As Schlosser documents, the meat industry is well aware of their socially and ecologically destructive practices, but persists in them for the simple and undeniable reason of maximizing profit. The ongoing disaster has nothing to do with evil or immoral people the system itself is responsible. Capitalism is feeding us sh*t and we're "lovin' it."
Facing this truth was too much for my teenage apathy to withstand. My dispassionate ignorance of the world cultivated by years of television and video games was suddenly shattered on the grim rocks of reality. As my world-view lay in jagged pieces, I found myself overwhelmed with questions. "Is capitalism killing our planet?" "Why doesn't anyone know about this?" "If they know, why don't they ever talk about it?" "Is it wrong to think this way?" "Am I a Communist for asking these questions?"
I sank below waves of uncertainty and anguish. I thrashed about for any explanation of how this terrible reality could make sense. I clamored to know what I could do about it. Drowning in questions, I longed for answers.
Karl Marx presented me with the first solid ideas I could stand on. I read "Alienated Labor" and it gave me a name for the anguish I was experiencing. My hatred for my job did not mean there was something wrong with me, but that I was responding correctly to an alienating and exploitative situation. I wasn't wrong; the system was wrong.
Feeling validated by the old man, I rapidly developed a strong affinity for his teachings. I read "The Communist Manifesto," "The Civil War in France," even "The Grundrisse." Although the language was thick and foreign, I slowly waded through because my efforts were occasionally rewarded with profound nuggets of insight into my own world. I discovered a long and complex history of Marxist anti-capitalism.
I felt as though I had been mentally rescued. I had found an ideological home, from which I could launch criticisms of the capitalist system and encounter others who desired revolution. Marx was our guide, my guide. His story of class struggle gave me meaning and purpose, which is what I had been seeking.
In mainstream American society, Karl Marx is like an estranged grandfather who no one brings up in polite conversation. A long time ago there was a bitter falling out over politics and he stopped being invited to family functions all the better because he wouldn't be caught dead at those "bourgeois" ceremonies. If the subject of Grampa Karl ever does come up, it's usually in the context of a ghost story meant to frighten and silence unpatriotic sentiments. For example, Glenn Beck says Marx is controlling our president and destroying the country. On the other hand, Grampa Karl does get some favorable mentions in the university, where the facade of liberal education is more important than any minor disturbance that the introduction of students to Marx's obscure rantings is likely to produce.
When I became a follower of Grampa Karl, I knew I was distancing myself from the mainstream. If people realized I was consorting with that rabble-rouser they might have thought I was crazy or stupid, or both. I had no problem with that. Rather, I had such contempt for the dominant culture as it exists, that I relished the identity of outsider and rebel. Moreover, the old man had promised me it was only a matter of time before capitalism collapsed due to its internal contradictions. Time was on our side. I cherished my secret Marxist hope and laughed behind the back of bourgeois society.
But as time went on, Marx's warts began to show. First, I noticed his almost-total silence on issues of ecology. Being motivated largely by my concern for capitalism's apocalyptic approach to life on this planet, I strained to find even the slightest clues of environmental consciousness in Marx's writings. Instead, I was confronted with the faulty notion of a linear development of history, with liberation equated with human domination of nature. It became increasingly apparent that Marx didn't have all the answers for me. His analysis was trapped in another century, when industrialization still seemed like a good idea to people.
Nevertheless, I was not ready to abandon my political home just because I had such doubts. On the contrary, I clung all the more desperately to my mentor, seeking to prove him right and his critics, perhaps even myself, wrong. Looking back, I can locate in myself the attitude of one afflicted with Zombie-Marxism. If I didn't understand what Marx was saying, it was because he was speaking to a higher truth that I couldn't grasp. If Marx's ideas were questionable, I hastened to silence the questions. Instead, I sought to dispose of them by returning to Marx's writings and scouring for quotes or passages, no matter how tangential, which could be used to clobber those who dared to doubt the wisdom of Grampa Karl. I felt close to Marx as to a guardian he had pulled me from confusion and provided me with clarity. Through him, the world made sense. Or at least I thought it did.
My questions didn't ebb. I became disturbed by the company Marx was keeping. Leninists, Stalinists, Trotskyists, Maoists, and more, all swarming around him and treating his every word as gospel. Worse, they seemed to spend more energy feuding with each other than building the kind of movement we need to overturn capitalism. I attended the 2006 Left Forum in New York City and despaired at seeing the horde of Marxist sectarian grouplets denouncing one-another over petty ideological questions that had been irrelevant decades ago. Were these people engaged in the same project that Marx had given me?
My disappointment grew, so that when the anarchist critique finally reached me, I was ready to listen. Although it was plainly apparent to me that people like Lenin and Stalin had entirely distorted the liberatory potential in Marx and created something horrifying, the anarchists pointed to the errors of Marx's ideology and method which paved the way for those distortions. No matter how smart someone is, they are bound to make mistakes, so labeling yourself an "ist" of someone's name is to engage in the worship of an individual, which can only detour you from trusting your own feelings and thoughts. How could someone know better than yourself what is hurting you and what you need to heal?
I saw this cult of personality in Venezuela, where I could not walk down the street, turn on the television, visit the beach or the mountains without seeing President Chavez's name or face everywhere. This essay is no place to critique the policies of the Chavez government, which are complex and contain both positive and negative aspects, but the omnipresence of an uncritical Chavismo made me cringe on an emotional level, even if I firmly supported his government against the right-wing U.S.-funded opposition.
I felt betrayed by Marx. He should have known, and stated clearly, that politicians, no matter how progressive, cannot make revolution. It has to come from the bottom from everyday people organized in social movements fighting for their liberation. Marx's "dictatorship of the proletariat" suddenly appeared to me as a pathetic joke. How did he not see how such an absurd idea would be exploited by opportunists? Disillusioned in Venezuela, I read Emma Goldman's My Disillusionment in Russia and parted ways with Marxism.
Even though Grampa Karl and I are no longer close comrades, Marx continues to influence my politics because there is much to value in his writings. A full recounting of his genius would be too difficult, but I will explore 5 key contributions of Marx that I believe remain relevant and useful insights today, during capitalism's global crisis. Then I will follow this with what I see as the 5 most urgent failures in Marx's analysis, from which spawned the Zombie-Marxism lurking in our midst today.
Karl Marx was no prophet. But neither can we reject him. We have to go beyond him, and bring him with us. 2 I believe it is only on such a basis, with a critical appraisal of Marx, that the Left can become ideologically relevant to today's rapidly evolving political circumstances.
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