The Self-Managed Culture in its Life Spaces

Traficantes de Sueños: Sharing conditions of possibility for culture

A few books on a folding table: a small stand for activist literature in El Rastro in Madrid.

The year is 1996, and the germ of what is today the ‘political production and communication project’ known as Traficantes de Sueños, a folding table, practically fits inside a suitcase. Almost 20 years later, this project comprises, among other things, a bookstore, a publisher, a distributor, a design workshop, an activist research group, a permanent program of self-education seminars, and a social space that houses all these and many other activities. In 1996, there probably weren't many people who thought this transformation would happen by ‘giving away’ books. But somehow that's just what happened.

So, essentially, since 1999, when that folding table became a publishing house, Traficantes de Sueños (TdS) has been making digital versions of all their published books freely available to anyone. Besides allowing copying through the use of Creative Commons licenses, TdS has always produced a pdf file of every one of their carefully edited texts, and has put them on its website for downloading. Contrary to what some skeptics claimed, a priori, would happen, people have not taken massive advantage of these ‘free products’ and ‘ruined’ TdS's project or made it unsustainable. Quite the contrary. The determined support for the decommodification of the book as an object, along with other important factors I will discuss, has made TdS's project especially attractive for many people, who, in turn, have found ways to support it. Through their work, TdS has become one of the clearest examples in all of Spain that the basic principles of the free culture can be applied successfully not only to digital resources like software, but also to other types of cultural processes, such as the publication of books.

The researcher and activist Jaron Rowan has published an interesting and exhaustive study about this multifaceted cultural project (2001). He indicates a number of significant factors that contribute to TdS's exponential growth. Beyond just offering free access to their books, they also possess the more general capacity to create infrastructures that others can use to carry out other processes of cultural production.

Arrested Modernities I: A Culture Rooted in Tradition Faces the Transition

Counter-figures of the modern intellectual

The modernizing paradigm of the liberal Spanish intellectual elites is deeply rooted in the cultural scene of ‘democratic’ Spain. In that scene, the figures capable of embodying modernization, or its degraded version of ‘international success’ in the culture and image markets, have been models and agents of legitimation often perhaps even more potent than the expert counselors, technical managers, and political executives for the actual integration into neoliberal Europe. But if we explore the genesis of this intellectual figure, which frequently seems to be the only one possible, we soon find other counter-figures and cultural alternatives, like those of the underground whom Germán Labrador studies, who were ultimately unable to dislodge this figure from his hegemonic position.

To complement the brief incursions I have made up to now into the genealogy of that pro-European or ‘modernizing’ public intellectual, I would now also like to propose the outlines of an intellectual counter-figure. This figure is neither as compact nor as able to create community as the ‘enraptured’ poet studied by Labrador, but he has the very interesting characteristic of maintaining a dialogue with a Spain that is neither as ‘civic’ nor as ‘abundant’ as the one that appears in Javier Marías's memories of the 1950s, a Spain made up of other people and places. The places are the rural areas that lost a large proportion of their inhabitants to urban emigration; and the people, the workers and peasants who were defeated in the civil war, and their descendants, who suffered economic hardship and political repression as a two-pronged punishment.

With these people and places I want to contribute in some measure to the construction of counterfactual reflections such as the one suggested by Sánchez León in his article ‘Encerrados con un solo juguete,’ when he asks:

Anyone's Word and the Expert's Word: An Alliance

Affected voices and technical voices: 15M, PAH, and Mareas

May 2011. A trembling voice; words heard over street noise—or perhaps cut off by a bad Internet connection in a YouTube video: ‘It's just that you're doing things I've always dreamed about being able to do …’ A pause, the voice breaks, and applause explodes. ‘Excuse me, but I'm just …’—more applause, and little by little the older woman speaking to the assembly, bending over the microphone, hands trembling, manages to go on: ‘What I meant to tell you all is that I think you are so much more creative than our generation, and so I'd like to ask you something, something I think we all need, and it's that we not forget that …’ She falters for a moment, and then continues. ‘There's a part of the population that's not here. There's part of the population missing here. It's the population that's even lower than low, the people who don't have something to eat every day, who live in slums, the barrios—’ Applause bursts out again, interrupting her, and a hand settles on the woman's back to support her. ‘—where the average life expectancy is lower than in other barrios, where illiteracy is much higher, where people die, they're sick and they suffer in horrible situations.’ Another supporting hand appears on her back, as if sharing the weight of the words she's still trying to say. ‘And we have that in almost every town in the region, and in Murcia itself, and somehow they have to have this life, it has to fall on them. I don't know how to do it, but you do, I believe you do …’ Applause bursts out thunderously now, while the woman leaves the microphone and walks towards the people—who all stand up—and she loses herself among the crowd.

Shortly before or shortly after this, in May 2011, self-convened meetings in other plazas in cities and towns throughout Spain will see myriads of similar moments, at which so many other trembling voices will speak, often beginning with an apology.

The Spanish state, 2008–May 2015: unemployment rates approach 25%, and 50% among young people. Eight million living in poverty, according to official figures. The second highest rate of childhood malnutrition in Europe. The highest rise in economic inequality of all states in the OECD. Some 3 million empty homes and about 184 families evicted from their homes every day.

Despite changes in the governing party, the public policies that have attempted to address this situation have not changed since the beginning of what has come to be called the ‘economic crisis:’ obedience to the ‘experts’ of the Troika (the International Monetary Fund, the European Commission, the European Central Bank), bailouts of financial entities, prioritizing payment of the public debt over social spending, and cuts to basic public services like health, education, and disability benefits.

Regardless of whether or not these policies work, what my research seeks to emphasize is that such measures are not only executed by political authorities, but are also normalized by a certain form of cultural authority: the authority of the ‘experts.’ This authority is based on a long, complex tradition in every society that tends to establish a group of people ‘in the know,’ and another group ‘in the dark.’ In its most flexible manifestation, this tradition allows for those ‘in the dark’ to be able to move up to the group ‘in the know,’ if they fulfill an entire series of pedagogical prerequisites supervised by the latter group. But in any case, the decisions about important things, like the social organization of housing, work, food, health, and education, will be made made on the basis of the specialized technical opinion of those ‘in the know’ at any given moment.

Given this cultural tradition, those who implement political measures enabling situations as difficult for the majority of a population as those currently experienced in Spain can justify their policies based on the technical knowledge of the ‘experts’ who recommend them. There are also, of course, others who oppose them by putting forward the authority of their own ‘experts,’ who—based on their respective technical knowledge— recommend very different policies.

Genealogies and Contradictions of Digital Cultures

How is the authority of a manifesto in defense of the Internet constructed?

Questions such as the following have often been posed, completely reasonably, it seems to me: Who excavates the minerals necessary to build the machines that make the ‘New Technologies of Information and Communication’ (NTIC) possible? Who gives up their health and dreams to work impossible hours for ridiculous pay to assemble the pieces of those computers and cellphones? And who spends their life cleaning rooms, washing clothes, feeding, and caring for the ‘creative workers’ (and their children) who use the NTICs?

With all due respect for the differences, which are many, these questions resonate with others that perhaps allude to similar situations, in a sense that must be determined: who finds the time to write and correct the thousands of entries in Wikipedia? Who spends their nights subtitling the films and series that circulate in P2P networks? Who spends their free time responding to strangers’ questions in Internet forums? And who takes on—without being asked—the mission of producing, labeling, ordering, distributing, and making attractive all the uncountable, anonymous, accessible content on the Internet so others can use it?

Let's take, for example, a 9.5-byte file, a pdf document called ‘Manifiesto en defensa de los derechos fundamentales en Internet.’ No matter how almost irrelevantly small it might be, just like any other fragment of digital information, it wouldn't exist without a series of material processes dedicated to it through the limited abilities and finite energy of a few human beings. Many people today have easy access to writing or reading a text file like this one. But the apparent immediacy and ease with which they do it tends to obscure some of its conditions of production—in particular, everything related to building the hardware and the minimum quality of life requirements that will enable us to read it and write about it. But it's also true that another type of condition, which in some sense can also be considered one of production (particularly related to the file's circulation and reception), far from being concealed, becomes especially necessary and obvious, especially in cases of information that generates a lot of interest, like this file.

Crisis of a Hierarchical, Individualistic Cultural Model

Circuit of voices about crisis

At first, the ‘crisis’ was just one more news story, one more piece of information, one more topic of conversation in a world of news, information, and topics of conversation. Couched in the language of economists, the crisis appeared in the spring of 2007 as nothing more than an ‘expectation of a slowdown in economic growth.’ It was noted, however, that ‘the level of individual debt was very high due to mortgage rates’ and that ‘the real estate market had cooled.’ The following year, surveys and newspapers confirmed the bad news: ‘63% of Spaniards will have to limit their vacations to only one or two weeks, if that,’ ‘Spaniards Will Spend 15% Less on Seasonal Sales Due to the Economic Slowdown,’ ‘The Crisis Is Pushing Users Towards Buying Cheaper Drugs.’ Because, of course, at the beginning the crisis was already a threat to the fulfillment of individual desires in a world of individuals who seek to fulfill their desires.

From that implicit perspective on life, the media created stories that highlighted the crisis, adding information and showing its effects. They offered the life stories of young men and women who were affected by the crisis. The national newspaper El País quoted a number of them in their 2012 report ‘#Nimileuristas’ (‘not 1,000 euros’) on twenty-somethings and thirty-somethings who earn less than €1,000 a month and are desperate for work: ‘If nobody gives me a chance, how can I get experience?’ ‘I've written up a new resume that says I only have a high school diploma.’ ‘I work three hours a day and earn 200 euros.’ ‘I have never turned down any kind of work’ (El País 2012).

In the wake of this growing adjustment to ‘the crisis,’ and thus to an ever more precarious job market, the big media outlets kept repeating, summer after summer, ‘This year there will be less post-vacation depression because of the crisis.’

Now I imagine this whole book written otherwise. Now: now that the two anonymous reviewers have already given their approval to the manuscript, and it will be published by an academic publisher. Now that having secured this publication places me with options to get ‘tenure,’ i.e., a permanent position at the university where I work. It is, incidentally—and clarifying it for those unfamiliar with this system of academic employment— ‘tenure’ or the door, no other option.

I imagine now, in any case, a book with a less traditional authorial voice. A book that would show more clearly—although there are some indications already—who writes it, from where he writes it, what experiences and what material and symbolic resources sustain it, what responsibilities and what vital dilemmas and contradictions traverse it. An authorial voice that did not hide its doubts, its shortcomings, its inconsistencies. And perhaps even more important than all that, a voice that does not pretend to be explaining reality from a position of traditional intellectual authority (individual, ‘scientific,’ sanctioned by official, supposedly ‘neutral’ educational and cultural institutions, but implicitly productivist and patriarchal), but rather proposing tools for the democratic development of a common story.

Some of the latter is there already, I'd like to think, at least in regard to the opportunity to give enough space for multiple ‘affected’ and ‘placed’ voices in the debates that I reconstruct. But beyond what I imagine or don't imagine, I think I still have time in this epilogue to make explicit the proposal for encounters and conversations that I would like this book to be, even with all its imperfections.

A proposal that could be formulated as questions: In what ways can categories like ‘cultures of anyone’ or ‘cultures of experts’ help deepen the democratization processes described in the book? Does it make sense to develop a story that tries to connect such disparate historical processes as Francoist developmentalism and the ‘15M climate’ in the neoliberal crisis? Cultures of Anyone proposes possible elements for a common story that has democratic effects, rescuing pieces here and there, voices, memories, experiences, bodies, and languages for encounters—and not necessarily harmonious ones. It is a book full of holes, edges, and unfinished pieces; it attempts to be a tool for composing with many others.

HISTORIANS HAVE BEEN SLOW to recognise the importance of Scottish drinking places in the social, economic and cultural life of the country. Scottish pubs and their many variants were closely bound up with issues of national identity which has often been defined in opposition to ‘the other’, those who do not share the cultural, linguistic, religious or ethnic backgrounds of the host country. They were often the places where Scots first encountered ‘the other’ in the form of English, French or German visitors to the country, and where visitors encountered Scots for the first time. Sometimes, ‘the other’ simply described encounters between land dwellers and seafarers, as in the scene in Robert Louis Stevenson's Kidnapped, where Davy Balfour, who has never seen the sea in his life, is taken to the Hawes Inn at South Queensferry by his rascally uncle Ebenezer, then lured aboard the brig Covenant by Captain Hoseason, drugged and kidnapped for a life of servitude in the Carolinas. This fictional scenario must have had many real-life equivalents, when young men were plied with drink in dockside or harbour pubs and then press-ganged for the navy, or when indentured servants or petty criminals were transported to the colonies. A less emotionally charged encounter takes place in Walter Scott's Guy Mannering between the English Colonel Mannering and the Edinburgh lawyer Counsellor Paulus Pleydell whom Mannering tracks down to an Edinburgh tavern where he finds him ‘in his hebdomadal carousals’ playing ‘the ancient and now forgotten pastime of High Jinks’ with his drinking companions.

Real-life encounters between different cultures could be particularly fraught in the Scottish Highlands where an aristocratic French visitor, the Duc de la Rochefoucald, was horrified in 1786 to find that, at an inn near Fort Augustus, ‘the whole family (running the inn) has scabies’, so the travellers couldn't face the home-made oatcakes on offer but ate eggs instead. At another inn, at Bonawe on Loch Etive, the landlady had been in Britain for only twelve years and scandalised them with a frank account of her colourful life history. She redeemed herself, however, by serving up, ‘an entire pig and the best port wine I've ever drunk’.

INTRODUCTION

THE NINETEENTH CENTURY IN Scotland was characterised by rapid population growth, population movement on a large scale and growing urbanisation, particularly in the west central Lowlands. The so called ‘big four’ – Glasgow, Edinburgh, Dundee and Aberdeen – dominated the urban landscape but some other places grew at even faster rates. Coatbridge in Lanarkshire grew from 742 people in 1831 to 30,034 in 1891, which was typical of some of the rapidly growing coal and iron centres. Glasgow's population increased from 275,000 in 1841 to 784,000 in 1911, a nearly threefold increase. Edinburgh and Leith more than doubled from 164,000 in 1841 to 401,000 in 1911. In the same period, Aberdeen grew from 65,000 to 164,000 and Dundee from 60,000 to 165,000. The housing stock could not keep pace and overcrowding became endemic. In 1911, half of all Scots lived in one- or two-roomed households while for England and Wales the comparable figure was 7 per cent. This degree of overcrowding helps to explain the attraction of urban pubs for the Scottish working man in the Victorian period.

TEMPERANCE

The first temperance society in Britain, an anti-spirits society, was founded in Greenock, Renfrewshire in 1829. Apart from the link with John Dunlop (1789–1868), a Greenock lawyer and temperance pioneer, the choice of Greenock is significant in other ways. Greenock was an expanding port, cotton-manufacturing and sugar-refining centre with a large immigrant population drawn originally from the Highlands and later from Ireland. In 1792, the population was 14,299, including 1,825 families with a Highland-born head of household, making around 9,000 people (63 per cent of the population) with Highland origins. The burgh population almost doubled from 14,299 in 1792 to 27,571 in 1831. It was a hard-drinking place. In 1792, there were 247 licences granted for the sale of spirits, one for every fifty-eight people. By 1840, there were thirty-one inns and taverns in Greenock, plus 275 houses selling ales and spirits, one for every twenty-five families.

INTRODUCTION

THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY in Scotland was a time of rapid social, cultural and economic change, with a growing and increasingly mobile population, rising levels of urbanisation and widening social divisions. Population rose from just over a million in the late 1690s to 1.25 million in 1755 and to 1.61 million by the time of the first official census in 1801. The population of the Western Lowlands grew faster than the rest of the country. In 1755, the population of the Western Lowlands was 14.3 per cent of the total Scottish population; by 1801, this had risen to 20.6 per cent.

Between the sixteenth and the late eighteenth centuries, Scotland had one of the most rapid growth rates of urban population in Europe. The proportion of the total Scottish population living in towns rose from 5.3 per cent in 1700 to 9.2 per cent in 1750, to 17.3 per cent in 1800. The 1800 figure was comparable with such heavily urbanised countries as England and the Low Countries. Throughout most of the eighteenth century, however, Scotland was still a largely rural economy, heavily dependent on agriculture. It has been estimated that, in 1750, only about one Scot in eight was a townsman or townswoman.

The eighteenth century in Scotland has been described as a period which ‘saw the everyday experience of ordinary Scots transformed from one of basic struggle for survival – marked by famines in the 1690s, when as many as many as a fifth of the population died in some northern areas – to unprecedented plenty in food and clothing by the end of the century’. These rising living standards went hand in hand with increasing alcohol consumption and an increase in the number of pubs, ale houses and other drinking places.

A PERSONAL SELECTION

THIS IS A PERSONAL and highly selective choice of Scottish pubs, some historic, some personal favourites. It is intended merely to give a flavour of the variety of pubs to be found in Scotland. Many fine pubs have been left out for reasons of space. Edinburgh and Glasgow, in particular, have a wide range of interesting pubs which could not all be included. For historians, the Guildford Arms is close to Register House, Edinburgh which houses the National Records of Scotland, and the Lismore Bar in Partick is within walking distance of Glasgow University Archives where the Scottish Brewing Archive is housed. My apologies to readers if I have left out their favourites.

Aberdeen: Prince of Wales, 7–11 St Nicholas Lane, Aberdeen AB10 1HF. Tucked away in a lane off Union Street in the shadow of the Kirk of St Nicholas. A fine mid-Victorian pub (1850) with real ales.

Dumfries: The Globe Inn, 56 High Street, Dumfries DG1 2JA. A seventeenth-century (1610) howff where Robert Burns drank during his time as an excise man in Dumfries. The atmospheric wood-panelled private rooms to the left of the entrance contain Burns's favourite chair and verses he scratched on the window (Figure 1.1).

Dundee: The Phoenix Bar, Nethergate, Dundee DD1 4DH. A Victorian tenement pub built in 1856 but with a greatly altered interior. Well-kept beer and a selection of the landlord's art collection displayed on the walls, some with pub connections, such as Peter Howson's faces of Glasgow drinkers.

Dundee: The Speedwell Bar (Mennies), 165–167, Perth Road, Dundee DD2 1AS. Unspoilt Edwardian interior (built 1903). Wide choice of real ales and 160 single malts (Figure 6.3).

Edinburgh: Bennet's Bar, 8 Leven Street, Tollcross, Edinburgh EH3 9LG. A wonderful theatrical pub next to the King's Theatre, with an Edwardian interior, refitted in 1906. Good beer and a choice of 120 single malt whiskies.

Edinburgh: The Guildford Arms, 1 West Register Street, Edinburgh EH2 2AA. Across the road from Waverley Station. Owned by the Stewart family since 1898. Good food and a wide range of real ales.