1. For an objective (often called “value free”) analysis of a problem, synthesis, and evaluation of alternative solutions, or plans, planners are increasingly often relying on the social sciences that, in turn, are increasingly relying on quantitative descriptions of social phenomena—descriptions which concentrate almost exclusively on quantifiable concepts and relationships. (It should be noted that as the capitalist modes of production, circulation, and especially of exchange of commodities develop, this mode of representation of the bourgeois society becomes increasingly adequate.) In other words, it is implied that a planner ought to be perfectly content when he or she imposes a rational plan upon people. The problem is not seen to be in the imposition itself, but in its rationality or irrationality, objectivity or subjectivity, etc.

2. Now, our critique of planning methods claiming objectivity can take two directions. We may attempt a critique of the objectivity of planning where we could easily show that “scientific” social theories underlying planning (here especially those formulated in mathematical terms), supposedly objective, contain a host of subjective assumptions and approximations of reality. On the other hand, we may orient ourselves toward the critique of the imposition of solutions to social problems, objective or subjective, rational or irrational, arbitrary or not.

Obviously, these two possibilities are closely related; this abstract distinction is made here for the sake of brevity of the argument. Furthermore, this distinction is artificial from the point of view of a concrete socio-economic system, where administrative planning and self-government may coexist at certain stages of the development of society. Bearing in mind these caveats, we shall concentrate here on the second alternative.

3. The essential difference between the two concepts of planning implied here (planning “from above” and planning “from below”) is that in the first case the population in question is the object of planning, while in the second it is the subject of planning. The crucial question is not whether a plan is objective or subjective, but whether those for whom the plan is made are the subject or the object of planning.

In this context it should be noted that the freedom of choice between alternatives, given to the people in some recent planning theories, and only rarely and partially in actual planning practice, is essentially different from the freedom of generation of alternatives among which to chose. According to these theories, the generation of alternatives is left to the planner since it is, supposedly, a technical task. Real freedom of choice, however, requires that both generation and selection of alternatives are possible, in addition to the power of implementation.

4. Furthermore, the question is not whether we may use quantitative methods in planning, but whose objective or subjective interests the theory embedded in them is serving. These interests are determined by the social class, stratum, or group that is realizing its objective and subjective interests by means of a plan. Typically, the planner is only an instrument in the hands of such an “interest group.” He or she is not free to act independently. The dominant class, stratum, or group is merely represented by him or her. In a sense, this group gets the professional help that should be extended to the society as a whole.

5. Here we see the source of the claim to objectivity: its goal is to conceal the interests of a dominant class, stratum, or group, that is, to represent particular interests as universal interests. It is thus an ideological weapon in the hands of the dominant class, stratum, or group, and the rôle of the planner who acts along the lines of the paradigm outlined here is thus an ideological one.

6. Now we come to the question that naturally results from the preceding argument: How can the people become the subject of planning, or what is the social order that would allow and stimulate them to govern their own affairs? Neither capitalism nor socialism of the Soviet type (implying administrative planning) are consistent with freedom thus defined. Self-government can freely develop only in a socialist society based on free association of producers, even though it can develop to a certain extent in other socio-economic frameworks, which in the last analysis limit its full development. Furthermore, only a society that is not divided into classes can be fully self-governing, and only in this case the question of objective and subjective planning can be properly resolved because the object of planning become material things and processes, and not people themselves.

The subject and object of planning are finally separated into two nonantagonistic spheres—society and its material basis of existence. This separation is gradually achieved during the period of socialist development, simultaneously with the gradual disappearance of antagonistic social classes. During this period the working class consciously and explicitly imposes its interests upon the society as a whole. However, to the extent that these interests involve the dissolution of the class structure they indeed represent universal interests.

In other words, the rôle of planning shifts from the sphere of regulation of contradictions between social relations and social forces of production toward the sphere of regulation of social forces of production. During socialist development this contradiction—and consequently the necessity for its regulation—gradually disappears. Since, however, there is nothing automatic about the process of socialist development, the degree and pace of development of self-government as social planning is one of the most important indicators of the extent to which a society is indeed socialist.

Addendum I (November 6, 1988)

This note first appeared in the form of theses hastily written in preparation for a lecture at MIT, which must have taken place in the fall of 1974 or the spring of 1975. At the time I was a Ph.D. student in the Department of Urban Studies and Planning. Together with another Ph.D. student, also from a developing country, and two professors, I taught a course on planning in socialist countries.

If I remember correctly, I delivered the lecture in a crowded room deep in the bowels of MIT. In my mind’s eye I can still see the gray, windowless walls surrounding us from all sides. I can still see the sparkle in the eyes of the assembled students, most of whom came from the Third World. The lecture must have been a success, for I ultimately decided to write it up as a note.

The course was discontinued a couple of years ago for lack of interest in the subject. I abandoned it well before it folded. The last time I participated in it was in the fall of 1984. By that time the last trace of 1968 had vanished from our hearts.

Addendum II (February 18, 1991)

My favorite attire in those days consisted of blue jeans and work-shirts. On the flap of the shirt pocket I used to sport a red star manufactured in the People’s Republic of China. The bright red and the sharp angles of the enamel star were so striking against the light-blue background of the work-shirt that many people passing me by in the corridors of MIT were startled by the awesome sight. One day, in a crawling elevator, a man asked me suspiciously what the star represented. “Texaco,” I replied at once.

Addendum III (July 20, 1992)

We were a funny group. Shoukry Roweis from Egypt was generally considered the intellectual leader of the group. Zmarak Shalizi from Afghanistan, Malte Möhr from the Federal Republic of Germany, and I formed the next echelon. Rashit alias Raci Bademli from Turkey and Adriana Staedaker from Argentina came next. There were a few South African, Canadian, and American Ph.D. students who aspired to the membership in our group, but I cannot recall their names. The hierarchy, as I remember it, had to do with our knowledge and understanding of Marxian economics and philosophy. We were excellent students, which was generally not the case with those of Marxian leanings, and therefore we could not be pushed around by the department. We were inseparable. We were the backbone of the political life of the department. The head of department at the time, Lloyd Rodwin, had much trouble with us and because of us. But look at us now: Shoukry is teaching at McGill in Montreal, Zmarak is working for the World Bank in Washington, Malte is working for the Max Plank Institute in Germany, Raci is teaching at the Middle East Technical University in Ankara, Adriana is teaching or working for a research institution someplace in the States. The last time I have heard from Malte was in 1980 or 1981. The last contact with Zmarak was in 1987 or 1988. Were we to meet today by chance, we would all be ever so slightly embarrassed to look into each others’ eyes.

Addendum IV (February 14, 1997)

I just realized this note was written—that is, completed—on Valentine’s Day. Arbitrary as it is, this date nevertheless gives me a tiny bit of pleasure. The first note in my book was written on the day recognized by lovers!

Addendum V (August 16, 1998)

Lauren and I met Zmarak and his Italian wife, Isa, in Hong Kong in late 1993. I remember we had a wonderful lunch at the Banana Leaf, a cheap but superb Malaysian restaurant on Nathan Road. He was still with the World Bank. We talked excitedly about a joint family expedition to Western China, Tibet, and Afghanistan. Nothing ever came of it, though. However, the fact is that there was not a trace of the embarrassment I had expected upon meeting an old mate of mine. By the time we met again, our youthful ideals must have evaporated without a trace, as well.

Addendum VI (March 21, 1999)

And what is the shape of my story, the story my time tells me to tell? Perhaps it is the avoidance of a single shape that tells the tale. A hundred years ago, I might have written a success story, without much self-doubt and equivocation. A hundred years ago, I might have felt the benefits of a steady, self-assured ego, the sturdy energy of forward movement, and the excitement of being swept up into a greater national purpose. But I have come to a different America, and instead of a central ethos, I have been given the blessings and the terrors of multiplicity. Once I step off the airplane in Boston, I step into a culture that splinters, fragments, and reforms itself as if I were a jigsaw puzzle dancing in a quantum space. If I want to assimilate into my generation, my time, I have to assimilate the multiple perspectives and their constant shifting. Who, among my peers, is sure of what is success and what failure? Who is sure of purposes, meanings, national goals? I cannot conceive my story as one of simple progress, or simple woe. Any confidently thrusting story line would be a sentimentality, an excess, an exaggeration, an untruth. Perhaps it is my intolerance of those, my cherishing of uncertainty as the only truth that is, after all, the best measure of my assimilation. Perhaps it is in my misfittings that I fit. Perhaps a successful immigrant is an exaggerated version of the native. From now on, I will be made, like a mosaic, of fragments—and my consciousness of them. It is only in that observing consciousness that I remain, after all, an immigrant.

From Eva Hoffman’s Lost in Translation, London: Vintage, 1998, p. 164.

Addendum VII (July 8, 2020)

Returning to the first addendum, the other Ph.D. student teaching the course on socialist planning was Zmarak Shalizi from Afghanistan. The last time we were in touch was two decades ago (“Happy New Year, Century, and Millennium: From an Electronic-Mail Message to One-Hundred Odd Friends from Around the World,” December 30, 2000). The two professors were Karen Polenske, my mentor the last couple of years at MIT, and Tunney Lee. The last time I came across Karen was seven years ago (“In Praise of Karen Polenske: For a Book Celebrating Her Forty Years at MIT,” January 30, 2013). But Tunney is not even mentioned in my Residua, which surprises me no end. Actually, it makes me cross with myself. Of Chinese parents, he was very dear to many Ph.D. students at the time. And I was just informed by the Alumni Association at MIT that he had passed away yesterday. The news hit me hard. Farewell, Tunney!