Category Archives: myself

the church of anarchism

One of the impetuses for starting this blog was this realization: anarchism is my faith.

I have been anti-“organized religion” and unable to convince myself of the existence of any kind of deity for my entire life (it’s easy when you are unbaptized and raised by people with vaguely Christian, undefined belief systems). I have never considered myself a person of faith, and the word “spiritual” never speaks to me. I didn’t embrace the identity of atheist for a long time because I rejected the idea of defining myself at all in terms of religion (atheism meaning that theism is the standard and I am the exception). I felt that religion, spirituality, and faith were essentially irrelevant to my life; I have a holistic view of the world and how it works that simply does not include (or need) a deity or other belief system to make it work.

But one day I realized that my view of the world is profoundly anarchist. Anarchism, for me, is the way I imagine how religion must be for other folks. It is a belief system that shapes the way I act, how I interpret events on both a macro- and micro-scale, and is my moral grounding. It is an irrevocable part of my identity in the most basic ways.

I can’t help it, and I can’t change it, which is one of many reasons why I spend so much blog space talking about anarchism as a thought crime. I cannot live my life attempting to not be an anarchist, even if being an anarchist makes me ‘illegal’ in some sense in the U.S.

One of my favorite passages in sociological writing is from Durkheim’s Elementary Forms of Religious Life. A lot of the book is full of offensive racist garbage, but the conclusion describes my anarchist ‘faith’ profoundly:

…“we can say that the faithful are not mistaken when they believe in the existence of a moral power to which they are subject and from which they receive what is best in themselves. That power exists, and it is society.”

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Privileged dilemmas: how to feel bad without making it all about me

A few years ago while working as an undertrained, underpaid, undersupported case manager, I found myself struggling with a nasty case of secondary trauma. It is difficult for me to even talk about it without going down the rabbit hole of psychobabble and self-doubt. The best way to describe it is to describe one of the most startling symptoms: every time I saw a mother and child, a couple, or really any kind of family unit, without being fully conscious of it, I would try to move out of earshot. I was working in domestic violence, and eventually I realized that I wanted to avoid seeing the display of verbal or physical abuse that I had begun to assume must be occurring in every family. In other words, when I saw a hetero couple strolling together down the street, I assumed that the man would begin calling the woman names or hitting her at any moment. Fucked up, right?

Anyway, one of the major problems I’ve had with acknowledging and dealing with secondary trauma  is that it occurs because of intense empathy for others’ pain (which is not to say it is inevitable). Because of this empathy, it is really hard for me to acknowledge my own pain—the secondary trauma—as legitimate. I mean, what could be more whiny-first-worlder than to complain that other peoples’ problematic lived experiences are so bad that they are traumatizing me? Those people had to actually live it, not just hear about it!

It seems to me that there is something in there that has a lot to do with broader struggles for social justice and wanting to recognize one’s own privilege. My understanding of the world suggests that while I am oppressed by certain systems (capitalism and gender, for example), I also benefit from others (race, class, sexuality, and nationality are all systems that privilege me and my experiences). What gets tricky for me is balancing being a good ally and trying to notice when my experiences are being validated a little too easily, but also feeling ok acknowledging my own pain and–dare I say–oppression.

Maybe this is part of what generates so much defensiveness around intersectionality on the left (I’m thinking especially of feminism here–just check out the comments on this post to see what I’m talking about). I suspect that sometimes I get defensive  because acknowledging my privilege can feel like it requires downplaying my own pain. But (and here’s where the rabbit hole starts) then I worry: how can I tell the difference between the need to validate my own feelings and simply feeling threatened by the loss of privilege? Is there one?

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self care

Today I was thinking about a few changes I have made that have improved my life the most in the last few years. Though it’s my understanding that many anarchists are suspicious of psychology/psychoanalysis/etc. as a whole because of its individualist tendencies, I find psychobabble both essential for coping with my life in the world that I have been given as well as incredibly helpful in allowing me to dream about what it means to be really happy. For me, this harmonizes well with an anarchist desire to be fulfilled, in this world and not the next.

(Aaron Fermer - SFWeekly)

First, I have learned to be kind to myself (or at least I have learned that I should try to be kind to myself). Being kind to oneself doesn’t need to contradict being kind to others, nor do I want to go down the slippery slope of yuppie justification for materialism. Kindness isn’t manifested through consumption. For me, being kind to myself comes in the form of asking what I need or want from a day or a given situation. If I am feeling unhappy, asking what I might need in order to feel better and then not feeling guilty if I place those needs first and foremost in my day. Anarchism is a lot about creating genuine interconnection with others, and I am a lot more capable of doing that when I feel satisfied and at peace with myself than when I feel guilty or angry.

The second is the power of an open mind (which has some nice parallels in what I think works best within anarchism itself). I only learned to meditate, for example, when I figured out that it wouldn’t work if I tried to actively shut out all my thoughts. Rather, I have to recognize and accept that how I feel is how I feel, and what pops into my mind is uncontrollable. It does no good to try to stop either. What I can control is how much time and attention I give to these thoughts, just as I can control how I act on my feelings. Once I figured out the key to meditation was opening rather than closing my mind, I was able to relax for possibly the first time in my life.

Just some thoughts I wanted to throw out there since in my experience, those who feel the most committed to radical kindness to others are often the worst at practicing this with ourselves. Recognizing privilege can make us being kind to ourselves feel indulgent and selfish, but what are we working so hard for if not a world where we can ALL feel fulfilled? And we’ll never get there if we’re all burnt out.

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anarchist culture and me

In Direct Action, David Graeber describes anarchist spaces in New York as being always in a state of construction and becoming. He sees this as an important anarchist value, wanting to be in the place “where the spectacle itself is produced” (p 279).

I think about this and other aspects of anarchist culture a lot, because I don’t know if it’s just me and my own insecurity or what, but it’s things like that that make me constantly feel strangely out of place among anarchists in the US. Despite more or less wholeheartedly sharing values, I just don’t get a lot of the cultural stuff. Even though I love Johnny Cash, I love wearing bright colors. Even though I get that most standards of cleanliness were propagated solely to sell more chemical cleaning products, I still feel better when I take a shower every day.

It’s important and legitimate for me to understand and acknowledge the importance of my own happiness, and so I try to balance changing the world with sometimes taking the easy (or comfortable) way out.

That doesn’t mean that I don’t want to hang around with all black wearing dirty punks. I do. But somehow I end up feeling like an aged hippie among such folks, as if they are the only authentic anarchists and I’m nothing but a liberal. Sometimes I think this is partly the result of an age difference: I wonder how many of the punk anarchist kids will remain committed to anarchist ideals in the long run versus how many will gradually reintegrate into yuppie life because they set the anarchist culture bar so high for themselves. I wonder if the conflation of youth culture and anarchist culture is really endemic to anarchist ideas, as Graeber thinks, or if it’s because anarchist spaces are overrun with kids just looking to rebel. I like “Anarchy in the UK” just as much as the next punk, but when it comes down to it, I have to reject the late 70s punk vision of “anarchism” (which is actually more like capitalism-fueled nihilism) and remain committed to the vision of love and solidarity that I find so compelling.

On the other hand, I know that age is a form of hierarchy and a way for me to claim a bit of rank on my anarchist comrades. And while it is a legitimate critique to hope that white folks aren’t just slumming it as anarchists for a few years of their late teens, it is deeply unfair of me to assume that they are.

I guess what I’m trying to say is: I’m in the market for a long-term, sustainable kind of anarchist community for myself and I’m having trouble finding it. Is it because I’m missing something?

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First blog post ever: wherein I learn to blog. (And how to not use “wherein” in all the post titles.)

This blog is my coming out party. For years, I have held very strong and, I think, well-grounded political views that I have been afraid to share within the broader public space for fear of state repression. I am still afraid of repression, but after a lot of thought, I have decided that since I can no more cease being an anarchist than I can suddenly cease being a person who likes to read or loves dogs or force myself to believe in a god or any of the other fairly fundamental parts of my personality, it isn’t going to be a good long term plan to be afraid of expressing my political beliefs. It’s just not going to make me happy. In fact, censoring myself from talking openly about politics is actually going to make a pretty significant part of me miserable.

So, there you have it. I am an anarchist.

It’s done. I said it. And I will stand by it. We will get to what “anarchist” means later—hey, I have a whole blog now for that!—but right now I want to briefly explain why I was afraid to say this. After all, I live in the U.S., a country that has enshrined free speech to the point of valuing it more than anything, even to a fault, right?

Ok, maybe that’s disingenuous, because you probably didn’t get this far if you were really that naïve. But I do want to point out one of the primary reasons I was (and am) scared. In 2009, an Assistant US Attorney made the following statement: “[Scott DeMuth]’s writings, literature, and conduct suggest that he is an anarchist and associated with the ALF movement. Therefore, he is a domestic terrorist.”

He didn’t say that DeMuth did anything. He doesn’t even say he wanted or tried to do anything that made him a terrorist. Apparently the simple fact of possessing a certain way of looking at politics is sufficient cause to label someone a terrorist in a U.S. courtroom. That, folks, is what used to be known as a thought crime.

And by that logic, based solely on this blog post, someone could drag me into a courtroom and call me a terrorist too.  Which would be a shame, cause as an anarchist I have so much more to say, and so much more faith and love for this world and the people in it than most of the liberals I know.

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