minimum wage

The Stimmy and the State

By Tyler Zimmer

Republished from Rampant Magazine.

In a recent piece in Jacobin, Matt Bruenig hails the new stimulus bill as a “watershed moment” in the fight against poverty in the United States. This dramatic “ideological reversal,” “a revolution in welfare state thinking,” as he describes it, has shattered a “25-year bipartisan consensus” against direct cash payments to the poor. “The fact that we had this debate and the pro-welfare side won is something to be happy about.”

Certainly there are provisions in the bill that benefit poor and working class people. But is this a major turning point in an ideological battle over the legitimacy of welfare state policies? Hardly.

It would be nice if our system of government was a forum for debating the merits of various ideological proposals to advance the common good. But this is simply not how the state under capitalism functions. 

Other things being equal, the state tends to promote the interests of the capitalist class at the expense of the working class majority. 

It does this for at least two reasons. First, the capitalist class spends enormous amounts of money influencing politicians—and this is why the two parties that dominate U.S. politics prioritize the interests of their corporate donors, not the majority of voters. 

Indeed, the 2020 election was the most expensive election in history, with more than $14 billion spent up and down the ballot, most of it paid for by super-PACs and extremely wealthy individuals. As Kim Moody noted in January, “the nation’s rich paid for the 2020 election, and they will be its major beneficiaries.”

Secondly, we’ve got to keep in mind that the state under capitalism depends upon tax revenue generated by capitalist economic activity—and this, in turn, puts governments under enormous pressure to promote a profitable investment climate for the ruling class. Because when profitability dips too low, capitalists lay people off, stop investing, tax revenues drop and a crisis ensues. 

This is a powerful barrier against reform absent sufficient pressure from below. 

These two reasons, then, are why capitalist states tend to consistently prioritize the interests of capital above those of workers. This explains, among other things, why huge banks were given enormous bailouts in 2008 whereas working class homeowners were left high and dry.  

Seen in this light, then, we have to ask: why has the government, which as we know is awash in corporate cash, recently decided to spend money on cash transfers and tax credits for the poor? And why has the ruling class itself been so vocal in supporting these measures? 

Context is important. As Bruenig himself points out, the most recent stimulus bill is not the first, but the third time in the last year that the government has sent out direct cash transfers, the first two coming when Donald Trump was still in the White House and Mitch McConnell was still Senate Majority Leader.

So, rather than representing a dramatic shift, the newest stimulus bill builds on what the previous ones already did. And far from having poverty reduction as their goal, these measures seemed quite obviously aimed at propping up demand and keeping the corporate profits afloat amidst the disruptions caused by the pandemic.

Let’s not forget that each infusion of stimulus had the effect of boosting the stock market—and, last I checked, these markets respond not to ideology as such but to expectations of profit. Indeed, at moments when deliberations over stimulus bills began to stall, markets often took a sudden plunge downward. 

There is indeed a shift going on, but it’s not an ideological shift in politician’s attitudes toward poverty—instead, what we’re seeing is better described as a shift in ruling class attitudes toward government spending and deficits as a way of stabilizing corporate profitability. 

This shift was well underway before Biden took office. As Robert Brenner pointed out months before Trump left office, “some $4.586 trillion, roughly 75 per cent of the total $6.286 trillion derived directly and indirectly from CARES Act money, [went to] the ‘care’ of the country’s biggest and best-off companies.” 

That’s “revolutionary” in a certain sense, but not in the sense that we (socialists) like. 

Still, the question remains: what explains the shift? The background is crucial: long-term stagnation and historically low rates of profit, combined with the sudden shock of the pandemic, caused the U.S. economy to shrink by 4-5% in 2020—the largest contraction since the 1930s. In these circumstances, the ruling class has come to prefer government deficit spending to the thin gruel of austerity, but not because they’ve experienced a sudden conversion to the cause of welfare and poverty reduction. On the contrary, massive infusions of cash from the government—whether in the form of fiscal or monetary policy—appear to be all that’s propping up their economic position. 

Of course, these inconvenient facts haven’t stopped the political boosters of the Biden Administration from engaging in a full-court press to tout the progressive credentials of the stimulus bill. Why they should be so eager to paint it as a historic move to eliminate poverty is obvious: the Democrats, in control of the White House and both chambers of Congress, have reneged on a slew of promises they made to voters in November. For example, they declined to raise the minimum wage to $15 an hour, they have more or less maintained most of Trump’s draconian anti-immigrant measures—we could continue. 

Meanwhile, economic inequality continues to soar as billionaires get richer; rates of unionization continue to stagnate or fall; unemployment and underemployment remain persistently damaging to millions of workers; and come September when the temporary measures from the stimulus will have run their course, bills, rent, mortgages and debts will still be there.

The only way to turn things around is to increase the organization and disruptive power of the working class. Hoping shifts in elite opinion about fiscal policy will morph into a new era of social democratic renewal is not going to cut it. 

Now, someone might reply that insurgent left politicians—like Bernie Sanders and “the Squad”—are the reason this shift in elite opinion is occurring. The idea would be this: Because Sanders ran a campaign that popularized certain pro-worker policies, politicians have been forced to make concessions to our side and reluctantly pass bills sending cash transfers to the poor.  

This strikes me as thoroughly unconvincing. Sanders relentlessly campaigned on a $15 minimum wage and even helped force Biden to give rhetorical support for the measure as a way of securing votes in the November election. But the $15 federal minimum wage is currently dead in the water, despite Sanders’s dogged support for it and despite the fact that the measure is enormously popular with voters. Denying a raise to tens of millions of underpaid workers isn’t exactly what you expect from a government that has been allegedly won over to the imperative of poverty reduction. 

It’s instructive to think about Amazon here. Certainly, Amazon’s owners don’t want a minimum wage hike, since this would dramatically increase their wage bill and eat into profits. But government deficit spending that temporarily boosts the purchasing power of the poor during a recession is clearly worth supporting. 

And let us not forget, of course, that Amazon is a major donor to the Democratic Party—as are similarly large corporations that would suffer a dip in profits if wages were suddenly hiked to $15/hr. Though unions donated a measly $100 million to support Biden’s campaign, the corporate employers who profit on the backs of non-union, low-wage workforces gave much, much more. 

The moral of the story, then, is that we should probably hold off on celebrating the stimulus bill as a major ideological shift to the left or as a substantial victory for our side. After all, capitalist economic expansion often results in some benefits for workers in the way of decreasing unemployment and rising wages—but we don’t celebrate cyclical upswings as victories for the left. 

Victories for the left occur when workers and the oppressed organize themselves, confront the powers that be and force them to grant us concessions. Genuine victories don’t simply make the lives of ordinary people better: they also teach them that, collectively, they have the power to push back against the ruling class and win. 

Though I’m happy that there are self-avowed socialists in Congress making arguments in favor of reform, this layer is currently small and lacks the power to veto policy or force through measures that the corporate-friendly majority opposes. And, outside the halls of government, the organization and combativity of social movements is not presently at a high enough level to wrest concessions from the ruling class. This means that we aren’t in a position to exert a strong influence on policy-making at the moment. 

To change that, we need more power. So in its relative absence, it doesn’t do the left any favors to pretend that we’re winning. And it certainly isn’t good to pretend, when it plainly isn’t true, that the Biden Administration and the Democratic establishment are our allies. 

What, then, is the alternative? 

There aren’t any shortcuts that I can see. But we’ve got to continue to recruit people to join socialist organizations. We’ve got to keep building on the explosion of activism against white supremacy from last summer. We need to find a way to renew the labor movement and spark a drive to organize the unorganized. And we’ve got to elect more self-avowed socialists to government. 

But none of these goals are well served by pretending that the current administration is sympathetic to our cause. The way forward has to include a sober assessment of the obstacles we face. 

Coronavirus and the Path Beyond Post-Industrial Society

By Connor Harney

“We must do away with the absolutely specious notion that everybody has to earn a living. It is a fact today that one in ten thousand of us can make a technological breakthrough capable of supporting all the rest. The youth of today are absolutely right in recognizing this nonsense of earning a living. We keep inventing jobs because of this false idea that everybody has to be employed at some kind of drudgery because, according to Malthusian-Darwinian theory, we must justify our right to exist. So we have inspectors of inspectors and people making instruments for inspectors to inspect inspectors. The true business of people should be to go back to school and think about whatever it was they were thinking about before somebody came along and told them they had to earn a living.”

- Richard Buckminster Fuller

It has been a little over a week since President Trump deemed my co-workers at Whole Foods and I critical infrastructure during the global Coronavirus pandemic, and already, any sense of appreciation that title conferred—both in being categorized as essential in combating COVID-19 and better everyday treatment by customers—has already dissipated. In the place of that gratitude, our customers seem as entitled as ever toward the labor we thanklessly provide.  At the same time, any supply-chain issue or corporate-rationing policy out of our control means we face their ire, rather than the faceless executives and middle management responsible.

Taking aside that this global outbreak has everyone on edge, this sort of behavior is not at all surprising given the highly-stratified nature of class in the United States. There is a massive gulf in wealth, even among those that work. That is, the pay differential between say a software engineer and grocery stocker like myself is immense: the stock clerk can expect a median pay of just over 12 dollars an hour and the software developer, on the other hand, can expect just under $58. Even the lowest paid developer makes twice that of the clerk. Of course, none of this takes into account benefits connected to employment in the U.S. like healthcare and retirement, which widens this gap even further.

As Zizek wrote recently, “the impossible has happened, our world has stopped,” and yet, as we are expected to provide a sense of normalcy for the rest of country during what can only be described as a breakdown of all norms, workers in the service sector still struggle for basic human dignity. It was only after public shaming that my company offered paid sick leave, and only for the extent of the pandemic. Even our hazard pay is laughable, two dollars more an hour to put ourselves and our families on the front lines of this biological battle.

Given that, it has been nearly a decade since Fight for $15 began their campaign to raise wages and unionize typically-unorganized workers. And as the minimum still sits at under eight dollars, it should come as no surprise that conceptions of the nature of the work constitute a major dividing line among American workers. As a society, we fetishize technology, and its presence looms large over our national consciousness. For that reason, those who work in that sector of the economy find themselves held in high esteem by the public.

Unfortunately, this reverence is almost always accompanied by a zero-sum view, whereas only certain workers deserve dignity. Just like the literal wealth of the nation, there is only so much goodwill to go around—low-skilled workers, or the ones that make sure that everyone is clothed, fed, and sheltered, are barred from pride in their work that those in other sectors are allowed. This belief in the lowly nature of the service worker is by no means a new one.

Dolores Dante, a waitress interviewed by Studs Terkel in the early-1970s for his famous book Working, speaks to this long-standing state of affairs when she described her response to those who would say she was “just a waitress.” According to Dolores, “people imagine a waitress couldn’t possibly think or have any kind of aspiration other than to serve food,” but for her the job fulfilled a sense of purpose to the point that: “I don’t feel lowly at all. I myself feel sure. I don’t want to change the job. I love it.”

As human beings, we need to engage with the material world for our survival. Under capitalism, the way we meet our material needs is determined by factors like where we live, our level of education, skills we have, jobs available on the labor market, as well as the social networks we are a part of.  All of these things set the stage for where and how we work. That a game of chance governs our career trajectories should highlight how arbitrary the barriers to respectability we create are: the Dolores Dantes of the world should find dignity in their work.

However, the strongly-held belief in the connection between “skill” and compensation remains an obstacle to a world where such self-worth for service workers is publicly embraced. In many ways, this problem comes out of the notion of the United States as reaching a new level of economic development—a concept that would not have been foreign to our waitress. During the 1970s, manufacturing began to shift from the core to the periphery of the capitalist world system, and what are often called the service and knowledge economies emerged as the dominant growth sectors. With a certain optimism, Daniel Bell and other thinkers responded to these changes by predicting the coming of the Post-industrial society.

Under these new social arrangements, making things no longer mattered. That the U.S. could provide the bare necessities of life was a foregone conclusion. The focus of the new economy would be on ideas and technical know-how. What this view did not consider is that, rather than a transcendence of industrial society in one country, it represented more its international universalization. This was at least Harry Braverman’s response to the idea of Post-industrial society. In Labor and Monopoly Capital, released in the same year as Bell’s book, he argues that the theory is just another in a long line of “economic theories which assigned the most productive role to the particular form of labor that was most important or growing most rapidly at the time.”

Most importantly, rather than a decline in Taylorism or scientific management in the world of work, the rise of the service economy symbolized its universal application. He describes the segmentation of work similar to that used on an assembly line as “a revolution…now being prepared which will make of retail workers, by and large, something closer to factory operatives than anyone had ever imagined possible.” Not only was American society still reliant on that manufacture of commodities, other workplaces were beginning to look more like the shop floor.

Even so, the link between knowledge and the so-called new economy placed a certain import on those with higher levels of education—as it was often assumed the technology used in the growth sectors of the American economy required more formal learning. Such a view still prevails, but considering the level of technology that has been integrated into our daily lives and the abundance of people with advanced degrees working behind Starbucks counters and driving for Uber, it should be left in the past along with the myth of the post-industrial society the current pandemic has clearly laid bare.

Instead, we should use the current crisis to break down barriers between working people—highlighting the work of all that keeps our economy in motion.  Moving past these antiquated notions, we can come together to forge new social bonds to fight for an economy that works for the working class and not just the rich.