La fin du capitalisme

25 mai 2025

 

Si nous voulons la fin du capitalisme, nous devons être précis. Autrement, dans la guerre des imaginaires, le capitaliste gagnera toujours en nous renvoyant à un passé moins prospère, moins libre, plus dangereux. Par exemple :

Je ne veux pas la fin de la méritocratie. Je veux une méritocratie juste, dans laquelle une personne qui contribue positivement à la société en travaillant dur est plus récompensée qu’une personne qui travaille moins ou qui contribue négativement. Mais qui décide du positif et du négatif, si ce n’est le marché ? Pourquoi travailler dans le soin, ou dans le livre, si cela est mal rémunéré ? Par la loi de l’offre et la demande, cela devrait attirer moins de travailleurės, générant une pénurie, ce qui augmenterait les salaires pour en attirer plus ! Le capitaliste comprend mal une notion : les convictions. Tant de personnes travaillent à l’hôpital dans des conditions effroyables pour un salaire médiocre, car si elles ne le font pas, des gens meurent. On ne travaille pas dans l’édition littéraire pour bien gagner sa vie, mais pour la conviction que le monde est meilleur avec des livres. S’ils étaient plus chers, il y aurait moins de lecteurs ; moins de demande. Le marché a parlé ! Mais la société en serait-elle meilleure ? Pourquoi tant de mairies subventionnent des bibliothèques gratuites ? A l’inverse, pourquoi les hôpitaux ne sont-ils pas suffisamment subventionnés ?

Je ne veux pas tout nationaliser. Tout organe dirigeant est faillible, qu’il soit public ou privé. La nationalisation concentre le risque, la privatisation le dilue. La compétition garantie la recherche de l’efficacité. Mais la concurrence peut exister sans quête de profit. Les éco-organismes s’affrontent pour avoir plus d’adhérents que les autres ; les écocontributions leur permettent d’augmenter la masse salariale ; ils peuvent avoir des actionnaires qui veulent une part de décision, sans rémunération ; et ils n’ont pas le droit de générer du profit. L’Etat-Providence pourrait fonctionner de manière similaire : tous les hôpitaux, toutes les écoles seraient privées et financées par l’impôt en fonction du nombre de patients ou d’élèves qu’ils peuvent accueillir ; libres d’allouer leurs ressources en fonction des besoins exprimés localement par les travailleurės et les habitants ; mais avec l’interdiction de générer du profit.

Je veux la fin de la spéculation (acheter pour vendre), des dividendes et des prêts à intérêt, mais je veux que le porteur d’un projet puisse toujours récompenser ses investisseurs. L’exemple du crowdfunding est intéressant : je n’investis pas pour générer un profit avec la récompense, mais parce que j’ai un intérêt à la réussite du projet.

Je ne veux pas la fin de la capitalisation (accumuler des richesses), mais je veux que ce capital cesse de procurer un pouvoir proportionnel. L’exemple des sociétés coopératives est intéressant : chaque employé est également actionnaire, et la voix de chaque personne a le même poids dans les décisions, quel que soit le capital investit.

Je ne veux pas la fin de la croissance économique : elle devrait permettre d’améliorer les conditions de vie, de réduire le temps de travail individuel, d’explorer de nouveaux horizons. Mais je veux qu’elle soit juste : elle doit commencer par garantir un niveau de vie décent à tous ; et réduire son impact environnemental plutôt que l’augmenter.

On pourrait débattre ainsi de tous les pans de la société. Je ne le ferai ni ici, ni seul. Mon propos est ailleurs : si nous voulons la fin de quelque chose, assurons-nous d’abord d’en comprendre toutes les facettes, et de trouver mieux à proposer.

MAGA n'est pas nazi

6 avril 2025

Ne dites pas que Trump et Musk sont nazis : ils n’auront pas de mal à le nier. Le nazisme est une idéologie très spécifique, qui théorise une hiérarchie des races, repose sur l’idée d’un complot juif mondial et vise une expansion mondiale. Le régime qui se met en place aux Etats-Unis est quelque chose de nouveau.

Leur objectif semblait être un libéralisme économique absolu. Dans ce régime, le pouvoir se mérite, non par une élection, mais par la réussite économique. Le pouvoir public doit donc être supprimé au profit de pouvoirs privés. On créé alors une entité indépendante avec les moyens d’affaiblir ce pouvoir public, et qui ne rend des comptes qu’au Chef. 

Pourtant celui-ci ne semble pas tellement préoccupé par l’économie. Pas plus que de rester populaire. Ce qui compte, c’est que les choses avancent. Il ne gouverne que par décrets. La justice est trop lente pour l'arrêter, et si certains juges deviennent gênants, ils seront au mieux corrompus, au pire des traitres. Certains attendent les élections de mi-mandat : mais quand on dirige l’armée, qu’importe l’opposition d’un parti, et même du sien. Quant à la fin du mandat, on verra. 

Pas de protocoles des sages de Sion, la croyance commune sera un woke mind virus. Le terreau mondial du complot LGBT est déjà fertile. Il n’est pas question d’exterminer les personnes transgenres, mais elles ne représentent pas moins une menace pour la société. Une fois tous les changements de sexe à l’état civil identifiés par l’IA, il suffira d’ajouter un triangle rose sur leur compte Facebook ou X, afin d’éviter la propagation du virus.

Il faut ensuite tenir la promesse d’expulsion des millions d’immigrés illégaux. Le temps de régler les démarches administratives avec les pays d’origine, il faudra bien les incarcérer. Sans places dans les prisons, on construira des camps. Mais il est hors de question que l’Etat s’endette pour cela, alors on les fera travailler : efficacité, rentabilité. Musk a déjà démontré ce qu’il pensait des droits des travailleurs dans ses propres usines.

Reste la liberté d’expression, si chère au régime. Pas question de censurer, à part les publications scientifiques. Pour le reste, on laisse dire, il suffit d’inonder les médias de tout et son contraire. Les adversaires mentent pour être crus, on ment pour être entendu. Pour déconstruire la vérité. Le métro soviétique est le meilleur du monde ! Il le sera quand nous aurons détruit tous les autres métros. Le réchauffement climatique ? Même les scientifiques ne sont pas d’accords entre eux. 

MAGA n’est pas nazi, mais un lecteur d’Hannah Arendt y verra quelques techniques totalitaires : l’Etat parallèle, le complot mondial, la déshumanisation, l’instabilité permanente, la confusion entre fait et fiction. Le totalitarisme, ce n’est pas la dictature, ce n’est pas le fascisme. C'est que le monde soit tel que l'imagine le Chef.

    Kewanee — Chapter 6: The Mugen

Previous chapter: Nisan

Unlike the view from Arkaster, the Muir Concordia was narrow enough here to distinguish Kirighai on the other side. Despite this, throwing a bridge over these twenty kilometers of water was delusional. The first settlers naturally sailed there, until Niavhe convinced them to turn away. But there it was nontheless. Irregular, angled, as the small islands went by. But longer than anything that had ever been made. If not for the horizon that it skimmed, it could have been a path to the sky. Kewanee had been moved by sunsets on the docks, by Alteration wonders, or even by the dance of fireflies over a mountain lake. But nothing could compare to the sense of awe that shook her when she discovered Yong-Su’s eternal creation.

While she stood in contemplation, Ontemon sat in meditation. The Skein grew stronger as they approached the Katkera. The eternally anchored bridge somewhat amplified the life thriving on the other side. The healer was looking for peace, but an unexpected sense of danger overcame him instead. Something was wrong, but the Muna connection, unlike the Gestalt, only carried feelings. He would have to reach the first Refuge to investigate this. Suddenly impatient, he asked Kewanee if she was ready to cross. She nodded.

Each section of the Mugen was made of a different material. The first four were stone, ranging from black basalt to white marble. The one leading to Yong-Su Tenzing’s altar, made of oak, was the second of eleven wooden platforms. Even if Ontemon would have gladly run, nightfall required them to sleep on one of the islands. And of course, the Muna could never cross without honoring the spirits of Kirighai. Thus, the two companions stopped before each altar to address a prayer to its Eidolon. Most of them were unfamiliar to the young Arkasterian, and she pressed her mentor with questions. The biggest surprise for her stood under the fourteenth torii. A statue depicted a strong women dressed for travel facing a big brown bear. 

“Ulwyn was a strong leader of her time. Soon after Kirighai’s first exploration, the Prospectors’ Guild started looking for deposits of rare metals. The wildlife reacted violently to the drilling, and when the first Asgarthan was killed, weapons were drawn. Ulwyn both negotiated peace and united the animals to protect their land. The settlements were finally abandoned thanks to Kaibara and Niavhe, but Ulwyn at least made sure no mines opened.”

“She must have been very brave,” commented Kewanee. “How did she convince the bear?”

For the first time in hours, Ontemon laughed. “You got me wrong. Ulwyn is the bear!”

The last four bridges were the dazzling ones: the straw was stronger than it looked, followed by million-year-old amber, then glass, reflecting the sunlight in rainbows. The last one was still debated among Yzmir scholars. The most widely accepted theory held that it was pure, solidified Mana. Kewanee, like many before her, hesitated strongly before daring to set foot on this one, and kept her eyes down until she reached the end of it. When she finally dared look up, branches had replaced the sky. The forest was everywhere.

Next chapters on archive of our own

   Kewanee — Chapter 5: Nisan

Previous chapter: The Endeavor

Ontemon was leaving for a couple of weeks, on a pilgrimage to one of Kirighai’s Refuges. He had suggested that Kewanee accompany him, so she could learn more about the Muna. It would be the first time she had ever left Caer Eidos. For sixteen years, she had only known its fjords and canals, and the many rocky spines the Bravos fancied climbing. The forest was a complete mystery to her. This, of course, held some appeal for an adventurous young woman like her. She quickly agreed to go. Her fathers, although worried about the dangers of the wild and the risk of Tumult singularities, both agreed that she was old enough to explore the world. The Stata Matter granted her two weeks of vacation on the condition that she still provide first aid to any travelers in need, which went without saying.

Equipped in the Bravos way, with tight black pants, a wide red shirt, and a heavy backpack, she met the Muna healer at Svarga’s train station. The place was crowded with handlers loading or unloading supplies. Ontemon traveled lighter, confident that he would find everything he needed on the way. Tramway line 2 took them as far as Kladiver, where a Kelonic boat would carry them to the island of Nisan. The northern district lived up to its sinister reputation: its large, paved streets, once destined to greatness, were deserted, and the only light came from grim taverns packed with noisy sailors. Although not welcoming, at least this district was safe. The same could not be said of the one standing on the other side of the Sforafjord. The unfinished buildings of Usku, and its sister Koru, had been abandoned to criminals. To avoid both, the wheezing boat landed them north of the city, in a small creek.

Even if Kewanee had never set foot on Nisan, the landscapes of Caer Eidos’ third island looked familiar. But after half a day’s walk along colossal canyons and roaring rivers, she eventually noticed how different it was: in Kemeri and Sekent, you never lost sight of a human settlement. Here, of course, the path between Arkaster and the Mugen was also clearly marked. But apart from that, the only life was either wild or travelers like themselves. Close to Arkaster, the animals they encountered were the same as the ones she had observed in Kemeri’s mountains: marmots, red ibex and three-tails eagles, for the most impressive ones. But as they ventured further, so did nature’s creativity. The sunlight was obscured for a moment when a multicolored vulture, with a wingspan of four meters and a back covered in scales, flew over them. The following day, Ontemon pointed at what could have been a giant cat —if he hadn’t, she never would have noticed it.

“A shadow lynx”, he said, uneasily. “They are magnificent creatures. The color of their fur shifts as a camouflage. But they attack at night, we’ll need to take turns keeping the fire burning.”

For the first time in her life, Kewanee was afraid of something she did not control. As a Bravos or a Stata Matter agent, she often had thrown herself willingly into danger, but there had always been a way to turn back—though she never did. Living in a metropolis, she wasn’t used to untamed threats. Even Tumult singularities were almost completely contained by the Yzmir. Wilderness was nothing alike. That night, even during the healer’s rotation, she couldn’t sleep. And when her turn came, every slight sound made her heart pound like the Foundry’s pumps. When the sun finally appeared, she was both exhausted and relieved. 

They finally reached the Mugen on the third day, and a fourth one would be necessary to cross it. The teenager had heard stories about the miraculous bridge, of course. But nothing—oh, mighty—had prepared her for this sight.

Next chapter: The Mugen

  Kewanee — Chapter 4: The Endeavor

Previous chapter: Living Things

Everywhere you went, someone was talking about the election. Everyone had an opinion. Daddy Chayton got surprisingly angry. “Old aristocracy against new aristocracy, and they make us believe we have a choice,” he said. But Kewanee didn’t care which class the candidates came from, as long as they cared about everyone. And she was certain Amaro did.

Among the Bravos, the Rediscovery Endeavor was almost unanimously supported, and Kewanee herself was very excited about it. But when she saw them all exulting and celebrating this Kojo for killing the Kraken, she couldn’t share their joy. Sacagawea’s words were still painfully carved into her mind: “When summoned, will you join your sisters and brothers in their Leviathan hunt?” She knew that the Kraken was evil. She had been taught about it countless times. It was good that it was gone. But cheering for death? It didn’t feel right. By distancing herself from the general mood, she found herself questioning the whole thing. Finding Rune, finding the Lost and Exiled Tribes, finding the Primordiae—all of it sounded appealing. But there were people—and animals—who needed help here and now. That’s what Amaro was saying. No matter if he was living in a palace, she agreed with his ideas.

What she could not understand was why the Muna also supported and joined the Rediscovery Endeavor. They, too, focused on the present, on supporting local communities. During one of what had become a weekly visit to Ontemon, the Muna healer, she asked for his opinion.

“It’s an interesting question. First of all, Muna don’t have leaders, or guideline, or any kind of common organization. We cannot really talk of ‘the Muna’ as a single entity. The only link between us all is the Skein. And unlike the Gestalt, the Skein doesn’t carry ideas—only feelings. Some Muna support the Endeavor; others don’t. I understand both sides, and I’m sure you can too. What is out there for us?”

After listening to political debates, Kewanee was expecting a rhetorical question. But no—Ontemon was genuinely asking for her opinion.

“Well… new ground to grow stuff?”

“Among other things, yes,” he replied. “But we already have more than enough land in Asgartha. We’re not really fond of human expansion and the environmental impacts it brings. So, why else?”

“To push back the Tumult and save animals from its grasp!” she suddenly realized.

“Yes,” he answered, “I believe that is the main reason—to bring balance to the world. And the Skein will help in that matter, to locate new threats.”

The healer went quiet for a while, but Kewanee could tell he wasn’t entirely finished. He poured more hot tea into both of their cups, took a sip, and finally spoke again. 

“There is also a story—a legend,” he said. “About dwelling creatures presiding over entire ecosystems.”

It had been years since Kewanee’s fathers had told her a story, and she was instantly captivated.

“No one knows what they are. Similar tales came from travelers of the Great Migrations, both Eastern and Western. These beings were said to rule over vast wild lands, far from any human settlement. Some Muna believe they are the key to stabilizing the world, that the gift of Alteration should be shared with them. We call them the Sarwa.”

Next chapter: Nisan

 Kewanee — Chapter 3: Living Things

Previous chapter: Opening of the Gate

She went back. How could she not? The raccoon was unmistakably calling for help, and she was an experienced rescuer. She borrowed a box from a nearby shop and transported the animal as gently as possible, then asked for the nearest Muna healer. They weren’t that difficult to find after all. One of them practiced in the Clover Court garden, the only green space in Jusaka.

She first noticed the multitude of wooden carvings: animals and deities hanging from the branches of an enormous fruit tree. Suspended alongside them were chests used as floating shelves, brimming with jars and bottles. Some were already placed on a huge table, that a man dressed with straw was turning into a mixture. Or was it really a man? His face was so hidden behind a wild, bushy beard that he could almost pass for some kind of Chimera. And the… being wasn’t just working—he was humming. No, singing.

It was only then that Kewanee became aware of the sheer vitality surrounding the scene. A pair of squirrels scurried up the tree trunk, while birds flitted playfully through its branches. At the base of the tree, a white feathered fox sat quietly, its gaze fixed on the healer. Waiting to pounce? No, waiting patiently for whatever concoction the man was preparing.

The Muna suddenly looked up and waved at her. Without a word, he wrapped the paste he had been preparing in leaves and handed it to the fox. The animal took it in its jaws and darted away.

“Put her on the table,” he said, his voice so calm that it took Kewanee a moment to realize he was addressing her. When he waved again, she carefully placed the injured raccoon on the wooden surface.

“Where did you find her?” he asked.

“Her? Oh, the raccoon? It… She was lying in the middle of a crowded street,” Kewanee replied.

“How?” he asked simply, already beginning to examine the animal.

“I… I heard her,” Kewanee said, though that wasn’t entirely accurate. She couldn’t find a better way to describe what she had felt. The Muna gave a small nod, as though he understood, and then began gathering tools: pliers, compresses, bandages, jars, and bottles. As he worked, he occasionally asked for Kewanee’s assistance. When he realized she had first aid experience, he began to rely on her more heavily.

After what felt like an hour of meticulous care, the Muna finally stepped back and declared the raccoon out of danger. Exhausted but satisfied, Kewanee sat with him as he prepared tea beneath the fruit tree.

“You saved her life. We thank you deeply,” he said. “Not many Arkasterians care about wild animals.”

Kewanee felt a deep sense of pride—pride in herself and in the healer. The Muna weren’t weak after all. They simply contributed in their own, quiet way.

“Two months ago, I wouldn’t have either,” she admitted. “I didn’t… see them.”

“What changed?” the Muna asked.

She hesitated. But she could tell he would understand. So, she told him everything: the Imhallat, Sacagawea’s question, the overwhelming wave of feelings, the shame and the bitterness. He listened patiently, silently, until she finished.

“You’re right,” he said finally. “The Skein touched you. I can feel you. That’s rare for someone already on a different path.”

“What should I do?” she asked, her voice almost a whisper.

“That’s for you to decide. Joining the Muna is an option, not an obligation. Caring is all that matters. And clearly, you do. If you wish, I can teach you the ways of our Faction.”

Kewanee didn’t feel ready—not yet. The man seemed to sense her hesitation.

“Take your time,” he said gently. “You know where to find me.”

Next chapter: The Endeavor

Synthèse de lecture du Le Capital - Livre 1, de Karl Marx

Première section

Chapitre I

Un produit du travail a une valeur d’usage et une valeur d’échange. La valeur d’usage est déterminée par la société mercantile et peut sans cesse varier. Elle fait du produit une marchandise, et permet de lui donner un prix. Croire qu’elle est intrinsèque au produit relève du fétichisme. C’est la valeur d’échange qui lui est propre, elle indique quelles quantité et qualité d’un produit en "valent" un autre. Cette valeur est le travail humain mis en œuvre pour le produire.

 

Chapitre II

Lorsque l’échange devient une activité régulière, on produit des marchandises pour leur seule valeur d’échange, qui n’a valeur d’usage que pour les acheteurs. Pour donner une valeur d’échange avant l’échange lui-même, on a recourt à l’or et l’argent, qui ont l’avantage de pouvoir être divisés en unités standards ou refondus. On finit par oublier que la valeur en monnaie n’est que la conséquence d’équivalent avec d’autres produits.

 

Chapitre III

La monnaie permet de scinder les actes d’achat et vente, et donc d’éviter l’aliénation simultanée des marchandises de deux échangistes. La monnaie arrêtée devient trésor. Cette forme permet donc de réguler la quantité de monnaie en circulation. D’autre part la circulation des marchandises et le payement se dissocient, le rapport de créancier à débiteur devient social. Une monnaie universelle est nécessaire pour les échanges mondiaux, et les pays à production élevée en gardent une réserve en proportion la plus faible possible.

 

Deuxième section

Chapitre IV

Contrairement aux échanges décrits précédemment, la monnaie devient capital quand elle sert à acheter puis vendre une même marchandise, utilisée pour sa valeur d’échange et non celle d’usage. 

 

Chapitre V

La plus-value sur une marchandise ne peut être créée par sa seule circulation, donc quelque-chose la génère en-dehors de cette circulation.

 

Chapitre VI

La force de travail est une marchandise dont l’usage génère de la valeur d’échange. Le propriétaire de la force de travail doit pouvoir en disposer de son plein gré pour un temps donné, et ne pas avoir à sa disposition de moyens pour produire des marchandises sans possesseur d’argent. Le prix minimum de la force de travail est celui permettant à son propriétaire de subvenir à ses besoins indispensables. Cette marchandise particulière n’est pas consommée à un instant donné, donc son propriétaire fait crédit au possesseur d’argent ou capitaliste jusqu’à recevoir son prix périodique.

 

Troisième section

Chapitre VII

Le travail se compose d’une activité humaine, d’objets, initialement issus de la nature, et de moyens de travail, interposés entre l’activité et les objets, autrement dit un travail productif et des moyens de productions. Le produit du travail est, au même titre que le travail, la propriété du capitaliste. Le but du capitaliste est de généré une plus-value. Le travailleur doit donc travailler plus que le temps nécessaire pour produire une valeur égale à son salaire et le coût des moyens utilisés.

 

Chapitre VIII

La valeur d’un moyen de production perdue par l’usage est transmise à la valeur du produit, tandis que la valeur du travail s’ajoute sans se perdre. Le capital de production se décompose donc en capital constant pour les moyens de production et capital variable pour la force de travail.

 

Chapitre IX

Le taux de plus-value est égal au surtravail sur le travail nécessaire, autrement dit le degré d’exploitation du travailleur par le capitaliste.