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Title: Nurturing Autonomy Author: Jamie Heckert Date: 2009 Language: en Topics: Dorset, ecology, militarism, relationships, stories Source: Published in D. Cowan (ed) Bournemouth and Pooleâs Green Book.
Thereâs a story, you may have heard it. It has many forms and goes
something like this. Some people are powerful. They are the ones in
charge, in control. They make things happen. If you or me or anyone else
who isnât rich, isnât powerful wants to see things change, we have to
ask them to make changes for us. The other side of this story is that
we, that you and I, are powerless. Do you tell yourself this story? I
do, sometimes. Itâs just the way things are. Thereâs nothing we can do.
Those are the rules.
Sound familiar?
The thing is, these are just stories. I know they are not true.
Donât get me wrong, I love stories. One of my favourite is writers,
Ursula Le Guin, once wrote âAll of us have to learn how to invent our
lives, make them up, imagine them. We need to be taught these skills; we
need guides to show us how. If we donât, our lives get made up for us by
other peopleâ.[1] The guides, for her, are stories. With other stories,
we might imagine other possibilities. âAnother world is possibleâ, says
the global justice movement. Another Dorset is possible, too. Another
you. Another me.
How do I know this? Observing nature, I see only change. Life is a
continuous cycle of birth, growth, decay, death and rebirth. And when I
say nature, I include human nature. We too are nature; we too change.
How will we change? What does the future hold? I donât know. I do know
that far more is possible that we are led to believe, then we lead
ourselves to believe.
I remember an experience I had in a yoga class. The instructor was
inviting me to try a new posture. I told him I couldnât, that I wasnât
that strong. In my mindâs image of myself, I was weak. He smiled and
encouraged me to try. To my astonishment and exhilaration, I did it.[2]
Have you had an experience like that? Have you ever surprised yourself,
discovering you are capable of more than you realised? If so, you know
what I mean. And if you havenât, would you like to?
On a train home from London one afternoon, two young men boarded in the
New Forest and sat opposite me. They spoke loudly, sharing stories of
military training. In these stories, they described pushing their
injured bodies, following orders. I felt such pain imagining myself in
these situations and was moved to respond.
âHey, lads, can I ask you a question?â
âYes.â An immediate response. Were they telling these stories loudly
because they were eager to be listened to?
âI feel confused hearing your stories,â I said. âThey sound to me like
torture and yet you sound proud at the same time. Can you help me
understand?â
The young man on the right gave me a series of slogans that, I imagined,
he had been fed by his so-called superiors. âPain is temporary, pride is
foreverâ and something about wanting to be âthe bestâ .
âAh, thank you â I understand a bit better now. Thatâs interesting to me
because itâs so different from my own perspective. Iâm inspired by the
anarchist tradition and part of that is learning to listen to your own
body, to your own authority. Who is this guy who convinces you to hurt
yourself based on his idea of the best? It seems to me heâs trying to
break your spirit, to teach you obedience.â
The young man on the left side, slowly, âI think I see where youâre
coming from.â
The train had arrived in Bournemouth and I got off, thanking them on my
way for sharing their stories. They stayed in their seats, continuing on
their own journeys.
Many of us these days are feeling concern, fear and frustration
witnessing the effects of human behaviour on the rest of the natural
world. What can we do? How can we develop a truly sustainable culture? I
love Gary Snyderâs reminder that âThe term culture
... is never far from a biological root meaning as in âyogurt cultureâ â
a nourishing habitat.â[3] To be sure, our current culture is nourishing
or else it wouldnât exist. As much as it pained me to listen, I donât
think these young men were fools to be in the military. Obviously, it
offered them some nourishment â perhaps a sense of identity in a culture
that values masculinity, a sense of security and of contributing to the
security of others. And, of course, the military creates a long of jobs
for a lot of people. Itâs one way to get money, which in turn is one way
to get food, to get nourishment.[4]
At the same time, armies and wars harm lives, cultures and ecosystems.
First, there is the violence, the violation, of training young women and
men to disconnect from their own compassionate nature, to follow orders,
to kill. âDiscipline is necessary to make people obey unreasonable,
inhumane, and dangerous orders that benefit someone else. The irony in
our modern, free nations is that soldiers are ordered to fight for
democracy while being denied any experience of the conceptâ.[5] Second,
there is the violent impact of guns and bombs on body and soil. And
third, the military serves a global economic system whose bottom line is
always profit over all else. The needs of rivers and forests, plants and
animals, communities and individuals, are made subservient to the need
for economic growth.[6]
I acknowledge that our current official political/economic system of
government, military and corporations does work in a way, does keep some
of us fed, clothed, housed and protected. I would certainly not wish it
to all disappear at once because my life, too, is dependent at the
moment on oil and supermarkets and transportation systems and a system
of order. And what I said earlier that I donât know what the future
holds, I do know that life will not carry on exactly as it is now. To
live is to change. Besides, how can an economy grow forever in a world
that is only so big?[7]
Did you know that one of the first people to famously question the
official system of State and capitalism is buried in the heart of
Bournemouth? William Godwin, companion to the revolutionary feminist
Mary Wollstonecraft and father to the imaginative storyteller Mary
Shelley, has been called the first exponent of anarchism. Godwin, like a
long line of anarchists to follow, argued that the State, far from
producing a society of equality and freedom, exists to promote the
interests of the wealthy. He wrote, in his most famous work Enquiry
Concerning Political Justice: âThe rich are in all such countries
directly or indirectly the legislators of the State; and of consequence
are perpetually reducing oppression into a system, and depriving the
poor of that little commonage of nature which might otherwise still have
remained to them.â[8]
An evolving tradition, anarchism offers inspiration for â and practical
methods of â radically egalitarian and co-operative alternatives to
armies, corporations and States [9]. Instead of a small group of people
claiming the authority to make decisions for others, anarchism involves
nurturing autonomy. This means direct democracy in communities,
workplaces, schools and homes. It means creating cultures which are
deeply nurturing, deeply nourishing, honouring the needs (food, shelter,
community, intimacy) of all [10]. It means supporting each other to
develop our capacities to listen, to cooperate, to connect, to share, to
imagine. Nurturing autonomy, then, is empowerment â the realisation that
power isnât something that other people have, itâs something we do
together. In the military or other situations of domination, power means
obediently working together according to some claim of authority. In
autonomy, power means working together by listening to each other,
caring for each other [11].
People sometimes say autonomy canât work, that it goes against human
nature. I wonder, how do we know what we are capable of? How can we know
when we confuse our potential, our possibilities with the stories we
tell ourselves, with the images of ourselves in our minds? [12]
Practice. Autonomy is not something that is achieved, itâs not simply
replacing one system with another. It is a process of growing, of
changing, of empowerment. It is how we realise that we are not who we
think we are. It is how we come to imagine our own lives.
Iâm also in agreement with those who argue that cooperation, mutual
care, autonomy is more fundamental to nature, to human nature, than
hierarchy, competition and greed. Ecosystems develop in ways that make
conditions suitable for more and more forms of life. Leave a patch of
ground alone for long enough and it will evolve into a more complex
system; in Britain, ultimately a forest. It does this without any
authority. The jungle needs no king. Instead, pioneer species, like
dandelion, alders and sycamore contributes to the soil, changing the
conditions and preparing the way for other species like oak and hazel
[13]. Similarly, humans are relatively vulnerable on our own â we need
each other to thrive. We would not have survived as a species without
cooperation [14].
We can find this, too, in the history of Dorset. I offer here only two
of many examples: one from Godwinâs time and one from the very recent
past. In the transition from feudalism to capitalism, much commonland in
Dorset and elsewhere in Britain was privatised, enclosed, depriving
common folk of their means of livelihood. This is a process that
continues, both here and around the world. As Mike Hannis writes,
âDevelopment has always involved separating people from land.â [15] This
so-called progress led to starvation in Dorset as it does today in much
of the world. âThe effects of the enclosures were felt hard in the
corn-growing chalk lands of North Dorset. Food was scarce and prices
were high. In 1795 there was a âhousewives revoltâ â a non-violent
protest led by women in which expensive food was seized and sold to the
poor at prices the mob considered fair. The original owner received the
proceeds â often considerably lower than he had expectedâ [16]. More
recently, surfers in Dorset have protested military occupation of
beaches, challenging military authority and arguing for the importance
of pleasure and connection with nature [17]. In anarchism, both food and
play are deeply important.
If autonomy is more sustainable, and more sustaining, how can it be
nurtured when the forces of States and corporations seem so
overwhelmingly powerful? The key is, they only seem powerful. For States
and corporations do not exist â they are imaginary monsters, legal
fictions, abstractions. You cannot talk to a State or argue with a
corporation. They are not beings in themselves, they are patterns of
relationships: âThe state is a relationship between human beings, a way
by which people relate to one another; and one destroys it by entering
into other relationships, by behaving differently to one another.â [18].
Nurturing autonomy, then, is about our relationships. How can we create
nurturing relationships with ourselves, each other and the natural world
all around us? For me, this means learning to listen less to the stories
of what I should be doing, what I should want, and more to what I need
to be well in body and spirit. It means practising the crafts of
writing, of growing and gathering foods and medicines, of continually
learning to care for myself and others. It means listening to those
stories that help me imagine my own life. It means seeking out others
who share my concerns and to practice together ways of living with the
challenges we face. And it means learning to get along with those I
donât seek out, those who already live around me. What amazing
relationships might I come to have with my neighbours that I canât yet
imagine?
What might nurturing autonomy in Dorset, in your own life, mean for you?
[1] Le Guin, Ursula K. 2004. âThe Operating Instructionsâ in The Wave in
the Mind: Talks and Essays on the Writer, the Reader, and the
Imagination. Boston, MA: Shambhala.
[2] See
[3] Snyder, Gary (1990). The Practice of the Wild. San Fransisco: North
Point Press p15; Online at
[4] Lakey, George (1987). Powerful Peacemaking: A Strategy for Living
Revolution. Philadelphia: New Society Publishers.
[5] Leier, Mark (2006). Bakunin: The Creative Passion. New York: St
Martinâs Press. p38
[6] See, e.g., Sanders, Barry. 2009. The Green Zone: The Environmental
Costs of Militarism. Oakland, CA/Edinburgh: AK Press.
[7] McBurney, Stuart 1990. Ecology into Economics Wonât Go: Or Life Is
Not a Concept. Foxhole, Green Books.
[8] Marshall, Peter, ed. 1986. The Anarchist Writings of William Godwin.
London: Freedom Press, pp89-90.
[9] See, e.g., Notes from Nowhere. 2003. We Are Everywhere: the
irresistible rise of global anticapitalism. London, Verso. Trapeze
Collective, ed. 2007. Do It Yourself: a Handbook for Changing Our World.
London/Ann Arbor: Pluto Press. Ward, Colin. 2004. Anarchism: a very
short introduction. Oxford, Oxford University Press. An Anarchist FAQ
(Frequently Asked Questions) online at
[10] On needs, Iâm inspired by
[11] Begg, Alex (2000) Empowering the Earth: Strategies for Social
Change. Foxhole, Green Books.
[12] One book that has helped me see this more clearly is Chödrön, Pema
2002. Comfortable with Uncertainty: 108 Teachings on Cultivating
Fearlessness and Compassion. Boston, MA: Shambhala.
[13] See e.g.,
for more details
[14] See e.g., Graeber, David. 2004. Fragments of an Anarchist
Anthropology. Chicago, Prickly Paradigm Press; also online at
. Kropotkin, Petr. 2009. Mutual Aid: A Factor of Evolution. London:
Freedom Press.
[15] From âReconnecting Land & People?â Permaculture Magazine, Autumn
2009, p 8. See also Farlie, Simon. 2009. âA Short History of Enclosure
in Britainâ in The Land, Issue 7, pp. 16â31.
[16] See
[17] See
[18] Landauer, G. (1910/2005). âWeak Statesmen, Weaker People,â Der
Sozialist. Excerpted in Anarchism: A Documentary History of Libertarian
Ideas â Volume One: From Anarchy to Anarchism (300CE-1939), ed. Robert
Graham. Montreal: Black Rose Books.