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Title: Permanent Subsistence Zones Author: Seaweed Language: en Topics: green anarchism, ecology, primitivism, insurrectionary subsistence, Source: author
If you read through this collection, you’ll get the distinct impression
that I am trying to guide rebels in a specific direction. But what is
the destination of these paths I am urging us on?
There is general consensus that the first people to colonize the North
American continent did so about 10 to 12000 years before the present.
There are dissenting archaeologists who believe that humans have been
here for closer to 20000 years or even more. Radio carbon dating
indicates that humans were on the eastern half of the continent, in what
is presently called the United States, at least 10,400 years ago. Their
remains are found over the entire area. Meat seems to have been the
primary food source and the peoples of the area used fluted projectile
points as their basic hunting tool. These free wanderers, as some
archaeologists have described them, were essentially single families or
small bands of related kin.
What interests me is the fact that there is no physical evidence, to my
knowledge, of human made shelters in this area for the first several
thousand years of people living there. No seasonal campsites have been
found, let alone permanent village sites, until around 8000 years ago.
That means that humans on this continent wandered freely without
permanent sites, and perhaps without even human made shelters, for at
least 4000 years.
From 8000 until 3500 years ago, there is a gradual shift from this open
wandering based lifeway, to a more sedentary one. In the beginning there
emerge a number of temporary campsites, with some evidence of longevity
of occupation. Toward the middle of this period, we find increasing
numbers of seasonal campsites, places where the wanderers would
regularly return to for certain foods. By the end of this period we find
the midden deposits, designated village or family places where the waste
products of meals and other debris from human activity were placed, many
of them 10 meters deep. Human groups became slightly larger, they
wandered less, had camps that occupied an acre or two. This is when we
find circular pole-framed structures, ornaments, woven mats, storage
pits, nets and traps. Humans slowly moved from their free wandering days
to a more subsistence based life. They became embedded in specific
areas, developed a set of skills and tools based on their environmental
context. Essentially they became part of a place, both formed by and
forming it.
The subsistence I imagine and believe we should strive toward is one
that once found its expression somewhere between and within these two
time periods. I don’t view one time period as superior to the other
against a measure of extent of domination or domestication. I don’t
agree with the model of history that draws a map of rectilinear roads
going through time with village life located in a purgatory downhill
from the heaven of free wandering and somewhere before the hell of urban
life.
Were the free wanderers the most free? Were their people the happiest,
the least alienated (or without alienation)? Were they even the wildest?
In some green anarchist and primitivist writing, re-wilding is the
destination. And because any degree of sedentary living, even seasonal,
is viewed as a degree of domestication, then only the free wandering
lifeways seem to offer the ultimate fruit of wildness. For them, unless
we are aiming toward small, self-organized bands of related kin roaming
forests and seashores, then we won’t ever be truly capable of
rediscovering our wild existences, and thus our potential to realize
ourselves as truly undomesticated beings in an unconstrained, direct
relationship with every raw moment.
But I have come to the conclusion that a mutually shared set of life
skills, combined with the extensive sensual knowledge that comes with
being embedded in a place, also allows for the same unfettered existence
that the free wanderers had.
To view human history on this continent as a simple linear devolution
from the completely free, unmediated lives of the original inhabitants
to the first degrees of separation in the campsites, then deeper still
with the seasonal camps, then into the abyss of domestication in the
semi-permanent and permanent villages to the complete colonization and
integration into urban life under the empire of the market and
hierarchy, is just too one-dimensional.
I am not aiming for relationships that always exclude any degree of
sedentariness any more than I am aiming for an obligatory sedentariness.
I think that the villages that gave us the midden deposits and the traps
and the nets and the masks and the songs etc., are as ideal an ultimate
destination as the roaming days of the free wanderers.
Subsistence for me includes the lifeways of free wandering people as
well as village/seasonal camp based people. Both seem to offer the
richness of meaningful, ungoverned lives. Both seem to encourage our
possible variations as free beings.
The village isn’t a stage on a downhill momentum toward urban life. The
net and song and mask aren’t first steps on a path toward rank and
privilege, environmental degradation or ever increasing degrees of
mediated lives. They are merely the outcome of sensual wisdom, of
embeddedness, of organic life ways. In this sense my destination is
primarily toward small villages and seasonal camps.
Here, where I live, in the Comox Valley in the Pacific Northwest,
herring season has come and gone once again. Many of us take special
notice of this natural cycle, it seems truly wondrous: the water
whitening from fish spawn, the seagulls excitedly squealing with
anticipation and satisfaction, the deep bark of sea lions filling the
air, keen eyed bald eagles swooping down from their tree top perches to
gorge themselves. But there is a sinister player in this seasonal cycle.
It’s called the commercial fishing industry.
In the middle part of the eighteenth century, the western expansion of
the European invaders involved the use of market hunting as opposed to a
subsistence tactic. Combined with the development of breech loading
firearms, this approach led to the extermination and near extinction of
several species, including the pronghorn, elk, deer and some waterfowl.
On the Great Plains, frozen pronghorn carcases were stacked like
cordwood along railway lines to be shipped east to urban centers. The
elimination of the bison was part of a covert policy of the United
States government to deprive the indigenous people of their subsistence
base, and thereby their base of operation, against the army and
settlers.
The same forces today are used to prevent any possibility of the
dispossessed from regrouping and claiming territory within which to live
according to principles of mutual aid and organically self-organized
subsistence ways. Of course as the earth’s natural abundance is
plundered for the market, indigenous traditionalists also have less
chance of living according to the old embedded ways. Take note that it
was military policy to deprive the resisters of their food sources so
that they would lose their base of operations. Doesn’t that indicate
that in order for rebels to begin having some success in terms of the
social war that they too need to secure bases as they regroup and
strategize on how to win a few battles?
Unless humans begin to live in accordance with ecological principles,
that is, in harmony with our biosphere and with each other, ecological
and social collapses appear inevitable. The signs are everywhere:
climate change on a global scale, empires aggressively pursuing imperial
conquests, the populations of entire nations muted by fear of punishment
and numbed by mood altering drugs, planetary domestication and plunder
of wild nature, overflowing prisons, astronomical suicidal rates,
cancer, extinction, hunger and private atomized existences. Name a
civilization that wasn’t fundamentally characterized by centralization,
coercive authority, ecological plunder, imperialism and a general
arrogance toward others. It’s not just the state and capitalism that are
to blame, because every civilization included classes and a state. We
have to look at what it is about the cultural values and philosophical
outlooks of the civilized (urban peoples), that lead them to disrespect
life forms outside of their view and to tolerate oppressive, impersonal
institutions as an inevitable part of everyday living.
But there are many examples of individuals, groups of friends and
communities resisting the current and pursuing different paths. The ones
that inspire me the most are the ones committed to firmly establishing
themselves in a specific region. They want to (or continue to) hunt,
fish, collect herbs and grow gardens together, share tools and child
minding responsibilities, and help clothe and shelter one another using
everything from permaculture techniques to re-appropriation. The focus
of course must be on access to land that can potentially support these
clans and groups which are based on voluntary association and mutual aid
and self-sustenance. And as these sustenance zones are nurtured, a
general and natural willingness to defend them naturally emerge. From
South America to South Africa, from Chiapas to India we read and hear
about communities that are not only trying to survive, but to create new
societies based on anarchic insights. Using diverse tactics, these
communities are determined to secede from the nation states that confine
and dispossess them. This is where the herring fishery comes back into
our focus.
Here in what is known as British Columbia, in the Coast Salish and
Kwakiutl territories where the Gulf Islands are located, there has
always been people who participated in the annual herring run who were
not part of the commercial industry. Incidentally, while the group of
islands are collectively known as the “Gulf Islands”, they are located
in a strait not a gulf. This is because a European explorer named them
without traveling the full length of the waters in which they are
located. In any case some are newcomers while others have been doing so
for decades. They harvest the roe and net the fish along the shoreline
or from boats. Typically the roe, or eggs from the females, is collected
on hemlock or other evergreen boughs or kelp that is floated in the
water until they are saturated. On many islands families and friends
also collect the roe which washes onto the shore mixed in with the
seaweed, for their families, and for their gardens, providing a rich
source of minerals for their compost. All this is collected on a small
scale, harvested without machines or wage slaves. Oftentimes the fish
itself is harvested, not just the roe. Using different preservation
techniques, like pickling, this bounty is stored for future use. Some
use the herring as bait for other fish. As well, all along the west
coast, indigenous peoples traditionally collected herring roe as a food
source. All of this activity is and has been pursued on a scale
commensurate with sustainability.
But according to Dave Wiwchar, in a report published in the
Nuu-chah-nulth Southern Region Reporter, “…over the last few years,
First Nations (indigenous) fishers who drop hemlock trees or kelp
bundles in order to harvest the traditional dietary staple of siihmuu
(herring roe) have come up empty handed. Boughs that would normally be
laden with numerous layers of roe, two inches thick, are being hauled up
with barely a single egg. Traditionally, herring spawning areas were
heavily protected by Chiefs, and Nu-chah-nulth spawn-on-kelp/bough
fishers used special “silent paddles” whenever they ventured into
herring spawning areas.
The report continues: “Siihmuu/Kwaqmis is traditionally very important
to us as it is the first resource to return to our territories after the
winter,” said elder Nelson Keitlah. “In the days of my grandpa, no one
was allowed to go into the spawning areas where the herring were looking
for a place to spawn. Not even a noise from a canoe was allowed. People
had a very high respect for the herring as they are a very important
part of the food chain, and our diet,” he said. Keitlah fears the noise
from the vessels, machinery and sonar are driving the herring down to
depths where their eggs will not survive. “We’ve been saying for years
that the sonar and machines are a total disrespect to the herring, and
as a result the herring are now spawning in deep water, and not coming
near shore where we can feed on them,” he said. “We haven’t had
siihmuu/kwaqmis in recent years as it has been very scarce. We need to
be able to harvest them in a natural, normal way, which is a much better
way to do it than to harvest the roe by seiners.”
And in an article in the Globe and Mail, Reg Moody of the Heltsiuk
people in Bella Bella said in a statement: “Who knows, maybe this
province and country will soon see scenes on national TV of what took
place with our brothers from Burnt Church on the east Coast. These
stocks mean that much to us. Our way of life is at stake here,” he said.
“To protect the future of the central coast region, the Heltsiuk and
Kitasoo Xaixas have been instructed by their people not to allow a sein
or gillnet sac-roe fishery in their traditional territories for the next
season…”
The traditional method of stringing fronds of seaweed in spawning areas
allowed the herring to lay their sticky eggs on the seaweed and then
swim away. But the commercial method is harmful and unsustainable. The
seiners are noisy, scaring the spawning herring away into deep waters,
and the fish are killed to extract the egg sacs rather than allowing
them to swim away. Combine this with industrial activity on or near
their spawning grounds and the herring are increasingly threatened.
This year a group of us living on Sla Dai Ich, an island in the strait
that separates Vancouver Island from the mainland, decided that we
should learn more about the natural cycle of the herring. The island
that we live on is a regular stop for the annual pacific herring run. At
roughly 250,000 tons, the herring that pass through our waters is one of
the largest biomasses that moves on our planet, comparable say to the
bison, mentioned earlier, two hundred years ago.
Because the fishery is essentially based strictly on the collection of
roe, what actually occurs in the water is this: a convoy of fishing
boats gather in the strait as the herring arrive in our waters to spawn.
The schools of fish are surrounded by the boats and the smaller punts.
Once the fishery is opened by government officials, the herring are
brought onto the boats by nets, which are then slapped by large rotating
paddles beating the herring out of the nets. From the shoreline one sees
fish seemingly flying through the air onto boats. The females are gutted
and the roe extracted to feed the hungry sushi and delicacy markets,
while the males and the female carcasses are collected for animal food
and fertilizer. About thirty to fifty boats gather on the waters off our
shores. And while in reality they are a veritable platoon of parasites
eagerly plundering this incredible abundance of life, the boats appear
rather innocuous, even picturesque, especially at night, when they are
lit up and together resemble a small floating village.
There exists no local cottage food industry that harvests the fish for
human consumption. Pickled herring and roll mops (delicious tasting
strips of herring rolled around capers, pickles or olives and bathed in
vinegar and spices) are sold locally but are imported from Europe.
There are 252 and 1254 gillnet licenses in the roe herring fishery
alone. Fisheries and Oceans Canada set the quota and catch limit based
on an “exploitation rate of 20% or less.” This means they ostensibly
leave 80% of the stock in the ecosystem. But this is misleading because
the Canadian commercial fishery takes only 20% of what moves through our
waters. What about the American fishery, the sea lions, the salmon and
cod, etc., who are also all feeding on this run? If the stocks continue
to be affected by the contamination of spawning grounds and attacks on
other aspects of the intertwined marine ecosystem, then it doesn’t
matter what percent is taken the herring will eventually disappear
unless the commercial fishery is terminated and the spawning grounds are
protected from industrial activity. This year, 2005, the coast wide
commercial roe herring allowable catch is 25,574 tons! The spawn on kelp
fronds fishery is 3000 tons for 37 non-Heltsiuk licenses and 525 tons
for the nine Heltsiuk licenses. It’s worth noting that the once abundant
Haida Gwai herring run is at a record low. In terms of statist laws and
regulations, there is a whole herring daily limit of 20 kilograms and a
possession limit of 40 kilograms for the so-called recreational fisher.
So a few friends and comrades went down to the shoreline and set up a
small camp. A fire pit was set up, some fresh water brought down, a few
posts and beams erected to define the area and as something for us to
secure windbreaks to. Meanwhile, several of us gathered rock salt and
pickling vinegar, capers, pickles, and food grade buckets. I phoned my
mother on the East Coast of Canada to ask for a recipe and any tips she
might have. Believe it or not, even though I’m only 46 years old, my mom
grew up making her own soap from animal fat, churning her own butter,
collecting nuts, weaving wool, harvesting firewood with horses and
sleighs, etc. Her family lived with hardly any money. They had just
enough from selling hazelnuts along the highway, firewood from their
land and other small initiatives to pay their property taxes, buy oil
and flour and a few other basics. In one generation all these skills
have been lost in our family. While my mother mourns her childhood, she
does so with much reservation. It was all too much work she complains. I
think this is because the effort was done in the context of her family,
without the deep roots of true village ways. Pioneer ways are different
than a context of communal activity among others with whom we have
strong kinship ties.
It so happened that a comrade from the Mauvaise Herbe green anarchist
group in Montreal, was visiting. He came to the little camp and we had a
talk about their activity and ours, shared some perspectives and
gathered some fresh oysters to roast and eat. One of the things we
talked about was the “individual self” and its development. He related
how some tribes people from the Vietnam area traditionally didn’t use
the word I, but rather usually spoke about themselves from the
perspective of the relationship that they were engaged in at the moment
of talking. For instance a person speaking to an uncle would say: “niece
wants to walk with uncle”. An individual without community to rely on to
share the demands and desires for shelter and food and intimacy, for
example, becomes groundless and atomized. Clearly we need to be embedded
within a group of people. And a group of people has the best chance of
enduring and thriving if embedded in a place.
A couple of friends got hold of a zodiac and ventured into the water
armed with a video camera to document the commercial fishery. It was
risky. Bobbing around in extremely choppy waters in a rubber dinghy
trying to videotape a bunch of fishers who likely weren’t too sure
whether or not they wanted to allow it. After all, if anyone gets a lot
of finger pointing from self-righteous urban environmentalists and
activists, it’s the rural wage slaves who do all the primary extraction
and plundering of resources for urban civilization: loggers, fishers,
miners, etc. So thanks to our three brave friends, we have a few hours
of documentation to use in our arsenal for future use. But at that point
we still hadn’t gathered any herring.
Each day for about a week, a dedicated bunch of the group went down to
the camp and waited to determine whether the herring had begun to fill
the waters enough so that we could stand along the shoreline and net
them, which is how it normally happens. The fish become so plentiful,
that simply by dipping a net into the water, one can gather as many as a
half dozen herring at a time! While they waited, they collected oysters
and roasted them over the fire, and explained to others from our island
community what they were up to. During that time many local friends,
neighbors and comrades from urban centers came and went, some were just
curious, but most were hoping to learn something and to participate in
this subsistence approach to living.
One of the aspects of this attempt to learn and feed ourselves and
understand one of the natural cycles of our region that was so appealing
was that it wasn’t about politics. Some called it our protest camp,
others the herring camp, just the camp or even Vali’s camp, after one of
the core people who initiated the energy around it. But the days weren’t
intended on being spent arguing with politicians, trying to recruit
members or handing our petitions. Here was a chance to feed ourselves,
to build a culture not based on wage work, to learn new skills, and
sadly, to witness and document another plunder. The small camp also
reminded me of how little autonomous space we actually have. Apart from
our local pirate radio station ( yeah we’re on air!), situated in a
small trailer, and a small autonomous zone on a separate beach created
by other locals, all we have are each other’s homes to visit or
commercial ventures to hang out in. But this was/is different. I think
some of us would like to see a campsite or two permanently on our
shoreline, regardless of the outcome of the herring fishery.
Eventually some fish were gathered and brought back to one of our homes.
They were killed, their heads removed, then gutted and scales shed. Then
after splitting them in two, the fillets were spread with mustard,
wrapped around capers and pickles and placed in a bucket of pickling
vinegar and onions, to be eaten at a later time. We didn’t succeed in
filling our hampers for the next several months, in fact we barely
harvested any, but we took a first step. That’s how all great dreams are
realized. Hopefully next year we’ll be a little luckier and a little
more experienced. Maybe eventually local kids will stay out of school,
comrades will come visit from urban centers and we’ll all spend a few
weeks just gutting and pickling herring as an extended group of friends,
neighbors and rebels. Over time we will feel compelled to defend the
ecological integrity of these waters and to protect the herring that
dwell in them and which help sustain us.
The pacific herring play a huge role in the marine ecosystem of our
territory. Herring are an important part of the northern pacific marine
food web. They are a food source for gulls, ducks, pilchards and jelly
fish. Pacific cod, lingcod, halibut, Chinook salmon and harbor seals all
have diets largely comprised of herring. Three quarters of the lingcod’s
diet consists of herring. The near shore and intertidal environment is
critical to the continued abundance of the herring. This is where they
deposit their eggs and only at very specific locations. It is important
for us to protect the spawning grounds closest to us. In some areas, for
instance Cherry Point in Puget Sound, herring stocks have declined
rapidly over the past decades. The decline is attributed to a high level
of commercial fishing and to contamination of the spawning grounds by
industrial activity.
Commercialized, market driven, mass levels of fishing are not
sustainable. We need to re-learn how to integrate our lives into this
fishery as we do with all of the natural cycles in each of our regions.
We need to take care of the places where we live. It isn’t hysteria to
suggest that the herring might eventually disappear from over-fishing
and bureaucratic mismanagement. The herring should be here for our
great-great-great grandchildren. As the herring dwindle, so too will the
other fish that feed on them, while the life forms that the herring feed
on will become overpopulated. All this will create imbalance and ill
health and contribute to the eventual collapse of the complex marine
ecosystem of our potential territories.