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Title: Love, Anarchy, and Drama
Author: CrimethInc.
Date: 14th February 2019
Language: en
Topics: free love, relationships, polyamory, anarchist history
Source: Retrieved on 2020-04-14 from https://crimethinc.com/2019/02/14/love-anarchy-and-drama-the-classical-anarchists-adventures-and-misadventures-in-polyamory

CrimethInc.

Love, Anarchy, and Drama

Like many contemporary anarchists, many anarchists of the 19^(th) and

20^(th) centuries maintained relationships with multiple romantic

partners, or were involved with partners who did. Just as it does today,

this often precipitated gossip, heartache, jealousy, and interminable

emotional processing. A complete history of anarchist polyamory drama

would be nearly as ambitious as a comprehensive history of the anarchist

movement itself. Here, we’ve limited ourselves to a few poignant

anecdotes from the lives of a handful of classical anarchists. There is

a great deal more to be told—for example, the love triangle involving

Emma Goldman, Alexander Berkman, and Johann Most, or Voltairine de

Cleyre’s writing about ownership and possessiveness in relationships.

Why revisit all this, you ask? Certainly not just for the salacious

thrill of letting the skeletons out of the closet to dance a little on

holidays. No, we return to these stories because our antecedents were

just like us, flawed and fallible yet capable of greatness. They were

responsible for both heroic acts and gross stupidities (let’s not forget

Bakunin’s anti-Semitism). In studying their lives, we might recognize

some ways to improve ourselves.

“We want freedom; we want men and women to love and unite freely for no

other reason than love, without any legal, economic, or physical

violence. But freedom, even though it is the only solution that we can

and must offer, does not radically solve the problem, since love, to be

satisfied, requires two freedoms that agree, and often they do not agree

in any way; and also, the freedom to do what one wants is a phrase

devoid of meaning when one does not know how to want something.”

—Errico Malatesta, “Love and Anarchy”

Mikhail and Antonia Bakunin and Carlo Gambuzzi

One of the most influential anarchists of the 19^(th) century, Mikhail

Bakunin famously asserted “I am truly free only when all human beings,

men and women, are equally free.” In his Revolutionary Catechism,[1] he

devoted a section to the abolition of compulsory relationships, marital

or otherwise:

Religious and civil marriage to be replaced by free marriage. Adult men

and women have the right to unite and separate as they please, nor has

society the right to hinder their union or to force them to maintain it.

With the abolition of the right of inheritance and the education of

children assured by society, all the legal reasons for the

irrevocability of marriage will disappear. The union of a man and a

woman must be free, for a free choice is the indispensable condition for

moral sincerity. In marriage, man and woman must enjoy absolute liberty.

Neither violence nor passion nor rights surrendered in the past can

justify an invasion by one of the liberty of another, and every such

invasion shall be considered a crime.

There was a 24-year age difference between Mikhail’s father and mother;

they had become engaged when his mother was 18 and his father was nearly

42. This was not particularly unusual in Russia at the time. Mikhail

grew up surrounded by four sisters, from whom he learned a variety of

intellectual pursuits and, above all, the importance of women’s autonomy

and self-determination. He came of age fighting alongside them against

pressure from their parents to get married to men who did not share

their philosophical or artistic interests.

When Mikhail was living in exile in Siberia after being sentenced to

death in three countries for participating in the revolutions of 1848

and 1849, he met Antonia Kwiatkowki, the daughter of an exiled Polish

teacher. When they married, she was 18 and he was 44.

A few years later, Mikhail pulled off a daring escape from Siberia,

circumnavigating the globe to arrive in Western Europe, where there was

not yet a price on his head. Antonia joined him, and the two lived

together in Sweden, Italy, and Switzerland.

At this point, Antonia was in her twenties, while Bakunin was in his

fifties, prematurely aged by years chained up in solitary confinement.

Antonia began a tempestuous relationship with one of Bakunin’s young

Italian comrades. In the following letter to his Russian friend Nikolaj

Ogarev, Bakunin describes the considerable challenges that ensued. His

complicated feelings will be familiar to anyone who has struggled to set

boundaries regarding a partner’s volatile relationship or struggled to

balance the demands of two very different relationships.

December 16, 1869

Locarno, Switzerland

Antosja arrived. I went to meet her in Arona, the first Italian city at

the end of Lake Maggiore, and I spent two and a half days in great

anxiety, expecting her at any moment. Contrary to date on the telegram I

had received from Naples, she arrived two whole days late, as a result

of the storm in the Mediterranean. She traveled by sea, on account of

the low price. The poor woman was quite shaken. Imagine yourself in this

situation: alone at sea with an eighteen-month-old child, eight months

pregnant and of an ideal disposition for seasickness. She spent days

without moving on the boat until Gaeto, despite terrible sea turbulence.

She arrived to me exhausted and sick. The child is also sick. I took

them to Arona with great difficulty. Antosja took a little rest, the

little one as well. But in four, three, or perhaps two weeks, she will

deliver. You understand that in these conditions, my head is spinning.

Dear friend, I want once and for all to explain to you my relationship

with Antosja and her veritable husband. I did a terribly stupid thing,

even more than that, I committed a crime by marrying a young girl almost

two and a half times younger than me. I could, to justify myself, invoke

many extenuating circumstances, tell you that I pulled her out of a

vulgar provincial dump, that if she had not married me, she would have

become the wife of a monster, of a Siberian police chief. But a fact is

a fact, a mistake a mistake and a crime a crime. Antosja is a kind

person and a beautiful soul, I love her as much as a father can love his

daughter. I managed to wrest her away from the world of trivial ideas,

to help her human development and save her from many vulgar temptations

and loves. But when she met true love, I did not believe myself to have

the right to enter into a struggle with her, that is to say, against

this love. She loved a man who is completely worthy of her, my friend

and my son in social-revolutionary doctrine, Carlo Gambuzzi. Two and a

half years ago, Antosja came to tell me that she loved him and I gave

her my blessing, begging her to see me as a friend and remember that she

had no better nor more sure friend than I.

A few months later, at the Congress of Geneva, after a long struggle not

only on her part, but also on the part of Gambuzzi, a struggle in which

furthermore I did not interfere in any way, that I deliberately ignored,

Antosja found herself pregnant. Due to lack of confidence, she hid her

pregnancy from me, she endured terrible torments, deceived everyone and,

under the pretext of going on a trip, went to give birth in a village

near Vevey, exposing herself, as well as the child, to great danger.

Informed of this without my knowledge, Gambuzzi arrived and took the

child with him to Naples. Antosja recovered; as for me, I still

suspected nothing.

One year ago, in October 1868, an incident revealed everything to me.

The fact that I did not learn this earlier is not the fault of Antosja

but of Gambuzzi. From the beginning, she wanted to tell me everything,

but he demanded of her and pleaded with her not to talk to me about

anything. In this respect, as in many others, he showed himself to be

below her. Raised in the bourgeois world of Italy, he still can’t free

himself from the cult of propriety and from the point of honor, and

often prefers small winding paths to the long straight road. I will say

in his defense that the thought of aggrieving and offending me actually

terrified him. He has a filial attachment for me and an undeniably warm

friendship.

Anyway, having learned the essence of things, I repeated to Antosja she

was entirely free and asked her to decide her own fate, without any

consideration of me, in the manner that she believed best: to stay with

me as a wife—a wife of course only insofar as the public is concerned—or

to separate from me and live in Naples openly as the wife of Gambuzzi.

She decided on the first option for the following reasons: above all,

she is accustomed to me, and the idea of living apart seemed unbearable

to her; second, she feared being a burden for Gambuzzi, feared to put

him in a situation that he would not know how to extract himself from

with honor, given his social prejudices.

So all three of us decided that everything would remain the same as

before. The child would spend the winter in Naples (this decision was

made in October 1868) and, in autumn, Antosja would travel to Italy,

supposedly with a sick Polish friend who would “die” in the summer and

entrust her son to Antosja. This fall, Antosja traveled to Naples with

the child, and what happened was what was to be expected and what I had

predicted: once again, she became pregnant.

She was in despair. So Gambuzzi proposed that she come to give birth in

Naples and leave the new child entirely to his guardianship; renouncing

him completely, she would return with me after the birth, with the son,

our adopted child of the deceased Polish friend (of course a myth).

Antosja rebelled against this proposal and stated categorically that for

nothing in the world nor for any consideration whatsoever would she

abandon her child. A fight began between her and Gambuzzi. They appealed

to me as judge. I took the side of Antosja, of course, and wrote to

Gambuzzi that his plan was monstrous, that a mother capable of

abandoning her child simply for social considerations would be a monster

in my eyes.

So Antosja addressed this entreaty to me: leave Geneva, come to Italy

and recognize the two children as my own. I did not reflect on it for

long and agreed. I felt obliged to accept, because I could see no other

way to save Antosja; and having committed a crime against her, it was my

duty to assist her. That took place in July or August of this year,

precisely at the moment when I announced to you that I had to leave

Geneva.

After the Congress of Basel, Antosja pressured me. I hastened to leave

and, as agreed, I went down to Locarno, began looking for a home, a

nursemaid, and telegraphed Antosja that she could come, that I was

waiting for her. For over two weeks, I received no word of reply to my

telegram, nor to letters sent after it. I realized that the struggle was

continuing between them; I wrote them a synodic letter in which, while

describing our mutual situation to them in its true light, I indicated

two options for them and demanded that they choose one or the other,

namely: either Antosja, renouncing once and for all the love of Gambuzzi

and contenting herself merely with his friendship, return immediately to

me with my son and my future child, or else she should remain in Naples

as the wife, known to all the world, of Gambuzzi, with the two children

of their relationship also recognized by him. I offered my stamp of

approval for either decision, but I demanded they choose one or the

other without delay and stated that I would only agree again to do the

first provided that it come into effect immediately.

Antosja arrived. Gambuzzi offered to stay, but she declined the offer.

Friendly relations on my part, as well as on the part of Antosja,

continue with Gambuzzi. Their romantic relationship is over. I adopted

the children of Gambuzzi, without denying his incontestable right to

take charge of and lead their education alongside Antosja. Life here is

inexpensive. He will pay 150 francs per month into the common fund and I

will do the same. We will stay together, Antosja and I, as long as the

revolution hasn’t called me. Then I will belong only to the revolution

and myself.

In fact, after this letter was sent, Antonia maintained a romantic

relationship with Carlo Gaumbuzzi and gave birth to a third child with

him. Mikhail and Antonia continued to live together, and Mikhail

participated in raising all three children as if they were his own.

Antonia stood by Mikhail even when political conflicts and financial

mismanagement alienated him from many of his other comrades and created

considerable difficulties for their household. After his death, she

finally moved in with Gambuzzi, and the two had one more daughter

together.

Errico Malatesta, Emilia Tronzio-Zanardelli, and Giovanni Defendi

While still a teenager, Errico Malatesta met Mikhail Bakunin and joined

him in helping to organize the First International and other early

anarchist efforts, including armed uprisings in 1874 and 1877. Targeted

by the Italian police forever afterwards, he was compelled to spend a

great part of his life in hiding or in exile, especially in London.

Around the same time that he met Bakunin, Malatesta had begun a romantic

relationship with the anarchist Emilia Tronzio-Zanardelli. Little is

known about their relationship, but they likely began seeing each other

as early as 1871,[2] as Malatesta was involved alongside her brother in

the Mazzinist student movement and then the Neapolitan section of the

First International. Emilia followed her brother to London in 1879 and

began working as a seamstress.

A comrade of theirs, Giovanni Defendi, had gone to France in 1871 to

participate in the defense of the Paris Commune, for which he was

imprisoned for eight years. After his release, in 1880, he moved to

London. That year, he and Emilia announced that they were entering into

a union libre:

The undersigned make it a point to announce to you that, on May 8, 1880,

they will enter into a free union, in the presence of some socialist

friends invited and gathered simply to receive communication.

The reasons that determined them to dispense with legal marriage, as

well as religious marriage, are that they view them as bourgeois

institutions created for the sole purpose of settling questions of

property and inheritance, not offering any serious guarantee to

proletarians of either sex, consecrating the subjugation of women,

committing wills and consciences for the future, without taking into

account the characters involved, and opposing the dissolubility which is

the basis of any contract.

The question of children will be settled later in the manner most in

accordance with justice and according to the situation that bourgeois

society imposes upon them.

Fraternal greetings.

-Giovanni Defendi, Emilia Tronzio-Zanardelli

Malatesta had already been living with Emilia before this; he joined the

couple at their residence in London in 1881. He lived with the Defendis

for much of the next four decades. The British police, scandalized,

reported that there were rumors that Malatesta was sleeping with Emilia

despite her relationship with Giovanni.

The house and the business of the Defendi couple, where Malatesta lived,

112 High Street in Islington, was a convergence point for everyone that

arrived in London. How many stormy and brotherly discussions were had in

the little kitchen through the grocery store of the good Defendi family,

which served as an Athenaeum!

-Luigi Fabbri’s Life of Malatesta

Emilia had six children, some of whom she may have conceived with

Malatesta—including her son Enrico, born in 1883, who accompanied

Malatesta when he went to Italy in 1897, and her daughter Adele, born in

1892. When Emilia fell ill in the aftermath of the First World War,

Malatesta stayed by her bedside for months, nursing her until she passed

away.

In contrast to the dramatic difficulties that beset Mikhail and Antonia

Bakunin and Carlo Gambuzzi, the relationships of Errico Malatesta,

Emilia Tronzio-Zanardelli, and Giovanni Defendi appear to have been

healthy and stable, providing a solid foundation for their decades of

political activity. Knowing that Mikhail Bakunin mentored the young

Malatesta, we can’t help wondering if the two ever discussed affairs of

the heart. Could Malatesta’s graceful conduct in relation to his

partner’s marriage have been informed by advice or anecdotes from

Bakunin? We know they discussed the political and martial aspects of

liberation, but we know less about their discussions regarding its

personal aspects, which are just as fundamental to the anarchist

project.

Likewise, though Emilia Tronzio-Zanardelli was an important participant

in the Italian anarchist movement in diaspora across several decades, we

have little documentation with which to understand the substance of her

contributions. On the basis of what we do know about her role in

organizing, though, we know they were considerable.

“Let’s eliminate the exploitation of man by man, let’s fight the brutal

pretention of the male who thinks he owns the female, let’s fight

religious, social, and sexual prejudice. In any case, [in the anarchist

future] the ones with bad luck in love will procure themselves other

pleasures, since it will not be as it is today, when love and alcohol

are the only consolations for the majority of humanity.”

-Errico Malatesta, “Love and Anarchy”

América Scarfó, Severino di Giovanni, and Émile Armand

If we don’t know as much as we might wish to about the perspectives of

Antonia Bakunin and Emilia Tronzio-Zanardelli, we have a full record of

the thoughts of América Scarfó, an Argentine anarchist who began a

romantic relationship with a married man while she was still a teenager.

Born in a middle-class immigrant family, América already shared

anarchist ideas with her brothers Paulino and Alejandro by the end of

her adolescence. Their family rented out a room to an Italian anarchist

who had fled with his wife and three children to Argentina on account of

the rise of Mussolini. He and América began a vibrant intellectual

exchange that blossomed into romance. But then a police raid forced him

to go into hiding along with Paulino and Alejandro.

Frustrated by the interference of the state, her parents’ opposition

and, worst of all, the criticism of other anarchists, América wrote the

following letter across the Atlantic Ocean to Émile Armand, an

internationally known anarchist proponent of “revolutionary sexualism”

and camaraderie amoureuse. Armand had revived Zo d’Axa’s individualist

anarchist publication L’En-Dehors, largely as a vehicle to promote what

today we might call relationship anarchy.

In sending this letter, América was publicly declaring the legitimacy of

a relationship not sanctioned by the church, the state, or her parents,

just as Giovanni Defendi and Emilia Tronzio-Zanardelli had done before

her. But more than that, she was taking revolutionary measures on the

terrain that was available to her as a young woman in Buenos Aires:

challenging the norms around intimacy, gender, and affective relations

in society at large, in her birth family, and in the social circles of

her fellow anarchists.

Revolution is not something that the party implements in the parliament

or the workers carry out in the factories—it is a project that concerns

every single aspect of life, and therefore, every single person,

wherever she is situated.

Buenos Aires, December 3, 1928

To comrade E. Armand

Dear Comrade,

The purpose of this letter is, first of all, to ask your advice. We have

to act, in all moments of our lives, in accord with our own manner of

seeing and thinking, in such a way that the reproaches and criticisms of

other people find our individuality protected by the healthiest concepts

of responsibility and liberty, which form a solid wall weakening their

attacks. For this reason, we should act consistently with our ideas.

My case, comrade, is of the amorous order. I am a young student who

believes in the new life. I believe that, thanks to our free actions,

individual or collective, we can arrive at a future of love, fraternity,

and equality. I desire for all just what I desire for myself: the

freedom to act, to love, to think. That is, I desire anarchy for all

humanity. I believe that in order to achieve this, we should make a

social revolution. But I am also of the opinion that in order to arrive

at this revolution, it is necessary to free ourselves from all kinds of

prejudices, conventionalisms, false moralities, and absurd codes. And,

while we wait for this great revolution to break out, we have to carry

out this work in all the actions of our existence. And indeed, in order

to make this revolution come about, we can’t just content ourselves with

waiting, but need to take action in our daily lives. Wherever possible,

we should act from the point of view of an anarchist, that is, of a

human being.

In love, for example, we will not wait for the revolution, we will unite

ourselves freely, paying no regard to the prejudices, barriers, and

innumerable lies that oppose us as obstacles. I have come to know a man,

a comrade of ideas. According to the laws of the bourgeoisie, he is

married. He united himself with a woman as a consequence of a childish

circumstance, without love. At that time, he didn’t know our ideas.

However, he lived with this woman for a number of years, and they had

children. He didn’t experience the satisfaction that he should have felt

with a loved one. Life became tedious, the only thing that united these

two beings were the children. Still an adolescent, this man came to know

our ideas, and a new consciousness was born in him. He turned into a

brave militant. He devoted himself to propaganda with ardor and

intelligence. All the love that he hadn’t directed to a person, he

offered instead to an ideal. In the home, meanwhile, life continued with

its monotony relieved only by the happiness of their small children. It

happened that circumstances brought us together, at first as companions

of ideas. We talked, we sympathized with each other, and we learned to

know each other. Thus our love was born. We believed, in the beginning,

that it would be impossible. He, who had loved only in dreams, and I,

making my entrance into life. Each one of us continued living between

doubt and love. Destiny—or, better, love—did the rest. We opened our

hearts and our love and our happiness began to intone its song, even in

the middle of the struggle, the ideal, which in fact gave us an even

greater impulse. And our eyes, our lips, our hearts expressed themselves

in the magic conjuring of a first kiss. We idealized love, but we were

carrying it into reality. Free love, that knows no barriers, nor

obstacles. The creative force that transports two beings through a

flowery field, carpeted with roses—and sometimes thorns—but where we

find happiness always.

Is it not the case that the whole universe is converted into an Eden

when two beings love each other?

His wife also—despite her relative knowledge—sympathizes with our ideas.

When it came to it, she gave proofs of her contempt for the hired

killers of the bourgeois order as the police began to pursue my friend.

That was how the wife of my comrade and I have become friends. She is

fully aware of what the man who lived at her side represents to me. The

feeling of fraternal affection that existed between them permitted him

to confide in her. And he gave her freedom to act as she desired, in the

manner of any conscientious anarchist. Until this moment, to tell the

truth, we have lived really like in a novel. Our love became every day

more intense. We cannot live altogether in common, given the political

situation of my friend, and the fact that I have still not finished my

studies. We meet, when we can, in different places. Isn’t that perhaps

the best way to sublimate love, distancing it from the preoccupations of

domestic life? Although I am sure that when it is true love, the most

beautiful thing is to live together.

This is what I wanted to explain. Some people here have turned into

judges. And these are not to be found so much among common people but in

fact among comrades of ideas who see themselves as free of prejudices

but who, at bottom, are intolerant. One of these says that our love is a

madness; another indicates that the wife of my friend is playing the

role of “martyr,” despite the fact that she is aware of everything that

concerns us, is the ruler of her own person, and enjoys her freedom. A

third raises the ridiculous economic obstacle. I am independent, just as

is my friend. In all probability, I will create a personal economic

situation for myself that will free me from all worries in this sense.

Also, the question of the children. What do the children have to do with

the feelings of our hearts? Why can’t a man who has children love? It is

as if to say that the father of a family cannot work for the idea, do

propaganda, etc. What makes them believe that those little beings will

be forgotten because their father loves me? If the father were to forget

his children, he would deserve my contempt and there would exist no more

love between us.

Here, in Buenos Aires, certain comrades have a truly meager idea of free

love. They imagine that it consists only in cohabiting without being

legally married and, meanwhile, in their own homes they carry on

practicing all the stupidities and prejudices of ignorant people. This

type of union that ignores the civil registrar and the priest also

exists in bourgeois society. Is that free love?

Finally, they criticize our difference in age. Just because I am 16 and

my friend is 26. Some accuse me of running a commercial operation;

others describe me as unwitting. Ah, these pontiffs of anarchism! Making

the question of age interfere with love! As if the fact that a brain

reasons is not enough for a person to be responsible for their actions!

On the other hand, it is my own problem, and if the difference in age

means nothing to me, why should it matter to anyone else? That which I

cherish and love is youth of the spirit, which is eternal.

There are also those who treat us as degenerates or sick people and

other labels of this kind. To all these I say: why? Because we live life

in its true sense, because we recognize a free cult of love? Because,

just like the birds that bring joy to walkways and gardens, we love

without paying any attention to codes or false morals? Because we are

faithful to our ideas? I disdain all those who cannot understand what it

is to know how to love.

True love is pure. It is the sun whose rays stretch to those who cannot

climb to the heights. Life is something we have to live freely. We

accord to beauty, to the pleasures of the spirit, to love, the

veneration that they deserve.

This is all, comrade. I would like to have your opinion on my case. I

know very well what I am doing and I don’t need to be approved or

applauded. Just that, having read many of your articles and agreeing

with various points of view, it would make me content to know your

opinion.

Her letter was printed in L’en dehors on January 20, 1929 under the

title “An Experience.” Émile Armand printed his answer alongside it:

“Comrade: My opinion matters little in this matter you send me about

what you are doing. Are you or are you not intimately in accord with

your personal conception of the anarchist life? If you are, then ignore

the comments and insults of others and carry on following your own path.

No one has the right to judge your way of conducting yourself, even if

it were the case that your friend’s wife be hostile to these relations.

Every person united to an anarchist (or vice versa), knows very well

that she should not exercise on him, or accept from him, domination of

any kind.”

The lover that the 16-year-old América Scarfó refers to in this letter

was, of course, the anarchist Severino di Giovanni, Argentina’s most

wanted criminal. When she sent this letter, he was living underground,

accused of carrying out a string of bombings targeting the Italian

Consulate, the US embassy, the Ford Motor Company, and a monument to

George Washington, among other targets. By the time he was captured in

January 1931—along with América and her brother Paulino—he was also

accused of the most dramatic robbery in contemporary Argentine history

and the shootings of various police officers.

At that point, a military coup had taken place in Argentina, Hitler was

headed for power in Germany, and the whole world seemed to be sliding

rapidly towards fascism. In such a context, we can understand Severino’s

actions as a rational attempt to carry out much-needed revolutionary

measures on the terrain that was available to him, just as he and

América were doing in their romantic relationship.

When the police captured Severino, they rushed him to a doctor to treat

his wounds, so as to be sure he would die at precisely the hour they

decreed, after the proper show trial. The police reportedly tortured

Severino, but none of the arrestees cooperated with the state by

informing against their fellows. After the trial, Severino’s lawyer was

arrested, dismissed from his post in the armed forces, imprisoned, and

deported.

The novelist Roberto Arlt witnessed the scene of Severino’s execution:

He looks stiffly at his executors. He emanates will. Whether he suffers

or not, it is a secret. But he remains like this, static, proud.

Only after the execution did they call over a blacksmith to unfasten his

fetters—and another doctor, this time to make sure he was dead. Then

they executed Paulino Scarfó, too, for good measure.

They had released América, deeming her unfit to stand trial on account

of her age.

On July 28, 1999, after 68 years, the Argentine government finally

returned Severino di Giovanni’s letters to América Scarfó. América

passed away on August 26, 2006 at the age of 93. Her ashes were buried

in the garden beside the headquarters of the Argentine Libertarian

Federation in Buenos Aires.

There are many different risks to loving fiercely and outside the

prescribed lines. Perhaps the only thing worse than these terrifying

risks is the deadly certainty that comes of not daring to love.