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Gorillas Workers Collective: “The political space we created served as a place of resistance”

Interview with Camilo, a former Gorillas rider about organising workers in the fast food sector

How did you start and what was your position at Gorillas?

Camilo: I started working in Gorillas in October 2020. I was working as a rider in different warehouses and districts.

The working conditions changed quite a bit as Gorillas grew very quickly, expanding the number of warehouses and delivery orders.

At first it was an easy job. You had enough time to sit down, read a book, and have a cup of coffee. Then we had the first winter of the pandemic. The weather became worse and there were a lot of people ordering. All those little breaks disappeared. That became a heavy load to carry—both literally and metaphorically.

What was your experience carrying this heavy load?

Camilo: It was very bad. By law, you’re not supposed to carry more than 10 kilograms on your back, but this is never actually measured in the warehouses. People would order a bunch of beers or water and it would be terrible.

Having back pain after a shift was probably the most common reason why people wouldn’t go to work. People were on sick leave because of back pain, and this can be chronic in the long run. But at the very beginning we all assumed it to be part of the job. We weren’t aware of this limit of 10 kilograms.

We also have to bear in mind that most Gorillas workers are immigrants. They are either students or people on a working holiday visa. They don’t know much about the legal framework here. Also, the working conditions are still better than what people have in their home countries.

It was pretty bad in the warehouse I was working at—the heating was broken and they never fixed it. This was the winter when there was a snowstorm in Berlin. You would get back to the warehouse all wet, and all they gave us was hairdryers to try to warm our hands. I caught tonsillitis and was sick for about two months.

There was little protection against COVID. The warehouses were packed. It was not a safe place to work.

But I didn’t have an option, as I needed the work. Like most people who worked there, I was put on a six-month probation period, meaning we could get fired for no reason. This made it scary to complain, especially for people who are really dependent on this job.

Can you tell me more about the working conditions in the warehouse? You mentioned working during the blizzard.

Camilo: That was something else. Gorillas now provide equipment for you, like bikes, helmets sometimes and winter gear. This has been improving over the last few months. But at the very beginning it wasn’t like that. They always promised to give people jackets, but many never received them so we had to share. During the pandemic this was not so hygienic.

The bikes were not owned by Gorillas but rented from another company. Sometimes they would have weird noises or the handle would be loose; the brakes wouldn’t work properly. I didn’t have any accidents, but a lot of people did because they were sitting on the bike and the seat fell off or the brakes didn’t work, so they crashed against a car.

Again, people felt like they could not complain or individually refuse to work because they could get fired. They had to expose themselves to these very dangerous conditions.

We also have to remember that the Gorillas business model is providing groceries in under 10 minutes. Even though they tell you to be careful when you drive, you have to get there in under 10 minutes. You are pressured to be quick. You often disregarded your own safety.

You were also part of the Gorillas Workers Collective. When did the GWC get started?

Camilo: Before the blizzard came, somebody had written an open letter to Gorillas Management. A colleague of mine read out the letter at the end of a shift and said: “Who wants to sign it?” The letter was asking the company to listen to workers and try to find a way to fix the problems. I signed, hoping to find people that I could talk to about this.

Then the blizzard came. People from two warehouses refused to work. Basically, they organized a spontaneous strike.

This forced the company to acknowledge that working conditions were precarious and to close down operations for the day. It gave a signal to the workers that if we organize, we can do something about it.

On that day, all other delivery companies had decided not to continue operations but Gorillas said, “We’re so cool. We’ll still do it,” which is the attitude of Gorillas’ marketing.

I reached out to this person who had presented the letter and said that I’d like to contribute to whatever’s happening because we should do something. I was invited to an online meeting. I think that was the first meeting of the collective.

There were maybe eight people, and a member of FAU, who gave us a general framework of possibilities. He suggested a Betriebsrat, which is something that many of us had never heard about.

We tried to have meetings every one or two weeks. We didn’t have a clear idea of what to do. We just knew that we needed some kind of critical mass in the company, because if we wanted to create a workers’ council, we needed support from people.

There was a lot of undercover work like putting stickers up in the bathrooms with a QR code to join a Telegram group. That was fun. We also tried to organize social gatherings with riders outside work. That was difficult because of COVID, as people had not yet been vaccinated.

Then we made a logo and printed a bunch of stickers.

In July 2021, the Gorillas CEO said he wouldn’t fire anyone over the strikes. But then he did it anyway. What did you make of this?

Camilo: None of us actually believed him when he said that, but it increased the media attention about what was happening. But it’s easier for them to let people go and maybe ruin their image than to have a strike.

Once they fired the staff from entire warehouses. That was a strong hit to our collective, because a lot of new people were starting to join the collective. But then they all got fired, though some managed to get reinstated through court cases.

We were hoping to have some kind of rotation. Without rotation, you end up creating hierarchies and bureaucrats who don’t really represent the workers.

People got tired after that, others got another job. It was very distressing dealing with court cases as most of us are immigrants. Just the idea of having to go to court is scary. Everything is in German and it’s too much. That was the company’s strategy—to dissolve what we’re doing by intimidating us.

What can you tell me about these firings even being legal?

Camilo: A lot of firings were not legal and some of them fell in a grey area.

In the early days, they tried to fire somebody from the collective. But they gave him a termination letter without the proper signature. We already had some legal support, who then spotted that mistake and contested the firing.

This person got reinstated. This is when we created the workers’ council. Before that, we were thinking, “Maybe we should wait until we have a critical mass.” But by starting that process, we could provide protection against being sacked.

You only need three people to call for an assembly, which elects an electoral council, which in turn organizes the elections for the workers council. The three people who call for the election get immediate protection. By law, they cannot be fired.

That created a trench for us to to fight from. We didn’t have to be completely undercover because we had these three faces that could speak on behalf of the group. That was a very important moment.

When we formed the Electoral Council, it was about nine people who then also got protection. Some of those people got unlawfully fired because they had been seen on the strikes.

There’s a lot of things that Gorillas does that are not legal and they just get away with it because contesting it takes a long time. There is a court hearing where you wait for months. In that process, people get tired.

You’re always dealing with an algorithm or with an app or an email address. You don’t have somebody that you can directly talk with. You can go to HR and ask what’s going on, but there’s no human that you can talk with. This makes the whole process much more frustrating.

You said that German laws say it’s legal to strike as long as you go through established unions. And unions can, in retrospect, take the strikes under their wings. Does the Gorillas Workers Collective consider joining an established union?

Camilo: I would say no as far as I know, because of the kind of relationship that we had with the unions when I was there. The NGG union was helpful when it came to organizing the assembly where we elected the Electoral Council. Then we were transferred to Ver.di because that was the sector that we fell under. And Ver.di were always trying to deter us from striking.

Old union structures have their own internal hierarchies which were useful 100 years ago. But for a lot of people in the collective, they don’t apply to how the industry works today with temporary work.

People are just going to be in Gorillas for three, six months, a year at the most, and then leave the country. They’re not really interested in getting affiliated with a union and paying for membership.

When we were starting, and some of us asked Ver.di for support, they were not interested. But when things became a little more public, they said they supported us. But the approach they took was so patronizing.

When Ver.di came knocking on our door, we already knew how to constitute a workers council because we had taken some workshops that had been facilitated through the FAU. But they came trying to teach us how to do it.

They invited us to a meeting to talk about how we can support each other. But for them, it was a meeting to educate us on how we should do things. They were telling us how the things we were doing were wrong and that striking was wrong.

Our reaction was, “Who are you people? Fuck you, we don’t need your help if you’re going to do it like this.” It felt to me that we were spending more energy trying to deal with them than any practical support we were actually getting from them.

So, I don’t see the collective getting affiliated with any union. And it seems like Ver.di didn’t like FAU and FAU didn’t like Ver.di, and they’re fighting each other. We didn’t want to take part in this. We have a struggle. If you want to support us, come support us. But we’re not going to be part of this partisanship.

Did you feel you’re kind of part of a bigger movement? Your strike and unionizing process was followed internationally.

Camilo: For sure. I had the chance to go to Brussels, because we were invited by a French Left MEP Leila Chaibi to meet organizers in the delivery sector around the world. All of a sudden I was sitting there in the European Parliament, talking to this super high authority.

I consider myself to be a newbie over there because the organizers there were older people and really knew what they were doing. I was just listening, really. But the political space that we created served as a place of resistance.

On the one hand, you had the workers’ struggles, on the other, there’s the struggle against racism and patriarchy. The FLINTA* population within the collective was very important. The collective is a site for articulating other struggles. I see the collective as a site for articulating other struggles, which itself is also a struggle on its own.

You don’t work with Gorillas anymore. But you’re writing your master’s thesis about it. Can you tell me more about this?

Camilo: I’m using the Gorillas Workers Collective as a case study. I’m particularly interested in researching the role of care work in political organizations. How do we value the work that we do when we organize?

I mean care in a very broad way. It’s not just about who makes the food or takes care of children. It’s also how we develop skills to communicate with each other. How do we deal with emotions within our space?

It may have looked like we being quite successful at what we’re doing, but inside there was a lot of conflicts. This took away our energy from other things. The group experienced a lot of burnout and fractures.

Reproductive work, care work, checking in with each other, knowing how to solve conflicts were always put last. Productive work, like organizing a strike, was always fluid. It was seen as the most urgent thing. But in my opinion, it wasn’t.

If we can’t sit down with each other and maybe write about our convictions or the red line that unites us, we won’t be able to work together for a long time. We will not be able to make it sustainable.

I’m thinking about this idea of sustainable solidarity. It was really frustrating for me to spend 30-60 minutes together trying to write a manifesto. When we started doing this, people started dropping out. They didn’t come to the meetings and they would only come to “productive” meetings, like for the strikes or preparing interview.

I’m looking forward to what you’ll say on sustainable solidarity, care work and other struggles in your thesis.

Camilo: There’s still a long way to go, but luckily I do have a lot of auto-ethnographic experience that I can draw from. I’m also trying to do some synergy between my activism and academia.

 

Book Review – Oilcraft: The Myths of Scarcity and Security that Haunts US Energy Policy (Robert Vitalis)

What is at stake when it comes to oil? A new book investigates


26/03/2022

The premise of Vitalis’ book is that oil cannot be the basis of the US economy, least of all, of US national security. There are several minerals (over seventy) which the industrial world needs a constant and secured supply of, and which civilization simply cannot do without. But they are not treated as being as important as oil. This makes us question apparent self-evident truths in news cartels! The average observer has never heard of countries waging war to ensure reliable shipments of aluminum or copper. What is it so special, then, with oil? What is at stake with oil?

According to Vitalis, the story of oil is not the crude matter, but more about suspicous data and poor evidence. Powerful interest groups and lobbies in US corridors of power steer this data toward selling a myth. The fear of failing to ensure a constant supply of oil from the Persian Gulf is supposed to spell a trauma. The myth sits on others. Both science and reason tell us that there has never been a dwindling supply of oil, nor of any other natural resources. As technology advances, new reserves of all types of minerals are constantly discovered. The only way of freeing the US democracy, nay, the very political system and ensuring a solid role-model for the rest of the word is to shed these myths. They cripple US policy planners and ruin the US reputation in the world.

Chapter One ‘Opening’

This sets the stage for revisiting President Bush’s conquest of Iraq in 2003 and check the argument that the US acted on behalf of large oil conglomerates. If so, Vitalis rebuts, the easiest way for the US to access Iraqi oil was to simply lift its own 1990s sanctions on Iraqi exports. So oil companies would have entered the market and the problem resolved. Moreover Vitalis argues, as prices rose in the early 2000s, an abundant hydraulically-fractioned oil made the US a major producer of oil itself.

Now, the US import of oil from the Middle East is around 18 percent. Nevertheless, “Junk social science” (p. 5) keeps a scary narrative aflame. When luminaries and public intellectuals are fixated on their myth of ‘oil-as-power’, the term ‘oilcraft’ recalls witchcraft more than statecraft. Vitalis’ analogy call’s for dispelling confusion and talismanic obsession by promoting a rational understanding of decisions on energy policy. If the only evidence ‘junk’ social scientists provide is price rises, it brings us face to face  ‘oil-scarcity ideology’ (p. 6). Vitalis stresses that every statement we encounter in the archive should be taken with a grain of salt.

He proposes we consider three facts: (1) the world is rich of minerals; literally anyone has access to raw materials. Viewing oil-as-weapon is at best incorrect and at worst a ‘chimera’ (p. 14). Instead of embracing a confirmation bias, the abundance should make us question what lies beyond the ‘phenomenal’; (2) the imagined threats to oil supply—even when real—cannot be addressed militarily; (3) oil prices are dependent on other raw materials. A simple comparison of oil prices against other minerals in the long durée—as Roger Stern does—will lead to the conclusion that oil cannot be the lifeblood of the American way of life.

Raw Materialism

Chapter Two posits the idea of a single source as critically important for a national economy is reductionist at best and misleading at worst. Vitalis cites  the early twentieth century Columbia School (scholars like Edward Mead Earle and William S. Culbertson). These noted that US policy since 1918 was rooted in “bogeys”, from rapid depletion of natural resources to British monopoly of these resources (pp. 26-7). Back then, like now, there was an industry behind studies, infuriating the public and policy makers alike about such imagined threats.

Vitalis finds the idea of “‘control’ of foreign oil fields” (p. 29) became a priority for the US economy  in Americans’ unconscious during the 1990s. Culbertson argued that wars do not emerge from the need to control or ensure extensive supplies of raw materials, but from the need for markets to commercialize industrialized commodities. (p. 32) Embracing mid-nineteen century protectionism triggered bouts of scarcity syndrome.

But a generation or two later these findings from the 1920s were forgotten. The Cold War context made it more likely that the Soviets were ‘threatening’ US access to Middle East oil. Vitalis adds that even Noam Chomsky falls into confirmation bias wherein “the progressives of the 1970s were a pale imitation of their 1920s ancestors.” (p. 55). Progressives kept parroting criticism of American foreign policy without considering where that criticism might be heading.

1973: A Time to Confuse

Chapter Three rereads October 17, 1973 and the alleged OPEC oil embargo, as only a spectacle. For Vitalis under no stretch of imagination did it approximate to a threat of cutting supplies, let alone, an embargo. For in 1973 “only 7 percent of U.S. oil imports originated from the Middle East” (p. 57). Besides, Arab nationalists only expressed a half-hearted and face-saving gestures in the wake of their humiliating defeat against Isarel in June 1967— gestures meant for popular consumption at home only.

Nevertheless, the scarcity-thesis driven by media and ‘experts and intellectuals’, to gain monopoly – made it look as if scarcity is imminent and can usher in the end of the world. Vitalis discusses the five hundred page report (David S. Freeman’s ‘A Time to Choose’)  released when Americans were experiencing long lines in gas stations. The report made it super easy to conclude that the long queues resulted from the much-publicized shock spelling serious disruptions of supply, presumably orchestrated by the Arab Embargo.

In reality, OPEC “sought a fairer share of the windfall.” (p. 64) To protect local crude producers from  the unstable market, the US government had used a preferential tariff with local crude producers. The Nixon Administration, however, decided in 1971 to reverse the preferential tariff policy and open the US market to non-American producers. This new policy, not OPEC’s action, explains the interruption in supply and long queues. Far from disrupting supply, Arabs were terrified of losing their market shares.

No Deal

Chapter Four  elaborates on the motivating principle behind the myth that stipulates the invisibility of oil for the American policy maker. It is definitely the key chapter as it uncovers the motive behind portraying oil as the bloodline of the American economy. Vitalis notes that this myth could not become as intense as it is now without the ‘fantasy-embraced-as-history’. Given their nefarious stature after 9/11, the Saudis, or Al Saud, more exactly: the ruling oligarchs of Saudi Arabia – invested heavily in  painting themselves as peace-loving and reliable suppliers of oil for US economy. They went as far as inventing a presumed memorandum of understanding (a deal) between King Ibn Saud and President Franklin Roosevelt on board the destroyer U.S.S. Qunicy near the end of the World War II. The author finds no trace of this presumed deal in the archives. But it supposedly stated that the Saudis would ensure reliable shipments of crude and the US, would guarantee the protection of the king and his dynasty.

Vitalis adds: “The only problem is that no account of U.S.-Saudi relation for the next fifty years said any such thing.” (p. 87).  But “The Saudis, the PR firms, and their many friends in Washington would milk the meeting with FDR for all it was worth after 2001.” (p. 91). Vitalis counts this Saudi fabrication among the latest in the arsenal of forgeries specifying the centrality of oil.

Interest groups profit from recycling oil dollars in the US economy through purchases of US treasury bonds, consumer goods and, of course, armament bills with astronomical price tags. That is how, it is for the long-term interest of the US to distance itself from a retrogressive and degenerate monarchy. That proximity does a considerable damage to the status of the US as a superpower. The crumbling of the Saudis’ rule will be an event that will boost, not hinder, the US supremacy or at least its leadership credentials.

Breaking the Spell

Chapter Five concludes Oilcraft. Vialis starts by underlining that “popular and scholarly beliefs about oil-as-power have no basis in fact” (p. 122). But the irony of the myth is that policy makers who sincerely want to break this fixation can do little to break the immanent structure whereby oil is received as invisible. The assumptions are so powerful that any attempt to go against them end in discrediting, or ridiculing, the credible policy maker. The first step is getting the scholarship correct, never allowing unchecked opinions to pass for knowledge. Knowledge starts by first, making sure that crude producers have no choice but to sell their outputs. Before harming the US economy, cutting supplies will strangle their own economies and destabilize their hold on power.

Second, one needs to be certain that besides the fact that deploying an army to protect crude supplies cannot be tenable and efficient, the deployment itself raises tensions and causes supply interruptions. Third, the Middle East is a volatile space, and it does not behoove a superpower to be constantly dragged into the mess out there. Fourth, by the same depleted logic of scarcity, why does the US not go and chase bauxite, tungsten, tin, rubber lest they are all appropriated by other powers? Fifth, there is a fallacy by which the degenerate Left sells its credentials: which is as soon as soon as the US steps out of the Middle East, “the fossil-capital-led order” will fall all on its own; allowing an era of plenitude to automatically emerge.

Finally Vitalis notes that “Oilcraft today [has] hijack[ed] the mind of the scientifically literate” (p.128),  the average person believes oil passes as an explanation for almost all wrongs with the world. He believes that Saudi money should not be allowed to finance studies. Vitalis rightly says “the paid-to-think-tanks” (p. 131) will only bring pseudo-science, more confusion and befogged policies. Moreover the propaganda which the funding generates covers for the asphyxiation of liberties in the Middle East and the world at large. In the end, Vitalis rightly addresses the US policy maker: “why fear an Arabia without Sultans?” (p. 133)

Conclusion

Vitalis finds that well-intentioned and respectful policy makers and advisers are crippled by enduring myths. These myths have taken a dimension that is larger than life. He is certainly correct that the journey for undoing their effect start with unbiased research. But there are instances where Vitalis’ suspicion of the ideology that “oil-is-anything-but-powerful”, recalls the theory that colonies cost metropolitan centers more than the latter could squeeze value out of them.

Perhaps missing in Vitalis’ discussion is how during the time where capital expansion needed nationalism, oil was treated (and for good reasons) as the lifeblood. Vitalis indirectly calls for updating sedimented thinking, since capitalistic growth since the 1920s (exactly after WWI) is not conditioned on the old mystique view of oil-as-bloodline, given the abundance of supply. Producers simply cannot afford to withdraw crude from buyers lest they risk losing their share in a highly competitive market. Similarly, no major power can hinder access to oil because oil remains evenly available everywhere.

There have been two temporalities of capital accumulation, not one: formal and real dominations. This explains why after WWI, occupying a colony becomes financially inhibitive. At an advanced stage of primitive accumulation, anonymous capital becomes self-regulating. During the era of real domination (post 1918) there cannot be a need for a class of bourgeois pioneers to intervene. That explains why the bourgeois class has since disappeared. In its place, there emerged a capitalistic class who give the illusion that they are in charge but are in charge of absolutely nothing. They are simply managers/administrators (CEOs) appointed by shareholders to speak on behalf of the latter interest.  Hence – “raw materials are color-blind.” (p. 36) and that colonies are a burden to maintain.

Vitalis’ analysis in Chapter Four dwells on the corruption of the Saudis and their dizzying pace of change ‘from camels to Cadilliacs’ (p. 95) paid for by oil rent, may sound racist and inconsequential in the overreaching impact of oil wealth. Oil wealth decides less their conservative outlook but more significantly intensifies their adamant predisposition against an egalitarian polity all over the MENA (Middle East and North Africa) region. The counter revolutions that quelled the uprisings of the Arab Spring both in 2011 and 2019 were engineered and financed principally by their medieval outlook. Vitalis notes that with recycled petrodollars the Saudi acquired F-15 jets which since March 2015 bombed civilians in Yemen. But he could have also noted that worse than F-15s is the regressive and ultra-conservative brand of the faith, whose sole agenda is the crashing all social movements which moved towards a lifestyle free from the dictatorship of oil.

Overall, there are instances where Vitalis’ debunking of myths such ‘oil-as-power’ falls into the right; and others where which falls more into the left. At times he can even be counted as a devout communist. But this is the quality of great scholarship, where he passionately elucidates his points regardless of class or ideology. Indeed, Vitalis embraces his mission to eradicate facile portrayals. Masquerading beneath so-called ‘self-evident conclusions’ lies not only tperpetuating mistaken decisions but squandering of the US taxpayers’ savings as well as the subaltern of the MENA chances for a future in dignity.

Vitalis, Robert. 2020. Oilcraft: The Myths of Scarcity and Security that Haunts US Energy Policy. Stanford University Press; pp. ‎ 240 pages; Paperback: $22.00; Hardcover: $22.47; ISBN-10 :1503632598; ISBN-13: 978-1503632592

Film Review – Start Wearing Purple

A film about the fight against gentrification in Berlin gives a sense of how we can win. A sequel about the messy aftermath would be just as informative


24/03/2022

2021, The City of Berlin.

A pair of people wearing purple vests are going through an apartment block door-to-door collecting signatures. Volkan explains that he is paying €500 for a room in a shared house, and has had to move flat several times. It’s making him sick.

Chris is collecting signatures on the banks of the Spree, the river which cuts through Berlin. His previous political experience includes organising health workers’ strikes. When he moved into a flat owned by Deutsche Wohnen – one of the largest and most exploitative landlords in Berlin – he joined this campaign.

Welcome to two of the many activists for Deutsche Wohnen & Co Enteignen (DWE), a Citizen’s Initiative, which organised a referendum to expropriate apartments owned by profit-extracting large real estate companies. Companies like Deutsche Wohnen.

For the campaign to force a referendum it needed to collect 175,000 signatures for expropriation. Historian Ralf Hofrogge explains how in Berlin if enough people propose a law, this must be put to a vote and a majority decision in favour will put it into the constitution.

The campaign is also addressing other social problems. Volkan talks of the difficulty that people with Turkish names have in finding accommodation. Landlords suddenly say that flats are unavailable. If a friend with a German name asks, it suddenly comes back onto the market.

Berta and Adelaide are both active in the DWE working group Right2TheCity, which organises non-Germans. Adelaide from Brazil explains how DWE largely consists of people who look like the city she lives in. It is more open to the participation of younger non-white women than other campaigns that she’s been involved in. Berta was active in the Italian student movement in 2008-2012, but never joined a German movement before this.

The campaign started through a loose movement of a few people who’d been involved in earlier tenants’ campaigns. They first met in a room full of sewing machines. Once they went public, they formed so called Kiezteams, which mobilise people in each local neighbourhood. The aim is to be completely non-hierarchical, but as Assal explains, there are always some people who take on more responsibility than others and some whose voices are louder.

If At First You Don’t Succeed

Katalin Gennburg is a councillor for die LINKE (the Left Party) in the Berlin parliament. She explains how the SPD-Green-LINKE government was elected on the promise that they would regulate rents and to solve Berlin’s housing problem. They passed a local law enforcing a rent cap. Unfortunately, the national court ruled that the rent cap was unconstitutional. Landlords used the ruling to start evicting tenants who could not immediately pay the arrears generated.

CDU politician Thorsten Frei argues that the Mietendeckel fiasco is the result of “socialist approaches”. He argues for building more houses, saying that in Hamburg many more apartments are built than in Berlin. His words are supported by Olaf Scholz (who has since been elected German Chancellor) who calls for a speed up in building more apartment.

Katalin Gennburg is not so sure. She says that “building, building, building as an answer to the housing market is really out of time”. The amount of available social housing is actually shrinking. The Hamburger “Alliance for Housing” is in effect an alliance for building luxury flats and assets for hedge funds.

Many people agree with Gennburg. When the rent cap was rejected by the courts, people were more determined to support the DWE referendum. In the week after the ruling, 15,000 signatures were collected – much more than usual. There was a feeling of determination that élite judges should not be allowed to control how much rent working class people have to pay.

Diego Cárdendas is a veteran of a previous referendum campaign, 100% Tempelhofer Feld. The old airport is currently a major park between the districts of Neukölln and Tempelhof-Schöneberg. In 2008, 100% Tempelfhofer Feld organised a successful referendum to prevent the park being privatised, thus stopping luxury flats being built in one of the free spaces that every Berliner can visit. Nonetheless, Diego explains, Tempelhofer Feld is still under threat every day.

The Battle But Not The War

In the final month of the DWE campaign, some collectors started to get demoralised. Some are filmed in May 2021. They have only collected two thirds of the necessary signatures and three-quarters of the time is over. Collecting signatures is not as easy as it used to be, and collectors are meeting an increasingly hostile reaction.

I’m sure that the reports are honest but this experience does not remotely correspond to my own efforts collecting signatures in the working class district of Berlin-Wedding. We collected hundreds of signatures every week right up to the end. We also knew that many people had full petitions at home, so we were sure of meeting our target.

In the end, even our expectations were exceeded. DWE & Co Enteignen was the most successful referendum ever, collecting 350,000 signatures. At the referendum which followed, nearly 60% of people voting supported Deutsche Wohnen & Co Enteignen’s demands. However, winning the referendum did not automatically lead to expropriation.

On the same day as the referendum, there were local elections in Berlin. The main winner was SPD’s upwardly failing former minister Franziska Giffey, who had already made clear that she had no intention of implementing the referendum results. Any decisions were kicked into the long grass and an Experts’ Commission was set up in an attempt to demobilize the movement (for more information about what happened and why, there are plenty of reports here).

This is why viewing Start Wearing Purple should not be a passive act… How do we harness the massive energy and desire for change that electrified Berlin in 2021

Start Wearing Purple was made at a certain point in time, just before the referendum and the elections on 26th September. This means that the film contains the anticipation of victory, and its conclusion is slightly more optimistic than the current feeling in Berlin.

Time For A Sequel?

I would love the film’s directors to make a sequel about what happened next. In a sense, the content of that sequel is still being written. As I was writing this review, the composition of the Experts’ commission has been announced. Over half the members will belong to the SPD and Greens who have, to different extents, opposed expropriation. The suggestion of DWE that they should receive 59.1% commissioners, to reflect the number of people voting for the referendum, has been rejected.

Whatever happens, we will probably wait at least a year until the Commission publishes any conclusions. If things stay as they are, it is unlikely that anything significant will happen before the next elections in four years’ time. But if Start Wearing Purple shows anything, it is that things do not have to stay as they are. It was the active engagement of a determined movement which disrupted the permanent rule of the big real estate companies and the politicians who receive substantial donations from the Property Development Lobby.

Deutsche Wohnen & Co Enteignen was, and is, a popular movement that was suspicious of politics and just went off and tried to change the world. This was both a blessing and a curse. At the moment, the movement is disorientated and trying to develop a strategy of responding to politicians who have no respect for democracy.

This is why viewing Start Wearing Purple should not be a passive act. We should watch the film together and then discuss what it means. What did we do wrong? What went right? How do we harness the massive energy and desire for change that electrified Berlin in 2021.

The implications of Start Wearing Purple are important not just for Berlin, but for everywhere where rapacious landlords try to exploit poor tenants (i.e. everywhere). Deutsche Wohnen & Co was a start, which will hopefully inspire similar movements elsewhere. The campaign was not perfect, but there is plenty to learn from both its successes and its failures.

On Friday, 25th March, the Deutsche Wohnen & Co Kiezteam Mitte will be showing Start Wearing Purple at the Volksbühne as part of Housing Action Day. The film will be followed by a Q&A with the film makers. This is an ideal opportunity to take stock of the campaign, look at what we have won so far, and discuss what is necessary to take the campaign forwards.

What the Querdenkers are getting right

Chats on Telegram about Covid-19 are everywhere, and I couldn’t help myself but to join a few. After a few months, it seems we might be able to learn something from the Querdenkers.


23/03/2022

For all its problems and controversies, I am an avid Telegram user. I love the fun stickers, and the interface, but most of all the group chats I’m a part of. I get news from Moria, the Polish border, and #LeaveNoOneBehind. I share food with my neighbors and pick up free furniture and oddities from around Berlin. Before I was employed, it helped me ride the Ubahn for free (I stopped, I swear!). I can ask what’s wrong with my plants, and also easily coordinate plenums and activities for the organizations I’m involved in. And since I use it like social media, I tootle around here and there to look for new groups.

Then it happened — I stumbled upon an anti-vax, covid-denying Telegram group run out of the US. Here they were! I was overcome by curiosity, and joined. As a disclaimer, I believe covid is real and that vaccines work, but do have a lot of problems with governmental policy on this virus, in Germany, the US, and around the world — a topic for another article.

So now you may be thinking what the fuck, and that’s fine. Some of my friends for sure think I’m nuts. But I am firmly of the opinion that closing off discussion with people is the absolute wrong way to go. I was really curious as to what people were saying in the group, and how they were viewing the pandemic. There is a tendency for people to lump those who disagree with them into categories of ‘stupid’, ‘uneducated’, and ‘don’t know how the world actually works’, but this is dangerous territory – pushing people to the margins has consequences.

As someone with connection to many places in the United States, I saw Trump happening years before a lot of the people I was around had any idea. That first election, when the New York Times put out a poll that Hilary had an 87% chance of winning, I knew they were dead wrong. Just driving through the rural south, or through Texas, is a shock to many who grow up in big cities elsewhere in the country. Massive inequality abounds, and is held in place by state and local governments who have systematically eliminated peoples’ right to vote. Is everyone in those areas stupid, backward, and ultra-conservative? Of course not. But from the dominant media and pop cultures narratives, you would think so. Taylor Swift’s video for You Need to Calm Down is a great example.

What does this have to do with those Telegram chats? When a society completely ostracizes groups on the margins, the people in those groups grow more radical, and with every disparaging comment saying how backwards, stupid and dangerous they are, the more radical they get. Isolating and refusing to communicate with groups can have its time and place, I agree, but I very strongly believe there is already a ton of that going on. What there is way less of is open discussion.

And this is what the Querdenkers and covid-deniers are getting right. Everyone is welcome in these groups, and to engage in discussion about the topics. Yes, everyone does mean Nazis, I’m aware of that, and I’m not saying that this is a great model we should all follow. But many people in Germany, the US, around the world, including those who are involved in Leftist politics and movements, are wondering how these ideologies spread so quickly. Looking through the members of these groups, or seeing who is marching in these protests, it is astounding how many different groups of people are represented. We like to think that we hold truly open forums for debate, but if someone who was against the vaccine came to sit at the table, how many people would actually speak to them?

Of course I realize this is not the only aspect at play here. There is enough racism, sexism and all the other -isms and -phobias that exist in the world in these groups. It is abundantly clear they are bringing together a lot of people who hold a lot of different biases, for sure. Just to reiterate, I do not find that comforting or good. What’s confusing to me is why so many people who would otherwise consider themselves Left-leaning are finding themselves pulled in by these movements. Is there open-mindedness to be found there that people are not finding on the Left? Perhaps.

A maybe-obvious caveat to this: I’m white, financially stable, able-bodied, and educated. I’m a walking ball of privilege, and I also grew up constantly defending my ideals against an onslaught of right-wing commentary from my family. It’s possible for me to engage with a lot of people, from my conservative, religious cousins to straight up Nazis. Clearly, that’s not possible, nor is it safe, for everyone. Also clearly, groups and discussions that Leftists engage in will inherently be more diverse than those that covid-deniers are attending. I don’t think we should start inviting absolutely everyone in to have tea with us, as that could endanger people who need a safe space.

There are no concrete recommendations coming out of this article on how the Left movement should change, nor do I even think I have a fully-formulated stance on this. The only thing I was thinking from my few months of reading these channels is that our spaces and our discussions need to be flexible, wherever possible. Don’t ostracize someone from a group because they have an opinion that you don’t like. Don’t assume people are stupid because their views and experiences have led them to a different view of how the world works than the one you have. If your covid-denying uncle starts saying that the world is controlled by the World Economic Forum, don’t call him an idiot and leave. Stay and talk, if you can.

Ukraine Invasion – The view from Eastern Europe

Most coverage of Putin’s invasion of Ukraine has been dominated by views from the West. Here is how the Eastern European Left has reacted


22/03/2022

There has been much discussion about Putin’s invasion of Ukraine and many Western leftists have focused on an attack on NATO. This is only in part correct. Those originating from Leftists in Eastern Europe have tended to focus on calling Russian imperialist what it is – imperialism.  The danger of making the Left response only a Western narrative is to ignore the voices of those who are directly affected by the war. For this reason, theleftberlin is publishing here links to a number of articles which have been written by journalists and activists in Eastern Europe.

Our website does not have a single editorial line — on Ukraine or anywhere else. Our aim is to provide a breadth of articles representing the views of the international Left. Our editors and journalists have different opinions. Just like the international left as a whole, we are trying to understand a difficult and dangerous situation. For this reason we do not necessarily endorse all the opinions in the following articles, but believe that they deserve to be read and discussed.

Publishing these articles is intended to open debate, so we are very interested in hearing your reaction. If you would like to respond to any of the articles, please contact us at team@theleftberlin.com. Please let us know if you would like us to publish your response in article format.

theleftberlin Editorial Board

A letter to the Western Left from Kyiv by Taras Bilous

I am writing these lines in Kyiv while it is under artillery attack. Until the last minute, I had hoped that Russian troops wouldn’t launch a full-scale invasion. Now, I can only thank those who leaked the information to the US intelligence services. Yesterday, I spent half the day considering whether I ought to join a territorial defence unit. During the night that followed, the Ukrainian president Volodymyr Zelenskyi signed a full mobilisation order and Russian troops moved in and prepared to encircle Kyiv, which made the decision for me. But before taking up my post, I would like to communicate to the Western Left what I think about its reaction to Russia’s aggression against Ukraine.

US-plaining is not enough. To the Western left, on your and our mistakes by Volodymyr Artiukh

Do not let half-baked political positions substitute an analysis of the situation. The injunction that the main enemy is in your country should not translate into a flawed analysis of the inter-imperialist struggle. At this stage appeals to dismantle NATO or, conversely, accepting anyone there, will not help those who suffer under the bombs in Ukraine, in jails in Russia or Belarus. Sloganeering is harmful as ever. Branding Ukrainians or Russian fascists only makes you part of the problem, not part of the solution. A new autonomous reality emerges around Russia, a reality of destruction and harsh repressions, a reality where a nuclear conflict is not unthinkable anymore. Many of us have missed the tendencies leading to this reality. In the fog of war, we do not see clearly the contours of the new. Neither do, as it seems, the American or European governments. 

We present this article composed by anarchists in Ukraine to give context for how some participants in social movements there see the difficult events that have played out there over the past nine years. We believe that it is important for people everywhere to grapple with the events they describe below and the questions that those developments pose. This text should be read in the context of the other perspectives we have published from Ukraine and Russia.

‘We need a peoples’ solidarity with Ukraine and against war, not the fake solidarity of governments’

Shaun Matsheza and Nick Buxton of TNI spoke to two activists on the editorial board of the left Commons journal that explores and analyses Ukraine’s economy, politics, history and culture. Denys Gorbach is a social researcher currently doing his PhD in France on the politics of Ukrainian working class and Denis Pilash is a political scientist and activist involved in a social movement, Sotsialnyi Rukh.

Appeal by the independent labor unions of Ukraine

To the workers of the world: we need your help! The Independent Trade Union of Ukraine “Zakhist Pratsi” is directly involved in the resistance to the invasion by Russian imperialism. We are fighting along side the working class and the Ukrainian people on various fronts of resistance. Some organizations of our union, such as the “Zakhista Pratsi” miners’ union at the “Selidov-ugol” firm, are protecting us and our future with weapons in their hands and in the most difficult conditions of the hostilities. Many activists of our union are now resisting the rocket and bomb attacks of the Russian troops, supporting the difficult conditions of the bomb shelters, saving their children and their families from certain death.

The war in Ukraine: no choice but to resist by Oksana Dutchak

The situation is very complicated. During the first days it seemed that Russian military forces were trying not to target civilians. They were trying to destroy the military infrastructure of the country supposing that the government and society would just give up. But this didn’t work. I’m wondering how stupid the intelligence was: their calculation was a total mistake. It didn’t work because the Ukrainian army and people on the ground started to act. It gives some hope, but it definitely changed the Russian army’s tactics dramatically.

The war in Ukraine is not a local conflict, it is a fight about the future of democracy on a global scale. A conversation on Putin’s imperialism, the anti-war movement in Russia and defiance in the face of state repression.

Enough with the struggle of superpowers. Voices from Central and Eastern Europe

In a recent article in Berliner Zeitung, Michael von der Schulenburg argues that Russia’s deployment of more than 100,000 troops to its border with Ukraine was a direct response to NATO’s announcement that Ukraine could one day become its member. This opinion reflects numerous voices on the Western left – some of them also from German government circles. Russia’s fear for its security is used as the main argument to justify Russian military action. A critical gaze shifts from Putin to NATO,  accused of disturbing the balance of power in Europe with its „expansion” or even „aggression” and of interfering in Russia’s „sphere of influence”

Bulgaria: Between Pro-War Consensus and the Need for an Anti-War Movement by Stanislav Dodov