MARXIST

The new instructor for the social studies class was hot. She was in
her early thirties with womanly curves, narrow waist and delicate
facial features. The third-year college class of 30-some students was
formed out of guys who just completed their compulsory two-year
military service. We were young, bored, and ready to screw anything
that moved. I hope she did not realize what was actually going on in
our heads as she was trying to talk about something rather unusual.

Soviet engineering schools had a fixed program of courses. One course
per semester had to be social studies. The first year it was "History
of the Communist Party", the second - "Political Economy", the third -
"Marxist-Leninist Philosophy". I did my stint in the army between my
second and third year. As I was cooling my heels guarding something
that-shall-not-be-named, the country underwent dramatic changes. It
was still Soviet Union but it was barely recognizable. The winds of
change swept away the old curriculum and instead of fossils cramming
Lenin's "Materialism and Empirio-criticism" into us, we got some young
instructors who were apparently given a lot of leeway with their
choice of literature.

I had to do a presentation on Erich Fromm's "Escape form Freedom" for
the hottie's class. I violated the time-honored tradition of slacking
in a social studies class, read the book, thought about it and did a
coherent presentation. I was the butt of the jokes of my classmates for
the rest of the semester. Yet, it was my first exposure to a book
outside of the marxist-leninist canon. The book was a philosophical
indictment of Nazi Germany and any totalitarian regime from the
standpoint of individual freedom.

Stuck in the Soviet Union, subjected to mind-numbing official state
propaganda while observing the failings of the Soviet economic system,
I distrusted and rebelled against soviet economic and political
writings. And here I had a book that, in simple terms, explained why the
whole totalitarian regime is so wrong and how it will collapse like a
house of cards. When it so did in a few years, I felt vindicated.

* * *

Stateside, things went surreal. My one-book knowledge of and
fascination with individual freedom impressed no one. Moreover, the
ghost of Marx was not so easily vanquished. Marxist political economy
is an analysis of the operation of capitalist economy. Whatever I
gleaned from the political economy classes gave me a lot better
understating of the functioning of my adoptive country than most
people here had. Naturally, it was swell pontificating on economic
subjects online and pissing people off with my arrogance.

It was, that is, until I locked horns with the Neolib. It was not a fair
fight. I was smacked about and dismissed with contempt and derision. I
was told that the labor theory of value (one of the main tenets of
Marxist political economy) was long since disproven, I could not
explain the origins of the prices of commodities. I was seriously
outmatched. As I was retreating, I was told to read Ayn Rand, learn a
thing or two about Austrian school of economics, look up Milton
Friedman and do a few pushups. That smarted.

As I was nursing my severely wounded ego I went on what turned out to
be a quest of several decades. What helped a lot was reading with a
long-distance friend. Reading books together and then talking
about them over the phone or email was a great means of sharing
experiences and maintaining friendship over the years and miles.

I re-learned modern Marxism. The first book was a bit too thick for
me, so I went and first read a book they wrote for factory
workers. Then I returned back to the thick one. I learned the English
translations of the German terms: rate of profit, mode of production,
organic composition of capital. I had a lot of fun. Learning about
functioning of capitalism while living in the belly of the beast was a
lot more enjoyable than doing it behind the Iron Curtain.

Occasionally, the epiphanies from reading were silly. Once being in
Napa Valley it dawned on me that the whole crop of overpriced
restaurants there is a prime example of location rent (the major
portion of the price of the meal is not due to the worker's labor but
due to the scarcity of, well, napa valleys). I was walking around with
an idiotic smile and explaining this to anyone who could not run away
fast enough from me.

* * *

I kept reading: economic history books, social studies, critiques of
neoliberalism. I even bit the bullet and read Ayn Rand's "The
Fountainhead".  I mellowed out over the years.  Arguing on the
internet became kind of stale. There is only so many times the
discussion that starts with: "Well, didn't the Soviet Union crash?
Doesn't it, like, disprove Marxism and show that Capitalism is the
only possible economic system?" is still amusing.  It no longer
bothered me that in a capitalist society the primary function of
economists is to obscure and distract not to illuminate and research.
I did not want to tear my hair out anymore when some talking head
advocated cutting taxes to stimulate investment during a crisis of
overproduction. Neither did I want to jump into the fray about the
greedy unions causing all the production to be outsourced where the
sun does not shine. I saw how bored fellow marxists started their
arguments with the intellectual equivalent of one's hand being tied
behind one's back: "you don't have to be a marxist to
understand/belive/realize ..."


I kept reading. I branched out into history, culture, society, film
and fiction. It did not have to be marxist anymore, any materialist
worldview would suffice. I even prided myself in being able to glean
something useful from atrociously written or confusing books.

Every now and again the specter of the Neolib arose in my memory. Boy,
would I be able to tear him to pieces now. It was not meant to be,
however. Times were a-changing again. The US went through a
speculative financial bubble that threw the country into a deep
crisis. Periodic crises of capitalism is one of the immediate
conclusions of marxist political economy while most other economic
theories could explain neither crises' origins nor causes.  They were
considering bringing Milton Friedman to court as an accomplice to what
his theories did to the peoples of Latin America. The world of poor
Neolib completely unravelled. He committed suicide.

As I look back on this intellectual journey that started with a shapely
leg and a strange book, I'd say it has been a great ride so far. I
hope that what lies ahead is going to be just as much fun.