Four years later, when the Convention replaced the  landowners' vote by universal suffrage, it still did not choose to repeal the Le  Chapelier law. Consequently the workers, deprived once and for all of direct  democracy, had to vote as landowners even though they owned nothing. Popular  rallies, which took place often even though they were prohibited, became illegal  even as they remained legitimate. What rose up in opposition to the assemblies  elected by universal suffrage, first in 1794, then during the Second Republic in  1848, and lastly at the very beginning of the Third in 1870, were spontaneous  though sometimes very large rallies of what could only be called the popular  classes, or the people. In 1848 especially, it seemed that a worker's power,  which had formed in the streets and in the National Workshops, was opposing the  Chamber elected by universal suffrage, which had only recently been regained.  The outcome is well known: in May and June of 1848, legality massacred  legitimacy. Faced with the legitimate Paris Commune, the very legal Bordeaux  Assembly, transferred to Versailles, had only to imitate this  example.
 At the end of the last century and the beginning of this  one, things seemed to change. The right of the workers to strike was recognized,  and the organization of trade unions was allowed. But the presidents of the  Council, the heads of legality, would not tolerate the intermittent thrusts of  popular power. Clemenceau in particular became known as a strikebreaker. All of  them were obsessed by fear of the two powers. They refused to consider the  coexistence of legitimate power, which had conic into being here and there out  of the real unity of the popular forces, with the falsely indivisible power  which they exercised and which really depended on the infinitely wide dispersal  of the voters. In fact, they had fallen into a contradiction which could only be  resolved by civil war, since the function of civil war was to defuse this  contradiction.
 When we go to vote tomorrow, we will once again be  substituting legal power for legitimate power. The first, which seems precise  and perfectly clear-cut, has the effect of separating the voters in the name of  universal suffrage. The second is still embryonic, diffuse, unclear even to  itself. At this point it is indistinguishable from the vast libertarian and  anti-hierarchical movement which one encounters everywhere but which is not at  all organized yet. All the voters belong to very different groups. But to the  ballot box they are not members of different groups but citizens. The polling  booth standing in the lobby of a school or town hall is the symbol of all the  acts of betrayal that the individual may commit against the group lie belongs  to. To each person it says: "No one can see you, you have only yourself to look  to; you are going to be completely isolated when you make your decision, and  afterwards you can hide that decision or lie about it." Nothing more is needed  to transform all the voters who enter that hall into potential traitors to one  another. Distrust increases the distance that separates them. If we want to  fight against atomization, we must try to understand it first.
 Men are not born in isolation: they are born into a family  which forms them during their first years. Afterwards they will belong  to different socioprofessional communities and will start a family themselves.  They are atomized when large social forces — work conditions under the  capitalist regime, private property, institutions, and so forth — bring pressure  to bear upon the groups they belong to, breaking them up and reducing them to  the units which supposedly compose them. The army, to mention only one example  of an institution, does not look upon the recruit as an actual person; the  recruit can only recognize himself by the fact that he belongs to existing  groups. The army sees in him only the man, that is, the soldier — an  abstract entity which is defined by the duties and the few rights which  represent his relations with the military power. The soldier, which is just what  the recruit is not but which military service is supposed to reduce him to, is  in himself other than himself, and all the recruits in the same class  are identically other. it is this very identity which separates them,  since for each of them it represents only his predetermined general relationship  with the army. During the hours of training, therefore, each is other than  himself and at the same time identical with all the Others who are other than  themselves. He can have real relations with his comrades only if they all cast  off their identity as soldiers — say, at mealtimes or during the evening when  they are in the barracks. Yet the word "atomization," so often used, does not  convey the true situation of people who have been scattered and alienated by  institutions. They cannot be reduced to the absolute solitude of the atom even  though institutions try to replace their concrete relations with people by  incidental connections. They cannot be excluded from all forms of social life: a  soldier takes the bus, buys the newspaper, votes. All this presumes that he will  make use of "collectives" along with the Others. But the collectives address him  as a member of a series (the series of newspaper buyers, television watchers,  etc.). He becomes in essence identical with all the other members, differing  from them only by his serial number. We say that he has been serialized. One  finds serialization in the practico-inert field, where matter mediates between  men to the extent that men mediate between material objects. (For example, as  soon as a man takes the steering wheel of his car he becomes no more than one  driver among others and, because of this, helps reduce his own speed and  everyone else's too, which is just the opposite of what he wanted, since he  wanted to possess his own car.)
 At that point, serial thinking is born in me, thinking  which is not my own thinking but that of the Other which I am and also that of  all the Others. It must be called the thinking of powerlessness, because I  produce it to the degree that I am Other, an enemy of myself and of the Others,  and to the degree that I carry the Other everywhere with me. Let us take the  case of a business where there has not been a strike for twenty or thirty years,  but where the buying power of the worker is constantly falling because of the  "high cost of living." Each worker begins to think about a protest movement. But  twenty years of "social peace" have gradually established serial relations among  the workers. Any strike — even if it were only for twenty-four hours — would  require a regrouping of those people. At that point serial thinking — which  separates them — vigorously resists the first signs of group thinking. Serial  thinking will take several forms: it will be racist ("The immigrant workers  would not go along with us"), sexist ("The women would not understand us"),  hostile to other categories of society ("The small shopkeepers would not help us  any more than the country people would"), distrustful ("The man near me is  Other, so I don't know how he would react"), and so forth. All the separatist  arguments represent not the thinking of the workers themselves but the thinking  of the Others whom they have become and who want to keep their identity and  their distance. If the regrouping should come about successfully, there will be  no trace left of this pessimistic ideology. Its only function was to justify the  maintenance of serial order and of an impotence that was in part tolerated and  in part accepted.
 Universal suffrage is an institution, and therefore a  collective which atomizes or serializes individual men. It addresses the  abstract entities within them — the citizens, who are defined by a set of  political rights and duties, or in other words by their relation to the state  and its institutions. The state makes citizens out of them by giving them, for  example, the right to vote once every four years, on condition that they meet  certain very general requirements — to be French, to be over twenty-one — which  do not really characterize any of them.
 From this point of view all citizens, whether they were  born in Perpignan or in Lille, are perfectly identical, as we saw in the case of  the soldiers. No interest is taken in the concrete problems that arise in their  families or socioprofessional groups. Confronting them in their abstract  solitude and their separation are the groups or parties soliciting their votes.  They are told that they will be delegating their power to one or several of  these political groups. But in order to "delegate its power," the series formed  by the institution of the vote would itself have to possess at least a modicum  of power. Now, these citizens, identical as they are and fabricated by the law,  disarmed and separated by mistrust of one another, deceived but aware of their  impotence, can never, as long as they remain serialized, form that sovereign  group from which, we are told, all power emanates — the People. As we have seen,  they have been granted universal suffrage for the purpose of atomizing them and  keeping them from forming groups.
 Only the parties, which were originally groups — though  more or less bureaucratic and serialized — can be considered to have a modicum  of power. In this case it would be necessary to reverse the classic formula, and  when a party says "Choose me!" understand it to mean not that the voters would  delegate their sovereignty to it, but that, refusing to unite in a group to  obtain sovereignty, they would appoint one or several of the political  communities already formed, in order to extend the power they have to the  national limits. No party will be able to represent the series of citizens,  because every party draws its power from itself, that is, from its communal  structure. In any case, the series in its powerlessness cannot delegate any  authority. Whereas the party, whichever one it might be, makes use of its  authority to influence the series by demanding votes from it. The authority of  the party over the serialized citizens is limited only by the authority of all  the other parties put together.
 When I vote, I abdicate my power — that is, the  possibility everyone has of joining others to form a sovereign group, which  would have no need of representatives. By voting I confirm the fact that we, the  voters, are always other than ourselves and that none of us can ever desert the  seriality in favor of the group, except through intermediaries. For the  serialized citizen, to vote is undoubtedly to give his support to a party. But  it is even more to vote for voting, as Kravetz says; that is, to vote for the  political institution that keeps us in a state of powerless  serialization.
 We saw this in 1968 when de Gaulle asked the people of  France, who had risen and formed groups, to vote — in other words, to lie down  again and retreat into seriality. The non-institutional groups fell apart and  the voters, identical and separate, voted for the U.D.R. [1] That party promised to defend  them against the action of groups which they themselves had belonged to a few  days earlier. We see it again today when S…guy asks for three months of social  peace in order not to disturb the voters, but actually so that elections will be  possible. For they no longer would be if fifteen million dedicated  strikers, taught by the experience of 1968, refused to vote and went on to  direct action. The voter must remain lying down, steeped in his own  powerlessness. He will thus choose parties so that they can exert their  authority and not his. Each man, locked in his right to vote just as the  landowner is locked inside his land, will choose his masters for the next four  years without seeing that this so-called right to vote is simply the refusal to  allow him to unite with others in resolving the true problems by  praxis.
 The ballot method, always chosen by the groups in the  Assembly and never by the voters, only aggravates things. Proportional  representation did not save the voters from seriality, but at least it used all  the votes. The Assembly accurately reflected political France, in other words  repeated its serialized image, since the parties were represented  proportionally, by the number of votes each received. Our voting for a single  ticket, on the other band, works on the opposite principle — that, as one  journalist rightly said, 49 percent equals zero. If the U.D.R. candidates in a  voting district obtain 50 percent of the votes in the second round, they are all  elected. The opposition's 49 percent is reduced to nothing: it corresponds to  roughly half the population, which does not have the right to be  represented.
 Take as an example a man who voted Communist in 1968 and  whose candidates were not elected. Suppose he votes for the Communist Party  again in 1973. If the results are different from the 1968 results, it will not  be because of him, since in both cases be voted for the same candidates. For his  vote to be meaningful, a certain number of voters who voted for the present  majority in 1968 would have to grow tired of it, break away from it, and vote  further to the left. But it is not up to our man to persuade them; besides, they  are probably from a different milieu and he does not even know them. Everything  will take place elsewhere and in a different way: through the propaganda of the  parties, through certain organs of the press. As for the Communist Party voter,  be has only to vote; this is all that is required of him. He will vote, but he  will not take part in the actions that change the meaning of his vote. Besides,  many of those whose opinion can perhaps be changed may be against the U.D.R. but  are also deeply anti-Communist. They would rather elect "reformers," who will  thus become the arbiters of the situation. It is not likely that the reformers  will at this point join the Socialist Party-Communist Party. They will throw  their weight in with the U.D.R. which, like them, wants to maintain the  capitalist regime. The U.D.R. and the reformers become allies — and this is the  objective meaning of the Communist man's vote. His vote is in fact necessary so  that the Communist Party can keep its votes and even gain more votes. It is this  gain which will reduce the number of majority candidates elected and will  persuade them to throw themselves into the arms of the reformers. There is  nothing to be said if we accept the rules of this fool's game.
 But insofar as our voter is himself, in other words  insofar as he is one specific man, he will not be at all satisfied with the  result he has obtained as an identical Other. His class interests and his  individual purposes have coincided to make him choose a leftist majority. He  will have helped send to the Assembly a majority of the right and center in  which the most important party will still be the U.D.R. When this man,  therefore, puts his ballot in the box, the box will receive from the other  ballots a different meaning from the one this voter wished to give it. Here  again is serial action as it was seen in the practico-inert area.
 We can go even further. Since by voting I affirm my  institutionalized powerlessness, the established majority does not hesitate to  cut, trim, and manipulate the electoral body in favor of the countryside and the  cities that "vote the right way" — at the expense of the suburbs and outlying  districts that "vote the wrong way." Even the seriality of the electorate is  thereby changed. If it were perfect, one vote would be equal to any other. But  in reality, 120,000 votes are needed to elect a Communist deputy, while only  30,000 can send a U.D.R. candidate to the Assembly. One majority voter is worth  four Communist Party voters. The point is that the majority voter is casting his  ballot against what we would have to call a supermajority, meaning a majority  which intends to remain in place by other means than the simple seriality of  votes.
 Why am I going to vote? Because I have been persuaded that  the only political act in my life consists of depositing my ballot in the box  once every four years? But that is the very opposite of an act. I am only  revealing my powerlessness and obeying the power of a party. Furthermore, the  value of my vote varies according to whether I obey one party or another. For  this reason the majority of the future Assembly will be based solely on a  coalition, and the decisions it makes will be compromises which will in no way  reflect the desires expressed by my vote. In 1959 a majority voted for Guy  Mollet because he claimed be could make peace in Algeria sooner than anyone  else. The Socialist government which came to power decided to intensify the war,  and this induced many voters to leave the series — which never knows for whom or  for what it is voting — and join clandestine action groups. This was what they  should have done much earlier, but in fact the unlikely result of their votes  was what exposed the powerlessness of universal suffrage.
 Actually, everything is quite clear if one thinks it over  and reaches the conclusion that indirect democracy is a hoax. Ostensibly, the  elected Assembly is the one which reflects public opinion most faithfully. But  there is only one sort of public opinion, and it is serial. The imbecility of  the mass media, the government pronouncements, the biased or incomplete  reporting in the newspapers — all this comes to seek us out in our serial  solitude and load us down with wooden ideas, formed out of what we think others  will think. Deep within us there are undoubtedly demands and protests, but  because they are not echoed by others, they wither away and leave us with a  "bruised spirit" and a feeling of frustration. So when we are called to vote, I,  the Other, have my head stuffed with petrified ideas which the press or  television has piled up there. They are serial ideas which are expressed through  my vote, but they are not my ideas. The institutions of bourgeois  democracy have split me apart: there is me and there are all the Others they  tell me I am (a Frenchman, a soldier, a worker, a taxpayer, a citizen, and so  on). This splitting-up forces us to live with what psychiatrists call a  perpetual identity crisis. Who am I, in the end? An Other identical with all the  others, inhabited by these impotent thoughts which come into being everywhere  and are not actually thought anywhere? Or am I myself? And who is  voting? I do not recognize myself any more.
 There are some people who will vote, they say, "just to  change the old scoundrels for new ones," which means that as they see it the  overthrow of the U.D.R. majority has absolute priority. And I can understand  that it would be nice to throw out these shady politicians. But has anyone  thought about the fact that in order to overthrow them, one is forced to replace  them with another majority which will keep the same electoral  principles?
 The U.D.R., the reformers, and the Communist  Party-Socialist Party are in competition. These parties stand on a common ground  which consists of indirect representation, their hierarchic power, and the  powerlessness of the citizens, in other words, the "bourgeois system." Yet it  should give us pause that the Communist Party, which claims to be revolutionary,  has, since the beginning of peaceful coexistence, been reduced to seeking power  in the bourgeois manner by accepting the institution of bourgeois suffrage. It  is a matter of who can put it over on the citizens best. The U.D.R. talks about  order and social peace, and the Communist Party tries to make people forget its  revolutionary image. At present the Communists are succeeding so well in this,  with the eager help of the Socialists, that if they were to take power because  of our votes, they would postpone the revolution indefinitely and would become  the most stable of the electoral parties. Is there so much advantage in  changing? In any case, the revolution will be drowned in the ballot boxes —  which is not surprising, since they were made for that purpose.
 Yet some people try to be Machiavellian, in other words,  try to use their votes to obtain a result that is not serial. They aim to send a  Communist Party-Socialist Party majority to the Assembly in hopes of forcing  Pompidou to end the pretense — that is, to dissolve the Chamber, force us into  active battle, class against class or rather group against group, perhaps into  civil war. What a strange idea — to serialize us, in keeping with the enemy's  wishes, so that he will react with violence and force us to group together. And  it is a mistaken idea. In order to be a Machiavel, one must deal with  certainties whose effect is predictable. Such is not the case here: one cannot  predict with certainty the consequences of serialized suffrage. What can be  foreseen is that the U.D.R. will lose seats and the Communist Party-Socialist  Party and the reformers will gain seats. Nothing else is likely enough for us to  base a strategy on it. There is only one sign: a survey made by the I.F.O.P. and  published in France-Soir on December 4, 1972, showed 45 percent for the  Communist Party-Socialist Party, 40 percent for the U.D.R., and 15 percent for  the reformers. It also revealed a curious fact: there are many more votes for  the Communist Party-Socialist Party than there are people convinced that this  coalition will win. Therefore — and always allowing for the fallibility of  surveys — many people seem to favor voting for the left, yet apparently feel  certain that it will not receive the majority of the votes. And there are even  more people for whom the elimination of the U.D.R. is the most important thing  but who are not particularly eager to replace it by the left.
 So as I write these comments on January 5, 1973, I find a  U.D.R.-reformer majority likely. If this is the case, Pompidou will not dissolve  the Assembly; lie will prefer to make do with the reformers. The majority party  will become somewhat supple, there will be fewer scandals — that is, the  government will arrange it so that they are harder to discover — and  Jean-Jacques Servan-Schreiber and Lecannet will enter the government. That is  all. Machiavellianism will therefore turn against the small  Machiavels.
 If they want to return to direct democracy, the democracy  of people fighting against the system, of individual men fighting against the  seriality which transforms them into things, why not start here? To vote or not  to vote is all the same. To abstain is in effect to confirm the new majority,  whatever it may be. Whatever we may do about it, we will have done nothing if we  do not fight at the same time — and that means starting today — against the  system of indirect democracy which deliberately reduces us to powerlessness. We  must try, each according to his own resources, to organize the vast  anti-hierarchic movement which fights institutions  everywhere.
~ Good Morning, Revolution ~