In my youth I did many things. I expect this is true for all of us, I’ve no doubt that my many things are neither unique, original nor noteworthy.
However, one of the things that I did that I find myself increasingly returning to is my undergraduate studies, a bit of a surprise as they began 27 years ago at the University of Western Australia. To be honest after qualification I tended to put them to work in an applied way as a teacher of History and Literature and perhaps lost touch with the ideas and the concepts themselves. I suppose like many people, the transition from Year 12 to university was a bit of a shock. At school I’d done quite well studying Trigonometry and Calculus (Maths II), Probability and Statistics (Maths III), Physics, Chemistry, English Literature and History. When I went to university, my initial plan was to do 12 months of an Arts degree and then transfer into Law (back in those days at UWA there was no direct entrance to Law from Year 12, everyone had to do a year in another course and then apply for Law which used a competitive selection system based on 1st Year results). Of course, having this somewhat idealised view of what lawyers actually do which was more Perry Mason than contract paperwork, I found that I hated Law, loved Arts and returned to complete my BA.
When I returned, I had a decision to make about my ‘Major’ between three subjects that I really liked; History, English Literature and Philosophy. In the end I decided to pursue History with a focus on Europe from the Industrial Revolution to the present (sometimes called late modern European history) as I thought it would best integrate my love for Victorian Literature and Continental Philosophy as my Minor areas of study. Heidegger, Ford Maddox Ford and German unification. What a win! I graduated with an Honours in History from UWA. My thesis examined the suppression of the Catholic Church in Poland under Nazi occupation and how this was different to what happened in Italy under Mussolini.
The end result of my choices was a (somewhat forgotten) fascination with the history and philosophy of fascism, covering not just the German experience, but Spain, Italy, Hungary, England (the list could go on) and the abhorrent things that were done through the authorisation of a particular set of political philosophies. I was also amazed to discover that in 1930s Australia there was a proto-fascist group called the New Guard. Whilst fascist movements seizing political power might be relatively uncommon post-WWII, fascism itself is relatively common, and this continues to this day.
One debate that fascinated me was the distinction between Nazism and fascism. For example, if we were to compare Italian fascism and Nazism, we would find many similarities but marked differences in relation to theories of race, Anti-Semitism, corporatism and foreign policy. While Nazism is a particular version of fascism, not all fascisms are Nazisms. This is a distinction that is often lost in our contemporary debates, fascism and Nazism have become conflated in how we talk about political philosophy or various groups and movements. I would argue that it is possible to identify fascist movements, and call them such, without having to defend the point that they are versions of Hitler. At UWA the Head of School of History, Professor Richard Bosworth argued that it was the Italian version of fascism as practiced by Mussolini that represented the purest form of the political philosophy.
One of the books we were asked to read was Christ Stopped at Eboli, a memoir written by Carlo Levi who was exiled to a remote part of Southern Italy by the fascists in the 1930s because of his political allegiances. The title refers to a common saying amongst the peasants that even Christ stopped before he got to Eboli. This area had been bypassed by Christianity, by modernity, even by politics to an extent. There is a scene where the narrator is astounded to find that there is almost no care, no positive or negative response, to the Italian invasion of Abyssinia because it did not matter to the villagers of Grassano and Gagliano. It was not a part of their world. However, at the end of the book, the narrator realises that 14 years of fascist rule had impacted how they thought about the world. As cut off as they were, they couldn’t avoid the logic of a fascist utopia in how they understood the future, and that this utopia was necessarily for and about them.
At bottom, as I now perceived, they were all unconscious worshipers of the State. Whether the State they worshiped was the Fascist State or the incarnation of quite another dream, they thought of it as something that transcended both its citizens and their lives. Whether it was tyrannical or paternalistic, dictatorial or democratic, it remained to them monolithic, centralized, and remote. This was why the political leaders and my peasants could never understand one another. The politicians oversimplified things, even while they clothed them in philosophical expressions. Their solutions were abstract and far removed from reality; they were schematic halfway measures, which were already out of date. Fifteen years of Fascism had erased the problem of the South from their minds and if now they thought of it again they saw it only as a part of some other difficulty, through the fictitious generalities of party and class and even race. Some saw it as a purely technical and economic matter. They spoke of public works, industrialization, and domestic absorption of the plethora of would-be emigrants, or else they resurrected the old Socialist slogan of “making Italy over.” Others saw the South burdened with an unfortunate historical heredity, a tradition of enslavement to the Bourbons which liberal democracy might little by little relieve. Some said that the question of the South was just one more case of capitalist oppression, which only rule by the proletariat could supplant. Others spoke of inherent racial inferiority, considering the South a dead weight on the economy of the North, and studied possible measures to be taken by the government to remedy this sad state of things. All of them agreed that the State should do something about it, something concretely useful, and beneficent, and legislative, and they were shocked when I told them that the State, as they conceived it, was the greatest obstacle to the accomplishment of anything. The State, I said, cannot solve the problem of the South, because the problem which we call by this name is none other than the problem of the State itself. There will always be an abyss between the State and the peasants, whether the State be Fascist, Liberal, Socialist or take on some new form in which the middle-class bureaucracy still survives.
What’s the point of all this? Probably two points. The first is that recently I’ve read so much about fascism/Nazism online in a series of debates about education that I think it is worthwhile contributing to this by adding a series of blogposts that carefully frame what fascism is to inform debate. I don’t agree with Godwin’s law that saying ‘fascism’ means that you’ve lost an argument so it should never happen (which is not what Godwin suggests but is certainly how it is applied in various social media forums). In our current political climate, I think it is more important that we can call out fascist thought and action where it can be justified (but I do acknowledge the point that it often used unwisely and indiscriminately as a form of ad hominem argument and this detracts from the ability to criticise what actually should be called out as fascism).
Second, with PISA results being released tomorrow, I wonder how we think about what the tests can do, why we rarely seem to direct acrimony and/or praise to the bureaucracies and the enabling conditions for education practice. I also wonder what is it that we think education policy can actually do, and whether or not the 15 years of PISA testing, to paraphrase Levy, have erased the problem of disadvantage so that we only see education as a technical and economic matter. Of course, the morality of efficiency, in regards to learning, achievement and a techno-rationalist belief in the purity of data remains hard to break. I wonder if we are really interested in taking this on, or whether being happy to vent on social media will forever be enough.
For my next post, I want to suggest Umberto Eco’s characteristics of ur-fascism as a heuristic for defining fascism. Thanks for playing along.