belief that the real is rational and that the system delivers the goods” (Ibid, p.87) – a new conformist subjectivity that is unable to conceive of its own alienation. Put simply: the proletarian subject, seduced by material abundance, is now trapped in the recuperative circuit of her own desire, robbing her of the possibility of developing a critical political subjectivity.

As a hermeneutical point, it may be useful here to reflect on emphasis Marcuse places on vertical relations throughout his elucidation of this thesis. For Marcuse, it was precisely the transcendent elements in higher culture (Ibid., p.60) which in previous phases of development gave art its revolutionary significance. Moreover, critical theory too, for Marcuse, must aim at adopting a relation of transcendence vis a vis social reality, albeit of a “rigorously historical” rather than “metaphysical” character. (Ibid., pp.xli-ii) This, to me, is indicative of a continuity with classical Marxism in thinking about class consciousness – e.g. Lenin’s claim that the proletariat is on its own capable only of a trade union consciousness and requires the Party to bring it to a revolutionary consciousness (Lenin, 1902), Lukacs claim that the Party is required to disclose the “appropriate and rational reactions ‘imputed’ to a particular class situation” to a proletariat trapped in the world of reification (Lukacs, 1972, p.51) – that is, the proletariat is constructed as an external object by the theorist (who is somehow able to stand above society and apprehend objectively its relations) and it is deduced, in one way or another that it is incapable of achieving the correct form of consciousness, which therefore requires correct class consciousness to drop as a blessing from above (albeit, in this case, it is the artist or philosopher rather than the Party which takes the role of transcendent agent). Marcuse fails to grasp that the revolutionary discovery of the Enlightenment was precisely that of the “plane of immanence”, which placed the question of the direction of human society squarely in the hands of the multitude, to which dominant classes opposed a transcendental apparatus of capture. (Hardt & Negri, 2000, pp.70-83) What would it mean for Marcuse’s critical theory to take seriously the revolutionary potential of immanence and to conceive of the political subjectivity of the multitude not in terms of a vertical relationship between theory and practice (or rather, theorists and practicers), but rhizomatically, that is, in terms of connective, communicative, and immanent relations between a non-ordered multiplicity of heterogeneous singularities that form a collective assemblage? (Deleuze & Guattari, 2013, pp.5-8) We will return to this question.

Additionally, Marcuse inherits from Freud a problematically essentialist theory of desire which underpins his historical thesis. In his History of Sexuality: Volume 1, Foucault (1990) offers a devastating critique of the “repressive hypothesis”, which holds that previous historical periods were characterised by an overall repression of sexual desire, from which we are now beginning to emerge. Rather, Foucault demonstrates how sexuality has in different periods been actively produced through the incitement to discourse (from the confessional, to sexology, to psychoanalysis) and through the effects of disciplinary power which involved “refusal, blockage and invalidation, but also incitement and intensification”. (p.11) If we admit this discovery, it renders impossible any distinction between one’s “true” desire and that which is constructed by consumer capitalism – desire can only be understood as a contingent social product of a particular historical conjuncture. “Need”, which has a somewhat ambiguous relation to desire in Marcuse, must also be understood as a properly historical product. The “manipulation of needs by vested interests” (Marcuse, 2002, p.5) is not a peculiar feature of late capitalism, but is in fact precisely what occurred in the “deterritorialization of the socius” that enabled the encounter of “decoded flows of production in the form of money-capital, and the decoded flows of labor in the form of the the ‘free worker’” which birthed the capitalist mode of production. (Deleuze & Guattari, 1983, p.33). Simply: in order to “destroy the possibilities that had emerged from the anti-feudal struggle” (Fedirici, 2004, p.11), a process of violent dispossession was unleashed by the ruling class, producing particular relations of need (essentially, workers with no means of support other than to sell their labour) which produced the conditions for the ascendance of the bourgeois class and of the capitalist mode of production. The above problematises the historical rupture detected by Marcuse: if the relations of “need” and “desire” were always already contingent on the development of class struggle then this cannot be a new innovation of capitalist domination particular to late-capitalism. Since its inception, capital has manipulated need and desire to diffuse class struggle and to ensure the continuation of the accumulation of capital. If this is the case, to source the impetus for revolutionary struggle in the supposed “authenticity” of pre-social need is wholly ahistorical. The question then presents itself: whence the impetus for class struggle?

It is crucial to understand the fundamentally contradictory and unstable nature of capitalist social relations. What may appear as a unitary edifice of domination is founded on an ontological division which capital is necessarily unable to resolve. Capital is the product of the fracturing of the social flow of labour, which is necessarily also the fracturing of the subject (Holloway, 2010, pp.28-31), the becoming-alien of a portion of our subjectivity that becomes objectified as a commodity (it is of no significance here whether the commodity is a material or immaterial product of social production). The constituted forms of capitalist social relations, including fetishised forms of thought, therefore, are never merely established facts, but are dependent on the continuous reproduction of this division, the continued reiteration of a subjective violence. (Ibid., pp.88-91; Holloway, 2011) What Marcuse presents, therefore, is only one face of a duality: the apparatus of reterritorialisation that reincorporates our lines of flight into the logic of capitalism, but not the movements of deterritorialisation that challenge and disrupt the prevailing codes, which characterises the schizophrenic dynamic of struggle in capitalist society. (Guattari, 2009, p.52) It is hardly surprising that for Marcuse “[t]he critical theory of society… remains negative” (Marcuse, 2002, p.261) when it is predicated on a monist ontology that sees only the uninterrupted history of domination that progressively entraps the subject, but not the agency of the subject that pushes back against its cage – the occlusion of the “transcendental” representation of alienation in culture, but not the immanent division of the social and the subject itself that renders the spectacular “pseudo-justification for a counterfeit life” (Debord, 2004 ,p.23) always minimally unsatisfying. It is not the didactic pedagogy of art or philosophy that in the end pushes us into antagonistic relations to capital, but the frustration of our own potencies and desires which capital cannot avoid, which is then, perhaps, represented or communicated through art or philosophy.

Reading Marcuse in the light of the conditions of contemporary capitalism, it is clear that Marcuse’s pessimism suits the dominant affective composition of society, and the paradox of Marcuse’s critique is also that of much contemporary critical theory. In the age of real subsumption and the social factory we live in greater intimacy than ever with capital, and its destructive and constrictive impact on our consciousness is certainly similar to that described so vividly by Marcuse. But paradoxically, this situation also increases the potential for liberation (Hardt & Negri, 2000, pp.43-44), as the colonisation of social life means that resistances that were once marginal now strike at the omnipresent centre. (Ibid., p.26) “[I]f the capital relation is now reproduced everywhere, then capital is contested everywhere” albeit in “low intensity conflicts” rather than dramatic confrontations. (Free Association, 2001) In assessing Marcuse, then, one might say that Marcuse has only interpreted the conditions of late-capitalist ideology, but the point is to disrupt them.


Debord, G. (2004) The Society of the Spectacle. UK: Rebel Press.

Deleuze, G. & Guattari, F. (1983) Anti-Oedipus. US: University Of Minnesota Press.

Deleuze, G. & Guattari, F. (2013) A Thousand Plateaus. UK: Bloomsbury.

Fedirici, S. (2004) Caliban and the Witch. US: Autonomedia.

Fisher, M. (2009) Capitalist Realism. UK: Zero Books.

Foucault, M. (1990) The History of Sexuality, Volume 1: An Introduction. London : Penguin.

Free Association (2001) ‘Anti-capitalist movements’. Available at: (Accessed: 1 April 2014)

Guattari, F. (2009) Chaosophy: Texts and Interviews, Lotringer, S. ed. US: Semiotext(e).

Hardt, M. and Negri, A. (2000) Empire. US: Harvard University Press.

Holloway, J. (2010) Change The World Without Taking Power. UK: Pluto Press.

Holloway, J. (2011) ‘Class and Classification’. Available at: (Accessed: 1 April 2014)

Lenin, V.I., (1902) What Is To Be Done. Available at: (Accessed: 1 April 2014)

Marcuse, H. (2002) One Dimensional Man. US: Routledge.

Youth culture is constantly constructed as an object of contemplation and interpretation. There is a certain kind of journalist for whom youth culture provides a wellspring of material to be broken apart, reassembled, framed and offered up as a kind of diagnostic of the condition of society, always for a particular audience. This production of “knowledge” is always an exercise of power: youth are spoken about, interpreted, fretted over, represented, but rarely if ever included in the production of the discourse about them.

For the Right – the tabloids and the stuffier broadsheets – the archetypal narrative form is the moral panic. Youth appears always as the crisis of a liberal society gone too far: a destructive whirlwind of jouissance tearing apart all that remains orderly and good. Of course, the “youth media” – that is media produced by businesses and marketed at youth – is pretty much entirely a marketing apparatus, manipulating and producing youth cultures as revenue streams for various industries (music, fashion, etc.). In these cases, the operation of power is more or less transparent (at least, if viewed from sufficient distance).

But there is a certain type of left/liberal writing about youth culture – by trendy twenty-something journalists, for trendy twenty-somethings, both mutually invested in sustaining the delusion that they’re still part of the adolescent avant-garde – where the operations of power/knowledge are all the more insidious precisely because they represent themselves as sympathetic, and as occupying an “our man in the Orient” position simultaneously within and outside the culture they report on.*

* My own speaking-position on this subject is somewhat suspect also, as a 23-year-old who has never been in any way cool, and who mostly sits in his flat eating ready-meals and arguing about political theory on facebook.

A common feature of this kind of writing is a peculiar kind of historicism around the appearance of youth subcultures and countercultures. At every moment of history, Youth is expected to embody a spirit of rebellion against society, which I am calling the Punkgeist. The Punkgeist is the essence and historical mission of Youth: rebellion against the aesthetic/cultural establishment, the liberation of desire through the construction of a countercultural avante garde and new oppositional collective identities. Rock, punk, goth, rave, et al, are to be understood as particular manifestations of this eternal essence of Youth, which proceeds through a dialectical process: each generation produces its own countercultural forms, which over time are incorporated into the mainstream, becoming stale, clichéd, boring, repressive, only to be overturned by the aesthetic radicalism of the next generation. Thesis, antithesis, synthesis – Hegel reborn as a music journalist.

The puzzle then for those who assemble nostalgic misrepresentations of the youth movements of the past into a dialectic of history is why are the youth of today so docile, conservative, apolitical? Why are their trends not as cool and important as those that came before? This is the question that NekNominations (basically a viral drinking game) posed to one Vice writer, prompting him to write an article titled ‘NekNominations are what this generation has instead of punk or rave’.

The thesis put forward by the article is essentially this: the youth of today exist in a world where a technologically-enabled individuated eclecticism has replaced counterculture, and every rebellion is monetised and reincorporated into capitalism before it can even begin. But “there’s no way to monetise drinking a pint full of grasshoppers or getting your mates to pepper spray you in the face. They remain one of the last things in our society that are essentially unmarketable. Very few brands are going to encourage you to drink engine oil any time soon – they don’t want a shout out at your funeral, they want your money. NekNominate doesn’t, and it remains nihilistically enticing for that.”  The old is dying and the new cannot be born, so all that is left to teenagers is to drink, vomit and post the results on facebook.

I didn’t know quite what to make of the piece at first (hence why I’ve ended up writing a whole long thing about it). On the one hand, I’m sympathetic to the Capitalist Realismesque argument: culture is dead, authentic innovation and rebellion within art is now impossible, and all that remains is a depressive hedonism. (Although Adorno said much the same, and then the 60s happened.) But on the other hand, there’s something that feels really forced about the politicisation/intellectualisation of what seems to be a wholly apolitical and anti-intellectual gesture: the imposition of an interpretive framework that at the same moment patronises and gives far too much credit. “You might think you’re downing a pint of cider,” it seems to say, “but I know it’s really a desperate and nihilistic rebellion against postindustrial capitalism.” In any case, drinking games weren’t invented by teenagers in 2014, so I’m not sure why this one needs a special explanation, just because it happened virally on the Internet. (Seriously have none of the people writing the acres of columns on this topic ever necked a pint in their lives?)

Perhaps the problem is this: the Punkgeist doesn’t exist. Perhaps rebellion is not the telos of youth. Perhaps there was always far more involved in counterculture than just teenage hormones. Perhaps punk was not just a generation acting out because they were young, but a far more conscious and political project, and perhaps this generation hasn’t come up with the new punk because punk was a deliberate intervention in particular historical circumstances that no longer exist. In any case, the pop-Hegelianism of the common-currency Punkgeist explanation for countercultural movements has tended to strip away everything authentically dangerous about them, reframing them as purely aesthetic rebellions, and as merely epiphenomena of the maturation of a generation: something to talk about at dinner parties (or in newspaper columns) when you inevitably grow up and get a proper job.

And maybe NekNomination is just a drinking game, not the spirit of punk returning in pathological form.

This is a response to the piece Exiting the Vampire Castleby Mark Fisher.

I don’t know anything about Mark Fisher. He wrote a book, called Capitalist Realism that a lot of people seem to like, but I have no idea what’s in it or if I should care. But I do know Mark is afraid of me. He is afraid of me, because I am an anarchist, because I engage with “identity politics”, because I think the Labour Party is a load of bourgeois shit, because I believe that influential figures should be held to account for oppressive speech-acts, and because I (occasionally) go to university. Moreover, he is afraid of me because I am destroying something precious to him, something to which he has attributed meaning and invested desire – the Left; a figure, an image and a real assemblage, which produces intense affects in those who believe in its necessity and potential, and whose evident failure to intervene decisively at this moment of capitalist crisis has induced flows of despondancy across the entire social body.

How does one deal with such intense negative affect, with frustrated desire, with a pronounced, emasculating political impotence, which threaten to overwhelm the subject? What happens to the revolutionary breaks and flows of the communist machine when there seems to be precisely no way to productively intervene in the political situation? One possible line of flight is to retreat into nostalgia, pining for a workers movement of yesteryear, which was powerful and decisive and unified, while conveniently forgetting that it was this same workers movement whose failure allowed neoliberalism to claw its way into every last nook and cranny of social existence. Another is to project one’s negativity onto a scapegoat, a monstrous vampiric Other, which can be blamed for sucking the vitality and hope out of the Left.

It is, I think, no coincidence that Mark Fisher chose this historic moment of deficit (the opposite of a “moment of excess”) to dust off an old and conservative discourse, give it a new psychoanalytical gloss, and to use it to rhetorically storm the “Vampire’s Castle” he’s built in his head. Its resonances, both positive and negative, across the left seem to me to be symptomatic of the current (de)composition of the Left as a social force, where old antagonisms along identarian lines have been invested with a new urgency by the collapse of organised resistance to the present capitalist assault. It is the confluence, I think, of a number of affects specific to this period of crisis, some, perhaps, understandable and forgivable, others thoroughly unpleasant and reactionary, which produce the libidinal underpinnings of this discourse, which, following Judith Butler, I shall call “neoconservative Marxism”, namely:

  1. feelings of uncertainty, hopelessness, and directionlessness, that result from witnessing one’s organising efforts come to nothing

  2. a sense of an urgent need for unity to compensate for the evident weakness of the Left as it stands

  3. a sense of the urgency of class struggle at this particular moment, combined with a sense of competition with non-class struggles for increasingly scarce resources

  4. a felt need for robust, “no bullshit” discourse, which also has the side effect of producing a masculine affect

  5. a need to participate in the psychodrama of conflict at a time when there seems to be no way to hit your enemies where it hurts

  6. concomitant feelings of discomfort around the difficult and patient work of rebuilding, rethinking and re-orienting left resistance, and

  7. a jealousy towards the relative vitality and vibrancy displayed by intersectional/feminist discourses

One might recognise oneself in this characterisation, or one might strongly resist such psychological speculation. My purpose here was to demonstrate that the neoconservatism evinced by Fisher could also be analysed as a “libidinal-discursive formation”. But it also, I think, demonstrates why Fisher’s decision to position himself as analyst and to interpellate numerous comrades, as analysand, is both rather presumptuous, and a piss poor form of argumentation. It allows the author to negate the subjectivity of his opponent, and whatever arguments they might marshall in support of their position, and instead indulge in a patronising performance of “I understand why you think the way you do” faux-insight.

Perhaps it would be better to interrogate the substance of the argument.

The Worker and the Vampire as Gothic horror

Exiting the Vampire Castle is ostensibly an attack on the essentialising tendencies of something called “identity politics”, a style of argument that has been rehearsed often enough to constitute a genre in and of itself. This time, however, the usual genre tropes are given a distinct Gothic twist. The hero, as usual, is the ordinary British (i.e. white) working class man, this time played, somewhat incongrously by Russell Brand. The worker, trapped in a castle made out of political correctness gone mad, is stalked and preyed upon by vampires: bourgeois liberal academics posing as leftists, who hide in the shadows waiting for the worker to say something mildly sexist so they can sink their fangs of guilt and shame into the worker’s lovely neck. Once bitten, the worker is subjected to a horrific fate: he is essentialised as a sexist. The vampires may claim that they are interested in things like liberation, justice, solidarity and collectivity, but their bloodlust, it is revealed to our horror, is motivated by something much darker: petty bourgeois class interest. It is only by re-asserting the primacy of class that the vampires can be slayed and the worker can finally escape the castle and carry out his historic mission of abolishing capitalist society.

As is often the case, poorly-conceived horror morphs into camp comedy. Russell Brand, with his millions of pounds and his habit of subjecting women to public and sexualised humiliation, is hardly convincing as the hapless victim. Indeed, what else is there to do but laugh at a class analysis in which a working class person can be a multimillionaire comedian and film star and retain their working class identity, but a worker who becomes an academic and pursues an interest in Cultural Studies is inevitably possessed by a petty bourgeois essence which structures their discourse according to a subconscious desire to own a prosperous corner shop. One might also wonder in passing whether a worker might be a woman, or queer, or not white, which might recast our tragic male hero in a more ethically ambiguous light, spoiling the dramatic effect.

Neoconservative Marxism as identity politics

There are rather obvious contradictions at the heart of Fisher’s argument: How can one rail against essentialism, while essentialising (and therefore dismissing) a whole family of left discourses as petty bourgeois, and academic? How can one oppose identity politics by valourising a working class identity that is apparently independent of one’s material situation? How can one oppose the supposed suppression of class struggle on the left, while putting forward a view of class as essentially a cultural attitude abstracted from actual material struggle?

These contradictions resolve themselves if one considers Fisher’s intervention not as an opposition to identity politics per se, but as a territorial dispute over which identity politics should have primary status on the Left. For Neoconservative Marxists, the real problem with ‘intersectionality’ and such ‘identity-politics’ discourses is that they are seen as introducing division into the left, fracturing the a priori unity of the working class. Political struggle is seen as a zero-sum game: there can only be one historical Subject, and it must be the worker. Since the worker is now positioned as the sole political subject, aspects of feminism, anti-racism, and queer struggles which cannot be assimilated into an analysis of economic struggles must be something else: ethics, not politics. Therefore, those women, people of colour and queers who refuse to play their allotted role in the class struggle are infecting the workers movement with a debilitating moralism, rather than participating in a (sometimes tense and difficult) negotiation towards a recomposition of “the real movement that abolishes the present state of things”.

Perhaps the most useful lesson to take from Fisher’s piece is that, while it’s relatively easy to produce a critique of identity politics, it is far harder to transcend in practice. It might be accurate to say that intersectional discourses work with reified identity categories (although that too would be an oversimplification), but to understand that reification as merely an illusory effect of intersectionality or identity politics, rather than a material reality, is idealist in the extreme. One does not transcend identity categories by performative critique. Unity pursued through the repression of difference, is only ever purchased through the exclusion, marginalisation and domestication of gendered and racialised minorities within the left. Truly democratic unity, which in any case is never perfect and is always merely a productive conjuncture of difference, is always the effect of a successful prior coming-together on the basis of respect and mutual recognition. The revolutionary force that finally sweeps away this oppressive system is only going to be materialised in a tense coalition of heterogenous political subjectivities: workers, environmentalists, feminists, queers, people of colour, punks, anarchists, socialists, communists, liberals (even). The most prudent form of intervention on this question, then, is not to insist on collective identities that flatten out differences, but to work to build coalitions that honour and respect difference, which become unified through a collective project or vision for social transformation. Interventions like Fisher’s only serve to accentuate divisions. It doesn’t actually advance any kind of project of recomposition.