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Title: Anarchy Against Hierarchy
Author: Thomas Pulliam
Date: 2021
Language: en
Topics: egoism, Egoist-Communist, insurrection, introductory, Social Ecology, Participatory Democracy, Direct Democracy
Source: Retrieved on August 8, 2022 from https://www.academia.edu/70885636/Anarchy_Versus_Hierarchy

Thomas Pulliam

Anarchy Against Hierarchy

“Throw away holiness and wisdom, and people will be a hundred times

happier. Throw away morality and justice, and people will do the right

thing. Throw away industry and profit, and there won’t be any thieves.”

— Tao te Ching, Chapter 19

Moving forward is impossible unless we learn each other's language. In

spite of all our similarities, all our shared wants and concerns,

misunderstanding convinces us we are enemies. Emma Goldman wrote,

"Someone has said that it requires less mental effort to condemn than to

think. The widespread mental indolence, so prevalent in society, proves

this to be only too true." Words with multiple definitions that change

drastically according to context, group, and setting—like anarchy,

communism, nihilism, etc.—contribute to this discord. When most people

hear "anarchy", they will often imagine violence and refuse to listen.

This hostility frustrates the anarchist, who views it in terms of

cooperative, horizontal living.

Even in a movement as broad as the anarchists, the most common agreement

you will find is that anarchism in general would be more popular if its

language wasn’t so tragically misunderstood. For centuries anarchist

voices have struggled to correct their negative image—they have not

struggled in vain, but there is a lot of slander to battle, and much

more unclear rhetoric and outdated theory. I felt the need to make my

own contribution with this project. This is not an attempt to promote a

fixed program or philosophy—to do more than casually borrow ideas for

yourself is missing the point. Furthermore, there is not a single person

who can speak outside the limited environments that shaped them and

everybody is biased.

It is important to consider the experiences that shape an anarchist

perspective and temperament. Since anarchy brings many aspects of

humanity to light, there is no single path to it or unlearning the

lessons of statism. My own story began before I was born; every recent

generation on my mother’s mother’s side embraced an alegal and

free-spirited outlook. My great-grandfather was an Appalachian vagabond

who married a like-minded German-American known for her wild nature and

iconoclasm. They and their children traveled the West, living out of

vehicles in mining towns, campgrounds, and reservations, stealing and

working odd jobs to survive. Living in poverty, they learned to value

quality over quantity and distrust institutions. Law wasn’t sacred,

money and nations weren’t sacred; wealth was derived from love, freedom,

and adventure, with passionate contempt for everything which mediated

and prevented such treasures. These sentiments were passed down to me.

The majority of my childhood was in Idaho, between the gentrified

foothills of Boise and the rustic frontier of Council Valley. My first

home, in Boise, was a dirty broken-down house which by the summer of

2012 transformed into a base for borderline homeless punk rockers.

People called us “the Dustbin”—coined by the psychedelic punk band Mind

Drips, who performed there one summer—or “Dirty-6th” because of our

location on 36th street. At one point, over a dozen dirty kids crashed

there at once. Most of them were friends with my older sister, others

were total strangers. Practically all of them were self-described

anarchists.

The Dustbin operated on strong communal lines. Personal property existed

but needed resources—such as food and clothing—were intuitively shared.

Decisions were made through loose consensus and (unless you gave them a

good reason not to) everyone treated each other with respect. If you

were to ask those who lived there, they would describe the Dustbin as a

time of rebellion and fraternity. I would be lying if I said I didn’t

romanticize it similarly. My “36” tattoo on my right forearm, which I

was the third person to get, attests to this.

As a child and young teenager, however, my experience was slightly

different. To a moderate extent, aspects of the environment robbed me of

security at times when I needed it. Chaos filled the house, and our

mother's depression kept her from being fully present most of the time.

On the other hand, I was provided a great deal of freedom for someone my

age. I could leave the house at any time and roam freely. When people

spoke to me they treated me like an adult. Things this simple taught me

how to handle and appreciate independence. That which threatened my

personal autonomy and ability to happily experience became a lifelong

concern.

The politics of the Dustbin were a product of the postmodern and

anti-elite sentiments of the Occupy era, my family's rowdy Appalachian

roots, as well as the rave and folk-punk scenes in Idaho—by coincidence

all of this was associated with anarchist sentiments. Some Dustbin

associated projects—such as the Hammer and Wrench Gang, specializing in

illegalist burglaries that targeted churches—expressed distinctly

anarchistic motives.

We commonly played a scratched CD allegedly gifted to us by a retired

train-hopper. It consisted of songs by various anarcho-folk groups[1]

that were popular in rural states, covering a range of topics including

poverty, depression, insurrection, and especially anarchism. It would

take years before I understood anarchism as a family of socio-political

philosophies. Despite this, I began to associate the word with feelings

of angst and alienation in an imposing society.

The values of the Dustbin became a significant part of my upbringing.

The original Dirty-Sixers: Bob! Loudly the revolutionary tramp, Peyton

and Cat the melancholic artists, the peace-oriented leaders Fox and

Mogli—these were some of the hidden icons of Boise’s unique and rugged

counter-culture. I now identify more with this culture than anything

else.

The Dustbin possessed its own unique culture, influenced by but distinct

from the outside of the world. We still have our own traditions, music,

norms, and guidelines. The Dustbin Anthem written by Bob! Loudly, "Dirty

Rebel Kids" or "The Dustbin", went like this:

I don’t have anything to say to you

Anything to play for you

Anything to make it through

To make it all okay for you

You know that’s what I’m trying to do

And you know that I would die for you

Steal the sun outta the sky for you

And even if it burns me too

It’s all the same

The taste of your name

Dustbin got shut down by the cops

And all those dirty kids in

Dirty-Sixth Street got a job

Yes, we threw our Molotovs,

Yeah, we through our Molotovs

Even if I am just spotting at the

wind, in my heart I'm still a Stupid Rebel Kid

To all my dirty rebel friends at the Dustbin:

Thanks for everything you did!

Mogli put the gas in the van

We were going to move to Portland,

we were in a punk band

Shit happens not planned;

My middle finger to the Man,

My middle finger to the Man

Then it finished with the second verse.

Some religious encounters throughout my life contributed to an

anarchistic worldview. Although my family was highly secular, we

occasionally attended Friends meetings before I was twelve. I have

always admired the Quakers' individualistic, non-hierarchical,

meditative, and non-dogmatic way of worshiping and congregating. While

most churches I knew involved some leader-figure preaching threats and

instructing you how to think, Quakers would sit silently in a circle and

look introspectively for answers. Nobody could tell you how to worship

and there was a lot of emphasis on developing a personal relationship

with the god inside yourself. This was done as a sovereign individual in

the company of your own, without the obstruction and undeserved

authority of priests, pastors, or bishops.

From Native American spirituality (often advocating harmony with the

land and each other) to Taoism (promoting non-materialism, humility, and

living in the present in order to find peace, growth, and wisdom) to

Luciferianism (advocating self-worship, iconoclasm, respect for your

allies, and additionally, in the Urantia Book, a confederal network of

autonomous planets and the rejection of a spiritual state), I found

deeply anarchistic messages.

At the age of fourteen, I moved north to Council Valley to live with my

half-hippy, half-hillbilly grandmother. Council is one of those tiny

impoverished towns where organized religion and alcohol are the most

booming industries, and the only pastimes besides drinking are gossip

and drama. The Valley is a treasure, but the culture of its current

inhabitants struggles. The main source of excitement for folks under 21

is often limited to a lifestyle of delinquency. In turn, my relationship

with the local sheriff's office turned antagonistic over the years.

Bored, brutish bastards, their ranks consisted of officers who relocated

from neighboring states for behavioral problems.

Like most police, they did not care about your concerns or want to help

you. Their under-stimulation, sense of elitism, statist morality, and

unchallenged authority led them to act aggressively and abuse locals.

Just months before I arrived, two deputies murdered the rancher Jack

Yantis. My mother moved to the area soon after and became an organizer

with the Justice for Jack campaign, calling for police accountability.

Not reform or abolition, just accountability. This branded our family

permanent enemies to the department, who ended up harassing us for

years.They would circle our block, enter our home without warrants, and

stop me nearly every time we crossed paths. I would try to find ways,

big and small, to return the favor. Mostly this was to alleviate my

existential boredom, but there was always an unconscious political

motive.

In my mind, the police were nothing more than a gang of kidnappers and

professional liars who were not vindicated by any myth of justice. Both

the department and the institutions they enforced were intrusive and

fake, invented by something I didn’t consent to. Council officers knew

nothing about their victims or the laws they stood by, yet they were

given every privilege at the community’s expense. Retaliation became a

matter of self-sovereignty; self-sovereignty was already a matter of

protecting reality, of self-assertion and demonstrating my ownness. I

could either submit and settle for an insecure way of living or learn to

assert every ounce of my substance against them.

School also had an impact on me. Besides teaching me basic knowledge

such as reading and writing, it was little more than a long series of

embarrassment and spirit-crushing assimilation. The anti-social effects

of our education system were worse in the city.[2] I saw a strong

closeness and solidarity in my classmates. The town was small, so for

both good and ill everyone knew each other, and you couldn't afford to

be an ass. Students led anti-bullying campaigns and projects with or

without the involvement of the school. On the other hand, the school

board was extremely low-budgeted and the faculty consisted of clueless

authoritarians.

I have always thrived in environments where I’m left to manage myself

without authority figures breathing down my neck. Meanwhile, the U.S.

education system goes to great lengths to suppress natural curiosity and

promote a logic of submission. Like so many other generations, I was

prevented from pursuing my interests and efficiently developing as a

person while forced to accept propaganda against my own terms.

It wasn’t a place to grow, but a place to be molded into a submissive

citizen, an institution bastardized by arbitrary practices in the name

of spreading arbitrary beliefs with little concern for individuality or

growth. Stand up for the special flag and never for yourself, tell us

why our government is a harbinger of liberty and goodness. I resisted

everything I disagreed with and many teachers—ranging from racist

Mormons to underprepared ex-students with more concern for their growing

university debts—grew to hate me. In retrospect, I probably would have

preferred something similar to Spanish anarchist Francisco Ferrer’s

model, where the classroom is structured horizontally and inquiry,

communication, and free agency is encouraged. It became clear that the

institution was a waste of time and I had to take responsibility for my

own education. At sixteen, I finally dropped out.

Writing constantly was the easiest and most effective way to

self-educate. I would research topics—mainly theology, politics, ethics,

and history—and type out essays accordingly. Some days I would get

stoned and write dozens of pages just for fun. Within one year I learned

more than in my entire public school experience. It was only a matter of

time before I considered writing professionally. Not long before I

turned seventeen, I printed my first article with issue #140 of

Adbusters, the neo-Situationist magazine famously credited for sparking

the Occupy Wall Street movement. I became a regular follower of their

work (at least as much as I could), which pushed me even further in an

anti-establishment direction.

Around this same time, a series of events led me to a book that inspires

me to this day—a copy of Anarchism and Other Essays by Emma Goldman in

worn DIY binding, given to me by my older sister when she visited from

Oregon. I instantly became fascinated by her work. Aside from her

passionate language, what struck me most of all was her relevance.

Initially I thought she belonged to the radical movements of the '60s,

'70s, and early '80s. It showed me how anarchist thought is just as

pertinent to our condition today as it was a century ago.

Appealing to my growing frustration with militarism, both conservatism

and liberalism, and the national idea in general, this stood out to me

in her 1908 speech on patriotism featured among the Other Essays: "We

Americans claim to be a peace-loving people. We hate bloodshed; we are

opposed to violence. Yet we go into spasms of joy over the possibility

of projecting dynamite bombs from flying machines upon helpless

citizens. We are ready to hang, electrocute, or lynch anyone, who, from

economic necessity, will risk his own life in the attempt upon that of

some industrial magnate. Yet our hearts swell with pride at the thought

that America is becoming the most powerful nation on earth, and that it

will eventually plant her iron foot on the necks of all other nations...

Such is the logic of patriotism."[3]

I saw her as an expert when it came to analyzing problems in our

society. Her views on political alienation and the nature of property

and bureaucracy strongly resonated with me. At this time, though, I

thought anarchy went in a counterproductive direction. My half-baked

conviction was partly influenced by her definition of anarchism as the

philosophical advocacy against government, society, and man-made law.

This is true, but I still misinterpreted it. What came to mind was

opposition to all forms of association, whereas she clearly meant

opposition to administrative monopoly, self-annihilation of the

individual, and arbitrary means of maintaining order. I was still very

much using statist language and logic. The definition I followed for

government was basically any system of doing things, not a central body

of institutional power. As if it wasn't a crucial part of the point, I

fell into saying, “but humans are inherently social, so we will always

form government.”

It’s very possible that my early dismissal of anarchism and anarchy,

despite my positive encounters with it from a young age, was rooted in

an unconscious influence from the belligerently conservative environment

of Idaho combined with a narrow and immature understanding of the

subject. I vividly recall an interaction I once had with a Council local

on a camping trip near Mill Crick. We were getting along well until I

innocently brought up the topic of anarchists, thinking back to the

Dustbin. I fell back in silent confusion when he suddenly became hostile

and dismissive. Why was it that he associated anarchy with pointless

violence and apocalypse? Over time I considered anarchists well-meaning

and intelligent but unrealistic. It took me a long time to realize that

I knew almost nothing about them.

I hadn’t overcome the misconception that anarchy was a disorganized

free-for-all, the absence of infrastructure and protocol. The highly

functional non-hierarchical societies in Catalonia and today’s Rojava

and rural Chiapas, let alone how they ran, were unknown to me. I would

need to know what it might look like in practice before I could consider

it and Goldman never attempted to champion anarchism from that angle.

She even explained why she did this, saying she didn’t believe anarchism

could “consistently impose an iron-clad program or method on the

future,” and that different ideas were unique to different situations.

Though this is true, and anarchy is more about free association than a

set order of things, it still wasn’t enough for me to consider anarchy

without some description of how it was organized. Now I realize that she

isn’t a good introduction for some people, even if she’s perfect for

others.

A few months after my eighteenth birthday, I had to choose between

staying in the mountains as a burden to my family or becoming homeless

with my sibling in Portland. I had no doubt about my decision. I’d read

The Communist Manifesto by then and was curious about Marxism, so I was

excited to learn that Portland was a hub for activism and radical

thought. This was my first episode of Portland homelessness and it was

the least violent, because I fortunately had a lot of stable allies

right off the bat. Without them, I would have experienced unimaginable

horror before I was mature enough to withstand it. Spending my nights in

a shelter, I surrounded myself with eccentrics and street kid

philosophers, and bumped shoulders with all manner of insanity.

Most of my evenings were spent reading downtown, hopping transit as an

advocate of the “Never Pay” movement, stealing rations and alcohol to

give to the homeless, and wandering from drop-in to drop-in across the

city. Even while I was homeless, I would sometimes volunteer for local

FNB chapters for something to do. The experience was similar to college,

except with chronic exposure to poverty, substance abuse, and violence.

One of my closest friends was a "neo-Luxemburgist" I met through my

older sister at shelter. She was always concerned with showing me new

perspectives and theory. One day she gave me two books she found at a

shelter in Washington: a USSR-issued complete anthology of Lenin and On

Anarchism by Noam Chomsky.

Beginning with Lenin because of his historical influence, it didn’t take

long before his words triggered a reappraisal of what I initially saw in

Marxism. I already knew that Marxists consider state and often party

dictatorship legitimate forms of "social ownership" because they view

the state as a tool any class can use to manifest power over society.

According to Marxist theory, a socialist revolution can only exist in

the form of a state apparatus, which is supposed to “wither away” into

the communal ownership of resources. This inevitably symbolic “people’s

dictatorship” is referred to as a dictatorship of the proletariat. Early

Marxism is vague with its definition of the state, so it has been

interpreted as both grassroots and bureaucratic in nature.

Before my issues with Marxism (and leftism in general) developed—mainly

its dogma, elitist views against "lumpenproletariat" and rural people,

and its pseudoscientific belief in material dialectics and a historical

endpoint—I considered it synonymous with democracy, class struggle, and

unionism. Leninist ideologies, meanwhile, advocate party dictatorship

meant to act on behalf of the communities in question. They believe that

direct democracy and decentralization is more prone to corruption than

nationhood, parties, and central hierarchy—placing more faith in

bureaucrats and less in the intelligence of everyday people.

I could not understand how a group so against domination could resonate

with Lenin’s ideas. In What is to be Done?, he asserted that workers are

incapable of self-liberation and needed to be led by a bourgeois

intelligentsia, “educated representatives of the propertied classes.” In

Against Revisionism, he condemned unorthodoxy and free criticism,

treating his own ideas as sacred doctrine meant to replace all others.

It’s true that Leninism and its variations—characterized by powerful

central government, nationalization, and a Marxist vanguard party meant

to oversee the state—have never inherently been against certain vague

interpretations of democracy. Cuba’s legislation allows communities to

directly vote on local laws, for instance, despite the Cuban government

behaving like a police state overall.

None of these gestures matter when important decisions must be approved

by a totalitarian party created for the fundamental purpose of limiting

public participation. I’m referring to vanguard-style parties. Even the

vanguard organizational principle of democratic centralism—which is

practically identical to liberal republicanism—only exists to keep the

minority in political power. Time and time again, it has created

organized violence that threatens the masses, consistently undermining

human needs, volition, and potential.

Political parties and central administration always end up creating

their own class, their own bourgeoisie, which tramples on the rights of

ordinary people. Even in labor, capitalist bosses are merely replaced by

bureaucrats, and workers’ unions often face the same level of hostility

as under capitalist republics. When you question Marxist—and most other

collectivists, including capitalists—about these problems, you see how

it is for them to differentiate between society, individuals, and the

state.

It confuses them that what’s good for the state wouldn’t automatically

be good for the people. Despite everything they believe about

capitalism, they refuse to see how hierarchy, centralism, and strict

ideology could produce negative results. It didn’t take long before I

began to experience a sentiment that Mikhail Bakunin put like this:

“When the people are being beaten with a stick, they are not much

happier if it is called ‘the People’s Stick’.”

Though it wasn't immediate, much of my views as an anarchist is a direct

reaction to Marxist-Leninist dogma. On Anarchism was next on my list. I

already knew Chomsky as a social critic and linguist but didn't know he

was a self-defined anarchist. His introduction by Nathan Schneider was

nearly convincing enough on its own. It began by discussing Occupy and

its flirtation with anarchist principles, their use of consensus, and

how they came to adopt the word “horizontalism” in place of terms like

anarchy and socialism which had been rendered unusable by propaganda. I

was impressed by how Occupy and similar movements acknowledged the

distinction between hierarchy and leadership. This distinction had

already been made clear to me in my experience with grassroots activism.

There was mention of the spokes councils behind the 1999 anti-globalist

riots in Seattle: anarchist affinity groups from Oregon and Washington

who came together to devise a comprehensive plan against the World Trade

Organization (WTO) and other transnational institutions. Referred to as

the “Battle in Seattle”, it helped popularize the anti-globalist and

anti-corporate ideas that dominate modern activity, as well as the black

bloc tactic still practiced by today's generation of actionists.

Schneider linked the mass “anarcho-amnesia” over the WTO-riots, Occupy,

and other major events to the particularly vehement crusade against

anti-state thought. Reading deeper, Chomsky outlined a different picture

of anarchism for me. He described it as the belief that hierarchical

systems and institutions are not self-legitimized, and that if hierarchy

cannot justify its existence (and it usually can’t) then we should

dismantle and replace it with bottom-up alternatives. This made me

realize that there was more to anarchy than I thought.

Today my minimal definition of anarchism is the philosophical call for a

personal lifestyle and/or social order on the basis of autonomy,

quality, decentralization, and participation. For the individual, this

manifests as a connection with one's inner-authority, often accompanied

with the conscious desire for cooperation and allies. For the group, it

typically involves a network of directly democratic municipalities,

co-operatives, and autonomous spaces. Although individualists might

emphasize the self in this, or at least the individual-in-context, it's

uncommon for anarchists to see anarchy as anything but organized

non-hierarchy. Non-hierarchy is the uniting idea of anarchy.

While most anarchists share these common principles, motives and praxis

are unique to each person. It is generally said that anarchism splits

into individualist and social positions. Individualist anarchists tend

to place greater emphasis on autonomy while social anarchists emphasize

cooperation. The division between them is mostly false, though, and

ideas can be borrowed from all corners of thought. Community-planning

can co-exist with markets, etc; liberation from social forces and

liberation from antisocial forces are only two sides of the same

struggle for self-representation. If authority comes from the bottom to

a large enough degree, a marketplace of ideas combined with trial and

error can guide us towards where we need to be. And as a general

principle for adaptation and personal health, we should consider all

ideologies, philosophies, systems, etc., nothing more than tools for

individuals to use as they please. Acting otherwise is both dangerous

and unhelpful.

With the feeling I was taking a step in the right direction, I sought

out more perspectives on the subject. There are many worth mentioning,

but I was most moved by Petr Kropotkin, the egoist school, and the

communalists Abdullah Öcalan and Murray Bookchin along with other green

currents (namely post-civilization and solarpunk). Besides Goldman,

Kropotkin’s sociobiological book on mutual aid was the first classical

anarchist theory I read. It provided an articulate argument that our

natural state, especially when liberated from the shackles of hierarchy,

is a social one, and that solidarity can be a great source of

fulfillment, security, and freedom. He articulated the benefits of

empathy and mutual aid, not just in humans but the entire natural world,

and why incorporating it in social organization is complementary to the

human spirit. This was one of my favorite passages from the book, which

discusses humanity’s social tactics of self-preservation:

“It is not love to my neighbor—whom I often do not know at all—which

induces me to seize a pail of water and rush towards his house when I

see it on fire; it is a far wider, even though more vague feeling or

instinct of human solidarity or sociobility which moves me. It is not

love, and not even sympathy (understood in its proper sense) which

induces a herd of ruminants or of horses to form a ring in order to

resist an attack of wolves. . . . It is not love and not even sympathy

upon which society is based in mankind. It is the conscience—be it only

at the stage of an instinct—of human solidarity. It is the unconscious

recognition of the force that is borrowed by each man from the practice

of mutual aid; of the close dependence of every one’s happiness upon the

happiness of all; and of the sense of justice, or equity which brings

the individual to consider the rights of every other individual as equal

to his own. Upon this broad and necessary foundation the still higher

moral feelings are developed."

The philosophical school of egoism—concerned with the role of the self

and desire as a justifiable/innate motive for one’s actions—provided the

reminder that, mutual aid considered, we are still individuals at our

core. As individuals, if we aren’t acting for our own cause then we’re

likely acting for the cause of phantasms and the powerful. In this

context, egoist-anarchists advocate a “union of egoists”, a horizontal,

mutually-beneficial, and voluntary form of association that may be

produced and reproduced around any given affinity. The distinguishing

point of this union is that its members cooperate together as self-owned

individuals, thinking independently from society, moral creeds,

institutions, capital, parties, roles, and strict ideology.

This does not negate the role of love and altruism. As Wolfi

Landstreicher notes in Against the Logic of Submission, “it is only in

the realm of economy—of goods for sale—that greed and generosity

contradict each other.” I’d argue that strong community and

participative decision-making is necessary for the personal fulfillment

of every individual. It allows me to access my own environment, form

exciting relationships, and give according to my own volition.

Kropotkin’s theory on mutual aid and egoism are not contradicting. In

fact, they reinforce each other in terms of survival of the fittest. As

inherent individuals, self-preservation is our strongest instinct, and

throughout our evolution this instinct has been most successful with

solidarity. Likewise, we are not acting in our interests by mindlessly

destroying our environment or cheating our allies. It is arguably more

self-serving to routinely invest into others, to recognize our shared

affinities and respect certain boundaries. The egoist can allow amoral

compassion to illuminate their existence—compassion for the sake of the

egoist, not because "it's the moral thing to do."

People already make decisions with the hope that it will be right for

them, yet so many pursue their interests in the most roundabout ways

possible, reducing themselves to nothing as they fall into external

identities and grand narratives. “Good” and “evil”, this ism or that

ism, whether applied to oneself or another group, are only arbitrary

constructs perpetuated by statist culture and institutions. In political

contexts, they have been used to keep people submissive, distracted, and

easy to mobilize against their masters’ enemies. This is not to say that

certain labels cannot have good ideas associated with them. The issue is

that we use them to replace our identity, turning to ingrained doctrine

and narrow labels instead of ourselves.

Conscious egoists thus reject moral and ideological thinking in favor of

critical self-theory, analyzing society from an individual perspective

and asserting control over their minds and bodies. We are considerably

less susceptible to manipulation when we recognize our uniqueness and

act according to what is right for us, not a political party, not a

belief system, not a nation-state. We should avoid identifying with

concepts intended—at the best of times—to help us navigate the objective

world. If they must be used at all, it’s healthier to view them as

tools. The best way to utilize an egoist approach is to eliminate the

other definition of ego: the lies we build around ourselves in psychic

defense against the world.

It took me months to reconnect with a natural egoist practice. Soon

after, I would use it as a tool for bridging the individual and

community—deconstructing and legitimizing cooperation with the

outer-world while avoiding dogma or becoming property of the

"collective" (which is just a network of individuals). Obviously our

social side is undeniable.[4] However egoistic, searching for ways to

represent myself and participate in a group remained a concern. The

conclusion: the bridge between our individuality and interconnectedness,

as well as the bridge between civility and undoing domesticization,

resides in direct participation and the municipality. Whether my

environment was communistic, market-oriented, etc., was for the most

part irrelevant so long as I was still able to represent myself in my

environment by means of assembly and consent.

In the meantime, there is nothing denying me my ownness, nothing except

me. State, capital, and dogma are only obstacles. Before we achieve

anarchy—conditions where we can meaningfully speak our minds and set our

own goals, when the fate of our lives and planet is not left to cold

institutions—we must first become anarchs, proprietors of our minds and

bodies who don’t look for excuses to not free ourselves. By definition,

anarchy is non-hierarchical association. Anarchism is an idea, a longing

for anarchy and the anarch. The anarch is to anarchy what the monarch is

to monarchy. It is ownness, it is recognizing yourself before hierarchy,

a lived anarchy.

Certain aspects of libertarian municipalism, aka, social ecology or

communalism, networks of directly democratic municipalities, became a

potential means of accessing my environment without unneeded conflict.

Until it becomes practice, it is a vision of cooperation, while my

ownness intrinsically and presently belongs to me. When I acknowledge

it, I empower myself and unlock control over ideas. In this way, ownness

is revolutionary; the arrival of anarchy is dependent on the activity of

anarchs, just as we cannot be completely ourselves without anarchy. "If

my freedom depends on the freedom of all, does not the freedom of all

depend on my acting to free myself?"[5] Communalism, like any anarchist

project, can only be a product of self-ownership.

Öcalan and Bookchin introduced me to social ecology and a few active

projects in anarchistic democracy. Although I later saw him as fallible

and preoccupied with an anti-individualist grudge, Bookchin’s general

drift aligned well with my idea of a horizontal society. Bookchin was

the first voice I found who connected the importance of anarchism with

green politics. In his book Post-Scarcity Anarchism (one of his better

ones), he wrote: “It cannot be emphasized too strongly that the

anarchist concepts of a balanced community, a face-to-face democracy, a

humanistic technology and a decentralized society—these rich libertarian

concepts—are not only desirable, they are also necessary. They belong

not only to the great visions of man’s future, they now constitute the

preconditions for human survival." The Kurdish project and Öcalan’s

communalist-inspired brochure Democratic Confederalism broke down how a

directly democratic culture would operate and convinced me that it was

possible even in intensely chaotic environments like the Syrian Civil

War.

Over time I synthesized the philosophies of social ecology and

democratic confederalism with the best of post-civilization, which

opposes the domination of urbanity over the natural world and the

techno-industrial system outside of modest, responsible places[6]. My

terrible experiences in the city and in our age of ecological concern

likely contributed to this as an emphasis, especially in the way it

promotes self and communal transformation. Returning to a more human and

democratic environment and establishing harmony with nature is possibly

the most important lesson of our age.

Like all humans, I'm constantly learning and changing. Anarchism is

something that started as a great curiosity and way of organizing my

skepticism of dogma, power, and industry. It is perhaps almost useless

as an identity or symbol, but it is a very real concept concerned with

our relationship between the land, ourselves, and each other. The more I

learned, the easier it was to conceptualize anarchist philosophy and

logic. The more confident I became that it could work, the more I came

to defend it openly.

“I find freedom to be the most important issue facing any human being

today, because without freedom, then life is pointless. The more

dependent you become on centralized power, the more easily you are led

around.”

— Russell Means, Lakota activist

It’s important to note anarchy's relationship to consensus-oriented

democracy. The etymology of democracy comes from Latin and its literal

definition is “rule by the people”. This makes anarchy—which translates

from ancient Greek to “without a master”—the purest democratic idea.

Anarchism holds a vision of participatory decision-making where

communities and individuals can directly influence legislation, giving

people a voice outside of elections. Swedish political scientist Jörgen

WesterstÄhl identified four manifestations of political participation:

electoral participation, referendum, district councils and local

assemblies, and participation based on knowledge and interest in

politics. None of these have to be exclusive, and the most functional

democracies would need elements of all of them.

Expertise and delegation can still exist in a completely direct

democracy. Abolition of the politician is a common sentiment heard in

some way or another in anarchist communities. This doesn’t mean the

abolition of delegation or facilitation; it’s the abolition of special

monopolistic authority, replacing certain roles with grassroots systems.

“Politicians” in an anarchist society are delegates who act in

accordance with decisions made and approved from the bottom using

general assembly, imperative mandates, and referendums.

“By the people, for the people” means that representative democracy is

treasonous. Representative democracy is inherently “by the

representatives, for the ruling class.” Government—when it is not used

synonymously with the state—is the uncountable noun form of the word

“govern” and refers to all society's agreements between itself about the

laws of an occupied territory, how those laws are enforced, and the

economic structures that might be present. This never requires

hierarchical rank within that society and the “Government of Rank” is

the intrinsic antithesis of “a people’s democracy.”

For anarchists, these democratic ideas have been incorporated in labor

and economics. Anarchism is often associated with libertarian socialism,

sometimes described as the individualist wing of socialism. Some

anarchists would prefer to distance themselves from the confines of

ideology, but most schools nevertheless have strong anti-capitalist

sentiments. Even anarcho-capitalists oppose capitalist monopoly in their

own contradicting and utopian way. Although anarchist organization,

rigidity, and methods vary considerably, they all advocate some

conception of non-monopolistic ownership. Economically speaking, there

are both collectivist and market anti-capitalist tendencies in

anarchism.

The difference between capitalism and markets is that markets are

characterized by decentralized and competitive industry, while

capitalism is characterized by private, central control over production

and land for profit. The larger the monopoly, the more obvious this

distinction becomes. Anarchists are unlike both capitalists and state

socialists because they understand that people do not own the means of

production unless they have direct control over it. By nature, state

bureaucracy excludes workers, sometimes more than capitalism, from

participating in decisions or receiving the full amount from their

labor. For this reason, many anarchist schools have put thought into

non-hierarchical economies.

Opposition to private property—which is not the same as personal

property—doesn’t necessarily mean opposition to markets. Proudhonian

anarchism, for instance, is famously described by its subscribers as

“free-market anti-capitalism.” It advocates reciprocity, direct

democracy, use and occupation property norms, and collective planning

through a community bank that lends at minimal interest rates. Proudhon

objected to the power relations of capitalism, viewing private

accumulation as feudalistic and prone to monopoly. He argued that the

capitalist order could be toppled if individuals created mutual

contracts between each other to create a cooperative, democratic society

designed to prevent the concentration of market leverage and incentivize

mutual exchange.[7]

In terms of labor, social anarchists are different because they reject

the market economy altogether. Instead, they suggest we should socially

own the means of production through large democratic networks, which

federate into communities, into municipalities, districts and eventually

the entire world. But there are differences in how they think we should

handle distribution. Anarcho-collectivists, like Mikhail Bakunin,

believe we should still use a type of currency, sometimes in the form of

labor notes, corresponding to the amount of work each worker puts into

the organization. Anarcho-communists, like Petr Kropotkin, think we

should distribute according to need and a gift economy.

Some post-left anarchists—defined by the critique of trends within

leftism, i.e., global revolution, glorification of work—have advocated

for ego-communism (anarcho-communism from an egoist approach) or

“mutualism without markets.” The only real difference is that it takes a

more self-organized, anti-ideological, and insurrectionary approach,

preferring direct action, self-theory, and affinity groups over

vanguard-style programs and planning. Not that this sums up post-leftism

as a whole, which has never been a single idea or system.

We see here that many anarchists put too much focus on non-hierarchical

organization to be anti-government in the sense of order and protocol.

The notorious Circle-A, popularized by punk and activist culture,

symbolizes “Anarchy is Order”, based on the quote by Proudhon, “as man

seeks justice in equality, so society seeks order in anarchy.” In other

words, anarchism pursues balance and liberty by replacing hierarchy with

cooperation, going on to suggest that it is more likely without the

negative order enforced by the state. Still, the philosophy remains

falsely associated with disorder, which has been its biggest obstacle

since before Pierre Joseph Proudhon embraced the term in the early

nineteenth century.

In his manifesto, Errico Malatesta described the issue exactly as it is

today:

“[T]he word anarchy was universally used in the sense of disorder and

confusion; and it is to this day used in that sense by the uninformed as

well as by political opponents with an interest in distorting the

truth.”

Noam Chomsky practically paraphrases this in an interview included a

couple dozen pages into On Anarchism: “Yeah, it’s a bum rap, basically,”

he said, “—it’s like referring to Soviet-style bureaucracy as

‘socialism,’ or any other term of discourse that’s been given a second

meaning for the purpose of ideological warfare. I mean, ‘chaos’ is a

meaning of the word, but it’s not a meaning that has any relevance to

social thought. Anarchy as a social philosophy has never meant

‘chaos’—in fact, anarchists have typically believed in a highly

organized society, just one that’s organized democratically from below.”

The factor of non-hierarchical organization is crucial for balance and

equity. People don’t need to understand socialist theory to understand

their own interests. When I was doing fence contracting at ninetween, a

fiercely anti-socialist co-worker of mine once proposed a side-job and

distributing the pay equally on top of an additional amount based on

contribution. He thought up socialism on instinct. Imagine if the

average person had a direct say in grassroots democracy. You don’t even

need a great deal of inner-working knowledge to participate. That’s what

the delegates and experts are for. You just need to know what you want.

Decisions can be formed on a local level between citizens and elected

facilitators, and then passed through direct public mandates and

referendum to maximize the presence of consent. This can be organized on

a massive decentralized scale, as a federation of municipal councils,

regional parliaments, and general congresses, allowing individuals and

communities to exercise a direct influence over their shared environment

and day-to-day life.

“The overriding problem is to change the structure of society so that

people gain power. The best arena to do that is the municipality—the

city, town, and village—where we have an opportunity to create a

face-to-face democracy.”[8] From the anarchist perspective, it is

imperative for the human condition that each individual can directly

represent themselves, and being forced to take part in a prison-like

society that imposes social, material, and psychological realities is a

natural contradiction. Paired with consensus decision-making, this is

where the anarchist principle of decentralization comes into play as a

tool for individual empowerment. If the goal is to give ourselves a

voice to the same degree we’re affected, then decisions must occur on

the smallest possible scale. Our communities should be our own spaces.

In these spaces we find both familiarity and a chance to amplify our own

voice.

When it comes down to it, the main argument against this type of society

is that humans are incapable of cooperation, that law (as in polity)

equates order and that this order is positive. Most anarchists would

argue that human organization would be impossible if not for our

profound social nature, even in the form of a less conscious enlightened

self-interest, and that society would collapse if not for an everyday

communism underpinning the social foundation exploited by powers of our

age. Sociological studies have found, in fact, that in nearly all cases

of crisis (e.g., a natural disaster) mutual aid and solidarity

increases, with local networks and individuals responding more

efficiently than the government.

The negation of anarchy is also rooted in elitism and projected

insecurity, the assertion that your neighbors are too stupid to have a

say, so it’s better to impose your own views indirectly by

periodiciaclly consenting to a dictating class. Through this collective

disenfranchisement, the individual is supposed to become “empowered” or

at least have a slim chance at representation if they take steps to

prove themselves a model citizen—obedient, passive, committed to a

flawed due process. Such in the logic of statism, especially in the form

of “representative democracy,” a contradiction in terms. This argument

disintegrates when we consider our constant social conflict, the murder

of our ecosystem, the mismanagement of technology and materials, all in

the end demonstrating that politicians and bosses are incapable of

sharing our interests. If hierarchy is so beneficial, why is every

corner it touches so fucked? They are the ones making the damaging

decisions while dragging the rest of the world into their insanity.

Instead of getting to the root of the problem, statists of all varieties

continue to advocate public exclusion from the decisions that affect

them.

It could be argued that a lot of our problems ultimately stem from

central hierarchy—the state—which gives a monopoly to violent ideas that

serve special interest. I genuinely think that directly democratic

conditions would allow us to govern based on core instinct and ego, and

certain anti-social views that only benefit an elite class could not be

sustained.

We are an emotional species, but we are capable of rationalizing our

social side, which does not come from nowhere. Our selfish reason will

guide us back to the village if we act for ourselves with logical

guidelines. “Greed in its fullest sense is the only possible basis of

communist society. The present forms of greed lose out, in the end,

because they turn out to be not greedy enough,” as the Situationists put

it.

Everyone is a communist without external authority—media, politicians,

religious leaders—convincing us we’re not. Most people care about their

community and practice mutual aid, especially when they are not

experiencing social alienation. Even if this weren’t the case, societies

could be organized so decisions are confined to their own areas—another

major case for the principle of decentralization.

Likewise, we should also remember that anarchy is not something that can

be imposed by giant institutions. Anarchists don’t create programs, they

create networks. If localities are done working with the government,

approaching anything close to anarchist culture, it’s also likely that

other things have changed. That said, I acknowledge that some places

will take different paths than others, and that I won't agree with

everything, but refusing to fight for communal liberation just because

propaganda has made us distrust one another will be the death of any

prospect for better living.

Top-down administration, the state, does not entail better decisions. It

cannot represent any individual outside of the elites who run them. All

states are founded on monopoly and power, and like all monopolies, they

undermine the will of the individual as they stray towards centralism

and globalism in the gluttonous pursuit for wealth. Once a monopoly has

concentrated enough power at the top, once it uses its power to betray

any possible image of its goodness, it is doomed to fall apart. This has

been clear in every case from the Mongols to the USSR. Too much

violence, too much alienation, and too much corruption are the rightful

nail in the coffin for every state. Even then, hierarchy will survive

unless our coming insurrection is also aimed at statist culture. Power

doesn’t give up power, and it acquires more at every opportunity no

matter the cost. It will continue to appear until one way or another the

illusion is dismantled.

Statism is not an intrinsic part of our nature. Most modern

anthropologists agree that for practically all of human history, until

just about the end of the Neolithic Age, human association was communal

and largely consensus-driven. Just like ant colonies that wind up

walking in circles until they die, the human race is in an insanity

loop. The only way to break this loop is by recognizing it, taking

individual and eventually collective efforts to break free.

After the arrival of the state, even the modern nation-state, there have

been countless large- and small-scale stateless societies that have

flourished only to be destroyed by foreign governments. Non-hierarchical

networks have existed on American soil for thousands of years,

especially before Manifest Destiny, the large-scale robbery and

subjugation that propelled us into our corporate age. One good example

is the Iroquois Confederation, described by colonial emissary

Cadwallader Colden as having “such absolute notions of liberty that they

allow of no kind of superiority of one over another, and banish all

servitude from their territories.” The Iroquois were among the most

complex governments in the world at the time, living by a communal and

participatory basis that is still in practice today. Another example is

the Muscogee (Creek) Nation. For the Muscogee, if agreement on major

issues could not be found, tribal members were encouraged to set up

their own settlements with help from those they were leaving. We can see

how unfathomable this is today, when nearly every aspect of community

and individual life is micromanaged by removed powers.

Old European guilds, communes, tĂșaths, voluntaryist practices, etc.,

belonged to a western anarchic tradition that ended with the violent

spread of hierarchy by civil and religious powers. Over a long period of

assimilation and conquest, these trends swallowed Europe and eventually

the globe. They developed into increasingly centralized states built on

superstition and power, forcefully guiding the behavior of man-kind away

from community, democracy, and nature. It’s an old story: the arrival of

the state expanded and perpetuated a violent culture in spite of our

better tendencies. Our dystopian reality today is only the newest

manifestation of relatively recent trends.

Anarchist organization is no stranger to the present. We see it in

action today with the Zapatistas and the Kurds. But the most famous

modern example is Catalonia during the Spanish Civil War. The anarchist

movement in Spain was the product of generational oppression carried out

by the monarchy, capitalist robber-barons, and the Catholic Church,

which pulled peasants and urban working-class communities towards

radical thought for an alternative. The ideas of Bakunin, Kropotkin,

Marx, Proudhon, Stirner, ÉlisĂ©e Reclus and others became very popular

over a few decades, especially in Barcelona. By the 1920s, revolutionary

trade unions across Spain carried out massive general strikes and

sabotage campaigns at growing numbers, and in 1931 the monarchy was

overthrown.

The population quickly established a constitutional republic and began

making progressive reforms. This created a sense of alienation among

reactionary currents—i.e., fascists, monarchists, liberal capitalists.

By July 1936, Francisco Franco, a fascist general under the old

monarchy, united these groups to execute a coup, facilitating his power

with the aid of Nazi and Italian forces. Push-back was higher than

anticipated. Those loyal to the Republic—or at least against the

fascists—scrambled to form a resistance. The Republic became the least

influential faction as Marxist and anarchist organizations established

territories across northern Spain. Practically overnight the entire

region of Catalonia and Aragon founded a network of free municipalities

on anarchist ideas.

The anarchists in Spain wanted to distance themselves from the

bureaucratic interpretations of socialism and communism. In his book

After the Revolution, published shortly after the uprising, economist

Diego Abad de Santillan wrote: “We are guided by the vision of a society

of free producers and distributors in which no power exists to remove

from them the possession of the productive apparatus. In the Russian

example, the State has taken away from workers’ associations and

peasants the free decision over everything relating to the instruments

of labor, production and distribution. The producers there have changed

their masters. They do not even own the means of production nor the

goods they produce, and the wage earner, who is subjected to as many

inequalities or more than in the capitalistic society, is living under

an economic order of dependency, servitude and slavery.”

Much of the economy in Spain was collectivized and many resources were

distributed on a communal basis. Workers and communities seized 75% of

the economy in the anarchist stronghold of Barcelona, most of which

during one grand sweep at the very beginning of the war. Since the

collectivization was directly democratic in nature, workers on the

ground floor were able to personally influence decisions with their

unique perspectives. Conditions also improved and changes were made to

make labor a more welcoming and voluntary task. According to Emma

Goldman, who visited Catalonia between 1936 and 1937, productivity rose

by 30–50% across the entire region despite wartime interference. In a

publication for the Workers’ Solidarity Movement, Irish anarchist Eddie

Conlon said this on the Spanish economy:

“Collectivisation was voluntary and thus different from the forced

‘collectivisation’ in Russia. Usually a meeting was called and all

present would agree to pool together whatever land, tools and animals

they had. The land was divided into rational units and groups of workers

were assigned to work them. Each group had its delegate who represented

their views at meetings. A management committee was also elected and was

responsible for the overall running of the collective. Each collective

held regular general meetings of all its participants.

“If you didn’t want to join the collective you were given some land but

only as much as you could work yourself. You were not allowed to employ

workers. Not only production was affected, distribution was on the basis

of what people needed. In many areas money was abolished. People come to

the collective store (often churches which had been turned into

warehouses) and got what was available. If there were shortages

rationing would be introduced to ensure that everyone got their fair

share. But it was usually the case that increased production under the

new system eliminated shortages.

“In agricultural terms the revolution occurred at a good time. Harvests

that were gathered in and being sold off to make big profits for a few

landowners were instead distributed to those in need. Doctors, bakers,

barbers, etc. were given what they needed in return for their services.

Where money was not abolished a ‘family wage’ was introduced so that

payment was on the basis of need and not the number of hours worked.

“Production greatly increased. Technicians and agronomists helped the

peasants to make better use of the land. Modern scientific methods were

introduced and in some areas yields increased by as much as 50%. There

was enough to feed the collectivists and the militias in their areas.

Often there was enough for exchange with other collectives in the cities

for machinery. In addition food was handed over to the supply committees

who looked after distribution in the urban areas.”[9]

The Spanish libertarians faced some challenges that shouldn't be

overlooked. While the resistance did receive some aid from the Communist

International (controlled by the Soviet Union), munitions were

systematically cut off from the anarchists. Militiamen received minimal

training, shabby rifles, and poor ammunition; because weapons and

munitions were scarce, they were unable to exit survival mode and engage

in united offensive action. These conditions may have well foretold the

outcome of the war. Contrary to statist claims, however, anarchist

militias did well considering these odds. Their confederal and

democratic nature made them flexible and capable of carrying out tasks

independent of one another. Propagandists often suggest this grassroots

model was more disastrous than it was; just as often, they act like

centralized modes of coordination were even possible at this time. As

Orwell noted in his memoir, “a modern mechanized army does not spring up

out of the ground.” Even the decrees imposed out of pressure from the

Communist International could not change this, as the ranks retained a

decentralized soft command throughout the war.

There were some problems that came with the revolution. They were deeply

ideological, suffering from the habit of fetishizing mental constructs.

As anarchism replaced the moral authority of the church, many people

sacralized it similarly, creating another conformist culture based on

anarchic doctrine. Despite its strong democratic and egalitarian

practices and opposition to hierarchy, this culture nonetheless had

dogmatic elements where individuals acted for grand narratives they

internalized and put before themselves. My criticism follows illegalist

and egoist-anarchist Renzo Novatore’s point: “Since the time that human

beings first believed that life was a duty, a calling, a mission, it has

meant shame for their power of being, and in following phantoms, they

have denied themselves and distanced themselves from the real. When

Christ said to human beings: ‘be yourselves, perfection is in you!’ he

launched a superb phrase that is the supreme synthesis of life.”[10]

My issue is not with anarchism nor even with social anarchism, but with

people losing touch with their inner-authority. The heteronomy in

Spain—which harmed the individual psyche above all else—occurred partly

in response to the revolution, a perceived time of enlightenment and

fraternity after generations of oppression. There was even evidence that

it was more of a trend among the organizers and propagandists than the

insurgents. Still, it's worth noting its relationship with the

intellectual and ecclesiastical trends rotting our minds for thousands

of years—in this case, the idea that doctrine is anything more than the

fallible words of another of ourselves, and the tendency to act for

grand causes, a mere righting of systematic wrongs without emphasis on

our role in things. They found it difficult to "reject the black flag"

so to speak. This may be a side-effect of every social movement for a

long time; the development of healthier habits begins now.

We need to battle the notion that ideology or morality have any place in

organization—including anarchism. While agreed upon methods for

organizing are one thing, liberation is not imposing a new social order

on a basis of "right" and "wrong", "good" and "evil", what we are

obligated to do with our freedom. It's better that organization remain

fluid, eclectic—a constantly-evolving and natural product of

individuals. Building a free society on higher systems and doctrinal

thinking is missing the point. Hardly anyone criticizes the

Enlightenment stance on secularism and its opposition to theocracy, yet

still the aim of practically every political movement emphasizes

imposing new moral institutions, a new ideological order. Even most

anarchists fall into this dogma, forgetting that institutionalized ideas

and doctrine become a justification for limited democracy and,

ultimately, a major variable in the establishment of strict political

orders like the church—mentally and materially—in medieval Europe, only

this time surrounding a religion of ideas. Religious secularism isn't

enough—we're long overdue for total secularism.

Apart from these issues, which were still naturally occurring and

minimal compared to more statist ideology, we can still admire the

Spanish anarchists’ commitment and systems of doing things. The

anarchist organizations in Spain demonstrated that freedom and equality

are interdependent, mutually-reinforcing goals, and that real revolution

is abolishing alienating institutions rather than “seizing control” of

them. Everything about their decentralized, consensus-driven methods

proved promising, even considering the moments of confusion at the

beginning of the revolution.

History might have looked considerably different if Comintern hadn't

threatened to withhold subsidies if Leninist factions didn’t repress and

eventually destroy the anarchist communities. Civil war erupted amidst

civil war, making the resistance even more vulnerable to fascist forces.

The anarchists fell on February 10th, 1939, to many marking the end of

the golden age of classical anarchism. Franco’s army took total control

of Spain by April 1st, a little under two months later.

“Be realistic, demand the impossible.”

— slogan from the 1968 anarchist uprising in France

These are turbulent times for our planet. Perhaps more than any other

time in history, we are seeing the consequences of our debased and

power-hungry civilization. Often without realizing it, we find ourselves

facing an order that produces only mediocrity, loneliness, mindless

waste, and unnecessary violence. Across the world—despite the domination

of institutions, parties, and culture—experimental ideas are spreading

as our corporatocratic states continue to push their luck. Yet still

there are still multitudes of people who can’t imagine what even a minor

deviation from the present reality would look like. Many have moved on

from capitalist and neoliberal politics, at least in word, but there are

many mistakes we can make from here, such as placing production in the

hands of bureaucratic power or putting too much faith in politicians,

narratives, and platforms. People have the social values but the

tendency towards authoritarian worship escapes few groups in politics.

It’s about time we gave more anarchic ideas serious consideration.

For many anarchist circles, it's been a long time since just getting

together hasn’t felt like a victory. But as a habit developed out of

stagnation, it is dying with action. Today radicals are finding more and

more direction, and minor differences don’t matter as much when you hit

the streets. Affinity groups and solidarity networks are popping up in

many areas, as well as worker, tenant, and houseless unions. Nearly

every major city has an anarchist infoshop and collective. Even among

non-anarchists—or unconscious anarchists—worker liberation,

anti-policing, and prison abolition are becoming common topics in

discourse. People are also warming up to the tactics of sabotage,

occupation, rioting, and general strike. As urgent as the future seems,

it’s easy to lose yourself in hope when you’re right in the thick of

things, which is my best advice for the fed-up, idealistic, and

terrified.

Of course, we first need to consider how we would manage to

realistically overturn things under a highly developed surveillance

state like ours. Centralized, top-down tactics would make us an easy

target in five seconds. Right now, the best thing would be to start from

the bottom, spreading the word and building local affinity

networks—expropriative gangs, infoshops, mutual aid groups, trained

militias, etc.—to challenge the legitimacy of capitalism and the state.

The goal of these organizations should be putting communities and

individuals in the saddle. “Freedom cannot be ‘delivered’ to the

individual as the ‘end-product’ of a ‘revolution’; the assembly and

community cannot be legislated or decreed into existence,” said Murray

Bookchin. This doesn’t mean fighting for a transitory state or a

representative who isn’t ourselves. This means fighting for our homes

and the ability to directly take part in decisions. Anything else is

just another transfer of control over our lives and communities.

Authority cannot create freedom. This is a basic law of society that

almost everyone has lost. For both practical and tactical purposes,

organized action should be led by a series of networks linked by

affinity, what the Italian insurgent Alfredo Bonanno called the “base

nuclei” of anarchist revolutionary struggle. Horizontal groups,

militias, and community projects help authority remain at the bottom.

They also promote horizontal activity that is much harder to infiltrate

and destroy than parties, bureaucratic unions, and states. A

consensus-driven network of affinity groups involved with easily

repeatable attacks may be our best method of organization.

Decentralized action of all types is the one thing bureaucratic

governments like ours aren’t skilled at destroying—they can rape the

planet and torture the people, but at the end of the day they only

understand themselves. America’s defeat in Vietnam and Afghanistan was

largely due to the difficulty infiltrating, tracking, and identifying

confederal militias. Russian conscripts today find similar obstacles in

the Russo-Ukrainian War. Decentralization has also shown potential in

actionist movements such as the Yellow Vests, who organize into local

chapters, but alone they will never be able to make big changes in a

world this authoritarian. Not without grit. Not without embracing life

as courageous, self-willed rebels. Not without dropping out of

indentured living to build networks. Not without meaningful agitation,

education, adaptation, nor without the support of every committed

insurgent, diligent medic, cunning saboteur, and passionate orator that

I am proud to see in some circles.

There would also need to be a surplus of involvement, because support is

not cheering at the sidelines for a cause you've done nothing for. Take

this as an invitation. The experiences found in the heart of direct

action are inspiring, just as much as the reasons for it are enraging;

if anything, it makes it easy to see the difference between leadership

and hierarchy.

Change depends on action. I'm sick of people ordering off Amazon and

working to pay rent just to be like, "When will the revolution happen?"

Every moment is the revolution! Your workplaces, your neighborhoods,

your prisons, your schools are the battlegrounds. Every second there are

opportunities to organize, expropriate, and sabotage. A post-state

future will not arrive until we start taking every opportunity to strike

back!

The time to adopt an insurrectionary practice is now. When I say

insurrection I mean “an organized rebellion aimed at overthrowing a

constituted government through the use of subversion, sabotage, and

direct resistance— calling in question the legitimacy and efficacy of

government.” Insurrection means much more than revolution. Revolution

refers to an overturning of conditions and institutions while

insurrection, notwithstanding its goal of dismantling the established

order, emphasizes the logic of individual revolt, a rising of headstrong

rebels fed up with the life presented to them. As Stirner put it, “The

revolution aimed at new arrangements; insurrection leads us no longer to

let ourselves be arranged, but to arrange ourselves, and sets no

glittering hopes on ‘institutions’.” Change requires the development of

our individuality just as much as our environment.

Resistance can take many forms. All anarchists—except for those

convinced that the state will naturally wither away—have advocated some

idea of insurrection. Establishing mutual aid networks and free stores

may be considered insurrectionary, so long as it’s self-organized and

openly subversive.

My goal is to create autonomous spaces where I can pursue stimulating

experiences and represent myself in a way that matters. I think we

should take any realistic path towards this but we can’t depend on it

being delivered to us. Power doesn’t give up power—maybe you can change

some aspects of a monopoly, but you can’t make a monopoly give itself up

by asking, waiting, or readily compromising.

This is where insurrection becomes essential. The significance of

insurrection is not measured in quantitative ways such as body count or

military might, but the social upheaval, action, and cultural and

personal transformation it generates. The importance of any given

rebellion should be assessed by how it manages to break the "business as

usual" passivity that’s all too common in today's world. The tactics

used by the Zapatista movement provide a great example of this. Their

comparatively small armed clash with the Mexican government in San

Cristobal in 1994 is considered an example of successful insurrection,

not because of a staggering military victory, but because it was able to

catalyze a culture of insurgency that is still alive today. The

autonomous communities in the Chiapas highlands are in part a product of

this insurrectionary culture. They have since used this base to begin a

new campaign against the Mexican state and colonialism and have expanded

into parts of Oaxaca.

We need to know when to be passive and when to be assertive, when to

break a window and when to fix one. Realistically, we need to at least

build the foundation of the replacement before we can really get down to

overthrowing the status quo. Every need and necessary function of the

community must be fulfilled by self-organized revolutionary

associations, without permission from capital or government. It would

probably be pointless and even dangerous to put too much faith into any

one strategy, but whatever happens it would be wise to highlight

grassroots practices as much as we can. Doing our part to build a

network of mutual aid groups, spokes councils, militant bands, and black

market cooperatives would be a good start. I know there are plenty of

people ready to undertake something like this, so all we need to do is

go out and meet each other.

Change comes through action, not waiting. A radical insurrectionary

movement might be quick and spontaneous or it may be a gradual process

spanning over decades if we manage to survive that long. This does not

change how we should respond at present or the extreme importance of

restructuring how our world works. The present situation calls for a

campaign of subversion, direct action, and community support,

challenging the state and democratizing communities from below, taking

every opportunity to build up our communities and transform them into

autonomous spaces. This requires a great deal of courage and self-willed

discipline. It also requires expertise and total divestment in the

current order. The first revolution is a personal one.

If a movement has any potential to threaten the status quo, authorities

will ruthlessly try to derail or hijack it to prevent it from growing.

The anti-police movement here in the U.S., for example, is consistently

met with violence whether protesters are peaceful or not. This is

something we should expect but can also use to our advantage. People

have gone to events with the intent of non-violent civil disobedience,

but came prepared with a plan and defense, in some cases developing

effective new strategies. Once the police attack, which they sometimes

are looking for any excuse to do, black bloc and other affinity-style

groups make sure to protect the vulnerable. Radical medics respond to

the injured and independent press documents things to expose the true

nature of the state. These types of activities not only pressure the

present order but create a space where actionists can network and gain

experience.

The point of these minor rebellions is to promote a culture of action

and catalyze large-scale movements against the corporate state. Alone

they are pointless. The true battlefields are in our minds and everyday

life. In the real world, most of the revolution is building, not

destroying. Solidarity networks may prove useful. Some might ask,

"wouldn’t all of this be mercilessly attacked?" Most things worth doing

are going to be difficult. This is the unfortunate reality. However,

every person changes the world at least a little bit, and therefore

every subversive act means something. These tactics have been proven

effective wherever they have been applied and could do better. Believe

me, the logic of aiming high and acting will get us more than we ever

thought possible. “The weak indulge in resolutions, but the strong act.

Life is but a day’s work—do it well.”[11] A future of

self-determination, stimulating existence, and the autonomous village is

possible if we’re up for the struggle.

[1] The folk-punk bands Ramshackle Glory, Days N Daze, AJJ, Mischief

Brew, Against Us!, Ghost Mice, among others, who we still admire today.

[2] This is generally true in all aspects. At least in my own personal

experience, small towns generally maintain a lot of our communal

traditions. This is especially the case when poverty strongly

incentivises barter and mutual aid.

[3] Patriotism: A Menace to Liberty, Anarchism and Other Essays, 1910

[4] Contrary to popular belief, not even Max Stirner, the “father” of

egoistic nihilism and a profuse enemy of collective dogma, believed

complete separation from society was possible.

[5] Jean Weir, in the foreword for The Insurrectional Project by Alfredo

Bonanno, 1998

[6] Post-civilization is not to be confused with primitivism. I’ve found

no better break-down of this difference than this paragraph from the

essay Post-Civ! by Strangers in a Tangled Wilderness: “We’re not

primitivists: primitivists reject technology. We reject the

inappropriate use of technology. Primitivists reject agriculture: we’re

not afraid of horticulture, but we reject monoculture (and other stupid

methods of feeding ourselves, like setting 6 billion people loose in the

woods to hunt and gather). Primitivists reject science. We just refuse

to worship it.”

[7] In his controversial book “What is Property?” (Qu’est-ce que la

propriĂ©tĂ©?) Proudhon described his philosophy as “a synthesis of

communism and property”, going on to say: “Property, acting by exclusion

and encroachment, while population was increasing, has been the

life-principle and definitive cause of all revolutions. Religious wars,

and wars of conquest, when they have stopped short of the extermination

of races, have been only accidental disturbances, soon repaired by the

mathematical progression of the life of nations. The downfall and death

of societies are due to the power of accumulation possessed by

property.”

[8] Murray Bookchin, Harbinger Vol. #2, The Institute of Social Ecology,

2001.

[9] The Spanish Civil War, Workers Solidarity Movement, 1986.

[10] Anarchist Individualism in the Social Revolution, Il Libertario,

1919.

[11] The Morantia Motto, The Urantia Book, 1955