I was originally told to speak on the theme of “reform vs. revolution” for this conference. So my talk will be based on this topic, which I hope also provides a structure for understanding how critical theory can meaningfully inform one’s own activism. When I heard the theme, my instinct was to return to a text I first read as a newly radicalized undergraduate here: Rosa Luxemburg’s classic text, Reform or Revolution. I want to kick us off today with a few lines from Luxemburg responding to this theme. She writes:
It is contrary to history to represent work for reforms as a long-drawn out revolution and revolution as a condensed series of reforms. A social transformation and a legislative reform do not differ according to their duration but according to their content … people who pronounce themselves in favor of the method of legislative reform in place and in contradistinction to the conquest of political power and social revolution, do not really choose a more tranquil, calmer, and slower road to the same goal, but a different goal. Instead of taking a stand for the establishment of a new society, they take a stand for surface modifications of the old society.
Luxemburg had quite a clear vision of what this new society would be: a socialist system, where society is democratically and collectively managed, realizable only through the seizure of political power by the working classes.
This is a positive and comprehensive vision of politics. By positive, I don’t simply mean good vibes, and by comprehensive, I don’t simply mean aspiring to have the blueprints for solving all of the world’s problems. I mean understanding how you define and give content to the alternative system you are fighting for, and how to get there. This concrete political horizon allows Luxembourg to distinguish revolution from reform. According to Luxemburg, the difference between revolution and reform isn’t merely a quantitative one—as if there were a universal yardstick to determine which reform is revolutionary or not, or as if winning a certain number of reforms determined how revolutionary you are. Instead, Luxemburg tells us, it’s a qualitative difference: revolutionary politics will include struggles for reforms of some kind, but those reforms will always be part of a larger strategy to replace the capitalist system with a concrete political alternative in the form of socialist governance, rather than simply winning reforms without a larger end goal in mind.
In school, we learn many different ways to tear things down, to critique, to dismantle. This is the bread and butter of critical theory, and this method allows us to begin making sense of the world. This is an essential starting point for any radical politics. But what actually is the content of the political alternative we want, and how do we fight for it? Those of you with experience navigating the challenges of forming and running any new organizational space, whether it’s figuring out a decision-making process for a Palestine solidarity encampment or setting ground rules for a union’s core committee, may begin to grasp the difficulty. These questions are all the more urgent now as we consider what world we want beyond one consumed by authoritarianism and empire. They are also all the more urgent because many of you are confronted with the question of life after college, and have to make some concrete decisions about what to do now. Luxemburg’s ideas of revolution, socialism, and class conflict may seem too grandiose and abstract to be immediately relevant to the question of what to do after college. But I want to argue today not only that these ideas are relevant, but also that Luxemburg’s Marxism is one example of how a critical framework and method can cohere the different threads of life.
Considering life after college, let alone pursuing social justice work, can be daunting. Most of you will have to balance your ideals with pressing practical matters, namely, finding a job and paying your bills. Those of you who are baristas for the school cafe, RAs, tutors, office assistants, or prospective student tour guides are already getting a taste of this balancing act. Unless you go on to work for some social justice organization, like a union or nonprofit, you won’t have the time to do all the political and organizing work that has animated you in these few years. And even if you work for a social justice organization, the chances are your organizing will inevitably be narrower, more constrained by the interests of external entities that fund you (through grants and foundations), and likely filtered through the more limited terrain of electoralism. Many of these organizations are tied to the very state you want to confront. There is the added pressure of organizing being tied to your source of income. An old Polish Marxist, Isaac Deutscher, once told a room full of college students during the sixties that it is quite easy to be radical at school. He said school is like a bus. You hop on for a few years and get off. You are unattached, like kites in the sky, he says, “without any ropes tying [you] to the earth. Very soon you will feel the rope.” Student movements have played a monumental role in history in pushing for social change, but Deutscher argued that student activism ultimately has an unstable role in politics because it’s not fully “anchored in the realities of social life.”
For Luxemburg, life under capitalism in general is also unstable. It is a system constantly teetering on the edge of collapse, one that sacrifices people to the bonfire of profit before repeating the cycle to re-stabilize itself. Whether we like it or not, we keep this system running when we work. And we have to do this because we, as the working class, must participate in it to survive, and our livelihoods and working conditions are mostly subject to the whims of our employers. Luxemburg’s good news is that this wretched system has also laid the foundation for a better world. Capitalism, by thrusting most of us into some shared conditions of exploitation, whether you work for a nonprofit, a cafe, a school, a factory, or remotely for a corporate office, gives us the experience of collectively running something together. From that experience, we can practice exercising collective power to change our conditions through unions and other movements. This can become the basis for running a society together, collectively and democratically.
After graduation, most of you will join the ranks of this working class. According to Luxemburg, because of this class position, you can be part of a greater struggle for a different way of organizing society. The daily discontent and routines you will register at work, which will occupy most of your waking hours, can become the very seeds of a revolutionary politics grounded in the reality of social life, not a distraction from it. Whether you consciously work to organize this class toward Luxemburg’s vision of revolution, this class will continue to play a pivotal role in the development of history, helping to determine the state of capitalism, whether in influencing systemic cycles of stability and crisis or in ending these cycles.
Luxemburg’s endorsement of revolutionary politics builds on this specific theory of historical development. History is characterized by the contest for political power between different classes, and revolutions have always been how this contest has played out. Revolutions are simply a fact of history. Any kind of legislative reform, she argues, is limited by the political framework of the regime we live under, whose constitution itself is a product of some kind of revolution. Her theory of revolution rests on the perspective that the system we live in is riddled with contradictions that constantly threaten it, and that these cannot be resolved simply by the gradual accumulation of legislative reforms. But at the same time, fighting for reforms has an important place in social movements, as it provides us with avenues to gather and count our forces, and build our confidence through the practical experience of collective struggle.
And so, revolution is not opposed to reform. It is opposed to reformism, which, at its core, is an aimless collection of reforms that requires no political alternative to the current order that revolution demands. Reformism is organizing for its own sake, with the ultimate goal of simply making things less bad than they are. Instead, Luxemburg directs us to situate our activism in a larger political project and strategy. This vision and strategy will nearly always include fighting for some kind of reform, whether it’s fighting for a wage increase or pushing the city council to change a policy, in the context of a larger political strategy and project, rooted in the perspective that the system is fundamentally unstable and unreformable. Reforms can be opportunities for movements to practice confronting power directly. But the trap of reformism is the illusion that reforms can ultimately offset the system’s underlying instabilities. History teaches us two truths that we must reckon with. On the one hand, any accumulation of reforms will eventually trigger some violent reaction by the state against movements. On the other hand, there are few, if any, revolutionary movements that have ever won power without engaging in the slow grind and spadework of building their forces by fighting for certain reforms. We need a critical method that can orient us toward a political strategy that synthesizes these two contradictory truths. Luxemburg’s outlook doesn’t offer a one-size-fits-all answer for what to do next, but it provides a critical framework for asking the right questions.
Luxemburg’s Marxist perspective yields evergreen questions that are salient at every stage of our political life. What is the state of capitalism at any given moment? Is the capitalist system finding a way to stabilize itself once again, or is it in another era of crisis and stagnation? In any case, be it stability or crisis, how does that limit and open certain political possibilities? What is the state of the working class and other communities marginalized by capitalism, which must be sufficiently organized in order to fight capitalism? How are specific conditions—the strength or weakness of capitalism, or of the working class—a product of a whole host of historical reasons? Are working-class movements waging offensive struggles and building power against capital, or are they mostly fighting defensive battles, struggling to protect existing rights under threat? Most relevant, what is the best role for you at any given moment to effectively change social conditions around you as they exist? How does your analysis of world conditions inform how you situate your organizing work in the broader fight against the system?
I’ve been speaking quite abstractly up to this point, so I’ll use my own experience as one example of what this journey can look like. When I was a student here, I was overwhelmed by everything I read in and out of class. I read and wrote papers on all kinds of random topics, just as I became radicalized to the left as Trump won his first electoral campaign. But there was little direction connecting these two aspects, my reading and organizing. I just read anything that interested me, and organized where I felt I had the most use. I joined a socialist group because I considered myself a socialist. I became active in immigrant justice spaces because I am an immigrant. Later, I became active in tenant organizing in Chinatown, because I spoke Cantonese, and that ability was useful there. I engaged in international solidarity work when mass protests erupted in Hong Kong, because that’s where I’m from.
I don’t think there was anything wrong with doing any of this then. But one day, a political mentor of mine asked me, how do you determine where and what you spend time and resources on in your political life? I said: I don’t know, just wherever I can be useful, whatever I’m interested in? He reminded me that engaging in politics as a Marxist is not just about my skills or interests. It’s also about how I recognize the objective conditions of the world at any given moment, and, from that analysis, figure out the most pressing political questions and tasks that need to be worked on. Then, consider how my skills and interests can contribute to these. This doesn’t mean just aimlessly hopping from one popular movement to another, but rather analyzing how different events and movements relate to one another, and how they reveal an internal logic in how the system functions as a whole. This is not a mere academic exercise, but a way to seriously make sense of our material conditions in order to change them.
For example, I understand the capitalist system today as being in a state of crisis. This is related to the capitalist class struggling to maintain the same rate of profit, unlike, say, the 1990s when neoliberalism appeared stable. On a global level, this manifests as competition and violent rivalry among imperialist and capitalist powers, which have also renewed wars of national oppression, like the US and Israel’s neocolonial wars against Palestine, Lebanon, and Iran. This free rein of imperialist powers is only possible because of the scaling back of social reforms won by working-class movements decades ago and the overall decline of their power. Indeed, working people are resisting these forms of violence—Palestinians’ defensive war against Israeli settler-colonialism, everyday Americans forming rapid response groups to defend against ICE, or workers forming unions to defend their workplace rights. But this resistance is still too weak and/or isolated to mount a united, offensive fight against the system as a whole. The working class is not yet a clearly articulated force in these movements.
There are historical reasons for this. We can explain why many of us feel powerless in stopping our government’s imperialist militarism. It relates to the decades of neoliberalism that have crushed working-class institutions and movements everywhere that had once fought against capital and empire with decisive power. It relates to how the state has insulated foreign policy, corporate power, among other spheres of politics, from democratic oversight, a reactionary process that also took years.
This analysis informs my life choices. It helps me determine what to read (or reread), what organizing spaces to be in, and how to divide my time between work, politics, and leisure. I’m active in my union because I believe that building collective power at work is foundational to the larger task of rebuilding working-class power to effectively fight capitalism. I continue to organize tenants in Chinatown because I believe the tenant movement is key to strengthening the LA Left. It is also one of the few sites today where I believe the Left can begin to rebuild some presence in the immigrant Chinese working class. To better understand the state of global capitalism and geopolitical flashpoints, I read about political economy, finance, and the histories of other countries. Last and most importantly, my socialist politics ties all of these threads together. This means I believe that social movements, which are, by definition, politically eclectic and limited in scope, are not sufficient to help us win a better world. To win a socialist system, we need socialist organization that can organize the best revolutionaries from these movements toward a definite political program. We must contest power on the basis of this program to win the world we want. I hope to play a part in continuing the work of people like Luxemburg in fighting for a socialist system, so I remain in a socialist organization.
My key question for everyone today is what would it look like for you to situate your social justice work within a larger critical structure and method, to articulate a positive vision of a political alternative to replace what we have today? Yours may be different from mine. But what I want to leave you all with is a definition of revolution that is about not just imagining, but also fleshing out, developing, and fighting for a positive vision of politics. This is not just a matter of subjective will, as in simply the desire and drive to make revolution. Elsewhere in her book, Luxemburg faults those who neatly separate pursuing reforms as “action of intelligence” from pursuing revolution as “action of feeling.” Revolutionary politics is the union of intelligence and feeling. It is grounded in a bold alternative to existing politics and guided by a rational strategy for achieving that alternative and realizing its ultimate goals. It helps us bridge critical theory with social justice by framing our theory and activism within the larger drama of history. It allows us to locate ourselves in a long historical lineage of class struggle that precedes and will succeed us, with other revolutionaries struggling for the same world.
Featured Image credit: Plakat; modified by Tempest
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