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Title: “Activism” and “Anarcho-Purism”
Author: sasha k
Language: en
Topics: activism, Andrew X, Chris Dixon, J. Kellstadt, organization
Source: Retrieved on September 1, 2009 from http://www.geocities.com/kk_abacus/kka/activist.html

sasha k

“Activism” and “Anarcho-Purism”

“After Seattle” (words that launched a thousand articles) there has been

much talk about how to keep “building the movement.” In “Rethinking

Radical Activism and Building the Movement,” Chris Dixon adds his

thoughts on the matter. After reading the article one is prompted to ask

what of “activism” is rethought and what is the movement to be built? In

fact, very little is rethought and a critical look at “activism” is

entirely absent from Dixon’s celebratory piece. Dixon focuses his

discussion around hope, a hope that he calls “critical”; unfortunately,

the hope in Dixon’s article is mostly self-congratulatory and contains

almost no critical reflection.

The article contains two “criticisms”: 1. the movement, which for Dixon

started in Seattle, not in the third world, is mostly white, and 2.

Dixon is critical of any theoretical reflection on the contradiction of

the movement, what he calls “purist” anarchism. In linking these two

criticisms together, Dixon cuts off any discussion of tactics, strategy,

goals and, above all, of the role of the activist/organizer.

There has been much discussion in Europe and especially England about

the role of activists within society; in the U.S., due in a large part

to the anti-intellectual nature of the radical milieu, such a discussion

has mostly been precluded. (Time is certainly ripe for this discussion

in the U.S.) This untheoretical approach allows Dixon to talk in

extremely abstract terms. The most glaring example is his use of the

term “social change/transformation”. In Dixon’s article social change

can mean anything at all; it can be change in any direction for

practically any goal as long as it is progressive: more or better of

something. But this abstractness is not an accidental omission; it is

central to the logic of his argument, it is central to the logic of the

activist mentality. The more abstract we are in our goals the more that

people join our parade: it is the mentality of numbers. This is the

Clintonification of anarchism — Clinton made the Democratic Party so

bland and middle of the road that even some Republicans could applaud or

join it and Dixon proposes doing the same for anarchism.

We need to ask what is the movement that Dixon wants to build? The

movement that Dixon is so enthused about is a movement of activists, of

specialists in social change, who stand above and outside of the

communities they organize. And for the most part this movement is a

collection of single-issue groups. If anything has been inspiring in the

U.S. over the last year or so it is that more people have begun to see

themselves as opposed to capitalism in its totality. Yet if we add up a

bunch of single-issue campaigns we don’t get an anti-capitalist

movement, but a reformist movement full of contradictions and led by

activists. The movement of the exploited and excluded, which is

antagonistic to capitalism and the state, can’t be built by welding

together a bunch of single issue groups; it is a movement that grows out

of our present social conditions and our desires for a different world.

However, it seems that to build a movement led by activists any tactic

or goal will do, no matter how contradictory. Dixon lists a set of

demands and goals of which none suggest any serious critique of

capitalism and the state in their totality: they include, “fighting

reactionary ballot measures,” “demanding authentic public oversight of

police,” “building art installations,” and “painting graffiti.” As Dixon

states, “we all choose a variety of tools, tactics, strategies, and

demands based on our circumstances and objectives.” And when one’s

objectives remain vague enough any tool, tactic, strategy or demand will

do fine; in fact, they can be “seen as complementary.” They can be

“seen” as such when we remain abstract and unreflective, but in reality

the contradictions remain. Yet for the activist it is the spectacle of

unity that is important.

If our tactics and strategies are truly to be “based on our

circumstances [the capitalist social relations we are enmeshed within]

and our objectives” — for anarchists, presumably, the ending of

capitalism and the state, not just some general idea of social change —

we should be especially critical of tools, tactics and strategies that

contradict these objectives, that lead us in a different direction, or

that reproduce the very thing we are trying to eliminate from society.

For Dixon, however, the “critical” in his “critical hope” is a criticism

of being theoretical or reflexive in our understanding. He is critical

of making any distinction that might question the abstractness of his

conception of social change, any distinction that might force one to

make difficult decisions. While Dixon does state that a more theoretical

understanding of capitalism is important, for him this seems to remain a

separate project from that of organizing; thus practice and theory

become two separate worlds, as if one could be done without the other.

Dixon cuts off the very type of reflexive and theoretical discussion on

tactics, strategy and, above all, goals that we now need through the

coupling up of the rhetoric of white privilege with charges of

anarcho-purism. If you disagree with him it is probably because you are

a “white, middle-class” male — and probably an anarcho-purist to boot —

so you have no right to talk. Such “purist anarchists” are also

critiqued as “self-appointed bearers of a radical standard.” And the use

of “self-appointed” is telling. In the activist world one needs to claim

some authentic, democratic position in order to take on the role of

“activist,” “organizer”, or “theorist.” The question is, ‘who do you

represent?’ for you can’t just represent yourself. But we don’t need

expert, specialized “theorists,” we all need to be reflexive and

theoretical in our understanding of social change, not as some vague

concept but as something intimately connected to our own desires for a

different life. Unfortunately, it is to just such experts that Dixon

turns to bolster his argument: everyone he quotes is either an

“activist,” “organizer,” or, god forbid, “theorist”: only one of his

expert witnesses is even an anarchist, yet he is still identified as a

specialist — as if this were some academic paper — he is an “anarchist

writer.”

But who is an anarcho-purist? What is anarcho-purism? It is a term that

gets thrown about quite often these days, particularly in activist

circles. We should, therefore, try to make our thinking clear on this

matter. An anarcho-purism is always a morality as opposed to an ethics.

Morality is a statement, such as “thou shalt not,” instead of a question

posed in the moment. It is a set, blind standard that rules over

behavior. Anarcho-purism is a morality that tries to keep anarchism pure

and separate from certain tactics or from working with certain groups

for the sake of purity. Dixon’s use of the term “purist anarchists,”

however, suggests not only that anarchism shouldn’t be a morality — a

suggestion that I would definitely agree with — but that it shouldn’t be

an ethics as well. In fact, following Dixon’s logic one would have to

conclude that anarchism should have almost no meaning at all.

An anarchist ethics is an affirmation, an affirmation of the creativity,

desire and power of the individual; it is an affirmation of the ability

of individuals to come together and decide their own fate without the

need of any imposed decision coming in from the outside whether in

‘totalitarian’ or ‘democratic’ form. As an ethics, it is both a way of

living and a way of relating to others: how can we come together —

combine — in a fashion that doesn’t restrict, limit and suppress the

desire, creativity and active power of each other? This ethical question

is at the heart of anarchism. And it is just such a question that Dixon

wipes out as he wipes anarchism clean of any content. As an ethics,

anarchism recognizes that there is no escape from social life; the

anarchist ethic, after all, grows out of the movement of the exploited

and excluded, and it only remains vital within that movement. Living

this ethic will mean that one will come into conflict with imposed

social order, with hierarchy, with any archy or cracy. To live this

ethic is thus not always an easy choice, we can’t make it into a

Snickers Bar; anyhow, no matter how drained of content anarchism becomes

the masses won’t run to sign up any day soon.

That said, it is also a simple fact of language that those who want to

reform the present system are called reformists. There are also many

people who wish to end the rule of capital and the state but unwittingly

use means that can only bring about a reform of the present system. It

is, therefore, obviously important to come to a clear understanding of

the results of our actions; this is what theory and critique are for,

and it should not be turned into a pleasant game of compliments. Yet, as

anarchists, we can work with them towards intermediate aims, while

always remaining clear as to how such aims tally with our ultimate

goals. There are, however, important limits — limits that are obscured

when we hold only an abstract conception of social change. Working to

“demand authentic control over the police” might be a small step for

social change in some general sense, but ultimately it is a step

backwards as it strengthens the legitimacy of the police and of imposed

decision. That is of course, unless one’s goal is nicer police and

“democratic control over our lives” — the term ‘democratic,’ which we

hear repeated over and over by activists these days, is another term

usually left unthinkingly abstract. “Direct democratic control over our

lives” might make a nice slogan, but it is vague enough for most

politicians in Washington to use.

Secondly, working with those who attempt to limit my activities, my

power of acting, is a combination that would not work well. Strangely,

it is most often the activists who try to restrict the actions of others

— one only needs to look at D.A.N.’s role in Seattle, believing that

they could set rules of engagement for others. This is the ethical

question always posed to anarchists; when does combining with others

multiply our power to act towards our goals and when does it not? It is

an important question, not one to be ignored or vilified. None of this

means that there is only one way to act, but that just acting without

any thought is more often than not counter productive.

Maybe the investigation of white privilege needs first to turn its gaze

on the activist/organizer’s role as a specialist in social change.

Perhaps it is not that activists have been organizing the wrong people

or around the wrong issues, as Dixon’s article suggests, but that

organizing people is the wrong way to bring about a truly different

world. There has, however, been a discussion brewing on “activism”

especially since the J18 protests. Some of the more interesting articles

include Andrew X’s “Give Up Activism,” J. Kellstadt’s “The Necessity and

Impossibility of “Anti-Activism’”, and “Practice and Ideology in the

Direct Action Movement” from Undercurrents. I will not repeat all their

arguments here, but hope to push the discussion forward.

In “Give Up Activism,” Andrew X critiques activism as a specialized role

separate from society and leading to an inadequate practice. Andrew X

argues, therefore, that the practice of activism must be given up.

“[T]acking capitalism will require not only a quantitative change (more

actions, more activists) but a qualitative one (we need to discover some

more effective form of operating).” This is the problem at the heart of

Dixon’s argument: it relies solely on getting more people involved, more

people organizing and organized, but lacks the reflection necessary to

begin to move us towards a qualitatively different practice. If

anything, Dixon’s arguments reinforce and celebrate the specialized role

of the activist as one who stands outside and above the masses — the

famous real people — to be organized. But, to use Dixon’s words, “we can

do better.” As Andrew X states, “The ‘activist’ is a specialist or an

expert in social change — yet the harder we cling to this role and

notion of what we are, the more we actually impede the change we desire.

A real revolution will involve the breaking out of all preconceived

roles and the destruction of all specialism — the reclamation of our

lives. The seizing control over our own destines which is the act of

revolution will involve the creation of new selves and new forms of

interaction and community.” Andrew X, however, suggests that breaking

out of the role of the activist is no easy task, especially during low

points in the struggle against capitalism, but we must “constantly try

to push at the boundaries of our limitations and constraints.”

In “The Necessity and Impossibility of ‘Anti-Activism’,” J. Kellstadt is

supportive but critical of Andrew X’s discussion, thus the title of the

article. While Kellstadt also sees the limits of activism, s/he argues

that it is also impossible to simply give up activism. The most

suggestive aspect of Kellstadt’s article is that it both notes the

subjective elements of choice involved in being an activist and the

objective conditions of society that limit our ability to simply give up

activism: “I think that a rather high degree of ambivalence and the

ability to live the tension of seemingly irreconcilable contradictions

is central to the problems of formulating an ‘anti-activism’ and

‘anti-politics.’ In short, I argue that we must embrace simultaneously

the necessity and the impossibility of ‘giving up activism.’” Kellstadt

critiques Andrew X for being too subjectivist (that we could simply

‘give up activism’): “the collective human dynamics by which social

groups and professions (cops, priests, or activists) emerge out of the

division of labor cannot be denied or thrown over by acts of individual

will, which is the level at which Andrew X addresses the problem. The

‘role’ of the activist is not simply ‘self-imposed;’ it is also

socially-imposed. Capitalist society produces activists the way it

produces other specialists, the way it produces, for example, that close

cousin of the activist, the intellectual.” Thus, while Kellstadt states

that we need to operate within the tension between the subjective and

the objective, her/his critique often falls back significantly into an

overly objectivist position. While committing “role-suicide” won’t make

the social position of “the activist” disappear, there are always

openings to different types of self-organization. We may not be able to

kill the role, but we are not stuck in it either; and, if we are to rid

ourselves of capitalism we need to struggle in a different way and not

celebrate the role of the activist.

Certainly “giving up activism” isn’t revolution in itself; it won’t make

the social roles that are conditioned by our historical circumstances

disappear. Nor will it allow us to “truly appropriate an authentic

self.” Struggling to organize ourselves in a qualitatively different

manner, however, can open the potential of insurrection to overthrow

capitalism and the state. For such a potential to open, hope lies not in

cheerleading, but in a much more critical and reflexive understanding of

our practices and forms of organization.