NINA POWER
Katsiaficas’ concept of the “eros effect” is, at first glance, enormously appealing. Who hasn’t felt, beneath the coldness and cruelties of capitalist atomization (the “psychic Thermidor,” as Katsiaficas, via Marcuse, beautifully puts it), the need and desire for a very different set of relations, of collectivity, of love in its fullest, most human sense? And we do indeed get glimpses of these other models of relationality, albeit temporarily, in protest, in occupations, and in everyday acts of solidarity. Katsiaficas repeatedly describes his analysis as “dialectical” in a humanist, Hegelian mode. We can easily see how this analysis makes sense of the dialectical relationships between repression-liberation, atomization-collectivity, uncertainty-hope, and many of the other core features of political struggle (“fear changes sides” was, for example, a key slogan in the Egyptian uprising). Here, though, I want to push Katsiaficas further into the dialectics of eros, specifically, and ask why, given the immense amount of feminist work done on love, eros, care, and the exit from repression, Katsiaficas does not reference more of these debates. It is in feminism, above all, that we find the best and most important work on the dialectics of these things, not least because the imposition of these qualities is so integral to the history of patriarchy (be kind because you are a woman, that is what women do, etc.). Katsiaficas does acknowledge the role of feminism in both world history and his personal development: “The feminist movement spoke to women’s particular desires for freedom but also changed global culture more generally. The women’s movement enabled me to free myself as a male from my own macho life.”1 But elsewhere its contribution is rather underplayed: “Feminism is interpreted to mean women in combat and corporate boardrooms rather than the abolition of war and hierarchy.”2 Certainly there is a neoliberalism that has embraced a certain kind of pro-capitalist and pro-imperialist feminism; however, there is much more that feminism offers to his analysis, particularly when it comes to critically thinking about the model that lies behind the eros effect.
How then do we preserve the revolutionary and liberatory impulses of eros, love, and care in the way that Katsiaficas desires, but also accept along the way the feminist critique of the exploitation of these same qualities? How many modes of coercion have been carried out in the name of “love” or in the service of a revolutionary “eros” that sees women little better off than they were before? It is my contention that it is possible to both preserve and recognize the revolutionary impulse of Katsiaficas’ analytical concept, while simultaneously reorienting the concept of “eros” toward a feminist image of revolution: Indeed, the eros effect cannot fully be understood, I will suggest, without having dialectically passed through the feminist critique of eros and related concepts to emerge out the other side. The concept of revolution defended here, then, will be one that begins with and recognizes the already existing nature of care, emotional labor, and love as constitutive of social reproduction (the reproduction of the social totality). It is not solely in these moments of spontaneous, international uprisings that universal relations and bonds of love for humanity (what Feuerbach and the early Marx described as Gattungswesen or species-being) become apparent; indeed, they are only able to appear because they already exist, albeit serially as Sartre would put it, or in (mainly, though not totally) alienated form.
To be clear, I agree with several of Katsiaficas’ suggestions—that the emotional and the rational are not to be opposed, that machinic images of humanity are not useful for revolutionary struggle, and that global feminism is central in understanding the history, present, and future of politics for everyone. However, I want to try to dialectically extend some of his claims to better strengthen their conclusions. Ultimately, I suggest that the eros effect already exists in everyday care and social reproduction and that, along with an understanding of the preexisting modes of relationality, this latent force might ultimately prove to be more powerful than insurrections envisaged as “spontaneous” street battles. To get to this point, I will take three critiques in turn: first, the critique of the critique of repression; second, the critique of love in the context of labor; and, third, a brief examination of the problem of spontaneity. It will overall be suggested that Katsiaficas’ concept of the eros effect can only benefit from and be expanded by feminist critique.
I want to first address some feminist critiques of the framing of repression. In Katsiaficas’ work, like that of many others after Marcuse but also after many post-1968 thinkers, in the interstices between Freud and Foucault, there is an understanding that repression (in the sense of both psychic repression and the physical repression arising from state apparatuses) signals that which needs liberation. Katsiaficas is of course very careful not to reduce his concept of the eros effect to mere physicality, suggesting that eros needs careful cultivation and concerns life-affirming connectivity and trust and is “not just about sex.”3 The moments of the eros effect thus do not straightforwardly correspond to the unleashing of libidinal energy understood in the impoverished way we often understand sex and sexuality today, but there is, nevertheless, a clear sense in which moments of spontaneous, universal uprisings are deeply connected with the freeing of desire: “the human capacity to understand the promise of freedom contained in given situations and the corresponding desire to move beyond prior constraints.”4 Katsiaficas argues that the eros effect is an analytical tool for explaining mass political awakenings and spontaneous rebellions and is deeply connected with love and erotics: “This ‘effect’ involves an eroticization of politics—and of everyday life—that motivates people to create an alternative world of solidarity, self-determination, and bottom-up social relations.”5 It is the effect that creates collectivity: something new is begun.
But before we get to Katsiaficas’ dialectics of liberation, it is crucial to understand exactly what kind of model of repression we are working with. One aspect of the debate between radical feminism and “sex-positive” feminism precisely concerned the way in which the dyad desire/repression was set up. As Karen Elizabeth Davis put it in her essay “I Love Myself When I Am Laughing: A New Paradigm for Sex”:
From sexology to gay and lesbian studies to feminism, a persistent concern has been that while men unproblematically express desire, women have been plagued by sexual silence. The feminist sexuality debates of the 1980s took up the problem of women’s desire. Some feminists maintained that our culture represses women’s sexual desire and expression which can and should be a lot more like men’s, and otherwise would be if not for repression.6
Here, the thorny question of the gendered aspect of desire is raised. While it is perhaps impossible, and in any case unhelpful, to identify any kind of “natural” male or female desire, it is true that the way desire is socialized in terms of masculine and feminine qualities is quite different in each case. What, then, would it mean to insert the question of sex into the question of desire/repression? Would we come to realize that a supposedly neutral model that celebrated the liberation of desire as an unmitigated good was actually predicated on an unwittingly masculine model of desire? Davis is strongly critical of what she sees as the aspiration on the part of sex-positive feminism to aspire to sexuality if it is to be solely on male terms. For Davis, the entire debate within feminism concerning desire/repression took place on the basis of false and unexamined premises, the first being that “male sexuality is unproblematically self-motivated, driven, active, unattached, demanding, free.”7 Underlying these qualities, she suggests, is a more fundamental tenet, namely, that desire is imagined as something like hunger, an individual desire that seeks satisfaction in the world (we of course can see the long tail that connects Hegel to Freud to Sartre to Lacan, where the model is fundamentally one of the endless satisfaction and renewal of desire in the face of its permanent and constitutive emptiness). Instead of looking for a new model of desire, Davis argues that feminists critical of the radical feminist position on desire/repression were moved to search for desire on the male model: “Looking for women’s sexuality as hungering and not finding it, pro-sex feminists concluded that women’s sexuality had been violently repressed, and resisted vehemently any suggestion that it did not exist. Women’s more relational, contextual, emotional responses were derogated as passive and moralistic. They were not what was being sought. These feminists were looking for desire.”8
We are faced with an extraordinary difficulty on the back of this reading. On the one hand is a model of desire/repression and de-repression in the form of the freeing of sexuality; on the other is a defense of what looks to be essentialist categories of femininity and femaleness (“Women’s more relational, contextual, emotional responses”). One model appears to be abstract because it is the neutral, comprehensible form of de-repression, the other appears to be overly particular, specific, “passive and moralistic.” But as Davis points out, even a hypercritical position that understands the constructed nature of human sexuality often falls prey to a mimicking or mirroring of the naturalist assumption that desire functions more like hunger than satiation: “Even when sexuality is seen to originate in cultural production instead of nature, as Lacan and Foucault both maintain, an unreflective use of the hunger paradigm for sexuality causes us to slide back into naturalist and humanist categories, which in turn constantly efface the social situatedness and relatedness of sexuality essential to any radical critique.”9
Key work on childhood development from a feminist and psychoanalytic perspective similarly emphasizes the move beyond repression/de-repression. In Jessica Benjamin’s The Bonds of Love, a thoroughgoing critique of the Freudian approach to subject-creation, she argues that “[m]utual recognition cannot be achieved through obedience, through identification with the other’s power, or through repression. It requires, finally, contact with the other.”10 As Benjamin’s critique and defense of intersubjectivity shows, perhaps part of the problem here is our residual commitment to understanding the masculine model of desire as neutral and itself desirable, even where we are critical of it. As Rowbotham put in in 1973:
The immediate response when you grasp this is to deny all culture, because everything that has been created, all universal values, all notions of what we are, have been made in a society in which men have been dominant. But the problem created by simply rejecting everything that is, and inverting existing male values to make a female culture out of everything not male, is that the distortions of oppression are perpetuated.11
But what if we were to go beyond the inversion and begin simply positively and even positivistically, as a kind of experiment, with the “relational, contextual, emotional” conception of sexuality and, by extension, of eros more broadly understood? This position refuses the terms of the inversion and points to already existing bonds as a positive social model—this is after all what we are looking for in mass movements, when we write about them and when we participate in them.
Katsiaficas actually offers us some resources in this regard when he repeatedly states that rebellion and the emotion involved in mass uprisings are supremely reasonable. Yet at the same time they are above all acts of passion—and it is not for nothing that riots in France are called emeutes (“emotions”).12 The overturning of the reason/emotion opposition is often present (negatively) in the discussion of riots and other mass and collective movements. Images of enraged or impassioned “mobs” acting “irrationally” have long haunted the popular and particularly right-wing impressions of collective action. It is no coincidence, too, that women have historically and simultaneously been aligned with irrationality, flights of fancy, fits of passion, and so on, by, for instance, philosophy, political thought, and the popular imaginary.
For Katsiaficas, however, it is in “the ecstatic experience of struggle that the universal rationality of rebellion is discovered”13 and, furthermore, that “[r]ather than portraying emotions as linked to reaction, the notion of the eros effect seeks to bring them into the realm of positive revolutionary resources whose mobilization can result in significant social transformation.”14 There is thus no opposition between reason and emotion—indeed, it is rational to be “emotional” in the face of great inequality and oppression. Katsiaficas, at times, goes further, describing the need for a combination of love with “mathematical logic.”15 This is to ensure, and partly to describe, the relationship between the moment of erotic charge and the necessity for organizing (“activating this desire is one thing and coordinating it is another matter entirely”16). Katsiaficas is right to be cautious here: there are no guarantees that de-repression will automatically organize itself, and there are potential dangers in a model of de-repression that carry with them no checks at all. If “academics of social movements” have tended to focus too much on the question of coordination and not enough on the question of “inner desire,” it is nevertheless key for Katsiaficas and for movements on the ground that desire be channeled: “The movement is a means of sublimating eros.”17
We can cite concrete examples where a rapid de-repression has had disastrous effects for women, particularly in the form of sexual assault. Incidences of assault have been documented from student occupations in California to street harassment in Tahrir Square. In situations where the tacit agreement is that the state is never to be called up (occupations, for example), the question of how the group deals with sexual assault is a very difficult one indeed, and much literature in recent years has looked at accountability committees, “safe” or “safer” spaces, transformative and restorative justice from a prison abolitionist perspective, and so on.18 For many decades now, women have been pointing out the practical contradiction that often takes places between the liberatory beliefs held by male revolutionaries and the rather more mundane, but no less political, way in which these same revolutionaries in practice perpetuate the status quo. In outlining the relationship between Marxism and feminism, Lydia Sargent in the crucial collection The Unhappy Marriage of Marxism and Feminism makes the point that the concerns raised about the relation between the two movements came out of “the experiences of women in the civil rights, new left, and women’s movement of the 1960s and 1970s.”19 Sargent summarizes the reality of the situation:
[W]orkers at the point of production (read white working class males) will make the revolution led by revolutionary cadre of politicos (read middle class white males steeped in Marxist economic theory). Women (mostly white) would keep the home fires burning during it, functioning as revolutionary nurturers/secretaries: typing, filing, phoning, feeding, healing, supporting, loving, and occasionally even participating on the front lines as quasi-revolutionary cheerleaders.20
Women inside and outside the movement are frequently expected to provide emotional support to others, family and otherwise, often at great cost to their own physical and mental health. The point is here that unless there is a thoroughgoing questioning of existing social relations and hierarchies, the status quo will likely repeat itself, even or perhaps especially in “revolutionary” organizations. To return briefly to the question of repression and de-repression at hand here, Davis makes clear that the dangers of assuming a model of de-repression on the male model carries with it supreme dangers, dangers that we must also be aware of when attempting to understand the collective possibilities of the eros effect (and it is clear for Katsiaficas that we are always talking about the collective image of eros: “For Marcuse, eros remains largely individualized. But I wondered, can eros, like autonomy, be reconceptualized as a collective phenomenon”21). As Davis puts it, when describing the common understanding of repression and de-repression:
[A] discussion of rape and sexual violence yields the following: “radical analysis suggests male sexual nature is the product of a repressive society, which can be altered only by the elimination of sexism and the increase in women’s freedom.” The logic here seems to be that if women are allowed to de-repress their sexual desire, which moral strictures have held in check, there will be less rape because there will be more sex available to men. Aside from the repression hypothesis itself, this passage makes two implicit assumptions—that women’s freedom from repression will find primary expression in increased sexual activity with men, and that more consensual sex will satisfy men’s desire for forced sex.22
While Davis presents here a very grim picture of repression and de-repression, as well as an antagonistic account of the relationship between men and women, the positive aspect of her presentation points ultimately toward a different model of desire, one based not on hunger and hierarchy, but on the kinds of relationality found present in modes of being-together such as tickling and laughter: “There are lots of good reasons to dislike objectified sex that do not reduce to repressive puritanism or a morality of love. Women who reject everything sex is and has been are not anti-sex per se; they are holding out for something better. Women who do not eroticize vulnerability or danger are looking for a fuller richer laughter, which stands outside of tedious and dispiriting power/subordination scenarios.”23
For our purposes, we can see in the demand for a different conception of desire a positive model that moves through and beyond the dangers of a repression/de-repression model based on the disavowed masculinist model of desire as hunger. Before we get to what the positive image of a collective de-repression based on preexisting relationality and equality might be, we need to take another conceptual and political detour, this time to get to the other side of love.
We need to cultivate our capacities to love and to act in an efficient manner …24
—George Katsiaficas, “Remembering May ’68”
A clear aspect, or even the whole, of our expanded conception of eros is love. Here, love is conceived of as a kind of pananthrophilia, a love of and for all humanity. But there is a more complex dialectic of love, and again it is feminism that best explains how love can operate both as a kind of demand/duty (“you must do this out of love”) and as a foundational aspect of human existence. This latter form of love, however, is nearly completely buried, and its dimensions are drastically reduced under the capitalist imperative to sell one’s labor power, as well as to work for free. Arlie Russell Hochschild’s concept of “emotional labor” serves to expand existing Marxist categories of labor, and much feminist analysis has dedicated itself to exposing the sheer amount of unpaid labor carried out on the basis of sex expectation (“you must do this because you are a woman and this is what women do”). As Hochschild puts it: “I use the term emotional labor to mean the management of feeling to create a publicly observable facial and bodily display; emotional labor is sold for a wage and therefore has exchange value.”25
We cannot straightforwardly praise love and care as political goals without first passing through the material reality and force of these dimensions of human existence, and without understanding that love is frequently performed as a kind of labor on the basis of sex, whether paid or not. This kind of relationship between love and work, or love as work, is grueling. As Selma James puts it: “Our physical feeling is … destroyed by the limited kinds of sexuality and the shallow relationships this society promotes and by the scarcity of times and places where we can make love. Our bodies become a tool for production and reproduction and nothing else.26
The Wages for Housework campaign sought and continues to seek to politicize the way in which unpaid labor (housework, care work, cooking, child care, elder care, emotional support—what gets called “social reproduction”: everything it takes to reproduce the social as such) subtends and indeed forms the basis for waged labor. Although waged labor has been the privileged mode of relation to capital, James and others have long argued that without an understanding of social reproduction, there is no way of understanding and critiquing capitalism as a whole. As the Wages for Housework campaign put it: “To the degree that we organize a struggle for wages for the work we do in the home, we demand that work in the home be considered as work which, like all work in capitalist society, is forced work, which we do not for love but because, like every other worker, we and our children would starve if we stopped.27
The feminist work of the 1960s and 1970s was critical in identifying not just the relationship between “reproductive” and “productive” labor (or indeed, the way in which the latter depends completely upon the former), but was also heavily prescient in the way in which emotional and care labor became the basis for the service economy that now dominates much of the labor done, particularly in richer countries where industry and farming have been moved to the developing world. As Kathi Weeks puts it:
[R]eproductive labour is what makes productive labour possible on a daily and generational basis. So “the economy” includes not only waged labour and its sites, relations, and outputs, but also the household, with its gendered labours and familial mode of governance. Early on, reproductive labour was typically conceived in these texts as “housework” and often confined to the tasks of cleaning, shopping, and cooking—those forms of work with the closest resemblance to the once iconic example of manual factory labour. Later the focus shifted more to caring labour. What was seen as an exception, something outside and separate from productive labour within a Fordist imaginary, was soon recognized as a prescient, more generalizable template for post-Fordist service work that enlists more of our emotional and communicative capacities. So over time, a separate spheres model, centred on the two sites of waged work and family, becomes harder to sustain analytically.28
In this way, we can suggest that the tendency of employment is toward jobs that typically resemble women’s work historically—that is to say, having an emotional, communicative, or service dimension, being badly paid (if at all), precarious, and so on. Think of the rise of zero-hour contracts and McJobs, of the increasing testing and demand for pleasant and measurable emotional service in poorly paid café jobs, of the outsourcing of cleaning and care work to poorly paid and often badly treated migrants who may have left their own children behind to take up paid work looking after someone else’s family.
By politicizing and economizing work that has been historically forced onto women via the rhetoric of love and duty, and the supposed “naturalness” of women’s capacity to love, nurture, and care, the Wages for Housework campaign pointed to a central fault line both in the uncritical celebration of love as some sort of immediately accessible, universal feeling, as well as the limitations of the classically Marxist model of the refusal of work. What would it mean to refuse to love, to strike over pay (or lack thereof) and conditions? Clearly laying down tools in a factory or sabotaging machines has a very different meaning when it comes to the direct care of other human beings. One cannot simply abandon one’s “job” if that job is taking care of vulnerable people. The work of social reproduction that takes place in an occupation or the consolidation of a political uprising is the same kind of work, and unless it is central to the politics of that movement, and the sexed expectation examined and addressed head-on, then the situation can only reproduce the status quo under a radical guise. James and others recognized the limitations of traditional modes of political organizing when it comes to socially reproductive labor: “To the degree that we organize a struggle against work, women’s work of making love for capital or being denied making love by capital; making children for capital or being prevented from making children by capital … the unions will try to take it over and direct it into safe channels under their stewardship.”29
There is a further problem that concerns the relationship between love and work that increasingly needs addressing, and again there are parallels between Katsiaficas’ Hegelian and humanist approach and the feminist critique. This problem concerns the question of automation and the relationship between technology and work. There is no doubt that we are seeing an increase both materially and theoretically in the celebration of technology as a liberatory force, yet there are serious dangers in the idea of “full automation,” to cite one recent popular technophiliac slogan—this image of work is one that radically neglects the nature of care work, the overwhelming majority of which can never be outsourced to machines. Katsiaficas raises a similar concern when it comes to imagining revolutionary struggle in the image of the machine:
When we look at the practical consequences of ignoring dialectics, when we conceive of ourselves as machines of struggle, when we imagine that we are cyborgs, the images go in the opposite direction to the ones required by revolutionary politics. Rather than thinking in terms of machines, we should endeavor to become more human. The capacity of human beings to love is what keeps us from death. It’s the impulse underlying our will to freedom. Machines don’t need to love. Machines don’t need freedom.30
Silvia Federici and others have also made clear the problematic nature of machinic thinking when it comes to the question of work. The celebration of the machine and the relative neglect of care work and other forms of embodied, human reproductive labor partly stem from the dominance of a certain Marxist inheritance. Federici writes:
I suggest that Marx ignored women’s reproductive labor because he remained wedded to a technologistic concept of revolution, where freedom comes through the machine, where the increase in the productivity of labor is assumed to be the material foundation for communism, and where the capitalist organization of work is viewed as the highest model of historical rationality, held up for every other form of production, including the reproduction of the workforce. In other words, Marx failed to recognize the importance of reproductive work because he accepted the capitalist criteria for what constitutes work, and he believed that waged industrial work was the stage on which the battle for humanity’s emancipation would be played.31
When imagining the overturning of the existing order in favor of a humanist future where bonds of love dominate over cold, inhuman division, it is critical that we remember the feminist critique of the way in which reproductive labor continues to be deliberately obscured. We must also pay critical attention to the way in which emotion, love, and care are mobilized and monetized by an economy that weaponizes even the most human sentiments.
In this final section, I simply want to pose a question concerning spontaneity, and what it means for our feminist response to the eros effect. Katsiaficas repeatedly stresses the centrality of this concept to the eros effect, opposing both the attempting dominance of central organizing and revolutionary parties (which, as we have seen, are often not at all revolutionary for the women involved in them). But as I have argued throughout, if we start with social reproduction, we understand that relations of care and love already exist and have always already existed. They may be exploited by both patriarchy and capitalism, but they exist nonetheless, and they provide material and practical evidence of the possibility of organizing society in a very different way. We saw how the classical model of strikes and laying down of tools could not apply to the vast majority of socially reproductive work, and it remains absolutely crucial to ask: What if, rather than postulating revolution as some kind of spontaneous global gesture of solidarity in which “[p]eople intuitively [believe] that they could change the direction of the world from war to peace, from racism to solidarity, from external domination to self-determination, and from patriotism to humanism”32 as Katsiaficas has it, we might begin from the existence of relations of care, love, and solidarity as they already manifest themselves (despite the best efforts of capitalism to exploit and undermine them)?
Care cannot be spontaneous in exactly the same way as revolutionary uprisings imagined as a surge of newness, because it already exists, everywhere. There are of course spontaneous acts of care—dashing into the road to save a child from being hit by a car, for example. But these take place against the backdrop of care as the context for social life itself. What uprisings make visible is the demand for care to be realized and extended, to become the foundation for social life as a whole, as opposed to being buried and taken for granted. Feminism seeks to draw attention to the way in which care and love are underplayed, neglected, and gendered. Perhaps, then, the revolutionary gesture is in acknowledging this and imagining what a world might look like in which care and love in their fullest senses are afforded a central role for all humanity. Whatever revolutionary spontaneity we envisage must be one that at the same time protects and extends relations of care that already exist—these ties that may not yet even describe themselves as “revolutionary,” though without them all social life would collapse. Instead of an “effect,” it might be better to think of eros as a “cause,” if not the cause, that underpins the whole of social life and that provides the seeds of the revolution that is both already here and yet to come.
1. George Katsiaficas, interviewed by AK Thompson, “Remembering May ’68: An Interview with George Katsiaficas,” Upping the Anti 6 (April 2008): n.p., http://uppingtheanti.org/journal/article/06-remembering-may-68/.
2. George Katsiaficas, “From Marcuse’s ‘Political Eros’ to the Eros Effect: A Current Statement,” chap. 3 this volume, p. 55.
3. Katsiaficas, “Remembering May ’68,” n.p.
4. Ibid., n.p.
5. Jason Del Gandio and AK Thompson, “Introduction,” this collection, p. 3.
6. Karen Elizabeth Davis, “I Love Myself When I Am Laughing: A New Paradigm for Sex,” Journal of Social Philosophy 21, no. 2–3 (September 1990): 5–24 (5).
7. Ibid., 5.
8. Ibid., 5.
9. Ibid., 7.
10. Jessica Benjamin, The Bonds of Love: Psychoanalysis, Feminism and the Problems of Domination (New York: Pantheon Books, 1988), 41.
11. Sheila Rowbotham, Woman’s Consciousness, Man’s World (Middlesex: Penguin Books, 1973), xi.
12. For more on this point, see Joshua Clover’s excellent book Riot.Strike.Riot. (London: Verso, 2016).
13. Del Gandio and Thompson, “Introduction,” p. 4.
14. Katsiaficas, “Remembering May ’68,” n.p.
15. Ibid., n.p.
16. Ibid., n.p.
17. Ibid., n.p.
18. See, for example, Ching-In Chen, Jai Dulani, and Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-Samarasinha, eds., The Revolution Starts at Home: Confronting Partner Abuse in Activist Communities, available here: https://lgbt.wisc.edu/documents/Revolution-starts-at-home.pdf.
19. Lydia Sargent, ed., The Unhappy Marriage of Marxism and Feminism: A Debate on Class and Patriarchy (London: Pluto Press, 1986 [1981]), xii.
20. Ibid., xiii.
21. Katsiaficas, “From Marcuse’s ‘Political Eros’ to the Eros Effect,” chap. 3 this volume, p. 54.
22. Davis, “I Love Myself When,” 9.
23. Ibid., 17.
24. Katsiaficas, “Remembering May ’68,” n.p.
25. Arlie Russell Hochschild, The Managed Heart: Commercialization of Human Feeling (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2003 [1983]), 7.
26. Selma James, Sex, Race and Class, The Perspective of Winning: A Selection of Writings, 1952–2011 (Oakland: PM Press, 2011), 72.
27. Ibid., 81.
28. Kathi Weeks, interview with Katie Cruz, “A Feminist Case for Basic Income,” Canadian Dimension, August 11 2016, https://canadiandimension.com/articles/view/a-feminist-case-for-basic-income-an-interview-with-kathi-weeks.
29. James, Sex, Race and Class, 82.
30. Katsiaficas, “Remembering May ’68,” n.p.
31. Silvia Federici, Revolution at Point Zero: Housework, Reproduction, and Feminist Struggle (Oakland: PM Press, 2012), 95.
32. George Katsiaficas, “Eros and Revolution,” Radical Philosophy Review 16, no. 2 (2013): 491–505 (492).