Buen Vivir - Neue Töne aus Lateinamerika mit Grupo Sal und Alberto Acosta

By Giorgos Kallis (Research & Degrowth, Barcelona)

Welcome to Anarres, the planet of “the dispossessed” in Ursula K. Le Guin’s award-winning (social) science fiction of the same name [1]. Settlement in Anarres took place following an exodus after a revolution in the neighboring, Earth-like Urras. Anarres is a barren, dry place.

Humans fitted themselves with care and risk into its narrow ecology. If they cultivated, using mainly organic wastes for fertilizer, they could fit in. But they could not fit anybody else in. There was no grass for herbivores. There were no herbivores for carnivores. There were no insects to fecundate flowering plants; the imported fruit trees were all hand-fertilized.

On Anarres, wind is used to produce energy. Water and heat are scarce and economized with great care. Nothing goes to waste; everything is recycled.

Settlers brought with them values that helped them survive in this limited biosphere. Mutual aid through sharing and giving are the organizing social principles. There is no private property on Anarres. People “have,” they do not “own.”

In Anarres there is a patchwork quilt of small urban centres with peripheral settlements. Each settlement follows the principle of an “organic economy,” aiming to survive to the extent possible with its local resources—the water, wind, and soil in its vicinity. When this is not enough, resources move between locales upon need. There are no borders on Anarres, nor local identities; individuals can—and constantly do—move between settlements. No need, therefore, to capture and control resources or cheat about your needs.

The scarce amenities in the towns are shared. There are no private houses, but dormitories with common rooms that house four to five people each. There are also single rooms for couples or families that prefer privacy. There are big dining commons organized by each dormitory or run by worker cooperatives, and professional associations for their workers. There are plenty of open public spaces and playgrounds, with dry sand, of course. The little water is shared in public baths, where people meet and socialize daily. People move using electric trains and small buses. There are plenty of bicycles and a few cars that are shared by all citizens. Traveling takes days, and so does communication by post. Manufacturing workshops are located in the towns, their doors open to the main squares of the cities.

Production is organized in voluntary cooperatives and associations. Each individual has the freedom to associate with or start her own productive enterprise. There is no profit to be made or property to be capitalized and, hence, no incentive to expand beyond what gives everyday satisfaction and fulfilment. Every ten days, each Anarresi must devote one day to communal work. People work six to eight days of every ten, for four to seven hours a day. Working is voluntary, but almost everyone works, as there is little else to do and strong contempt for those who don’t. A central computer matches workers’ preferences for job placement with the needs of different cooperatives. People specialize, developing their own skills, but also contribute regularly to common tasks of cleaning, building, and maintaining public infrastructure. Every four years, an Anarresi has to spend six months reforesting the desert or accomplishing some other major public work. The basic needs of food, housing, heating, and transport are collectively provided; people use their creativity to provide for the rest. Resource allocation is coordinated by a central committee with subdivisions in the various settlements. The members of the committee are drawn by lottery, while more permanent members are democratically elected; none stays in power for an extended period of time.

Arts, pure sciences, and the humanities thrive on Anarres. Anarresi brought with them technology, equipment, and advanced knowledge from Urras. They have preserved and renewed these resources but have not expanded them.

Anarres has no military or police. What, then, holds it all together? No one threatens to invade Anarres, as there is nothing to gain and no one wants to live there. As there is no property, there is also no theft. The community contains the occasional individual violence. Make no mistake; there are plenty of indirect punishments and sanctions for anti-social behaviour, and a strong communal ethic and set of norms keeps everyone in line. Those who free-ride and “egoize” or who wish to own things are ostracized from the community.

Life is hard, dirty, and frugal by Urras’s standards. But the Anarresi have one another and are connected by their common past and fate. In good years, there are plenty of festivities to enjoy the surplus (there is no accumulation for investment on Anarres). In bad years, though, when the drought hits, rationing applies and people may be posted to jobs they hate. The Anarresi very seldom go hungry, but when they do, they go hungry all together.

Anarres is not an Eden. Everything is transparent on Anarres, and there is no hiding from the gaze of others unless by departure. Anarres is not a place for the secluded, the lonely, or the individualistic. For those ostracized, Anarres is hell. And for those wishing to differ and push the frontiers of knowledge or of their individual creativity, Anarres can be stifling. Power has been horizontalized, but unavoidably, some individuals have gotten privileged access to the core institutions of distribution. And with every drought, bureaucracy expands and eats more and more of the scope for voluntary association. There is no police force or physical violence, but rather a brutal, invisible mental police, a common rationality, and a network of norms that makes everyone stick to their duty even when they think they are free. But everything is also up for grabs. Permanent revolution is the motto of collectives that emerge to openly criticize centralization, the Central Committee, and the emerging elites in order to create their own alternative structures.

Is Anarres a utopia or a dystopia? Is it a degrowth vision? Is it a future that appeals to me, or is it a post-apocalyptic landscape that I predict Earth is heading toward?

The achievement of Le Guin is that she presents neither a utopia nor a dystopia. She describes an alternatively organized human society as is, with its goods and bads [2]. Science fiction is not predicting where we are heading, or dictating where we should go; it opens up possibilities to our imagination. Le Guin welcomes us to think how our life could look if we did not have property, money, and government and if we had to live within ecological limits. The point is not that we should live without money or property or to predict that we are heading toward an ecological catastrophe. The point is simply to force us to think the unthinkable. And having “seen it” in our minds, to consider again what we could change now, without boundaries to our imaginations.

Many of the ideas Le Guin weaves together - worksharing; reduced work hours; co-housing, transport, and consumption sharing; horizontal and direct forms of decision-making; ecological limits and bioregionalism; open borders; cooperatives of production and consumption; technological preservation rather than advancement; frugality and festival destruction of surplus - feature in degrowth debates [3]. Some are already practiced. The people who took to the squares of Barcelona in the 15M (or “occupy”) movement called for direct democracy and practiced horizontal forms of decision-making. The future of a prosperous non-growing economy passes inevitably through such initiatives and reforms, even if the end result cannot - and does not need to - look exactly like Anarres.

Is Anarres an appealing future? For those practicing degrowth in various eco-communes and co-housing initiatives in Europe and the Americas, there must be something strikingly familiar in the life on Anarres [4]. Despite hardship, they enjoy the way they live, as do the people of Anarres. Ultimately, the beauty of Anarres is in the eye of the beholder. Would you like the protagonist, prefer to live and fight for change on Anarres rather than on Urras. You should read, think, and decide for yourself.

NOTES

[1] Ursula K. Le Guin, The Dispossessed (New York: Harper Collins, 1974).

[2] For a more academic discussion of Le Guin’s approach, underlying politics, and contribution, see Laurence Davis and Peter G. Stillman, eds., The New Utopian Politics of Ursula Le Guin’s The Disposessed (Oxford, U.K.: Lexington Books, 2005).

[3] After reading The Disposessed, I came upon a footnote in a book by eco-philosopher Andre Gorz, considered one of the intellectual referents of the degrowth movement, who also thought that Le Guin’s Anarres is the most lively and fleshed out description he had seen of a frugal, non-growing, non-hierarchical society. Interestingly, Gorz was rejecting in his essay an Anarres-type possibility of a drastic simplification of contemporary complex societies. He called instead for radical eco-social-democratic reforms within the current mode of organization, confining capitalist relations to a limited sphere of industrial production.

[4] See, for example, C. Cattaneo and M. Gavalda, “The Experience of Rurban Squats in Collerola, Barcelona: What Kind of Degrowth?” Journal of Cleaner Production 18, no. 6 (2010): 581-89, and M. Lietaert, “Cohousing’s Relevance to Degrowth Theories,” Journal of Cleaner Production 18, no. 6 (2010): 576-80.