It's been an extraordinary year in politics. In no particular order, here are ten books I enjoyed that can help make sense of what the hell is happening and what can be done.
@ is for Activism by Joss Hands:
Pluto Press, 2010
The past year of riots and revolutions has proven beyond doubt that the terrain
of collective action is being transformed by the internet. How exactly remains
unclear since, too often, mainstream scholarship lags woefully behind the practice.
Joss Hands’ book is a powerful exception. It provides rigorous theoretical analysis of
how digitally-mediated social movements mobilise to challenge centres of power,
placing recent developments within a broader history of technological
transformation.

Hands discusses the fashionable idea of “swarm intelligence” but
argues – rightly, in my view - that this concept lacks the necessary space for democratic
deliberation within movements. He prefers to talk of Quasi Autonomous
Recognition Networks (QARNs); loose associations, such as UK Uncut, bound
together by agreement on certain things and able to expand rapidly through
digital networks of communication. The QARN may be too much of a mouthful to
catch on, but it’s a useful theoretical framework for activists and scholars to
get to grips with as we enter a year in which networked movements will undoubtedly continue to play a critical role.
Liberalism: A Counter History by
Domenico Losurdo: Verso, 2011.
This is a major revisionist history of our dominant political tradition. If I
had my way, it would be obligatory reading for schools minister Michael Gove,
who, along with the neoconservative telly don Niall Ferguson, and other
collaborators, is re-writing the History curriculum in line with the most
boorish and parochial Whig triumphalism.

According to this self-congratulatory view,
liberal ideas of individual independence, natural rights and limited government
are discovered by progressive thinkers from John Locke onwards and then exported,
along with the values of property and free trade, to initially resistant but
ultimately grateful native populations in less civilised parts of the world. This
is the mythology that Losurdo explodes. Since its earliest beginnings, he
shows, liberalism has been profoundly at ease with inequality and exclusion.
Liberals were systematic apologists for the most appalling practices of
slavery, colonialism, ethnic genocide, patriarchy, and exploitation. Lorsurdo
has great fun parading the most outrageous statements by the pantheon of
liberal heroes, such Locke, de Tocqueville and Mill. This isn’t, he insists, a
case of applying our own anachronistic moral standards to the past. All too
often, it was liberals advocating barbaric practices against contemporaries,
including ancien regime thinkers,
such as Jean Bodin who combined a preference for absolute monarchy with staunch
opposition to slavery.
There are some difficulties with Losurdo’s approach, not
least who he defines as “liberals” (see here for an in-depth review by Ed
Rooksby), but what lessons does it imply for radical thought? My own view is
that the universal normative commitments of liberalism should not be repudiated
entirely. It is far better to see liberalism as an incomplete version of
socialism, rather than its polar opposite. The task of emancipatory thought is
to radicalise the content of the liberal tenets of liberty and equality and
dramatically expand the sphere of social relations to which they apply. This
means first and foremost, challenging the property relation, the bedrock of
exclusion, which, Losurdo shows, liberals have long been prepared to defend
with terroristic violence.