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How do you think protestors in today’s society can more effectively disrupt urban economies? Harvey: Hurricane Sandy really disrupted the lives of those living in New York City. So, I don’t see why organized social movements couldn’t disrupt life as usual in big cities and therefore cause damage to ruling-class interests. We have seen many historical examples of this. For example, in the 1960s, the disruptions that occurred in many cities in the United States caused massive disruptions to business. The political and business classes were quick to respond because of the level of disruption and destruction. I mention in the book the immigrant workers demonstrations in the spring of 2006. The demonstrations were in response to Congress attempting to criminalize illegal immigrants. Subsequently, people mobilized in places like Los Angeles and Chicago, and significantly disrupted city business.

Participatory budgeting is currently happening in Porto Alegre, Brazil, where the Workers Party developed a system through which local populations and assemblies decide what their tax money should be spent on. Thus, they hold popular assemblies, and so forth, which decide how to utilize public funds and services. Again, here’s a democratic reform that initially took place in Porto Alegre, but has since been passed along to European cities.

In Chapter Five, you write, “In the Marxist tradition, urban struggles are often ignored or dismissed as being devoid of revolutionary potential or significance.

I take it as symbolic importance that the first two acts of the Paris Commune were to abolish night work in the bakeries, a labor question, and to impose a moratorium on rent, an urban question.” Can you talk about the privileging of industrial workers in Marxist ideology? 

This idea of a vanguard struggle leading to a new society has been around for some time. However, what’s fascinating is the lack of alternatives to this vision, or at least variants of its intent and purpose. Of course, a lot of this comes from Marx’s Vol. I of Capital — emphasizing the factory worker. This idea that the vanguard workers party is going to take us to the new promise land of anti-capitalist, let’s call it ‘communist’ society has been persistent for over one hundred years. I’ve always felt that this is too limited a conception of who is the proletariat and who’s in the ‘vanguard.’ Also, I’ve always been interested in class-struggle dynamics and their relationships with urban social movements.

When you look at the wide range of urban social movements, you’ll find some are anti-capitalist and others are the opposite. But I would make the same remark about some forms of traditional union organizing. For example, there are some unions who look at organizing as a way to privilege the privileged workers of society. Of course I don’t like this idea. Then, there are others who are creating a more just and equitable world.

That way, in Gramsci’s thinking, they could get a better picture of what the entire working-class looks like, not just those who are organized in factories and so forth. Including people like the unemployed, temporary workers and all of the people you previously mentioned who were not in traditional industrial sector jobs. So, Gramsci proposed that these two kinds of political organizing methods should be intertwined in order to truly represent the proletariat. In essence, my thinking reflects Gramsci’s in this regard. How do we begin to care for all of the working people within a city? Who does this? Traditional unions tend not to do this.

an you talk about some of those cities, such as Al Alto, Bolivia? Also, I was in Madison, Wisconsin in 2011 during the labor protests, and I must say, it’s been interesting and utterly frustrating to experience the internal dynamics of the labor movement, and how it interacts with non- unionized workers and citizens. Unfortunately,  the union movement stifles serious dissent and resistance.

The reason I mentioned Trumka was because I think Trumka and many of those within the organized union movement understand that they can no longer go it alone; they require the help of the entire workforce, unionized or otherwise. This is always the challenge when organizing: How much support do we want from these large entities? And how much of what they’re doing is out of a true sense of solidarity? How much of it is for personal gain? My own experience in Baltimore, surrounding living wage campaigns, mirrors your experience to some extent. The unions were generally hostile to these campaigns and didn’t help, generally speaking. However, we did receive a lot of help from local unions.

There’s a moment in the film that’s somewhat funny: The guys can’t picket anymore because of the Taft-Hartley legislation, so the women take over the picketing because there’s nothing banning them from joining the protests. Then, the men have to take over the household jobs. Interestingly, the men quickly begin to understand why the women were asking for running water, and other things from their employer that would make daily life much easier.

Another phase of thinking was more ontological than conceptual. These thinkers wanted to make it clear that social things, causes, and structures depended on the activities of individuals and nothing else.

There is one aspect of the tradition that I haven't mentioned yet: the idea that we can carve out the individual as separate from and prior to the social -- a view sometimes referred to as "atomistic".

In my view, the only claims about methodological individualism that seem unequivocally plausible today are the ontological requirements -- the various formulations of the notion that social things are composed of the actions and thoughts of individuals and nothing else. This implies as well that the supervenience claim and the microfoundations claim are plausible as well.

The problem is not mathematics as such, but the junk economics and junk statistics used by the mathematicians who have captured the discipline of economics. For contrast, one need only turn to the 19th century’s rich toolbox of economic concepts developed to analyze today’s most pressing problems.

The overburden of public debt prompted Adam Smith to comment that year that no government ever had repaid its debts, and to propose means to keep it in check by freeing the American colonies that were a major source of conflict with France, for instance, and most of all, by paying for wars out of current taxation so that populations would feel their immediate cost rather than running into debt to international bankers such as the Dutch.

The early 19th-century French reformer St. Simon proposed that banks shift from making straight interest-bearing loans to “equity” loans, taking payment in dividends rather than stipulated interest charges so that debt service would be kept within the means to pay. (Islamic law already had banned interest.) This became the inspiration for the industrial banking policies developed in continental Europe later in the century. St. Simon influenced Marx, whose manuscript notes for what became Vol. III of Capital and Theories of Surplus Value collected what he read from Martin Luther to Richard Price on how debts multiplied by purely mathematical laws independently of the “real” economy¹s ability to produce a surplus. The classical concept of productive credit was to provide borrowers with the means to pay. Unproductive debts had to be paid out of revenue obtained elsewhere.

Interest paid by consumers was treated as a psychological choice, while industrial profit was treated as a return for the widening time it presumably took to produce capital-intensive goods and services. The ideas of “time preference” and the “roundabout” cycle of production were substituted for the simpler idea of charging a price for credit without any out-of-pocket cost or real risk undertaken by bankers. The world in which economic theorists operated was becoming increasingly speculative and hypothetical.

After the Napoleonic wars ended in 1815, Britain’s leading bank spokesman, David Ricardo, applied the concept of economic rent to the land in the process of arguing against the agricultural tariffs (the protectionist Corn Laws) in his 1817 Principles of Political Economy and Taxation. His treatment deftly sidestepped what had been the “original” discussion of rentier income squeezed out by the financial sector.

It was exciting to find a strong refutation of the long-held mainstream view that the share of capital and the share of labor in GDP were stable. Workers and investors would split the economy’s bounty according to some unknown law of equality. Now Piketty was saying not so. Historically capital did much better. This is darned important.

The simple question is: Why doesn’t r fall as returns necessarily diminish? Piketty’s mainstream answer is that new technologies, broadly defined, keep creating new profitable opportunities. This leaves me at a loss. Pure free markets create r that is always greater than the growth rate of GDP? Fortunately, Lance Taylor, formerly at MIT and now emeritus of the New School, shows pretty clearly that the capital proportion can rise, fall or persist under varying conditions.

If a rising capital ratio is inevitable (as his history empirically suggests), and capital markets work the way the neoclassical models says they do, then taxes are the only tool available.

In the long run, I think Piketty’s work will indeed prove seminal. It will force economists to deal with the remarkably wide range of issues he raises. But he hasn’t replaced Marx with a more well-founded model of capitalism’s unfairness. For me it is not capital that is power alone. Piketty’s persistently high r, a wonderful discovery, is likely a reflection of the power of wealth not of natural economic forces. With his empirical work we can begin to find solutions about how to constrain the power. But let’s follow his example in regard to income inequality and understand more fully the market failures in capital markets. A global tax would be a wonderful addition to the list of potential tools to bring down r. So let the arguments begin.

And he gives a thoughtful defense of inheritance taxes, progressive taxation and a global wealth tax as possible (though almost certainly not politically viable) antidotes to the further concentration of wealth and power.

The law is the law and that is that. Marx would obviously have attributed the existence of such a law to the imbalance of power between capital and labor. And that explanation still holds water.

As Alan Budd, an economic advisor to Margaret Thatcher confessed in an unguarded moment, anti-inflation policies of the 1980s turned out to be “a very good way to raise unemployment, and raising unemployment was an extremely desirable way of reducing the strength of the working classes…what was engineered there in Marxist terms was a crisis of capitalism which recreated a reserve army of labour and has allowed capitalists to make high profits ever since.”

“All told,” he writes, “over the period 1932-1980, nearly half a century, the top federal income tax in the United States averaged 81 percent.” And this did not in any way dampen growth (another piece of Piketty’s evidence that rebuts right wing beliefs).

After 1980 top tax rates came down and capital gains – a major source of income for the ultra-wealthy – were taxed at a much lower rate in the US, hugely boosting the flow of wealth to the top one percent. But the impact on growth, Piketty shows, was negligible. So “trickle down” of benefits from the rich to the rest (another right wing favorite belief) does not work. None of this was dictated by any mathematical law. It was all about politics.

Piketty’s formulation of the mathematical law disguises more than it reveals about the class politics involved. As Warren Buffett has noted, “sure there is class war, and it is my class, the rich, who are making it and we are winning.” One key measure of their victory is the growing disparities in wealth and income of the top one percent relative to everyone else.

The whole of neo-classical economic thought (which is the basis of Piketty’s thinking) is founded on a tautology. The rate of return on capital depends crucially on the rate of growth because capital is valued by way of that which it produces and not by what went into its production. Its value is heavily influenced by speculative conditions and can be seriously warped by the famous “irrational exuberance” that Greenspan spotted as characteristic of stock and housing markets. If we subtract housing and real estate – to say nothing of the value of the art collections of the hedge funders – from the definition of capital (and the rationale for their inclusion is rather weak) then Piketty’s explanation for increasing disparities in wealth and income would fall flat on its face, though his descriptions of the state of past and present inequalities would still stand.

Restricting the supply of capital to new investment (a phenomena we are now witnessing) ensures a high rate of return on that capital which is in circulation. The creation of such artificial scarcity is not only what the oil companies do to ensure their high rate of return: it is what all capital does when given the chance. This is what underpins the tendency for the rate of return on capital (no matter how it is defined and measured) to always exceed the rate of growth of income. This is how capital ensures its own reproduction, no matter how uncomfortable the consequences are for the rest of us. And this is how the capitalist class lives

This is the triumph of Capital in the 21st Century: nothing about the book is more impressive than the range and richness of its statistical information. (Piketty excuses the inaccuracy of Kuznets’s theory on the basis of the incomplete data, going back only a few decades, at his disposal.)

One merit of the book is that it both insists on the importance of data and, at least where modern societies are concerned, highlights the uncertainties involved in its collection.

On the one hand, the law is indisputable: if capital grows faster than output, the proportion of wealth to income necessarily rises. Only a dip in the rate of return, broader capital ownership, or the destruction of capital might retard or reverse the process. But what does the formula explain?

The exceptional character of the period between the First World War and the 1973-74 recession becomes the more striking when Piketty emphasises that his second law of capitalism held long before capitalism: ‘The inequality r>g has clearly been true throughout most of human history, right up to the eve of World War One, and it will probably be true again in the 21st century.’ In a chart graphing the rate of return against ‘the growth rate, at the world level, of world output from Antiquity to 2100’, r hovers between 4 and 5 per cent until 1820, by which time the Industrial Revolution has spread beyond England. It plummets nearly as low as 1 per cent around the outbreak of the First World War, and then undertakes a steep climb throughout the 20th century before adjusting to a moderate slope that stretches up to and past our time into the indefinite and enduringly capitalist future. Across the same stretch of history, the global growth rate g ascends a gentle gradient until the mid-18th century, after which new summits beckon.

Piketty’s theoretical troubles may start with his definition of capital as wealth in general.

In his conclusion Piketty promotes r>g to the status of ‘the central contradiction of capitalism’. The phrase is meant to evoke Marx and the theory to better him.

At a distance Piketty’s central contradiction resembles Marx’s. Here too capital, ‘more and more dominant over those who own nothing but their labour’, overaccumulates relative to labour. But at least in formal terms, Marx’s theory is clearly superior. It proposes a genuine contradiction – capital accumulation undermines itself – and entails a mechanism specific to capitalism: the drive for profits through the exploitation of wage labour. Piketty’s r>g is not, by contrast, the ‘fundamental logical contradiction’ that he claims. Capital accumulation, left to outrun economic growth indefinitely, would create ‘an endless inegalitarian spiral’ threatening less to profitability than ‘to democratic societies and to the values of social justice on which they are based’.

Large fortunes would come to represent recent entrepreneurial feats more than the dumb luck of inheritance, and revenue from the tax could address public purposes neglected by private investors. Piketty hazards his ‘utopian idea’ as contemporary societies approach what he sees as a fork in the road. One way leads to concentrations of wealth incompatible with liberal democracy, the other to a redomesticated capitalism supporting ‘a social state for the 21st century’.

A recent study calculated that in the US the top 10 per cent of the income distribution enjoys an effect on political outcomes 15 times that of the remaining 90 per cent. Other countries are plutocratic to similar degrees. How are the executive committees of the ruling class in countries across the world to act in concert to impose Piketty’s tax on just this class?

But even without it, a rising capital/income ratio would no longer automatically deepen inequality. The notion of such a revolution – first in one country, then gatheringly international but not yet universal – is fanciful right now. But is it more so than a global capital tax requiring the co-ordination of virtually all nations? The longer global capitalism goes unreformed the more likely nations and regions are to reject it.

Piketty, ‘vaccinated for life against the conventional but lazy rhetoric of anticapitalism’ by the fall of the Berlin Wall, might consider such speculations an ideological relapse. He wants his tax on capital to ‘promote the general interest over private interests while preserving economic openness and the forces of competition’, and has said in interviews that the indispensable role of markets in complex economies justifies the persistence of capitalism.

Visions of a postcapitalist future, from Alec Nove’s Economics of Feasible Socialism (1983) to David Schweickart’s After Capitalism (2002), have more often been forms of market socialism. (Schweickart folds ‘a capital assets tax’ much like Piketty’s into a comprehensive transitional programme.) The private accumulation of capital would no longer drive the economy, even as the market still facilitated much private consumption and guided much public investment. Piketty might reject the idea in any or all varieties. For now he shows no awareness of it. The blindspot isn’t surprising in a writer who has boasted to the American press, perhaps not entirely disingenuously, of his unfamiliarity with Marx’s writing, and who in his book excuses his indifference to Marxist work generally by complaining that ‘one sometimes has the impression’ in reading Sartre, Althusser or Badiou that ‘questions of capital and class inequality are only of moderate interest to them.’ He would have done better to consult historians and economists than philosophers.

But the familiar equation of markets with capitalism lacks a historical or theoretical basis. It ignores the extensive markets in many precapitalist societies and the strong element of monopoly and state interference with markets throughout the history of capitalism.

Piketty’s appetite for and command over data, for one thing, are worth emulating. And surely if intelligent economists start reckoning with Marxian thought not as a historical curio but as a long and living tradition, they won’t simply ratify propositions about which Marxists don’t agree themselves. Investigated rather than ignored, Marxist ideas would be variously confirmed, refined or rejected. For the moment, however, mainstream economists, including the hero of the hour, seem reluctant to press their discoveries beyond the borders of the respectable. Their journalistic counterparts are if anything more timid.

The book is more exciting considered as a failure than as a triumph. Piketty has bid a lingering goodbye to the latter-day marginalism of mainstream economics but has not yet arrived at the reconstructed political economy foreseen at the outset. His theoretical reach fumbles where his statistical grasp is sure, and he leaves intact the questions of economic value, distributive justice and capitalist dynamics that he raises.