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Title: Under the Big Tent Author: CrimethInc. Date: September 16, 2007 Language: en Topics: convergences, CrimethInc. Source: Retrieved on 8th November 2020 from https://crimethinc.com/2007/09/16/under-the-big-tent
Over three hundred people participated in this summer’s CrimethInc.
convergence, perhaps one and a half times the attendance of last year’s.
The two and a half days set aside for workshops were not enough to
accommodate all the workshops participants hoped to present, even with
four sessions a day and five running at a time. In a matter of days, an
overgrown tangle of wilderness that had been abandoned for twenty-odd
years became a fully-functioning campsite capable of hosting workshops,
cooking, a full-time arts and crafts center, and a walk-in ’zine library
and prisoner support station even in the midst of intense rainstorms.
Everyone had access to camping space, three healthy meals a day,
comprehensive health care, nonstop educational and entertainment
activities, and great quantities of free literature without any
registration fees or mandatory work. And—to offer a single inspiring
anecdote—people who attended a workshop on breaking out of police holds
successfully used this skill to escape arrest during the celebratory
parade at the climax of the convergence.
Clearly, people are interested in the anarchist alternative; clearly,
the CrimethInc. convergence has become a successful model of what one
anarchist pundit unambitiously dubbed the Temporary Autonomous Zone.
When something reaches a certain level of success, it’s no longer
necessary or helpful to cheerlead for it. To get anywhere, we must begin
from the premise that this summer’s convergence was a failure, albeit a
failure that could be improved upon. What could be more defeatist than
to regard any anarchist project as a success with no potential for
improvement, when the anarchist struggle has so far to go in North
America?
In that spirit, we present the following discussion questions, focusing
primarily on the most problematic and controversial aspects of the
convergence. Those who wish to read more about the basic format of the
convergence should consult the report from the one last summer.
In Crowds and Power, Elias Canetti argues that the most essential
characteristic of the crowd is that it always wants to grow. Immediately
before the convergence, I attended a family reunion; as each carload of
relatives arrived, people commented approvingly on how many more were
coming and how big the family was. Anarchists and other evangelists
rationalize their desire for mass as a matter of necessity in the
struggle to change the world, but growth for its own sake offers no
guarantee of improved effectiveness or increased freedom. At the first
CrimethInc. convergence, in 2002, there were few enough people present
that a majority of the participants got to know each other over the
course of the week; in Athens, it was easy for anyone to remain
anonymous in the mass. The greater the number of people in a space, the
fewer new bonds tend to be forged.
At the same time, one can hardly say there are enough spaces in North
America in which even modest numbers of people can come together to
discuss and experiment with anarchist models. If people are turning out
to the CrimethInc. convergence in greater and greater numbers, does this
mean that the convergence must take on the role of being one of the
primary nationwide anarchist gatherings?1 How do we maintain an
atmosphere of intimacy and informal participation while adjusting to
fill this role? How do we create a space that suits everyone, when
people are arriving with an increasingly diverse range of experiences,
expectations, and needs?
On the other hand, what if it proves impossible for the convergence to
serve its current function as attendance increases? If that is the case,
should we discourage people from attending? Should we hold convergences
in more remote locations, or convergences focused on specific topics, or
multiple simultaneous regional convergences?
There were a lot of people at the convergence, coming from a modest
array of subcultures, and among these people one could find a range of
class backgrounds and relationships to gender. But the participants were
overwhelmingly white. Last summer, anarchist people of color were
actually disproportionately represented in organizational roles—but this
doesn’t seem to have resulted in more general attendance by people of
color.
Is the CrimethInc. project more relevant to people coming from a
predominantly white cultural context? If future convergences attract
predominantly white folks, can they still contribute to momentum towards
multi-ethnic resistance and solidarity—and if so, how? If future
convergences attract predominantly white folks, can they be comfortable
spaces for folks of color and fulfilling spaces for others? Should those
involved in CrimethInc. projects defer to the analysis and approach of
existing anti-oppression groups such as the Catalyst Project, or develop
their own?
The other significant absence of diversity was in age, and this was all
the more glaring an issue in that many participants in earlier
convergences were nowhere to be seen. Are young people really more prone
to revolutionary commitments than older people? What does it take for a
person to maintain involvement in radical projects across decades? What
can others do to support and encourage this? How many older people are
committed to revolutionary struggle but choose not to attend
convergences? How can what happens at the convergence be connected to
them and their efforts?
The earliest CrimethInc. convergences were characterized by extremely
informal infrastructures: at any time, anyone might find himself or
herself digging a fire pit or performing for everyone. This summer,
owing to the great numbers of people involved, the infrastructure was
much more rigidly organized: one committee scheduled workshops, another
maintained security shifts, yet another especially disciplined group
organized the kitchen—which was far and away the most impressive mobile
free food kitchen I’d seen since the Miami FTAA protests of 2003. At
earlier convergences, each person washed his or her own dish; at this
one, a crack team headed up by one determined individual who never left
the kitchen area washed everyone’s dishes. There was a quartermaster
keeping up with all the tools and supplies, a conflict mediation team, a
person responsible for maintaining the free literature area. Looking
around at the campsite, it was easy to imagine that we could reorganize
society along anarchist lines—but perhaps not as easy for first-time
participants to imagine that they could organize something similar
themselves. The organizing model for this convergence was based on
bottomlining—an individual or team volunteered to handle each task,
swearing to take care of it come hell or high water. This model enables
organizers with control issues to stop worrying about aspects of the
organizing other than the ones they choose to take on—but does it also
undermine the participatory environment that was so integral to the
charm of the first CrimethInc. convergences?
One night, after a performance of a selection from Howard Zinn’s Emma, a
fire dancing troupe put on an impressive show. The play had been cast
and practiced during the convergence, and had all the urgency and
winsome awkwardness of a brand new project, but the fire dancers were
clearly experienced in their field. Someone who had been involved in the
organizing of the first convergence pointed out that, while everyone at
that convergence took a turn in the spotlight, in this case we were
basically a bunch of spectators watching a small team of professionals.
How do we decentralize attention, or at least access and feelings of
entitlement to attention? Would we benefit from more structure, or less?
At the debrief discussion at the end of the convergence, some organizers
expressed concern about how much of the infrastructural work had been
done by a small proportion of the participants. On the other hand, these
“insiders” totally dominated this phase of the discussion! How can
organizational work be more widely distributed, along with personal
initiative itself?
To what extent do the people who are free to drop everything for a week
to go camp out halfway across the country represent the demographics
that actually read and make use of CrimethInc. material? Everyone who is
invested in CrimethInc. projects knows others who are similarly invested
but would never come to a convergence. To what extent does the current
format of the convergence bring out people who like camping and
workshops more than people who are committed to CrimethInc. projects?
How can CrimethInc. agents who are unwilling or unable to attend the
annual convergence undertake other experiments that fill similar roles?
Are there other possible formats for the convergence? If it took place
in an urban setting, for example, would the ubiquity of capitalist
consumer culture inevitably undermine the possibility of an atmosphere
of autonomy?
As it has attracted more participants and solidified into a set format,
the CrimethInc. convergence has taken on pronounced similarities to
other events. Like the National Conference on Organized Resistance, it
features two full days of workshops; like the Earth First! rendezvous,
it involves camping out in a rustic setting; like any rock festival or
youth culture event, the premise is that people of a minority persuasion
who are used to being diffused throughout society spend a short, intense
period of time together. Anything that falls into a recognizable
category inevitably absorbs the inertia associated with existing
examples of that category, and the convergence is no exception.
To gauge the dangers posed by that inertia, let’s examine the
subcultural festival as a phenomenon. These festivals are characterized
by the artificial and temporary establishment of a community comprised
of people of a single demographic. In some instances they are
regarded—unconsciously or self-consciously—as models for an alternate
society, an absurd pretension considering their homogeneity. It can be
an intensely demoralizing experience for a bunch of isolated rebels who
are used to defining themselves by their differences from others to
spend a lot of time together. Without the others against whom they have
contrasted themselves, they may feel their personal rebellions have lost
their special meaning—and if the artificial society they comprise bears
any similarities to the larger society they oppose, that undermines the
dearly held faith that “if only there were more of us” things would be
better.
One might argue that the prevalence of the subcultural festival at this
juncture in history is simply a manifestation of the destruction of
spatially-based long-term communities. When people arrive at the Rainbow
Gathering, one of the longest-running and most widely attended
subcultural gatherings, they are greeted with the words “Welcome
home”—an ironic greeting, given that they are, spatially speaking,
anywhere but home. Might one compare all these white people tromping
from cities and suburbs into the last fragile forests in search of
“home” to the white people who gentrify neighborhoods, or the white
people who brought the scourge of Western civilization to North America
as refugees from Europe? How are we to make any space into home, anyway,
if we are perpetually gallivanting from one temporary community to
another? Like any epidemic, alienation proliferates by means of its
victims’ attempts to escape it. Are subcultural festivals, gatherings,
and convergences simply another form of this destructive flight that
wrecks exactly that which it seeks?
Granted that the preceding two paragraphs outline a vision of hell—how
can the CrimethInc. convergence resist the tendency for any event or
social group to revert to default setting as soon as it becomes a known
quantity? How can we overcome the inertia brought to the convergence by
participants familiar with and inured to the limitations of other such
gatherings? What role, if any, could it serve in building longer term
connections and investments? Do we have any right staging such events in
feral countryside, or would it be more responsible to hold convergences
in the spaces we already inhabit on a daily basis?
I’ve never been to a Rainbow Gathering. My only context for the Rainbow
phenomenon comes from my experience hitchhiking—Jesus sometimes sends
his followers to give me rides, but when it comes to looking after
hitchhikers the Rainbow Gathering seems to be a far more powerful and
attentive patron saint. Countless drivers have referred to the Rainbow
Gathering upon picking me up; as far as I can tell, it seems to be a
space that promotes mutual aid and sharing, and as far as that goes I’m
all for it.
But I have to say I was surprised when people started showing up at
CrimethInc. convergences for whom the Rainbow Gathering was their
closest point of reference. As I understand it, the Rainbow Gathering is
more associated with pacifism, New Age spirituality, and drug use than
with the all-out war on capitalism and hierarchy called for in most
CrimethInc. literature.
Are there more common threads than I realized connecting CrimethInc. and
the whole Rainbow thing? Or are these people showing up at the
convergence because it seems to have a similar format to the Rainbow
Gathering? If the CrimethInc. convergence were to become just another
stop on the Rainbow circuit, would that be a positive thing—exposing
more people to revolutionary anarchism—or would it just dilute the
atmosphere? Are there disturbances in the Rainbow ecosystem that are
driving people from those circles to our convergence?
According to one participant in the convergence, Earth First! has
already been through this same experience with their yearly rendezvous,
with the result that their rendezvous is now always scheduled to
coincide with the Rainbow National Gathering. That doesn’t seem
promising. Does it make a difference that the convergence is a sober
space, while the rendezvous is similar to the Rainbow Gathering in that
it often hosts a lot of substance use?
But this specific line of questioning indicates a broader horizon of
questions. As a broader range of people get involved in anarchist
spaces, they will inevitably bring with them their own subcultural
activities and reference points—whether those be drum circles, moshing,
or bowling. Is it mere bigotry that punk subcultural norms go
unquestioned, for example, regardless of the political implications of
those norms, on account of punk having long been associated with
anarchism—while others are regarded with suspicion?
If anything decisively distinguishes the CrimethInc. convergence from
the Earth First! rendezvous and the Rainbow Gathering alike, it is that
it is an explicitly sober space. In a culture that promotes intoxication
among radicals as well as everyone else, this is an achievement, though
at every convergence the same discussions have to take place all over
again to maintain this. Most inspiring of all were the participants who
acknowledged having left the site of last year’s convergence to drink,
but made a point this year of emphasizing the value of the convergence
being a sober space to others who wished to drink.
After the unpermitted march at the end of the convergence, the police
used false positives from drug-sniffing dogs to justify searching
people’s vehicles. When it came out that the pigs found no illegal
substances in those searches, somebody shouted out “The policy works!”
Why is sobriety not more widely practiced as an aspect of revolutionary
strategy? How do we create sober environments in which no one feels
uncomfortable about or judged for their personal relation to substance
use? If CrimethInc. is not itself a movement, but rather a subversion of
movements, would organizing a sober Rainbow Gathering itself qualify as
subversive activity?
Likewise, if anything distinguishes the CrimethInc. convergence from the
various anarchist book fairs, the National Conference on Organized
Resistance, and events like the US Social Forum, it is that there is no
registration fee and no buying or selling. It is a powerful thing to
demonstrate that we can provide for the needs of hundreds of people
across several days by means of volunteer labor and individual
donations. Besides intoxication and exchange economics, are there are
other aspects of contemporary society we might try doing without?
This year’s convergence took place at the same time as the national
convention of the new Students for a Democratic Society and the Feral
Visions gathering. The latter was on the West coast, but many committed
anarchists had to choose between attending the convergence and the SDS
convention, which took place in nearby Detroit. The dates of both events
were announced shortly after we announced the date of this year’s
convergence—to our great frustration, as we had already spent weeks
contacting organizers around the country, including some from SDS,
inquiring about their schedules for the summer. It’s possible that, had
the two events not overlapped, more serious student organizers would
have been in Athens.
A statement was read at the SDS convention from participants in the
CrimethInc. convergence, encouraging more conscientious coordination
between the two groups. It reportedly met a warm reception; in addition,
a collection of hundreds of dollars was taken up at the convention when
it was reported that police had made arrests at the parade concluding
the convergence.
How can CrimethInc. and more rigidly structured groups like SDS work
together in the future? What would it look like to collaborate with such
groups to organize a convergence that brought together participants from
several different strains of radical thought and organizing? Could that
be a worthwhile experiment?
Last summer there was a prisoner support table offering resources about
current political prisoners and defendants and materials for writing
letters to them; some dozens of letters were written and mailed off.
This summer’s convergence featured a similar prisoner support station,
but dramatically fewer letters were written. Does this reflect simple
ergonomic shortcomings on the part of this year’s support station—the
absence of a table and chairs for writing, for example—or a more ominous
deprioritization of prisoner support on the part of participants?
Approximately fifty workshops, discussions, and presentations took place
in the course of this year’s convergence, not including caucuses and
plant walks. One of the hallmarks of the CrimethInc. convergence model
is that everyone who attends is encouraged to present a workshop, on the
grounds that people learn more from presenting workshops than they
possibly could from watching others’ workshops.
Perhaps not surprisingly, many of the workshops were not as interactive
as they could have been—there was a lot of one person talking at length.
It needs to be said that a workshop presenter is responsible for giving
those who attend a workshop the most entertaining, engaging experience
possible: if you choose to speak at people for an hour, it had better be
a powerful performance! There was some talk afterwards of setting higher
standards for the workshops. How can this be accomplished without
discouraging inexperienced presenters from offering workshops? And how
can we further challenge the standard, often boring format of workshops,
which the convergence has inherited unquestioned from more orthodox
activist conferences?
By far the most controversial aspect of this year’s convergence was the
workshop entitled “2012.” Presumably, this workshop was scheduled with
the expectation that it was not simply an introduction to wingnut
millenarianism, but it proved to be exactly that. Not only that, but due
to its taking place in the big army tent during the last block of
workshops, it ran on for several hours through dinner and into the
evening, becoming a clearinghouse for wingnut ideas of all stripes.
The tent was packed for the workshop, though it later came out that many
people had circulated in and out of it in the course of its duration,
most more out of curiosity than credence. The unfortunate effect,
however, was that the spectacle of a packed house listening to cosmic
conspiracy theory at a supposedly clearheaded radical convergence
demoralized people. The effect was similar to what might have happened
if the Jerry Springer show was playing on the campsite with a crowd
gathered around it: whether or not they approved or believed in it,
their attention alone legitimized it and seemed to reflect on the
convergence itself. If we would not have had television on the campsite,
if we would not have invited the Church of Scientology to seek converts,
why was there space for wingnut millenarians? Should there be a policy
delineating what kinds of workshops are encouraged and discouraged? What
about suggested “tracks,” directed themes for workshops and discussions?
Or is that too controlling?
But the more important question is—why did the 2012 workshop attract so
much attention in the first place? Was it the result of having a wider
range of people at the convergence this year, that some of them are
actually prone to believing such nonsense? Are some anarchists in fact
eager to believe the world is going to end soon (or reach peak oil or a
“point of singularity” or whatever) so they won’t have to figure out how
to liberate themselves? Was it simply the Jerry Springer effect—people
can’t help but flock to something ridiculous, even if there are more
meaningful options close at hand? The schedule was packed all day every
day with demanding activities—did people need something light to break
up all that seriousness? Were the workshop presenters simply more
compelling speakers than other workshop presenters? Did the workshop
fill a role of being whimsical, entertaining, or romantic in a way that
no other workshop did? Should we have been more conscientious about
making sure something worthwhile would fill that role?
There were several efforts to make concrete plans for future projects
and mobilizations, but few of these bore tangible fruit; it seems
difficult to achieve concrete results and commitments in open workshop
settings. On the other hand, plenty of agreements and decisions came out
of informal conversations during the convergence. Are formal structures
simply less efficient, or is this more the result of the predispositions
of those who would attend a CrimethInc. convergence in the first place?
If informal discussions are bound to be the setting of all the important
decisions, how do we prioritize and facilitate them?
Of all the workshops, performances, and discussions at the convergence,
it is striking how little focus there was on CrimethInc. projects per
se. On one hand, this avoids creating a “star system” centering
attention on those already engaged in those projects, but on the other
hand it contributes to the impression that the convergence is a merely
social space, reinforcing the separation between the informal networks
that produce projects and the social circles that consume them. At
worst, this suggests a dynamic in which CrimethInc. is invisibly
directed by a few people without the input of the vast majority of those
who identify with it. On the other hand, efforts at earlier convergences
to organize CrimethInc. projects did not bear fruit. What would it take
for the convergence be a space in which wider participation in
CrimethInc. propaganda projects could develop?
At the end of the event, someone asked organizers who had been involved
in several convergences what they would have done for the convergence
had it simply been a matter of what most interested them personally.
Their answers were all very different from what they had actually done.
What would have happened if these experienced participants had tailored
their efforts to their own personal tastes rather than to the presumed
necessities of organizing a successful anarchist event? Are these
participants unable to concentrate more on subjects and experiments that
interest them because others are not stepping forward to handle the
basic responsibilities of setting up infrastructure, or because of their
own inability to trust others to do that? What would it look like to
have a convergence that was designed to fulfill the specific wildest
dreams of the individuals involved? Can we even imagine such a thing? If
we can’t, can we hope to make a revolution centered around the
fulfillment of desire?
In August 2003, after participating in the CrimethInc. convergence
described in “Under the Helicopters,” my barnstorming group made one
more tour stop—in Athens, Ohio. By that time, following an unplanned
parade-turned-riot and subsequent media feeding frenzy, there was an APB
out and police officers were waiting for us everywhere we went.
Our final evening of performances and workshops went smoothly enough
until the conclusion. We’d been ending each event by teaching people how
to make the asphalt tile mosaics described in Recipes for Disaster, then
affixing one in a street as a token of our passing. We debated briefly
as to whether we should attempt this act of unorthodox vandalism under
the watchful eyes of the police, and finally concluded—as we always
do—that we had to go for it and let the consequences sort themselves
out. A slapstick scene ensued such as one might see in a European
comedy: imagine us running around the campus pursued by police and
audience members, attempting to elude the former and put down our tile
mosaic in front of the latter. In the end, we succeeded in deploying the
mosaic, but were followed by police to the house we’d intended to stay
at and had to escape through the back alley to sleep somewhere else.
Months later, unbeknownst to us and against all odds, the mosaic
remained in the parking lot—somehow the police never bothered to have it
removed. Long before we ever met, the person who is now my lover and
partner walked past a colorful heart set into the asphalt on her way to
class every day, wondering how it came to be there.
Fast-forward nearly four years, to the end of July 2007. The tile
mosaics our barnstorming tour put down have been paved over and the
passionate friendships that bound our group together have cooled. All of
us are now involved in new projects and friendships—for example, I’m
back in Athens, in an unpermitted parade at the conclusion of the sixth
CrimethInc. convergence, surrounded by hundreds of costumed maniacs.
Some of them are spinning fire; others are beating improvised percussion
instruments, including one enormous drum pushed on a shopping cart;
still others have just dislodged an enormous road blockade reading “ROAD
CLOSED” from a construction site and are carrying it to the front. Among
the whirling dancers and masked faces, through the haze of enthusiasm
and good cheer, I can make out a couple people who were with me here
four years earlier. We’ve covered a lot of ground in that time.
My partner calls me over to a spot in the road. There, set in the
asphalt, as fresh and bright as the day we put it there, is a colorful
tile heart.
When experiments like these work, they connect us to spaces and to each
other in a magical way, giving our lives back the narrative meaning that
capitalism drains from everything. They may not immediately overthrow
the government or abolish private ownership of capital, but they give us
the networks, experience, and sense of our own power necessary for
tilting at such monstrous windmills. Separated from our ongoing struggle
for liberation they are senseless, but they aren’t only useful as
incremental steps towards liberation—they also are that liberation, as
we recapture our lives, moment by moment, from routine and obedience.