Political dialogue suffers mightily from a lack of categorizational clarity. This problem is attributable in part to the slipperiness of political concepts, which implicate and blend (often carelessly) the empirical, the historical, and the normative. To blame, too, is the cultural phenomenon of politics as entertainment or sport, team-rooting being more important than truth-finding or genuine understanding. Once one has settled upon a team, he systematically shields himself from any information that could compromise his allegiance to it, as even brain scans have been able to demonstrate. Still, conceptual or categorizational clarity (if you’ll pardon the mouthful) is worth pursuing if we aspire to more than talking past one another or angrily exchanging partisan talking points.

One who consciously identifies his political thinking with decentralism has a particularly hard time finding his place within today’s ideological taxonomy. To whose cause does the decentralist join his strength, the left or the right? Liberals or conservatives? Decentralists argue that centralization and its massive institutions encourage and engender unaccountability, that the proper goals of socially beneficial human organization are obstructed rather than served by all-consuming centralization. As the anarchist intellectual Paul Goodman pointed out, “In a centralized system, the function to be performed is the goal of the organization rather than of any persons (except as they identify with the organization). The persons are personnel.” Though clearly a man of the left, when Goodman discusses the “centralizing style of organizing” he doesn’t sound anything like today’s liberals and progressives, who have made of rigid hierarchy and centralization through distant, monolithic institutions practically a religion. Indeed, he sounds very much like today’s libertarians, except that his analyses are filled with trenchant criticisms of existing capitalism, which he perceptively contrasts with “Adam Smith’s economics.” If Goodman’s drawing of this distinction comes as a surprise to today’s political left (however defined), it shouldn’t, for there has always been, particularly in the United States, a tradition of market-oriented left-wing individualism.

Strong decentralist currents are an important part of the DNA of both the left and the right, just as are the opposite forces; this is one of the many reasons why the labels “left-wing” and “right-wing,” by themselves, can’t clarify or explain very much of substance, why they fail to express anything particularly meaningful about the arrangement of the social and political order. German National Socialism and Italian Fascism are examples of what we might call right-wing centralism, while American free-market libertarianism might be an example of right-wing decentralism. On the other side, Maoism, Soviet Communism, and the twentieth century’s various other forms of authoritarian communism may be regarded as left-wing centralism, with classical anarchism, certain localist and anti-globalization movements, and aspects of the cooperative movement perhaps understood as cases of left-wing decentralism.

Yet even this attempt at classification seems to fall apart upon inspection. It is not at all clear, for example, what it is about libertarianism that places it on the political right, other than, perhaps, the fact that it is putatively a reaction, at least in the American context, against Progressivism and New Deal Liberalism, neither of which itself arguably belongs on the left. Similarly, definitions of Nazism and Fascism that associate them with the right, thus failing to recognize the socialist extraction of both, seem extraordinarily inadequate and tendentious. We’re left with a puzzle, the lingering feeling that our need to classify in terms of left and right may actual obscure more than it illuminates.

Today, libertarians may be foremost among the flag-bearers of decentralism, though their role as earnest defenders of global corporate capitalism detracts from their decentralism. Indeed, much of the left’s anti-corporate and anti-capitalist message is historically bound to decentralism, to an opposition to monopoly power and grants of special privilege to the rich, together with a preference for local and cooperative forms of production. In the late nineteenth century and through the twentieth, decentralism fell out of favor and the global socialist movement embraced political and “industrial gigantism,” possessed by a spirit that transcended political ideology during that period, that of treating hierarchy and centralization as the scientific way. In his biography of the first self-described anarchist, Pierre-Joseph Proudhon, George Woodcock argues that the political left took a wrong turn “in accepting so uncritically the phenomenon of large-scale and centralized industrial organization.” Proudhon, whose anarchism incorporated a radicalized federalism and decentralism, has become more relevant than ever “now that we know all the social, economic, and ecological evils of industrial gigantism.”

Proudhon and American individualists that followed him (Benjamin Tucker, for example) were keen to point out that market economies are not inherently or necessarily capitalist economies. Much depends on how we define capitalism, whether we treat it as just another way to express the notion of free markets or define it in terms of inequality, exploitation, and privilege (as socialists of all stripes have tended to do). We won’t get very far in a conversation or a debate until it is clear that we’re using the same language, and too often we aren’t. The current moment in American political life seems to call for a renewed interest in decentralist ideas, if only as a point from which to start real conversations. In his introduction to E.F. Schumacher’s Small Is Beautiful, Theodore Roszak remarks, “Bigness is the nemesis of anarchism, whether the bigness is that of public or private bureaucracies, because from bigness comes impersonality, insensitivity, and a lust to concentrate abstract power.” Notwithstanding the fact that today’s incoherent political categories would make anarchism and conservatism antitheses, there is certainly a current of Kirkian conservatism about which the very same thing could be said.

There are numerous points in Shane Burley’s Fascism Today: What It Is And How To End It where I stopped, reread a passage, and with a little bit of shocked relief went “that is entirely accurate!” I don’t mean to damn with faint praise. In this last year’s stampede of everyone suddenly writing about fascism let’s just say that accuracy has broadly diminished. So many people have next to no familiarity with the subjects they try to write about, either missing critical details and context or just going in half-cocked. So it must be said that in this context I found Burley’s book studiously and refreshingly boring — in the way that sanity is boring.

Fascism Today, for the most part, operates as a book-length summary of the academic consensus on fascism and a survey of antifascist morphologies. It offers a whirlwind of very brief but meticulously correct summaries, with almost no deviations. It’s pretty much a staid textbook for a 101 class; there’s not much remotely controversial unless you’re the sort to watch a lot of flat earth youtube videos. Burley footnotes the shit out of everything and loses his voice to just step through the expert consensus.

Fascism is palingenetic nationalism. A nationalism that hungers for a cataclysmic and violent return to a mythologized past. Modern fascism is usually anti-capitalist and racist. It can happily exist without a state. It tries to establish essentialist “natural” identities — whether through pseudoscience or mystical narratives — to bind people together in community and discard compassion for outsiders.

Fascism isn’t best conceived of as a tool of capitalists or the state, but rather emerges from reactionary forces outside and often hostile to both. It’s not a precisely defined ideology but is also not purely a matter of history. And the modern antifascist consensus is one of a Three Way Fight — where the fascistic reactionaries of ISIL or the Traditionalist Workers Party are seen as a distinct enemy, not to be reductionistically folded into our existing battle against the authoritarian establishment.

Yet it somehow now needs to be said that fascism is not a stage of capitalism, fascism is not communism, fascism is not civilization, fascism is not a psychosexual disorder, fascism is not hyper-statism, fascism is not hyper-modernity, fascism is not a distant historical moment in Europe with no timeless ideological content, fascism is not objectivity, fascism is not gay people having rights, fascism is not street violence, fascism is not vegetarianism. I’ve heard so many people drop so many wingnutty, inane, or ridiculously dated theories of fascism over the last year — often disingenuously trying to pry apart fascism and nationalism — that I can’t recommend Burley’s Fascism Today strongly enough as a corrective.

If there is a sweeping failing to Fascism Today — and I don’t think it ultimately counts as one — it’s that Burley doesn’t take chances making original points. He has one vaguely noteworthy political stance, that antifascism should be broad-based as a movement, but he never really develops this in more than the most anodyne fashion. His call for inclusion is itself formulated to avoid repelling or provoking people on any side. But — and maybe this is too much of an insight into my own psyche — if you’re not pissing someone off I’m not sure you’re really saying anything substantive.

Maybe the few shitbags still going to the mat for ITS will bristle about his brief mention of them. Or those who think nationalism is a-okay when it’s “indigenous” will get provoked by his touching on the national-anarchist Vince Rinehart. And I suspect a number of antiquated marxists will throw temper tantrums about very conventional modern analyses like, “if the left wants to effectively oppose fascism it needs to view it as generally separate from the state and capital.” But one can’t sneeze without pissing such people off.

Pretty much the only personal touch I noticed in Fascism Today was Burley giving a relatively large — albeit still brief — space for discussions of antifascist heathenry. I know this is Burley’s wheelhouse, but it’s weird to see specific antifascist efforts cited there but not in a number of other places when talking about entryism or crossover. Of course, I know Fascism Today is meant as a 101 book and not a comprehensive survey, although I maintain that it would be cool to see a more comprehensive book covering all the different antifascist efforts across disparate milieus. In any case, I did find Burley’s centering of the “value” of spirituality and faith communities somewhat irritating. He repeatedly makes the standard leftist dodge, claiming that not all variants of faith, identity, and community are reactionary. And while there certainly is a pragmatic point to be made about our priorities given the very real way that lesser variants of such operate as a psychological crutch for many folks under the boot of more pressing oppressions, I think any anarchism that doesn’t consciously set itself against all forms of faith and nationalism is doomed from the get-go. Basically, you’ll pry “no gods, no masters” from my cold dead hands and I continue to be worried about anything that erodes that cornerstone. Further, while obviously atheism is not a religion per se, it feels weird that Burley goes on about religious entryism and resistance while entirely ducking the intersections of the alt-right with atheism/rationalism as well as resistance efforts within atheist/rationalist milieus.

But this is the sort of slim pickings for objections that Fascism Today offers.

It should be high praise that, in a book crammed with few paragraph summaries of incredibly complex subjects, literally the only line I found to be factually misleading or contestable was, “The violence of the 3%ers is not just rhetoric, and there are numerous examples, including the 2015 shooting of Black Lives Matter activists in Minneapolis.”

While I certainly don’t contest the violence of 3%ers, I find this particular line jarring because everything I’d previously read on Scarsella and his accomplices tied them most strongly to racist chan culture rather than more conventional militia organizing.

Burley cites a passage from Spencer Sunshine that quickly groups 3%er adherents and sympathizers, in turn referencing a Washington Post article that broadly speculates on one of the shooter’s racist affinities. Specifically, it details how Scarsella met the other attackers through 4chan, noting that the police described him as having “sovereign citizen” views among others, and then lists some of the reactionary shit he liked on his facebook, including the 3%ers page. This is, as far as I have been able to dig, the sum of his known connection to the group. Scarsella shared confederate and nazi imagery and liked a number of militia pages. He was by all indication a dorky channer nazi playing at being tacticool, which I feel is better framed as saying quite a lot about the horrific lethality of dorky channer nazis.

It’s fascinating that Scarsella crossed over from 4chan culture to militia culture to any degree, whether as a casual follower, wannabe, or actual member. But, in the absence of better proof, it stands out as a poor example of 3%er violence. At least on its own. Sunshine gave a longer list of examples of violent people in 3%er orbit that I think establishes a pattern better than the isolated example of Scarsella. I recognize it’s not like there’s a centralized 3%er membership roster to query against, but when all you’ve got is a facebook like and there’s another documented source of racist motivation it’s weak proof.

This imprecision or perhaps unjustified leap regarding Scarsella is worth highlighting because Burley quite rightfully points out later that while antifa groups are usually very precise and professional in their exposes, this stands in stark contrast with “anti-antifa” efforts that think literally anyone who likes a facebook page or shares antifascist memes is a member of an antifa org. And I quote, “individuals in diffuse social networks can appear to them as dedicated participants.” Given that Scarsella actually shot people, it’s not like he was lacking abstract “commitment,” but that’s not the same thing as close organizational affiliation or participation.

In any case, I’ve dwelled on this single phrasing or citation issue for far too long. And it’s definitely to Burley’s credit that there’s nothing more serious to object to in terms of factual claims.

Indeed I raked Alexander Reid Ross a bit over his sloppy inaccuracy when he referred to or tried to summarize libertarians and neoreaction in Against The Fascist Creep (errors he said he has changed in the newer print runs), but Burley is accurate and knowledgeable on both. This is, of course, reflective of their varying focuses, Ross on history, Burley more on present-day movements. Still, I was delighted to note Burley’s accuracy and fairness.

However, just because Burley is highly accurate in his factual claims and disinclined to provocation in his more normative points, just because most of the book is just a survey of the consensus among scholars, doesn’t mean there’s no non-trivial arguments in Fascism Today.

Because my post-leftist individualist ass long found Burley’s line about “building antifascism as a mass movement” troubling, I thought I’d end up disagreeing with a fair bit of his prescriptive analysis or commentary. But I agreed with just about everything, finding it all consistently nuanced and attentive to almost every issue and concern. On just about every topic where I worried one or another point would come at the exclusion of another, Burley threaded the needle. Just to give one example, he consistently paints corporate censorship of neonazis in the context of wider activism and social pressures while still nailing the extreme dangers of such hierarchical and centralized internet infrastructure to radicals on our team.

Burley’s picture of a “mass movement” in Fascism Today looks more like the broad community support apparatuses necessary for specialized antifascist groups to operate. Which is something I surely do not deny.

One framing I do take issue with can be found in the line, “Antifascist work is a piece of the larger mass working-class struggle for survival and progress, and it should come out of the experiences and needs of the class rather than the ideological imposition of experienced organizers.”

Charitably, I agree that antifascist work should be situated within an ecosystem of struggle for a better world, and that it should remain engaged with such social context rather than being exclusively controlled by insular elite activists. However. I take issue with so many of Burley’s specific word choices in that sentence. Most notably the worship of “mass” and the centering and idolization of “working-class.” There is nothing particularly valorous or even strategic about the fetishization of organizing large numbers of people, nor is the “working-class” the only source of valid resistance. We’re not interested in democracy’s legitimization through numbers, we’re instead interested in anarchy’s liberation through dexterity. Personally, I’ll take the lumpen over the proletariat any day, but also let’s not pretend that a sizable fraction of activists and organizers don’t come from strata above the working class and their insights, instincts, experiences, and work, while sometimes annoyingly shaped by that privilege, are no less valuable.

The horrors of class society and the construction and subjugation of the working class specifically are things anarchism absolutely must address. But I am hostile to any attempts to reduce our sweeping efforts to a class struggle or our philosophy to merely a class vantage point. Such Black Flame style reduction would do violence to just about everything of substance or potency in anarchism.

More specifically, why should all antifascist efforts position themselves as working class? Why should we specifically ally with socialists but not with liberals or libertarians? All three suck, all three will fuck over your organizing if you’re not careful, but all three can sometimes — with the right precautions — be useful allies.

Fuck it. Burley cites a lot of the Twin Cities IWW General Defense Committee’s work, but one thing he astonishingly leaves out is their successful collaboration with GOP members to get neonazis kicked from a Republican rally, one of the sharpest defeats of alt-right entryism in the last year. Obviously, reactionaries of any stripe — including most socialists, liberals, and libertarians — are not serious long-term allies, and we must be mindful of our ultimate endgame. But I’ll fucking work with a goddamn William F Buckley if it helps systematically undermine the Birch Society.

This kind of pragmatism sits poorly with Burley’s call to build a patchwork of analyses and diverse communities with varying focuses and tactics but some measure of shared values and aspirations. Burley does a good job surveying the rich and interrelated ecosystem of projects broadly aligned together against fascism. But when he correctly notes that it’s important to think critically about what we allow into that patchwork — giving the example of Deep Green Resistance as something that is obviously reactionary albeit not directly emergent from the right-wing — I’d encourage both more expansive pragmatism and a lot more criticism. There is no very clear boundary between the good patchwork and the outside reaction. What we — as anarchists — should instead focus on is our values and then be clear-minded about the pragmatic concessions we make when it’s strategic to briefly collaborate with republicans or maoists, just as we should ALSO work to exclude them. I know that Burley is certainly no fan of tankies, but authoritarian communists do constitute a very real and rapidly metastasizing reactionary creep.

One of the problems with the notion of a “movement” is that it inclines us to think of a relatively sharp inside-outside boundary. There are the good people and there are the bad people. Friends and enemies. I would be remiss as an individualist if I didn’t point out the dangerous simplifications that such concepts encourage. Most people are friends AND enemies, to varying degrees, in various directions and contexts. In extreme situations like “national anarchists” or ITS the lines we must draw are very clear, but many situations are more complicated.

I’m very much of the “anarchists must stand alone and say what only anarchists can say” tradition. Which is not remotely to suggest that antifascist groups should be stripped of non-anarchist members, or some kind of starkly partisan litmus test be applied to anarchism. But that, as anarchists, we should focus on the values of anarchism, and judge coalitions explicitly in terms of their deviation from these values. Something as abstract as the “working class” is mutable as fuck and a bad starting premise for these kind of considerations.

Of course, I’m being a little unfair and leaping at pet bugaboos. What Burley is primarily focused on by his use of “movement” is a longstanding debate within antifascist discourse between limiting “antifascism” to the very tight and professional small groups doing high-risk work and broadening the mantle of antifascism to a much wider and supportive social context.

Burley is, in fact, constantly attentive to and considerate of more “liberal” perspectives in Fascism Today — although these would hardly be conventionally defined as “leftist” or the voice of the “working-class” — precisely because he’s interested in building big expansive support for antifascism. An ecosystem of diverse activism and culture.

Such movement building is of course valid and not at all inherently in tension with the professionalized cells found in the Torch Network, for example. Such antifascist groups never dispute the need for broader community engagement and culture building, and have often led such work. But there are of course still tensions in how exactly the balance plays out. Fascism Today would be a more interesting book to me if Burley had tackled the nitty gritty of such open questions and conflicts. But it would also be dramatically less accessible.

Don’t get me wrong, Burley again and again steps up to the plate and hits home runs. The necessity of some less-militant organizations. The importance of free speech and the classic antifa position “we are not opposing the free speech of fascists, what we are opposing is the organizing of fascists.” The absolute necessity of popularizing and making accessible the science that disproves racist pseudoscience. The various complexities of the shift from responding to underground neonazi organizing to more diffuse recruitment of young millennials online. All while detailing ways that militancy has been effective.

After a year that has seemed so utterly topsy-turvy, where I find myself trapped in absurdly disconnected conversations again and again, from all corners — including newly self-made supporters of antifascism — Fascism Today is a breath of sanity. It showcases the plumbline consensus of antifascists in a nuanced and detailed way. It’s a great 101 text, but in the process it tiptoes diplomatically around issues that deserve more direct engagement.

Adam Smith y otros economistas políticos clásicos emplearon el término «acumulación primitiva» para referirse al proceso mediante el cual se concentraba capital en manos de algunas personas que pasaban entonces a ser empleadores de otras personas que contaban solamente con su trabajo para vender. Tal y como lo plasmaron Smith y cía., se trató de un proceso pacífico en que los hacendosos trabajaron y ahorraron, acumulando capital gradualmente para expandir sus operaciones. Otros, menos providentes y hacendosos, podían subsistir solamente haciéndose contratar como obreros para los capitalistas hacendosos.

Tiempo después, críticos radicales señalaron la ahistoricidad – tan ahistórica como el contrato social – del mito de la acumulación primitiva. Karl Marx se refirió al proceso como el «cuento de nanas de la acumulación primitiva.» De hecho, como señaló Marx, el proceso real de acumulación primitiva, mediante el cual la propiedad se concentró en unas pocas manos, se llevó a cabo por medio de latrocinio masivo – una historia, en sus palabras, «escrita en letras de sangre y fuego.»

En Gran Bretaña, el hogar de la revolución industrial, implicó la expropiación de tierra campesina desde el periodo medieval tardío en adelante, hasta los cercamientos de campos abiertos para el pastoreo de ovejas y, más tarde, el cercamiento parlamentario de pastos, baldíos y marismas a los que el campesinado había tenido derechos. Involucró controles sociales como las Combination Laws (las cuales prohibían la libre asociación) y las leyes de asentamiento (las cuales funcionaban como un sistema de pasaportes interno como el de la URSS y el estado sudafricano de la Apartheid).  Involucró guerras mercantilistas y colonialismo mediante los cuales las potencias europeas concentraron por la fuerza el control del comercio mundial en sus flotas, conquistaron la mayoría del tercer mundo, aplastaron la industria nativa competitiva, esclavizaron a millones, desahuciaron a los nativos de su tierra con un patrón similar al de los cercamientos y saquearon la riqueza mineral de continentes enteros.

Empero, las palabras «primitiva» y «original» no significan que esto se tratase de un proceso del pasado distante, tras el cual el «capitalismo de libre mercado» inició su funcionamiento normal. De hecho, continúa sucediendo en el presente. Todas las formas de explotación económica, todas las formas de rentas extraídas mediante monopolios respaldados por el estado, toda escasez y derechos a la escasez artificial, sirven para acumular más capital en manos de aquellos que ya lo tenían.

Solo hay que leer las noticias cada semana para recordar que la acumulación primitiva sigue teniendo lugar. Un buen ejemplo es la corporación TransCanada, que se está apoderando de las tierras de pueblos indígenas soberanos para construir el tramo sur del oleoducto Keystone XL. La aseveración de TransCanada de que «no hay obligación legal de trabajar con las tribus» contradice directamente el grueso de varios tratados legales. Casi 200 años después de que el Sendero de lágrimas reubicara a las minorías sobrevivientes de tribus indígenas en Oklahoma, Keystone está condenando la tierra habitada por las naciones Sac y Fox. En palabras de Sandra Massey, asistente del presidente de las naciones Sac y Fox: «¿Cuántas veces debemos mudarnos? Nuestros muertos nunca tienen reposo.»

Entre tanto, en Namibia, las tierras aldeaniegas comunales, como la región arbórea, marismas y baldíos en Inglaterra hace 300 años, están siendo cercadas y «privatizadas» ilegalmente, con el beneplácito del Estado. Los mismo ha sucedido en años recientes con tierras comunes en Rusia y China, donde las autoridades de las comunidades trabajan en colusión con corporaciones transnacionales para despojar a los campesinos de su tierra.

En Inglaterra, en 1649, una banda de campesinos sin tierra — «Los cavadores» — tumbaron un cercamiento en St. George’s Hill en Surrey y empezaron a cultivar la tierra en común. A pesar de que sus cabañas y cosechas fueron quemadas eventualmente por soldados al servicio de los terratenientes locales, su acto heroico sobrevive como ejemplo para personas en circunstancias similares hoy. Desde el movimiento de campesinos sin tierra en Brasil hasta los aldeanos en Wukan en la provincia china de Guandong que bloquearon su aldea en señal de protesta contra la venta de tierras comunes a una fábrica especializada en porcicultura, los descendientes espirituales de Winstanley y los cavadores se mantienen en pie de lucha una y otra y otra vez.

Y a diferencia de la represión en St. George’s Hill, cada una de estas instancias de pie de lucha están registradas en video a fin de inspirar a otros héroes alrededor del mundo. Por primera vez en la historia escrita, los rentistas y dueños del planeta entero viven con miedo de que sus días estén contados. En Oakland, España y Grecia, vemos escenario tras escenarios de policías con uniformes negros y equipo antimotines abandonando la pretensión de legalidad y asaltando a protestantes pacíficos con balas de goma, porras y gases lacrimógenos. ¿Por qué lo hacen? Porque nos temen.

Artículo original publicado por Kevin Carson el 2 de octubre de 2012

Traducción del inglés por Mario Murillo

120 anni dopo il massacro di stato in Brasile

Di Rodrigo Lima. Originale pubblicato il 20 gennaio 2018 con il titolo Echoes of Canudos: The Brazilian State Massacre 120 Years Later. Traduzione di Enrico Sanna.

Ad ottobre scorso ricorreva il 120º anniversario del più grande massacro compiuto dallo stato brasiliano, la Guerra di Canudos, che tra il 1896 e il 1897 tolse la vita a 35.000 persone, tra uomini, donne e bambini. Tra i civili, morirono non meno di 500 indigeni Kiriri. Spiega l’antropologa Edwin Reesink (con cui ho parlato al telefono) che combattevano con arco e frecce.

Come in tanti altri casi, prima e dopo, gli abitanti di Canudos decisero di difendere il loro modo di vivere fino alla morte piuttosto che arrendersi alla neonata repubblica brasiliana. Essendo stati convertiti al cristianesimo dai gesuiti nel diciassettesimo secolo, decisero di unirsi alla battaglia grazie in parte alla figura carismatica di Antonio Conselheiro (missionario locale e fondatore del villaggio di Canudos). Un ruolo lo ebbero anche diversi fattori sociali. Nota la Reesink: “I Kiriri erano in grave crisi, il rapporto con i bianchi era problematico, erano oppressi e discriminati.”

Il momento cruciale, quando i Kiriri decisero di combattere, fu quando Conselheiro mandò una spedizione nel loro territorio per raccogliere legname per la costruzione della sua chiesa. Conselheiro e il suo seguito fecero più di cento chilometri per andare a prendere il legname. Secondo la Reesink, i Kiriri accolsero l’arrivo del prete con “gioia enorme”.

A conferma del detto secondo cui “le truppe passano le frontiere quando le merci non possono”, fu una lite commerciale a scatenare la guerra di Canudos nel mese di giugno 1896. Quando Conselheiro ordinò del legname per la chiesa da un mercante della città di Juazeiro, il sindaco avvisò le autorità repubblicane temendo che il prete volesse appropriarsi della merce con la forza.

Da questo fatto ebbe origine quella che divenne un’isteria, alimentata dal timore che il villaggio di Canudos fosse contrario alla repubblica e stesse fomentando una rivolta monarchica. Così la sete di indipendenza di Canudos fu interpretata in modo distorto. La popolazione lottava semplicemente per il proprio diritto alla sovranità e all’autodeterminazione, una battaglia ancora oggi molto diffusa.

Iniziò così il più grande massacro del Brasile, in cui persero la vita oltre 35.000 persone. Gli abitanti di Canudos capitolarono e tutti quelli che resistettero all’esercito brasiliano furono decapitati, uomini, donne e bambini. Fu distrutto l’intero villaggio. Neanche una casa rimase in piedi. Scrive lo scrittore brasiliano Euclides da Cunha: “Furono decapitati. I loro corpi bruciati. Furono messi in riga sul ciglio della strada, le teste decapitate a distanza regolare l’una dall’altra, rivolte verso i passanti.”

Non tutti i Kiriri presero parte al conflitto, ma anche per i sopravvissuti le perdite furono irreparabili. Gli ultimi sciamani, che parlavano la loro lingua, furono uccisi durante le pratiche religiose, indebolendo il legame con gli encantados, le entità sovrannaturali con cui i Kiriri dicono di parlare, e che gli aiutano nelle loro lotte politiche, sociali e territoriali. Oltre ai grossi problemi lasciati dalla guerra, i sopravvissuti si ritrovarono a fare i conti con l’occupazione delle loro terre da parte dei bianchi, che se ne appropriarono mentre erano assenti. Ancora oggi, diverse terre non appartengono ai legittimi proprietari.

Mario Vargas Llosa, peruviano premio nobel per la letteratura, si è ispirato all’episodio per il suo famoso romanzo La Guerra della Fine del Mondo. Il villaggio fu infine inondato dal fiume Cocorobó, come per eliminare ogni speranza che un giorno possa rinascere.

Canudos fu la vittima della guerra totale, tipica della modernità, per cui la sconfitta del nemico non basta, ma bisogna sterminarlo, cancellarlo dalla faccia della terra. Il concetto di guerra totale, ideato per la prima volta dal generale prussiano Carl von Clausewitz nel suo famoso trattato militare Della Guerra (Von Kriege), è stato applicato a tanti conflitti in tutto il mondo. È spaventoso, però, il fatto che il governo brasiliano sia stato tra i pochi regimi ad applicarlo alla sua stessa popolazione. Non servono invasioni barbare, siamo noi i nostri stessi Unni.

Fu Euclides da Cunha, che descrisse la guerra nel libro Brasile Ignoto, a far conoscere a tutto il mondo la Guerra di Canudos. Euclides, che era un ingegnere, lottò sempre a fianco degli oppressi scrivendo articoli di critica sociale sui giornali e firmandosi con lo pseudonimo di “Proudhon”. Fu anche abolizionista molto prima dell’abolizione definitiva della schiavitù. La sua vita e i suoi scritti sulla Guerra di Canudos raccontano la tragedia della guerra totale praticata dallo stato.

Brasile Ignoto è stato paragonato all’Iliade di Omero: vi sono rappresentate le fondamenta di una cultura, la nascita di una letteratura, la creazione di una nazionalità. La prosa di Euclides, in origine romantica e ispirata a Victor Hugo, si trasfigurò completamente quando vide ciò che era accaduto a Canudos. Dopo aver testimoniato la tragedia di Canudos, il suo stile cambiò, divenne espressionista, adatto a denunciare le atrocità della repubblica. “Euclides appartiene alla generazione delusa dalla repubblica,” spiega lo studioso Francisco Foot Hardman. Lo scrittore era stato espulso dalla scuola militare di Praia Vermelha dopo aver spezzato la spada durante una parata per protesta contro la monarchia. Difese la repubblica, ma non poté difendere l’indifendibile. In Brasile Ignoto, Euclides “denuncia il crimine nazionale,” spiega Hardman. Dopo la tragedia di Canudos, la sua fede nell’ordine e nel progresso cominciò a smorzarsi: “Non siamo minacciati dalla barbarie,ma terrorizzati dalla civiltà,” dice nel libro.

Canudos vive ancora. Non è solo l’immaginario popolare, riecheggia nella vita di tutti i giorni. Osservando la scena politica contemporanea, comprese le atrocità commesse ogni giorno nelle nostre favelas, Hardman arriva alla conclusione che “la barbarie è qui, i barbari sono tra noi.” Forse, in qualche modo stiamo ancora cercando il nostro Antonio Conselheiro. L’unica speranza è di non fare la stessa fine degli ultimi quattro partigiani rimasti di fronte ai fucili: “Canudos non si arrende.”

En este artículo insto a los lectores de cualquier cariz antifascista a contemplar las críticas de la negación de plataformas estereotípicamente violenta, así como las defensas de esta práctica controversial. Si bien me guío personalmente por una visión utópica de la no violencia anarquista, no estoy convencida de que coger a trompadas a Richard Spencer esté en conflicto con este sueño. Llegar de aquí allá es una ardua labor. Promuevo el pluralismo en la lucha contra el fascismo y todos los autoritarismos.

Los pacifistas estrictos, esos que rompen totalmente con la práctica de matar o lastimar físicamente a los seres humanos y quizá a otros seres sintientes, tienen desde luego serios problemas con sus oponentes que desaprueban el pacifismo. Con el nivel tecnológico actual, los pacifistas actuales tienen limitadas opciones para detener a un adversario inclemente. ¿Cómo evitan los pacifistas estrictos la prisión o el fusilamiento? Por esta y otras razones, no puedo defender el pacifismo estricto, pese a cuán atraído me vea por este ideal.

Como escribió célebremente Errico Malatesta, «no puede haber duda de que el ideal anarquista, la negación del gobierno, se opone por naturaleza a la violencia». Todos (o al menos la mayoría) los anarquistas aspiran a abolir la coerción, lograr libertad genuina para todos. El compromiso con el mundo tal cual existe requiere equilibrio – reconocer la distancia que existe entre donde nos encontramos ahora y lo que deseamos crear. La cuestión acuciante es cómo progresar óptimamente hacia la libertad en una sociedad de opresión y violencia manifiestas.

Si bien hay intereses mezquinos que influencian frecuentemente el enfoque propio para combatir el fascismo como la competencia por estatus y ascenso social, en este escrito exploro varias estrategias antifascistas desde un marco conceptual consecuencialista enfocado en alentar el máximo de libertad para todos.

Sea que se trate de anarquistas muelefachos, libertarios respetuosos del principio de no agresión, pacifistas comprometidos o de liberales curiosos, quiero enfatizar la incertidumbre. Evaluar el efecto que cualquier acción dada tiene en nuestra complejísima red de conexiones humanas no es sencillo. Considero atractivos los argumentos tanto a favor como en contra de negar una plataforma a los fascistas por la fuerza. Exhorto a todos los anarquistas y a otros que se oponen al fascismo a hacer lo mismo. Asumir que algún grupo o individuo tiene entre manos la táctica o estrategia antifascista definitiva me parece un exceso de confianza. Independientemente de lo que se piense acerca de los méritos de excluir a los fascistas de la esfera pública y el mercado de las ideas, recomiendo interacciones basadas en el espíritu de caridad intelectual y actuar excelentemente con otros colegas antifascistas.

A causa de mi afinidad con el pacifismo, las críticas a la negación de plataformas, así como la humillación, el acoso y el empleo de la fuerza física a veces asociados con esta llaman mi atención. En teoría, no quiero que semejantes tácticas coercitivas moldeen lo que piensa la gente y cómo actúa. Personalmente, no disfruto ni la bravuconería ni los golpes, así pues, ¿por qué habría de desearles a otros lo mismo? ¿No debería la gente determinar lo que es verdadero y lo que mejor sirve a sus intereses y al bien común sin una presión social asfixiante y sin el empleo de la fuerza bruta?

Como señalan numerosos liberales y libertarios, la política de atacar o matar fascistas conduce potencialmente a una espiral autoritaria debido a problemas de definiciones y el atractivo seductor de la coerción. Cuando decimos «fascista» o «fascismo», ¿nos referimos al sentido apropiado, como lo describen académicos como Robert O. Paxton, o al sentido expansivo coloquial? Los antifascistas que practican la negación de plataformas parecen coincidir en que ambas palabras aplican a la derecha alternativa entera, independientemente de cómo se identifiquen ideológicamente los miembros de la derecha alternativa, incluyendo a gente como Jared Taylor. Pero ¿aplica la negación de plataformas también a los partidarios de Trump, conservadores convencionales y otros afines? Los límites se desdibujan. Después de todo, tanto los conservadores convencionales como los liberales apoyan la supremacía blanca estructural, el imperialismo, los asentamientos colonialistas, el heteropatriarcado, etc. A la hora de emplear tácticas como la negación de plataformas, elegir el alcance de nuestra red de pesca se torna ambiguo. Esta ambigüedad puede trazar un sendero que lleve a un lugar donde, como lo describió Malatesta, los anarquistas puedan reclamar «poco menos que el derecho a la vida y muerte para aquellos que no sean anarquistas o que no sean anarquistas de acuerdo a su patrón». No es difícil encontrar esta postura en boca de ciertos anarquistas en foros en línea.

Aunque es entendible la postura de anarquía o muerte, teniendo en mente el adagio que reza «el extremismo en defensa de la libertad no es ningún vicio», esta perspectiva choca conceptualmente con algunos valores anarquistas clave y confiere a arribistas cínicos y tiranos mezquinos un ambiente hospitalario. La legitimidad de aplastar a un nazi (o conservador o liberal, etc.) por el bien mayor se confunde fácilmente con la autocomplacencia y la dicha de infligir dolor y terror, de dominar. En lo personal, evito iniciar este tipo de violencia en parte porque temo caer en esa trampa.

Por otro lado, como friki queer que soy, he experimentado el ostracismo y los ataques de la muchedumbre. Cuando veo videos de antifascsitas arremetiendo contra algún individuo solitario, suelo empatizar visceralmente con ese individuo y me pregunto si yo podría ser la siguiente. Un amigo mío que se ubica entre el anarquismo comunista y el leninismo recibió una vez una paliza de un anarquista de bloque negro, así que no es inconcebible. Hay numerosas opiniones de naturaleza extrema e impopular que defiendo.

Los principios de la libertad de expresión e información son de crucial importancia para descubrir cómo opera la realidad que habitamos todos. La indagación científica tiene una larga historia de desafíos a los sistemas sociales y las identidades de la gente. De hacerse con demasiada libertad, la negación de plataformas puede obstaculizar la investigación y servir como otro instrumento para preservar ciertos marcos conceptuales en detrimento de nuevas teorías.

La crítica más delicada de las tácticas antifascistas de confrontación militante proviene de mi propio monitoreo a la derecha alternativa. Mike Enoch y otros en la derecha alternativa aseveran que antifa es de ayuda para ellos, que antifa radicaliza a los blancos y trae más reclutas de su lado. Si bien esto puede ser pura palabrería, psicología inversa o simplemente insinceridad, es de vital importancia que los antifascistas desarrollemos métodos de evaluar nuestra efectividad y nos aseguremos de que nuestras tácticas no estén al servicio de manos enemigas. La narrativa de la contraproductividad de antifa aparece asimismo con frecuencia en muchos foros centristas. Dudo que quienes proponen lo anterior estén simplemente jugando con nosotros. Si bien podemos descartar a algunos de estos centristas como irredimibles o sencillamente extremadamente difíciles de convencer de valorar la libertad a la manera de los anarquistas, es probable que la negación de plataformas militante resulte repulsiva para algunos centristas que, de otro modo, mostrarían simpatía con el anarquismo. Lo mismo sucede, presumiblemente, con otras tácticas, y, aunque no es necesariamente una causa para evitar la negación de plataformas militante, es un factor que deberíamos considerar.

A causa de lo anterior, tiendo a pensar que es mejor acometer acciones no violentas basadas en movimientos masivos contra el estado y contra el fascismo, reservando la violencia defensiva, si ha de usarse, para agresiones directas. Eso refleja la postura pacifista anarquista que Malatesta criticó, ¡pero funciona fantásticamente en un experimento mental! Las masas se alzan y acaban con la opresión sin infligir daño físico a ningún ser vivo. Que la gente piense y diga lo que quiera, pero ha de impedírseles lastimar a otros. Con suficiente gente de nuestro lado y con voluntad de asumir riesgos, podríamos socavar o transformar la economía y la sociedad. Sin necesidad de golpear.

Huelga decir que semejante experimento mental sobrepasa los límites de la credibilidad. No estamos ni cerca de tener esa cantidad de anarquistas y simpatizantes. Acosar, avergonzar, repudiar y/o golpear son presumiblemente tácticas más prácticas en las circunstancias en que nos encontramos. Un movimiento no violento masivo que sea efectivo sufre del problema de acción colectiva e, incluso en el escenario más optimista, pide mucho de la gente. En cambio, marginar y aterrorizar fascistas y afines resulta conveniente y económico. La sociedad existente opera en gran medida mediante la presión social y la amenaza de la fuerza física, por lo que sabemos que estos métodos pueden condicionar el pensamiento y comportamiento humanos. Todo reparo acerca de la coerción debería sopesarse con el daño que el fascismo causa y podría causar. No puede dejar de señalarse el peligro que el fascismo representa para la libertad y el bienestar humano: el fascismo es realmente la antítesis de la libertad.

Más aún, la importancia que tiene el poder y el éxito masculino en el pensamiento y propaganda fascistas hace que, potencialmente, la confrontación y la humillación sean algo especialmente efectivo. Mucho de lo que atrae a la derecha alternativa y a otros grupos de alineación fascista involucra una narrativa de castración y una promesa de renacimiento viril. La confrontación, incluida la violencia, puede suprimir el fascismo al prevenir que los fascistas ofrezcan con credibilidad victoria y gloria a potenciales reclutas. ¿Qué hombre castrado quiere ser perseguido o golpeado por un montón de queers antifascistas? Eso no ayuda. La negación militante de plataformas puede alimentar las narrativas de persecución, lo cual hace parte de su tesitura, pero la continua humillación sin reivindicación no es algo muy atractivo. Si bien es algo que aplica a todos los movimientos, el fascismo en particular necesita dar muestras de éxito a fin de tener éxito.

La confianza de los fascistas en sus victorias crea un legítimo argumento a favor del antifascismo militante que incluye negar plataformas por la fuerza: Hay un historial de organizaciones fascistas mantenidas a raya mediante este enfoque. Mas solo detener el fascismo no es la única cuestión relevante. ¿Qué hay de cómo la agresión contra fascistas y afines viola el principio de no agresión y, al hacerlo, contribuye a continuar un ciclo de hostilidades como se esbozó arriba?

En este punto es de crítica importancia no olvidar que el fascismo es inherente y necesariamente violento. Aun si adoptamos la interpretación más generosa posible de la derecha alternativa, sus líderes siguen promoviendo descaradamente incontables formas de violencia estatal: fronteras, centros de detención, deportaciones, policía, cárceles, prisiones, etc. Ellos desean fortalecer estos elementos, horribles en sí mismos, de la sociedad contemporánea. Es justo ver la organización con estos fines inequívocamente violentos como un acto de agresión que amerita la violencia defensiva como respuesta. Y ello es tan solo la interpretación más generosa. Hay suficiente evidencia de que muchos en la derecha alternativa desean exterminar físicamente a sus enemigos. Es sobre eso que «bromean» continuamente.

Salvor Hardin dice en la novella de Isaac Asimov Fundación que «la violencia es el último refugio del incompetente». Veo con escepticismo la creencia de que dañar cuerpos humanos mediante un trauma contundente constituya el mejor método para derrotar a los humanos que abogan por el fascismo hoy en día, mucho menos para derrotar al fascismo como ideología. Por lo menos con tecnología superior, un intelecto artificial lo suficientemente sagaz podría urdir un plan antifascista superior a lo que se nos ocurra a las bolsas de carne que somos nosotros. Pero henos aquí, atascados a comienzos del siglo XXI, equipados solamente con herramientas burdas e información incompleta. Somos lamentablemente incompetentes el día de hoy.

Sin importar mis inquietudes acerca del ascenso espiralado del autoritarismo, aplaudo el coraje y la audacia de quienquiera que ataque físicamente a instigadores fascistas en aras de construir un mundo mejor. Como escribió Mahatma Gandhi, recurrir a la acción violenta en contra de la opresión es mejor que no hacer nada.

Artículo original publicado por SummerSpeaker el 4 de diciembre de 2017

Traducción del inglés por Mario Murillo

Un punto importante que mi colega Kevin Carson ha enfatizados repetidamente es que las relaciones laborales prevalecientes en nuestra sociedad no son simplemente el fruto de intercambios voluntarios en el libre mercado. En su lugar, son el resultado de la intervención estatal extendida que constriñe las opciones de los trabajadores, dejándolos así en una posición peor para negociar con los empleadores. Retomando a Marx, él nota que la posición de los trabajadores salariados fue particularmente influenciada por el cercamiento de los bienes comunes y el resultante despojo de los campesinos de sus tierras ancestrales. Marx llamó a este proceso acumulación primitiva y escribió célebremente que «estos nuevos hombres libres se volvieron vendedores de sí mismo solo tras ser privados de todos sus propios medios de producción y de todas las garantías de existencia provistas por los viejos acuerdos feudales. Y la historia de todo esto, su expropiación, está escrita en los anales de la humanidad con letras de sangre y fuego.»

Este no fue un proceso de una sola vez que ocurriera durante la transición del feudalismo al capitalismo. En su lugar, es un proceso continuo, observable hasta en las noticias hoy en día.

Históricamente, el presidio ha jugado un papel importante en este proceso. Esto no debería sorprender a nadie; después de todo, la prisión es una de las tácticas primarias de violencia estatal, y los estados controlados o influenciados por empleadores serán probablemente utilizados para imponer disciplina laboral.

Un ejemplo notable del uso de prisiones para imponer disciplina laboral es la criminalización de la vida de los afroamericanos sureños después de la guerra civil. Los códigos negros contienen una variedad de restricciones que aplicaban exclusivamente a los negros, muchas de las cuales tenían en miras la imposición de disciplina laboral. Muchas de estas leyes tenían por objetivo sojuzgar a los negros libertos en condiciones laborales muy similares a las que habían encarado en las plantaciones de esclavos. Por ejemplo, de acuerdo con la Fundación de derechos constitucionales:

El código de Carolina del Sur incluía una forma contractual para «sirvientes» negros que accedieran a trabaja para «amos» blancos. La forma requería que los salarios y los términos de servicio se consignaran por escrito. El contrato requería un testigo y la aprobación de un juez. Otras disposiciones del código incluían los derechos y las obligaciones del sirviente y el amo. Los sirvientes negros debían residir en la propiedad del empleador, permanecer callados y en orden, trabajar de sol a sol exceptuando los domingos, y no abandonar el recinto o recibir visitas sin el permiso del amo. Los amos podían dar latigazos «moderadamente» a los siervos menores de 18 para disciplinarlos. Azotar a sirvientes mayores requería la orden de un juez. El tiempo perdido debido a enfermedades se deducía del salario del sirviente. Los sirvientes que renunciaran antes del fin de su contrato laboral renunciaban a sus salarios y podían ser arrestados y devueltos a sus amos por orden judicial. Por otro lado, la ley protegía a los sirvientes negros en caso de que se les forzara a realizar tareas «irrazonables».

Otras disposiciones legales de los Códigos negros se utilizaban para presionar a los negros a que aceptaran estos contratos. Por ejemplo, las leyes de vagancia criminalizaban el desempleo, las apuestas, las ventas ambulantes y otras formas de «ociosidad.» Restringían fuertemente asimismo las oportunidades económicas por fuera de estas opciones jerárquicas. El economista Jeffrey Rogers Hummel señala que «Carolina del sur les prohibía practicar cualquier profesión que no fuera servicio o agricultura.» Estas restricciones a la libertad económica limitaban la movilidad laboral y el poder de negociación, obligando a los trabajadores negros a aceptar condiciones que nunca habrían tolerado en un mercado libre.

Un artículo en la revista marxista Jacobin sostiene que los códigos negros eran un caso de manual de acumulación primitiva:

Uno de los rasgos claves de la acumulación primitiva es el uso de coerción directa hasta que se naturalice la relación trabajo salariado/capital – momento en que se asienta la «famosa compulsión de lo económico» de Marx. Durante la reconstrucción, el menos por un breve periodo, la lucha política estribaba en la disyuntiva de si la emancipación habría de significar verdadera liberación. Jim Crow zanjó la cuestión a favor de los antiguos dueños de plantaciones, y la ley criminal fue el instrumento central mediante el cual el trabajo salariado se instituyó.

Los negros libertos podrían haber querido emprender cualquier actividad económica para ganarse la vida, independientemente de los jefes que solían llamarse esclavistas. Pero el estado, por medio del sistema de justicia criminal, se aseguró de que esto no sucediera.

Uno no tiene que ser marxista para reconocer que el presidio ha tenido un papel prominente en la imposición de la disciplina laboral a lo largo de la historia. Por ejemplo, en su clásico anarcocapitalista The Enterprise of Law, el economista de libre mercado Bruce Benson describe cómo uno de los primeros usos de las prisiones en Inglaterra fue la imposición de disciplina laboral:

«Las correccionales» se establecieron primero bajo el reinado de Isabel para castigar y reformar a los pobres de cuerpos aptos que se rehusaban a trabajar. Se cita a menudo una «inquietud generalizada por los hábitos y comportamientos de los pobres» como razón para justificar las leyes de los pobres en lo concerniente a la vagancia y para el establecimiento de instalaciones destinadas a «reformar» al pobre ocioso confinándolo y forzándolo a realizar trabajos pesados. Pero reportaba Chambliss que «no caben dudas de que estos estatutos fueron diseñados un propósito expreso: forzar a los trabajadores a aceptar empleos con una baja paga a fin de asegurar que el terrateniente tuviera un suministro adecuado de obreros a un precio que pudiera costear.» Semejantes leyes reflejaban claramente la función de transferencia del gobierno.

Al forzar a los pobres a trabajar por sueldos bajos, las prisiones se usaron para transferir riquezas de los trabajadores a los terratenientes con contactos políticos. Los códigos negros tuvieron un papel de transferencia similar para los dueños de plantaciones con contactos y otros empleadores blancos.

La acumulación primitiva está lejos de ser la única función de la prisión. Hoy en día, la encarcelación en masa, más que imponer disciplina laboral, castiga el emprendimiento en los mercados negros y excluye a los delincuentes del mercado laboral formal, tanto mediante la discriminación por parte de los empleadores como mediante las leyes de licencias que prohíben a los delincuentes participar en un amplio rango de ocupaciones.

Pero la historia de la prisión como herramienta para imponer disciplina laboral es importante. Nos recuerda que a menudo el gobierno redistribuye la riqueza hacia arriba reprimiendo a los trabajadores en beneficio de los empleadores. Y cuando entendemos eso, podemos entender por qué la lucha contra la pobreza y la explotación están estrechamente vinculadas a la lucha por la libertad.

Artículo original publicado por Nathan Goodman el 11 de abril de 2016.

Traducción del inglés por Mario Murillo.

“Freedom” and “liberty” are the stodgy, dust-covered utterances of academics, fascist patriots, and manipulative dogmatists; or at least they can feel that way. But behind all that cultural baggage is something that reaches deep into our experience and hopes and pulls out a fistful of primal energy and connectivity. This feeling is so intrinsic to our being that it can seem boring when tossed about casually. The experience of freedom, however, is still a powerfully motivating force. Freedom and liberty are the mutant love-children of connection, cultivated in the cauldron of our frustration, passion, pain, and bravery. Freedom is the choices we have and the who and what controls them. It is made up of the little bits of every struggle ever nurtured into reality. Freedom is built of our priorities.

In computer programming, you have something called dependencies, which just means that one program depends on you having one or several other programs installed in order for it to work. The program pulls snippets of code from the repositories of the other programs in order to have a fully functioning code. A similar phenomenon drives the development of complexity in genetic evolution. One little mutation, if widely adopted through reproductive fitness, becomes a dependency, on which increasingly more complex mutations rely. This is how something as complex as the human eye or brain can come about. Freedom too is a web of dependencies. It is a spacious term containing worlds but still, we seem often content to think of it only in terms of the words regularly associated with it, such as “freedom of speech” or other such languid U.S. constitutional references. Freedom is so much bigger than just that.

Each particular freedom (such as freedom of speech) has a set of dependencies without which the code would break. For example, what good is the freedom of speech, if movement is completely barred and the internet regulated? What good is the freedom to move if you’re unable to gain access to land or you’re just going to get killed by some random person (or a cop)? What good is the freedom to assemble if speech is so repressed that no one trusts each other?

Within these interdependencies, we each develop priorities — often chained to the discourse of our political milieu. Every meaningful political goal comes down, in some sense, to freedom in this robust sense. Yet each political movement focuses only on its own prioritized freedoms. For example, a libertarian is likely to focus on “freedom from (negative freedom)” having one’s wealth stolen in the form of taxation or socialized medicine. Across the political spectrum, social anarchists focus on a very similar problem from a different angle, being interested in freedom from the exploitation of “bosses” or the capitalist class. Both are focusing on the exploitation of labor in a sense but with different enemies and goals in mind.

In this example, they’re also both focusing on negative freedoms, or freedoms “from” something they deem bad. The only true form of freedom, however, is positive freedom, or the freedom to do something. The positive freedom inverse of both of the above positions is the freedom to utilize one’s own labor in a way that feels fair. As we develop more and more complete conceptions of this positive freedom, we’re building on previous and incomplete negative conceptions. Every freedom wants to ratchet to a higher level. Every negative freedom seeks a positive freedom. Every positive freedom seeks a higher and more broad positive freedom. These levels of freedoms are dependencies to each other, which means that, we don’t just want bread, we want everything… but we also want bread!

The differing priorities of freedom, as inscribed by our respective ideologies and values, can be good or bad. On the one hand, we all just have differing beliefs on what should come first. Caring about different things creates a diversity of motivation that pushes all of the different shit forward at the same time. It’s like that feeling of relief you can get by thinking of some problem far outside of your means of fixing that you know tons of really smart and invested people are chugging away at. You could support them if you wanted to but also, they’re on it. But at the same time, these differences in priorities can lead to intractable and even violent conflict.

Sometimes people’s ideologically driven priorities are wrong though too. Not all views are created equal. This can cause people to miss obvious dependencies within the web of freedoms and get caught up in defending one narrow application of freedom. From the example above, we can think about healthcare. Meaningful access to healthcare should be considered a very basic freedom and yet many libertarians see the market dynamics of greater competition and lower prices, and their analysis stops there. They only see the negative freedom to not have the profit of their labor “stolen” by the government (or committee) to fund someone else’s access to healthcare. The problem is, without healthcare, no other freedom means anything. If you’re dead, you can’t very well use your freedom to earn, much less your freedom of speech. Meaningful access to food is a very similar example. No matter how we can most ethically distribute access to the basic means of survival without some way to do so, all other freedoms are null.

Looking at freedom through the lens of priorities and dependencies can give way to some ad-reductios that miss that point as well. It can be easy to fall into a sort of Maslow’s hierarchy of needs model and just prioritize positive freedoms from there, but oversimplified solutions like this fail wildly.

To see why, we can look at what this one would imply: a strict follower would believe that a person experiencing homelessness wouldn’t prioritize reading (as a form of self-actualization), but books are what made homelessness survivable for me. According to Maslow’s lens, I should have been prioritizing all of my available energy on housing and food when, in reality, I focused the minimum possible effort on rudimentary semi-solutions to food and housing and then put all remaining energy into things like human connections and reading.

The subjectivist economists have always said, not only do we humans have different preferences than each other, we prioritize our preferences with different levels of intensity. We have diverse utility functions. This is what makes getting our preferences to collectively land on a jointly preferable outcome such a messy process.

But this messy optimization process is inherent to the maximization of freedom, as long as one freedom does not come at the cost of another. As positive freedom is increased for one mind, so is it possible for another to access that freedom in a non zero-sum game such as life. Access to freedom is not zero-sum because power-over is not freedom. Freedom increases the choices available. Full stop. Taking away one person’s choices to increase another’s is a reduction of choices. That is power, not freedom. Gillis writes:

When we truly live we are hurricanes of self-reflection, pulling in knowledge and influences from the wider world — the universe wrapping in on itself in a self-awareness that expands the scope of what is possible. To truly be free — liberated of constraints — can only mean to have more options. Not confined within some arbitrary box, but radiating ever outward into the world.

Note that such freedom *isn’t* a zero sum game. Every single person can remake the world. Creation and discovery are not exclusive acts. A society where every person was equally unleashed, to discover titanic insights or create profoundly moving art, would not be a gray world of mediocrity because impact and influence is not a scarce good. We can each be heroes, we can each change everything, we can each bring more options into the world.

But it’s not so simple even as just maximizing the number of choices available. Not only must we have choices, we must also be able to meaningfully sort through them and discard the irrelevant ones. Sure you have the option to make choices based on illusions about the world, but what good is that choice if it will not interact with reality in a way that actualizes your goals? This problem becomes far more apparent  in something like AI research where you quickly realize how many infinities of choice are contained in something as simple as “going to the grocery store.” Should you bring a compass? Walk on your head? What about the roadmap in your head, does it match the street conditions now? Should you wear garments? Of what nature should these garments take? Should you just steal your groceries?  Does your belief in the amount of currency pointed to by your cards match the reality of the bank ledger assigned to you? Will a cop or immigrant-enforcement authority try to assault you after racial profiling you based on their internal map of biases and obligations? Should you get the Winter-fresh or Evergreen toothpaste? Etc. ad-nauseum. We sort through these freedoms with almost no conscious awareness but it’s actually a quite computationally dense optimization problem. Efficiency is, more or less, a sorting problem.

In other words, problems like “over-choice” reveal there are both internal and external throttles on freedom. Our brains can handle a remarkable amount of sorting but reach a structural multiprocessing limit (something like our brain’s RAM) at some point or another. In addition to that, our freedoms can be restricted by external factors such as marginalization or a tree in the road. Additionally, how accurately our multi-leveled internal maps model the external territory of base reality impacts the effectiveness of our choices. What’s more, even our perception of which choices exist changes what we’re capable of. There’s a constant tension between the internal and external loci of freedom with both of their structural and subjective limits.

When none of us see any possibility of change in our miserably exploited lives, the first one to do something previously considered impossible alters the rest of our brains and entire relationship to reality by expanding our grasp of what is possible. “Wait. Wait. Wait. You can just do that??!! You can just go over there??!! But that’s impossible!” Until it’s been done.

When one person leverages a true positive freedom, they are doing so through their interdependence with others and to the benefit of others. This phenomenon of sharing the recognition of liberty entangled with empathy is described by Gillis, who wrote, “Anarchism is the lifting of our eyes beyond our immediate preoccupations and connecting with one another. Seeing the same spark, the same churning hurricane, same explosion of consciousness, within them that resides within us. Anarchism is the recognition that liberty is not kingdoms at war, but a network interwoven and ultimately unbroken — a single expanse of possibility growing every day. Anarchism is the realization that freedom has no owners. It has only fountainheads.”

These fountainheads are consciousness emanating from the currently completely unmappable complexity of a human mind. A single human mind averages around 100 billion neurons, densely interconnected and woven into columns and associations that both control and liberate our choices. Those chaotic and magnificent pools of possibility swimming behind our eyes then defiantly lunge beyond their warm, safe wombs of internal self-connection to traverse the chasm of difference between structurally severed minds experiencing and interpreting reality. We have the sheer, brazen audacity to communicate meaning in an attempt to see and be seen. To change and be changed. To grow and help grow. Amazing as our brains are, they are built by the arbitrary will of evolutionary dependencies. They are not effective self-optimizers and are largely (at least for now) incapable of meta-level optimization.

Our ability to connect with each other is key to overcoming these limits of individual consciousness. We first experience the spark of recognition of something that somehow parallels our experience in the fountainhead of another. From this, a kind of trust can develop to overcome solipsism. Once the self (arbitrary and partially unreal as it is) sees itself reflected in another, connection is possible and through this connection we can expand our freedom together. We rely on each other to help us see beyond what we think we know– to overcome our own limits– and birth freedom into our shared and individual experiences.

This viscerally real and yet mundane miracle exemplifies the type of world anarchists are trying to build. That spark of recognition where we say, “I think, just maybe, we can do this.” is where we embark jointly, fearfully, and vulnerably on a difficult and joyous path to liberation.

That is then multiplied by the hundred billion neurons trying to spark in the 7.6 billion other human minds and countless other sentient animals to create a network so resilient that it has overcome existential threat after existential threat despite the sheer improbability of our even forming complex eukaryotic life in the first place.

This is a raw potential and a kinetic motion of which we all, partially autonomously, operate a very small corner. This small action of recognition and potential emerging into kinetic realization is the building block of freedom. It is the dependency beneath all others. We can all claw and brutalize to survive and fulfill our utility functions or increase our power, but without this piece, we have little hope of transcending the gasping gravity of negative equilibria. This is why freedom is so important. Without it, we are static, and nothing could then matter even if it could exist. From our sentience springs our anarchistic desire for freedom and from that font, our dependencies of liberatory mutations must blossom.

Di James C. Wilson. Originale pubblicato il 9 gennaio 2018 con il titolo Rothbard’s “Left & Right”. Traduzione di Enrico Sanna.

Rothbard, Murray, ed. Left & Right: A Journal of Libertarian Thought. Auburn. Alabama Ludwig Von Mises Institute. 2007

Il periodo attorno alla metà degli anni Sessanta rappresenta un’epoca unica nella storia del movimento libertario e nel panorama mondiale. Il coinvolgimento americano in Vietnam si allarga, la Guerra Fredda è al culmine, e il movimento per i diritti civili ha appena ottenuto la sua più grande vittoria legislativa. La destra politica, dominata dalla paranoia stile National Review, è sempre più interventista. I due poli della politica americana sono uniti dal corporativismo in patria e dal militarismo all’estero.

In questo milieu che l’influente autore nonché attivista libertario Murray Rothbard (che quasi sicuramente non ha bisogno di introduzioni in questo sito) si disamora della destra e manifesta chiare simpatie per la Nuova Sinistra. L’evoluzione è testimoniata da Left & Right: Journal of Libertarian Thought, pubblicata dallo stesso Rothbard in diversi volumi tra il 1965 e il 1968. L’intera raccolta è scaricabile gratis qui. In questi saggi, Rothbard e i suoi collaboratori mostrano la loro adesione alle idee di Students for a Democratic Society, il Black Power Movement, l’American Indian Movement e l’Anti-War Movement (fortemente contrario alla leva obbligatoria). L’intento degli autori è di sintetizzare il loro libertarismo con la sinistra antiistituzionale.

Questo è il punto di massimo avvicinamento tra Rothbard e il libertarismo di sinistra, cosa che fa di Left & Right una delle letture preferite della sinistra libertaria. L’opera appare stimolante, soprattutto in un momento in cui molti libertari si lasciano sedurre dal nazionalismo di Trump, dalla politica identitaria bianca e dal razzismo mascherato. Rothbard fa sue le idee degli studenti culturalmente progressisti del suo tempo, così in contrasto con le sue opere più tarde, più reazionarie, e con gran parte del libertarismo convenzionale. A ben vedere, però, c’è un fondo oscuro, spinoso, che fa presagire la sua futura svolta reazionaria. È un aspetto negativo che cercherò di evidenziare.

Leggere le 700 pagine della raccolta significa cavalcare liberamente tra una moltitudine di argomenti. Circa metà dei saggi è opera di Rothbard, il resto dei suoi collaboratori. Se un saggio non interessa, si può passare ad un altro di argomento completamente diverso.

Sorprendentemente, l’opera non è accademica. Chi vuole saggi astrusi di teoria economica dovrebbe cercare altrove. La raccolta è per chi vuole articoli d’opinione su tutto, dalla leva alla licenza di pesca. Gran parte dei saggi ha la lunghezza di un articolo di fondo, solo qualcuno va oltre. A dilungarsi è soprattutto Rothbard, che riesce però interessante fino alla fine. È il caso del saggio di apertura, Left and Right the Prospects for Liberty, che fa la storia del pensiero libertario in maniera molto più approfondita di quanto i paragrafi d’apertura facciano presupporre.

Rothbard spiega perché la tradizionale contrapposizione destra-sinistra non ha più valore, e interpreta il concetto di libertà che prende da entrambe le parti dello spettro politico. Indica in quei conservatori che hanno lottato per tenere in vita le monarchie, le teocrazie e le aristocrazie terriere del passato, i nemici tradizionali della libertà. È grazie al collasso di questi vecchi ordinamenti, spiega, che il popolo ha potuto liberarsi e migliorare le proprie condizioni di vita.

Perciò, conclude, il liberalismo classico è l’opposto del conservatorismo. Altrove critica specificamente ai conservatori suoi contemporanei l’amore per il militarismo, l’imperialismo e la violenza poliziesca contro i neri. Basta una citazione:

Il conservatorismo è il cadavere insepolto dell’ancien régime preindustriale, non ha futuro. Il Revival Conservatore, la sua attuale reincarnazione americana, si dibatte tra gli spasmi mortali di un’America fondamentalista, rurale, provinciale, bianca e anglosassone.

Parla poi del socialismo di stato (e il progressismo) come di un confuso ibrido filosofico che vorrebbe propositi egalitari e liberali rimanendo aggrappato a strumenti autoritari conservatori. Sono ideologie che risentono della contraddizione tra fini e mezzi. Mentre elogia la Rivoluzione Industriale, però, Rothbard glissa sul fatto che lo stato costrinse la popolazione rurale a lavorare nelle fabbriche. Altrove l’analisi della genesi della classe lavoratrice industriale è più approfondita.

Uno dei saggi più lunghi, scritto da Harry Elmer Barnes, parla dell’attacco di Pearl Harbor e dell’amministrazione di Franklin Delano Roosevelt, di come quest’ultima sapesse dell’attacco con largo anticipo e avesse lasciato che accadesse. All’amministrazione, dice Barnes, serviva un attacco giapponese a sorpresa, per smuovere l’opinione pubblica dall’isolazionismo e per alimentare il sostegno all’ingresso americano nella Seconda Guerra Mondiale.

Gli Stati Uniti, continua Barnes, già dai primi di dicembre 1941 erano in grado di decriptare le comunicazioni giapponesi (sistema chiamato “Purple” dallo spionaggio americano); in molti messaggi era chiaro che si stava preparando un attacco a sorpresa a Pearl Harbor per il sette. I numerosi tentativi di avvertire gli ufficiali al comando nelle Hawaii, il generale Walter E. Short e l’ammiraglio Husband E. Kimmel, furono bloccati da persone vicine a Roosevelt, soprattutto il generale George C. Marshall (capo di gabinetto delle forze armate) e il generale Carter W. Clarke. Marshall, Clarke e Roosevelt sono, per Barnes, i veri criminali, mentre Short e Kimmel sono i capri espiatori ingiustamente accusati.

Quando ci fu l’attacco, aggiunge l’autore, Roosevelt aveva già deciso con Olanda e Gran Bretagna di contrastare l’avanzamento giapponese in Asia sudorientale. L’amministrazione esasperò le tensioni rifiutando anche un accordo di pace proposto dal Giappone.

Nei messaggi segreti tra Roosevelt e Churchill, si vede la volontà del primo di entrare in guerra in Europa; l’attacco giapponese, in assenza di attacchi da parte di Germania e Italia, era una comoda scusa. Le teorie di Barnes sono interessanti, anche se pochi lettori hanno le risorse storiografiche necessarie a valutarle.

È una sfortuna, visto che si tratta di cose che richiederebbero un certo scetticismo colto. L’isolazionismo di Barnes lo porta a sottovalutare, se non negare, i crimini dei regimi nemici degli Stati Uniti. Non parla delle atrocità commesse dall’impero giapponese in Cina prima di Pearl Harbor. Peggio ancora, Barnes era tra i primi negazionisti dell’olocausto e dell’antisemitismo che stava dietro, opinione che manteneva al momento di contribuire all’opera. Il fatto che Rothbard dovesse saperlo quando gli chiese di contribuire, aggiunse una macchia alla sua reputazione.

Prevedibilmente, gran parte dell’opera parla del coinvolgimento americano in Vietnam e del conseguente movimento antimilitarista. Diversi saggi parlano di David Mitchell, giovane attivista contrario alla leva condannato e poi assolto. Uno di questi saggi è stato tra i primi a denunciare la pratica americana di mettere a ferro e fuoco i villaggi vietnamiti, bruciando le scorte di cibo, torturando, e più in generale commettevano crimini contro l’umanità.

Le critiche si estendono anche al crescente complesso industriale militare, prendendo di mira soprattutto la General Dynamics. Anche il sistema universitario è criticato perché tende a favorire studi che alimentano le industrie belliche. Tra gli accusati il presidente dell’università della California Clark Kerr. L’allora governatore Ronald Reagan viene elogiato per aver licenziato Kerr, anche se si sa che Reagan fece la cosa giusta per ragioni sbagliate: perché Kerr appariva debole contro gli estremisti di sinistra presenti nel campus.

Grande spazio è dedicato alla distinzione tra la vecchia sinistra dell’establishment democratico e la nuova sinistra antiautoritaria. Le critiche di Rothbard contro la vecchia sinistra, accusata di voler ridurre le masse a spettatori passivi, ricordano Chomsky. Rothbard elogia la nuova sinistra perché, oltre a voler controllare le istituzioni, cercava di creare alternative parallele. L’uso della disobbedienza civile, dice, trasformò la nuova sinistra in un “movimento di eroi”.

La destra di allora è invece dipinta come un branco di disperati. Rothbard nutre una forte antipatia per William Buckley Jr. e la redazione della National Review, favorevoli all’intervento armato all’estero e all’oppressione poliziesca in patria. National Review è derisa per la sua voglia di purgare il movimento conservatore degli elementi imbarazzanti, come la John Birch Society (invisa a molti conservatori per le sue paranoie complottiste anticomuniste). Spiega Rothbard che i “Bircher” creavano imbarazzo, ma solo perché portavano lo stile della National Review alle estreme conseguenze.

Non possono mancare due parole sullo stile retorico. Rothbard è bravo a guidare l’attenzione del lettore sul soggetto, ma spesso in modo enfatico, se non presuntuoso. Usa spesso termini come “glorioso” per indicare qualcosa che incontra il suo favore. Quando, ad esempio, scrive un sentito elogio funebre al suo mentore Frank Chodorov, guasta l’atmosfera paragonando l’interruzione di una delle pubblicazioni di Chodorov alla morte di un “carissimo” amico di famiglia, senza accorgersi dell’esagerazione.

In apertura del primo volume Rothbard scrive: “Una nuova rivista d’opinione deve giustificare la sua esistenza, che nel nostro caso è dedicata alla libertà dell’uomo.” Certo è lodevole che ci si dedichi alla libertà, ma viene da chiedersi perché mai una rivista debba giustificare la propria esistenza. E se non lo fa?

Oltre ad usare un linguaggio fiorito, Rothbard tende a scrivere come se chi legge stia automaticamente dalla sua parte. Ma i suoi pezzi si alternano a quelli di altri autori, e il divertimento supera la noia. Talvolta la cosa va a suo vantaggio, soprattutto quando attacca. Come nella feroce recensione del libro “Moulding the Communists”, scritto dal collaboratore della National Review Frank S. Meyer.

Meyer, ex tesserato del Partito Comunista, parla della tendenza degli iscritti a fraternizzare con persone con gli stessi ideali, fare amicizia con altri iscritti, e sviluppare un certo conformismo di pensiero e una particolare dedizione alla causa. Per Rothbard, si tratta di atteggiamenti che non sono esclusivi dei comunisti, ma propri di ogni “organizzatore” dedicato ad una causa, che sia un dipendente della General Motors o, orrore, un collaboratore della National Review. Qui il senso di superiorità di Rothbard riesce simpatico.

L’opinione che traspare sul comunismo internazionale è generalmente interessante. Rothbard e gli altri ci vedono un’ideologia sbagliata, ma non un pericolo immanente per la libertà negli Stati Uniti. Piuttosto sono il militarismo e le guerre che pretendono di combattere o contenere il comunismo a livello internazionale a costituire una minaccia in sé per la libertà e la sicurezza, mentre il tentativo dello stato di schiacciare l’attivismo comunista in patria non è che una violazione della libertà personale. Per giunta, aggiungono gli autori, la rabbia anticomunista è stata usata per espandere enormemente lo stato.

Secondo Leonard P. Liggio, altro collaboratore prolifico, molti movimenti comunisti del ventesimo secolo sono sorti per combattere certi tribalismi autoritari, residui feudali, la schiavitù, sulla linea dei movimenti liberali dei secoli precedenti. Liggio vede in questi movimenti aspetti anticoloniali e antiimperiali sostanzialmente positivi.

Molte parti sono invecchiate male, e ciò non sorprende. Colpisce soprattutto la presenza di un negazionista. Il fatto che i suoi scritti siano preceduti da una raggiante introduzione commemorativa di Rothbard (Barnes morì poco dopo) peggiora la cosa. Rothbard descrive Barnes “un maestro e un amico”. E poi: “[era] allegro, gentile, un intrattenitore arguto e spesso irriverente, un compagno meraviglioso e simpatico.” Rothbard non cita esplicitamente la sua negazione dell’olocausto, ma elogia il suo revisionismo sulla Seconda Guerra Mondiale e quelle opere in cui il negazionismo è più evidente.

Il fatto che Rothbard, ebreo lui stesso, elogi e dia spazio ad una persona del genere, è indice di una radicata preferenza ideologica a scapito della verità, una scelta che peserà sulle sue opere per decenni. Il fatto che il Mises Institute abbia ripubblicato l’opera sul proprio sito la dice lunga anche sull’istituto.

Molti i termini datati, come “negro” e “Jap” (giapponese, ndt). Il primo era in un certo senso normale a quei tempi, e fa capire quanto siano cambiati i tempi. Il secondo era ed è un insulto. Anche nei saggi apparentemente più progressisti si possono notare derive problematiche.

Il commento intitolato “A Cry for Power Black, White, and Polish” (La Voglia di Potere di Neri, Bianchi e Polacchi, ndt), vede con favore una sorta di nazionalismo nero, immagina una secessione delle aree a maggioranza nera e la nascita di unità autonome. Secondo l’autore, questa forma di nazionalismo mira a liberare gli oppressi dalle mani degli oppressori, il che sarebbe positivo; un movimento nero che si batte per queste cose è un bene.

L’autore vede di buon occhio anche un “potere bianco”, rappresentativo degli emarginati bianchi. Idem per il “potere polacco”. L’autore sembra preferire la separazione all’integrazione con la società “bianca”, probabilmente sulla base dell’assunto, debole e non dimostrato, secondo cui i neri non vogliono o non riescono ad integrarsi con il resto della società. Se sono criticabili i liberal di allora, che volevano usare lo stato per costringere la popolazione ad integrarsi, altrettanto criticabile è la posizione opposta.

Poche parole, come era da immaginarsi, sugli orrori dei regimi comunisti. Allo stesso modo, Barnes glissa sui crimini dell’impero giapponese e nega l’olocausto.

Completano l’opera alcune riedizioni di classici libertari scritti da persone come Herbert Spencer (sui mali dell’imperialismo) e Lysander Spooner (sul significato della legge naturale). Tutto ciò è in linea con l’atmosfera politica postbellica del tempo.

La varietà degli argomenti e dei particolari è enorme e non è possibile riassumere tutto in una recensione di lunghezza ragionevole. Libertari di ogni risma possono trovarci un gran numero di cose condivisibili e un gran numero di cose non condivisibili, ma anche cose che non sono condivise da nessuno. La raccolta riflette il pensiero di quei tempi, compresi alcuni presupposti problematici, ma dà un’idea di come ideali libertari e di sinistra potrebbero un domani convergere.

O último mês de outubro marcou o 120º aniversário do maior massacre da história da República do Brasil. A Guerra de Canudos ocorreu entre 1896 e 1897 e levou a vida de mais de 35.000 pessoas, entre homens, mulheres e crianças. Dentre os civis mortos, ao menos 500 índios Kiriri morreram. De acordo com o antropólogo Edwin Reesink, com quem conversei por telefone, eles lutavam com arcos e flechas.

Os cidadãos de Canudos preferiram defender seu modo de vida do que se render à nova república, custasse o que custasse. Tendo sido convertidos ao cristianismo no século XVII pelos jesuítas, os índios decidiram se juntar à batalha graças à personalidade carismática de Antônio Conselheiro. Outros fatores sociais também devem ser levados em conta. Como nota Reesink, “Os Kiriri estavam no ponto mais baixo da sua história, tinham problemas com os brancos, sofriam opressão e discriminação.”

Um momento crucial na decisão dos Kiriri de ingressar no conflito foi a expedição de Conselheiro ao seu território para buscar madeira para construir sua igreja. Acompanhado por vários homens, o próprio Conselheiro caminhou mais de 100 quilômetros para conseguir a madeira. Os Kiriri consideraram a passagem de Conselheiro “a maior alegria do mundo”, de acordo com Reesink.

Confirmando a profética frase segundo a qual “Se bens não cruzam fronteiras, tropas o farão”, a guerra de Canudos começa em junho de 1896, após Antônio Conselheiro ter encomendado madeira na cidade de Juazeiro, para a construção da sua igreja. Apesar de Conselheiro ter pago a encomenda, o material não foi entregue, o que gerou pavor em autoridades da república, que temiam que o beato fosse buscar a madeira à força, usando jagunços como escolta.

Essa histeria desencadeou medo de que Canudos estivesse resistindo à República e fomentasse um levante monarquista. Essa é uma interpretação errônea da independência de Canudos. Aquelas pessoas lutavam somente por seu direito de soberania e autodeterminação, batalha que muitos povos enfrentam ainda hoje.

O que se seguiu então foi a maior chacina da história do Brasil, com mais de 35.000 mortos. O povoado de Canudos sucumbiu, com homens, mulheres e crianças que resistiam sendo degolados. A cidade inteira fora devastada, nenhuma construção permaneceu intacta. O escritor Euclides da Cunha relata: “Decapitaram-nos. Queimaram os corpos. Alinharam depois, nas duas bordas da estrada, as cabeças, regularmente espaçadas, fronteando-se, faces volvidas para o caminho.”

Nem todos os Kiriri participaram no conflito, porém mesmo para os que sobreviveram, as perdas foram irreparáveis. Os últimos xamãs que falavam seu idioma foram mortos no combate, enfraquecendo seus laços com os encantados, entidades sobrenaturais com quem os Kiriri acreditam se comunicar e que lhes ajuda em suas lutas políticas, sociais e territoriais. Além do problema religioso, os sobreviventes muitas vezes descobriam que suas terras haviam sido ocupadas pelos brancos durante sua ausência, algumas das quais não retornaram às suas mãos até hoje.

Mario Vargas Llosa, escritor peruano ganhador do Prêmio Nobel, chamou o episódio de A Guerra do Fim do Mundo, em seu famoso livro que reencena a guerra. A cidade fora até mesmo engolida pelo rio Cocorobó, como se para suprimir qualquer esperança de que algum dia fosse recomposta.

Canudos foi vítima da guerra total, conflito típico da alta modernidade, em que apenas derrotar seu inimigo não é o bastante, precisa-se exterminá-lo, eliminá-lo da face da Terra. O conceito de guerra total, originalmente cunhado pelo general prussiano Carl von Clausewtiz em seu famoso tratado militar Da Guerra (Von Kriege) foi replicado em muitos conflitos ao redor do mundo. É assustador, no entanto, que o governo brasileiro tenha sido um dos poucos regimes a aplicá-lo ao seu próprio povo. Não precisamos de invasões bárbaras, somos nossos próprios hunos.

A história da guerra de Canudos se tornou conhecida internacionalmente graças a Euclides da Cunha, que escreveu Os Sertões, descrevendo o conflito. Apesar de originalmente ser um engenheiro, Euclides sempre lutou ao lado dos oprimidos, escrevendo críticas sociais nos jornais sob o pseudônimo de “Proudhon”. Euclides também fora abolicionista muito antes do fim da escravidão. Sua vida e seus escritos sobre a guerra de Canudos refletem a destruição causada pela guerra total.

Os Sertões foi comparado à Ilíada de Homero: é o fundador de uma cultura, principiador de uma literatura e inventor de uma nacionalidade. Originalmente um escritor romântico influenciado por Victor Hugo, a prosa de Euclides se transfiguraria após o que viu em Canudos. Após testemunhar o desastre em Canudos, sua escrita se torna expressionista, denunciando as atrocidades perpetuadas pela República: “Euclides faz parte de uma geração desiludida pela República”, explica o pesquisador Francisco Foot Hardman. O escritor havia sido expulso da Escola Militar da Praia Vermelha após quebrar seu sabre durante um desfile militar, protestando contra a monarquia. Ele defendera a República, mas não podia mais defender o indefensável. Em Os Sertões, Euclides “denuncia o crime da nacionalidade”, diz Hardman. Depois da catástrofe de Canudos, sua fé na ordem e no progresso parecem retroceder: “Não é o bárbaro que nos ameaça, é a civilização que nos apavora”, lê-se nas páginas do livro.

Canudos ainda sobrevive. Não somente no imaginário popular, mas ainda ecoa em nossas vidas cotidianas. Analisando nosso cenário político contemporâneo, sobretudo as atrocidades que ocorrem diariamente em nossas favelas, Hardman diz que “os sertões estão aqui, os sertões estão entre nós.” Talvez, de alguma forma estejamos todos ainda esperando Antonio Conselheiro. Esperamos somente não enfrentar o mesmo destino dos quatro últimos resistentes de Canudos: apontados por rifles, “Canudos não se rendeu.”

This past October marked the 120th anniversary of Brazil’s biggest state-sponsored massacre. The War of Canudos took place between 1896 and 1897 and took the lives of 35,000 people, including men, women, and children. Amidst the civilians killed, at least 500 indigenous Kiriri died. According to the anthropologist Edwin Reesink (with whom I spoke over the phone), they were fighting with bow and arrow.

Like many before and after, the villagers of Canudos decided to defend their way of life to the death, rather than surrender to the new Brazilian Republic. Having been converted to Christendom in the 17th century by the Jesuits, they decided to join the battle thanks in part to the charismatic personality of Antonio Conselheiro (a local missionary that had founded the Canudos village). Social factors also played a role. As Reesink tells us: “The Kiriri were at their lowest point in history, they had trouble with the whites, suffered oppression and discrimination.”

A crucial moment in the Kiriri’s  decision to fight in the war was Conselheiro’s expedition on their territory to gather wood to build his church. Accompanied by numerous men, Conselheiro himself traveled more than 100 kilometers in order to get the wood. The Kiriri considered it “the world’s biggest joy” to have the priest pass through, according to Reesink.

Confirming the prophetic phrase that, “If goods don’t cross borders, troops will,” the War of Canudos started in June of 1896 with a trade dispute. When Conselheiro ordered some wood to build his church from a merchant in the city of Juazeiro, the mayor alerted local republican authorities, fearing that the priest could try to get the wood by force.

This hysteria snowballed into fears that Canudos was resisting the Republic and fomenting a monarchist uprising. This was a mischaracterization of the independence of Canudos, however. Those people were only fighting for their right to sovereignty and self-determination, a battle that many peoples still struggle through these days.

What happened then was Brazil’s biggest slaughter, with more than 35,000 people dead. The Canudos people succumbed and men, women, and children who resisted the Brazilian army were beheaded. The whole village was devastated, no building was left standing. The Brazilian writer Euclides da Cunha, wrote “They were beheaded. Their bodies burnt. They were then lined up, along the roadside, their heads regularly spaced, facing towards the road’s way.”

Not all of the Kiriri took part in the conflict yet, even for those that survived, the losses they suffered were irreparable. The last shamans that spoke their language were killed in action, weakening their link to the encantados, supernatural entities with whom the Kiriri believe they can speak and who help them through their political, social, and territorial struggles. Besides the religious trouble brought to them by the warfare, survivors often found that their land had been occupied by whites while they were absent, some of which still hasn’t been returned to their hands.

Mario Vargas Llosa, the Peruvian Nobel Prize winner, named this episode The War of the End of the World, in his famous book that recalls the war. The village was even swallowed by the Cocorobó river as if to suppress any hope that it might someday be recomposed.

Canudos was the victim of total warfare, modernity’s typical kind of war, in which only defeating your enemy isn’t good enough, you need to exterminate him, erase him off the face of the Earth. The concept of total war, originally coined by the Prussian general Carl von Clausewitz in his famous military treatise On War (Von Kriege), has been replicated in many conflicts throughout the world. It’s frightening, however, that the Brazilian government was one of the few regimes to apply this approach to its own people. We don’t need barbarian invasions, we’re our own Huns.

The history of the War of Canudos became internationally known due to Euclides da Cunha, who wrote Rebellion in the Backlands, describing the conflict. Though originally an engineer, Euclides always fought alongside the oppressed, writing social critiques on the news under the pseudonym “Proudhon.” He was also an abolitionist years before slavery was finally banned. His life and his writing on the War of Canudos reflect the destruction of a total war state.

Rebellion in the Backlands has been compared to Homer’s Iliad: it is the foundation of a culture, the beginning of a literature, and the inventor of a nationality.  Originally a romantic writer influenced by Victor Hugo, Euclides’ prose would be transfigured by what he says in Canudos. After witnessing the disaster in Canudos, his writing style becomes expressionist, denouncing the atrocities perpetrated by the Republic. “Euclides is part of a generation deluded by the Republic,” explains the researcher Francisco Foot Hardman. The writer had been expelled from the Military School of Praia Vermelha after breaking his saber during a military parade, protesting against the monarchy. He once defended the Republic, but he couldn’t defend the undefendable. In Rebellion in the Backlands, Euclides “denounces the crime of nationality,” says Hardman. After the Canudos catastrophe, his belief in order and progress seems to recede: “It isn’t barbarism that threatens us, it’s civilization that terrifies us,” says the book.

Canudos still survives. Not only in the popular imagination, but echoed in our daily lives. Analyzing our contemporary political scene, including the atrocities that take place daily in our favelas, Hardman says that “the backlands are here, the backlands are among us.” Maybe, in some way, we’re all still looking for Antonio Conselheiro. One can only hope, however, not to face the same fate of Canudos last four standing resistants: when faced with rifles, “Canudos didn’t surrender.”

Cover art by Joshua Sparrow.

View or download a PDF copy of Kevin Carson’s full C4SS Study: Libertarian Municipalism: Networked Cities as Resilient Platforms for Post-Capitalist Transition

We live in a time of terminal crisis for centralized institutions of all kinds, including the two most notable members of the genus: states and large corporations. Both a major cause and major symptom of this transition is the steady reduction in the amount of labor needed to produce a given level of output, and consequently in total aggregate demand for wage labor. This shows up in shrinking rates of workforce participation, and a shift of a growing part of the remaining workforce from full-time work to part-time and precarious employment (the latter including temporary and contract work). Another symptom is the retrenchment of the state in the face of fiscal crisis and a trend towards social austerity in most Western countries; this is paralleled by a disintegration of traditional employer-based safety nets, as part of the decline in full-time employment.

Peak Oil (and other fossil fuels) is creating pressure to shorten global supply and distribution chains. At the same time, the shift in advantage from military technologies for power projection to technologies for area denial means that the imperial costs of enforcing a globalized economic system of outsourced production under the legal control of Western capital are becoming prohibitive.

The same technological trends that are reducing the total need for labor also, in many cases, make direct production for use in the informal, social and household economies much more economically feasible. Cheap open-source CNC machine tools, networked information and digital platforms, Permaculture and community gardens, alternative currencies and mutual credit systems, all reduce the scale of feasible production for many goods to the household, multiple household and neighborhood levels, and similarly reduce the capital outlays required for directly producing consumption needs to a scale within the means of such groupings

Put all these trends together, and we see the old model of secure livelihood through wages collapsing at the same time new technology is destroying the material basis for dependence on corporations and the state.

But like all transitions, this is a transition not only from something, but to something. That something bears a more than passing resemblance to the libertarian communist future Pyotr Kropotkin described in The Conquest of Bread and Fields, Factories and Workshops: the relocalization of most economic functions into mixed agricultural/industrial villages, the control of production by those directly engaged in it, and a fading of the differences between town and country, work and leisure, and brain-work and muscle-work.

In particular, it is to a large extent a transition to a post-capitalist society centered on the commons. As Michel Bauwens puts it, the commons paradigm replaces the traditional Social Democratic paradigm in which value is created in the “private” (i.e. corporate) sector through commodity labor, and a portion of this value is redistributed by the state and by labor unions, to one in which value is co-created within the social commons outside the framework of wage labor and the cash nexus, and the process of value creation is governed by the co-creators themselves. Because of the technological changes entailed in what Bauwens calls “cosmo-local” production (physical production that’s primarily local, using relatively small-scale facilities, for local consumption, but using a global information commons freely available to all localities), the primary level of organization of this commons-based society will be local. Cosmo-local (DGML = Design Global, Manufacture Local) production is governed by the following principles:

• Protocol cooperativism: the underlying immaterial and algorithmic protocols are shared and open source, using copyfair principles (free sharing of knowledge, but commercialization conditioned by reciprocity)
• Open cooperativism: the commons-based coops are distinguished from ‘collective capitalism’ by their commitment to creating and expanding common goods for the whole of society; in Platform coops it is the platforms themselves that are the commons, needed to enable and manage the exchanges that may be needed, while protecting it from capture by extractive netarchical platforms
• Open and contributive accounting: fair distribution mechanisms that recognize all contributions
• Open and shared supply chains for mutual coordination
• Non-dominium forms of ownership (the means of production are held in common for the benefit of all participants in the eco-system.

In this paper, we will examine the emerging distributed and commons-based economy, as a base for post-capitalist transition, at three levels: the micro-village and other forms of cohousing/co-production, the city or town as a unit, and regional and global federations of cities.

Di Kevin Carson. Originale pubblicato il 29 febbraio 2016 con il titolo Once Upon a Time in America. Traduzione di Enrico Sanna.

C’è un mito che da secoli è al centro della cultura politica inglese. Dice: Prima che arrivassero i conquistatori normanni ad imporre il feudalesimo, l’Inghilterra anglosassone era un luogo idillico governato dalle “buone leggi di re Edoardo il Confessore”, i liberi tribunali proteggevano gli antichi diritti degli inglesi, e ognuno valeva quanto gli altri ed era meglio della maggioranza. A questa versione idealizzata dell’antica costituzione anglosassone, e della Magna Carta come tentativo di riportarla in vita, si è fatto appello durante la Guerra Civile Inglese, la Gloriosa Rivoluzione del 1688 e nei movimenti politici riformisti da allora in poi. Per lo più si trattava di cose senza senso che hanno poco a che spartire con la storia. Ma è probabile che fosse più aderente alla realtà di quanto non lo sia il mitico passato rivisto da Hillary Clinton.

Di questo mito esistono tante versioni. In ognuna c’è un’America giusta e armoniosa turbata dall’arrivo del cattivo che trasforma le “buone leggi di [fate voi]” nel regno dell’ingiustizia e della tirannia. Per la destra il cattivo  è la legge istitutiva della Federal Reserve, la tassa sul reddito e il New Deal. Per i liberal è Reagan e i repubblicani. La Clinton è solitamente tra questi ultimi.

Ad un comizio per le primarie della Carolina del Sud, ha detto: “Non abbiamo bisogno di riportare l’America alla sua grandezza. L’America non ha mai smesso di essere grande. Dobbiamo invece riportare l’America alla sua unità.” Poi ha aggiunto che l’America è stata “edificata da persone che si davano una mano a vicenda. Persone che sapevano che, quando ci impegniamo, miglioriamo tutti assieme.”

Se il mito inglese della costituzione anglosassone è perlopiù falso, questa immagine idealizzata del passato americano è 99,99 percento puro falso. Quando mai è esistita quell’America “unita” in cui tutti “si davano una mano a vicenda”? Mai? Chi “dava una mano” agli schiavi africani che morivano in catene lavorando nelle piantagioni, e edificando la capitale della nazione, e che ancora oggi vivono sproporzionatamente in povertà sotto il razzismo strutturale? Chi dava una mano agli indiani in gran parte sterminati? O ai tanti immigrati bianchi prima della Rivoluzione, che arrivavano qui condannati all’esilio o schiavi per debiti, e molti dei quali morivano in schiavitù? O ai soldati della Rivoluzione che credevano davvero di lottare per la libertà, salvo vedersela strappata dalle mani dall’impero, rimesso in piedi dai latifondisti in combriccola, dagli speculatori delle obbligazioni di guerra e dagli schiavisti delle piantagioni?

E ai contadini dissanguati dalle tasse, dall’usura e dagli affitti, perché gran parte delle terre erano state appropriate dai ricchi? Chi dava una mano ai lavoratori in sciopero, sparati come cani rognosi dai Pinkerton, dai poliziotti e dai soldati? E alle donne che non potevano possedere beni, firmare contratti o votare come gli uomini per gran parte della nostra storia, e che oggi vivono in un patriarcato strutturale? O agli LGBT, il cui diritto di vivere felici e di metter su famiglia solo ora si comincia a riconoscerlo legalmente, e che prima erano incriminati quasi dappertutto?

Come ogni altra società classista, come ogni altro stato nel corso della storia, l’America serve affinché i pochi ricchi e potenti vivano a spese dei molti poveri e impotenti. Se è mai esistito un “noi” nel paese, non era in un’America senza classi, unita, in cui si “migliora tutti assieme”. Era un mondo fatto di NOI contro LORO, gli stessi che oggi pagano le spese elettorali della Clinton, le persone che lei rappresenta, quelli per cui fa comizi a 200.000 dollari l’uno.

Come dice Howard Zinn (“Removing America’s Blinders,” The Progressive, 25 aprile 2006), “La nostra cultura ci impone, letteralmente, di accettare la comunanza di interessi che ci lega gli uni agli altri. Di classi non si dovrebbe neanche parlare.” “Nella storia delle bugie dette alla popolazione,” continua, “questa è la più grande. Nella storia dei segreti nascosti alla popolazione, questo è il più grande: che in questo paese esistono classi con interessi divergenti. Ignorarlo, non sapere che la storia del nostro paese è la storia di schiavisti contro schiavi, latifondisti contro contadini, aziende contro lavoratori, ricchi contro poveri; non sapere questo significa essere inermi di fronte alle bugie dette da chi sta al potere.”

Non è mai esistita un’America, né un mondo, in cui ci si dava una mano tutti quanti. Possiamo edificarne uno. Ma non eleggendo i governanti giusti. Bisogna prima levare via lo stato, con i capitalisti e le altre classi privilegiate che rappresenta, dalle nostre spalle. Bisogna prima capire che tutto ciò che abbiamo, ciò che soddisfa i nostri bisogni, è il prodotto della cooperazione e dall’interazione sociale pacifica. Sono loro ad aver bisogno di noi, non noi di loro.

C4SS, or the Center for a Stateless Society, is a left wing market anarchist think tank. The Center utilizes academic studies, book reviews, op-eds, and social media to put left market anarchist ideas at the forefront of libertarianism and to eventually bring about a world where individuals are liberated from oppressive states, structural poverty, and social injustice.

Simply, the Center’s mission is to build a new world in the shell of the old.

Students For Liberty’s LibertyCon is the year’s premier gathering of libertarian minds from all over the world – and C4SS is a mere $750 away from getting a table at this event. This is a wonderful opportunity to promote radical left anarchist ideas among young liberty lovers from around the globe.

Every penny counts and the Center appreciates any and all help you are willing to give. Let’s get C4SS to LibertyCon and start building the new world!

Donate here.

Di Logan Glitterbomb. Originale pubblicato l’undici gennaio 2018 con il titolo The PUSH Against Prison Slavery. Traduzione di Enrico Sanna.

I detenuti sono di nuovo in rivolta. Dopo l’ondata di scioperi in occasione del 45º anniversario della rivolta nel carcere di Attica, e dopo gli scioperi del 19 agosto scorso, oggi sono i detenuti della Florida in sciopero dal 15 gennaio, giornata dedicata a Martin Luther King. Da quella data, in quella che è stata chiamata Operation PUSH, i detenuti della Florida si rifiutano di lavorare finché non saranno accolte le loro richieste.

Queste ultime sono tre:

1: Fine della schiavitù in carcere.

2: Fine dei prezzi gonfiati.

3: Ristabilimento della libertà condizionata.

Chiedono la fine della schiavitù in carcere, ovvero l’obbligo di lavorare senza paga. Il lavoro deve essere pagato adeguatamente. La schiavitù in carcere è un istituto previsto dallo stesso emendamento costituzionale che, a parole, abolì la schiavitù. In realtà la schiavitù non è mai veramente abolita, ma solo nascosta dietro le sbarre.

I detenuti chiedono anche la fine dei prezzi gonfiati negli spacci carcerari. Non esiste alcuna ragione perché la pasta liofilizzata, notoriamente cibo dei poveri, costi fino a 17 dollari, ma è ciò che accade dietro le sbarre dove tutto è fornito da ditte che operano in monopolio. Tra prezzi gonfiati e lavoro servile, diventa praticamente impossibile far fronte alle necessità quotidiane senza aiuti dall’esterno.

E poi la libertà condizionata. Ristabilirne la possibilità per chi ha una condanna a vita e per chi subisce rinvii sine die, farebbe tantissimo per ridare speranza nella libertà a chi è stato rapito dallo stato di polizia, oltre ad alleggerire molti dei problemi causati dal carcere di massa e dal sovraffollamento.

I detenuti della Florida sono interessati anche ad altre iniziative, come la campagna Say Yes to Second Chances (Diciamo sì al Riscatto, ndt), per ridare il diritto di voto ai carcerati. Hanno poi espresso solidarietà con i movimenti che combattono la violenza del dipartimento carcerario della Florida, che ha portato il tasso di suicidio al massimo livello storico, chiedono la moratoria della pena di morte, vogliono far conoscere le condizioni di vita in celle ammuffite, afose ed esposte ad esalazioni tossiche. Singolare la lotta per impedire l’apertura di una miniera di fosfato letteralmente attorno all’istituzione medico-carceraria di Lake Butler, in Florida, con grossi rischi per la salute dei detenuti.

Questo non sarà l’ultimo sciopero, e l’operazione PUSH non passerà inosservata. Non sappiamo se le loro richieste saranno soddisfatte o se invece ci sarà una reazione violenta allo sciopero, ma noi possiamo esserci, possiamo scrivere, condividere, pubblicare proteste e azioni di solidarietà, e insomma fornire tutto quell’aiuto che si può fornire da fuori. Il compito è duro, ma collaborando con gli amici dietro le sbarre possiamo fare molto più di quanto sembri possibile.

Chi vuole aiutare, può contattare l’Incarcerated Workers Organizing Committee dell’Industrial Workers of the World e chiedere informazioni.

Di Isobel Ducasse. Originale pubblicato il 5 gennaio 2018 con il titolo The New [Digital] Biography. Traduzione di Enrico Sanna.

L’elaborazione dell’autobiografia, il movimento modernista e le false promesse dei social media nell’era di Trump

Questo saggio è stato scritto mentre erano in corso gli eventi di Charlottesville, in Virginia. Quanto al modo di vagliare le possibilità dei social media di stabilire un punto di vista politico nell’era di Trump, ero in impasse. Con il peggio dei nostri incubi distopici che prendeva corpo davanti ai nostri occhi, molti dissenzienti (compresa io) si sono riversati sui social come modo per resistere. A ripensarci, però, mi rendo conto che l’era Trump sta avendo conseguenze distopiche: una realtà che pian piano comincia a scrivere se stessa tramite i social media. Vediamo nei social uno strumento di resistenza, ma dobbiamo capire che vi accedono anche gli oppressori. Vorrei rifarmi ad un articolo di Virginia Woolf del 1927 per cercare di spiegare cosa è la “verità” nell’era di Trump.

All’inizio del suo articolo “The New Biography” (La Nuova Biografia, ndt), la Woolf parla della natura problematica delle biografie, della difficoltà che incontra il biografo ad unire due forze opposte: verità e personalità. La verità, nota, ci appare “solida come il granito”, mentre la personalità è “vaporosa come l’arcobaleno”. Secondo la Woolf, che scriveva nel 1927, l’arte biografica ha i suoi problemi. Oggi, con i social che offrono una miriade di strumenti a chiunque, l’arte di scrivere una biografia, di strappare alle mutevoli bizze della personalità una versione dei fatti che sia coerente e veritiera, è ancora più problematico. Scrivendo su Facebook, Instagram o Twitter, noi elaboriamo una nostra autobiografia ad uso di amici e famigliari, ma è proprio l’accesso pubblico a scrivere la nostra biografia al nostro posto. Come la Woolf sosteneva la necessità di una “nuova biografia”, così con questo saggio voglio evidenziare il fatto che anche la promessa di un’autobiografia digitale è falsa; anche nel 2017 fatichiamo a tenere assieme la “granitica” verità e la “vaporosa” personalità.

Viviamo nell’era trumpiana delle “notizie false” e dell’orribilmente orwelliana “realtà alternativa”, e niente fa sperare che la verità “granitica” possa emergere dalla disintegrazione dei media. La Woolf parla della “verità che la biografia esige… verità nella forma più dura e ostinata.” Un’immagine della verità che lei paragona alle enormi collezioni del British Museum: “verità da cui tutti i vapori della falsità siano stati dissipati dal peso della ricerca.” Quando la Woolf parla di verità sotto vetro, coerenti, da archivio, sta riflettendo sulle incoerenze della verità; anche quando si tratta di verità distillata, archiviata e preservata per le generazioni future. Forse l’ipotesi più terribile tra quelle sollevate da Trump è che tutta la realtà sia “alternativa”, e tutte le notizie più o meno “false”.

L’articolo della Woolf, ben curato, arrivato otto anni dopo la fine della prima guerra mondiale e tredici prima della seconda, usciva in un momento di cauto ottimismo per l’Europa. Sembrava che, almeno per il momento, il bene avesse trionfato. La “Grande Guerra” apparteneva al passato, la verità poteva tornare a regnare. La Woolf vedeva una sorta di “virtù” nel concetto di verità; forse anzi “una sorta di potere mistico” inerente l’idea che se la verità esiste, anche il bene o la speranza possono esistere. E non c’è dubbio che il 1926 fosse un anno di ottimismo per l’Europa; fu un’epoca incredibilmente prolifica per la letteratura. Con la nascita del movimento modernista e la pubblicazione dell’Ulisse di James Joyce nel 1922, il concetto di verità passò in secondo piano rispetto a ciò che il malinconico Stephen Dedalus considerava “l’ineluttabile modalità del visibile” (Joyce 37).

Da sempre la critica si chiede se Ritratto di un Artista da Giovane, di Joyce, e La Signora Dalloway, della Woolf, debbano essere considerate opere autobiografiche. Ma forse tutto ciò esula dal tema in questione: se la Verità da museo, con la V maiuscola, è mai esistita; e se è limitata solo ai libri di storia e alle teche di un museo. Come nota la Woolf, è soprattutto con la biografia del diciannovesimo che si cerca di andare oltre il concetto di “vita fatta unicamente di atti e opere” (Woolf 1). Per lei la vita è anche “fatta di personalità”. Stephen Dedalus osserva il lato oscuro delle sue palpebre chiuse e vede “il tempo in cui non ci sarà” (Joyce 37). La signora Dalloway non ricorda quanti anni ha trascorso a Westminster ma è ben felice di arrotondare a “più di venti” (Mrs. Dalloway 4). La critica letteraria considera l’epoca modernista un’epoca in cui lo stile ha subito una rivoluzione, ma sarebbe meglio dire che si tratta di una rivoluzione nell’idea di verità.

È proprio questa rivoluzione stilistica nel concetto di verità che culmina in quello che oggi chiamiamo il Culto della Personalità. Il narcisismo, questo derivato più che patologico dello spostamento letterario e culturale verso l’interiorità, rappresenta il dominio della personalità sulla verità. Per la Woolf, lo spostamento verso l’interiorità ha origine nelle tendenze novecentesche del genere biografico, con il suo tentativo di esprimere non solo l’esteriorità delle opere, ma anche l’interiorità delle emozioni” (Woolf 1). Questa enfasi sulla “vita interiore delle emozioni” è proprio ciò di cui si nutrono i moloc dei social media; è con i social che possiamo agire da autori della “vita interiore delle nostre emozioni e dei nostri pensieri”, ed è per questo che ci accingiamo al compito “con cura e devozione”. E lo facciamo senza il timore di essere giudicati. Se l’atto di scrivere un’autobiografia sa di vanità, curare un account è semplicemente de rigueur.

Quando accediamo al nostro account su Facebook o scriviamo un tweet per esprimere approvazione (o disgusto) per qualcosa, stiamo plasmando la nostra autobiografia; stiamo mettendo davanti agli occhi del mondo la vetrina delle nostre opinioni, dei punti di vista, delle vicende personali. Ma è il profilo in sé, visto da fuori (dal pubblico), che diventa una biografia autonoma, indipendente dalla nostra volontà di autore. Quando elaboriamo la nostra immagine sui social, stiamo accettando la finta nozione secondo cui noi possiamo controllare la “verità” della nostre opinioni. Commentando il genere biografico agli inizi del Novecento, la Woolf ammoniva: “quella vita che ci appare sempre più reale è una vita finta” perché “ha a che fare più con la personalità che con le azioni”. I social esaltano al massimo il concetto, sono dentro questo dualismo di personalità e verità.

Visto l’attuale clima politico, le parole della Woolf, che parlano di una graduale fusione tra finzione e esperienza di vita già agli inizi del Novecento, appaiono minacciosamente profetiche. Donald Trumpo non può staccarsi da Twitter perché l’idea che lui sia l’autore della sua stessa realtà lo gratifica. Ad un uomo la cui carriera è stata costruita sulla sua personalità combattiva, il colosso granitico della verità appare una barriera insormontabile. Il suo frenetico ricorso a Twitter lo tradisce. Mentre i sondaggi lo vedono affondare sempre più, lui continua a scrivere messaggini; e al diavolo la realtà! “Tranne le mie notizie, tutte le notizie sono false”, strilla nel vuoto. Ma per gran parte del paese la sua protesta è vuota. Se è vero che quello di Donald Trump è un tentativo di scrivere una biografia in 140 caratteri al massimo, si tratta della biografia di un uomo alla ricerca disperata di un riconoscimento. Nel tentativo di controllare la propria storia, è la sua storia a controllare lui.

Non tutti i casi sono gravi come quello di Donald Trump, anche se molti di noi abusano colpevolmente dei social in questo modo. Nel tentativo di plasmare l’immagine della nostra esistenza, creiamo una complessa meta-esistenza online, un’autobiografia che si scrive da sé per il pubblico anche quando elaboriamo messaggi privati per famigliari e amici. Se per la Woolf il lavoro del biografo è difficile perché “verità fattuale e verità fittizia sono incompatibili” e il moderno biografo è “chiamato a combinare le due cose”, per il biografo digitale questo compito diventa quasi impossibile. Il fatto che siano i social a scrivere la nostra realtà forse non scandalizza quanto l’idea di una “realtà alternativa”, ma ogni volta che accediamo alla nostra piattaforma online con la speranza di affermare la nostra verità autobiografica non facciamo altro che partecipare ad un gioco retorico. Il fatto che si cerchi di affermare la propria verità contro tutte le altre significa ammettere implicitamente che tutte le altre sono finte; che “tranne le mie notizie, tutte le notizie sono false”.

Per la Woolf, che scriveva nel 1927, la sintesi di “verità granitica e finzione vaporosa” restava un fatto fuggente. “Pensate se la vostra vita,” diceva, “dovesse essere vagliata pochi anni dopo essere stata vissuta. Pensate a come Lord Morely l’avrebbe raccontata; o a come Sir Sidney Lee l’avrebbe documentata; sarebbe strano vedere che ciò che allora appariva reale è sfuggito come acqua tra le dita.” Biografi a parte, pensate alla vostra immagine dell’anno scorso su Facebook o Twitter, pensate a come tutto ciò che allora sembrava “molto reale” è “sfuggito” tra le dita. Come dice la Woolf, “non conosciamo biografi la cui arte sia così raffinata e coraggiosa da formare quello strano amalgama di sogno e realtà, quel matrimonio indissolubile tra il granito e l’arcobaleno”; né possiamo sperare di creare noi stessi questa “arte”. I social promettono il falso: la verità della personalità e la verità dell’esperienza sono fondamentalmente effimere. Continuiamo a camminare nell’oscurità aggrappandoci alla “ineluttabile modalità del visibile”.

Opere citate:

Woolf, Virginia. Mrs. Dalloway. San Diego: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1990. Print.

Woolf, Virginia. “The New Biography.” New York Herald Tribune. 30 October 1927. Print.

Joyce, James, and Hans W. Gabler. Ulysses. London: Vintage Classic, 2008. Print.

There is no reviewing Michael Wolff’s book Fire and Fury: Inside The Trump White House without commenting on its questionable cannonicity. But there’s also no mistaking its appeal as a supplemental to the last season of electoral politics in America. Like any good expanded universe offering it tries to enrich and deepen everything that entertained us on the screen, offering retcons, fleshed in backstory, and world-building. There’s a certain kind of minor catharsis to such works, making sense of the sometimes rushed, contradictory and half-assed storyline we were initially presented, but it is also undermined by a sense that anything within could be casually discarded back on the television show.

Wolff, like all good writers seeking to reproduce the appeal of a franchise they didn’t personally launch, has to make choices about what the defining themes and tropes are. This is a place where the pull of simplicity, so reassuring and relieving in its reductions, can be dangerous — can strip away other elements that are crucial to the franchise but don’t personally resonate with the author. Wolff’s perspective is the same as most of those he interviewed: upper class — not just in money but in status, in social, cultural, and intellectual capital. And his narrative of the Trump presidency is defined by such affiliations. It’s a story of a very stupid and classless man who rose above his station and in so doing caused all the relatively sane people around him to do stupid things in response. What it’s not a story of is the political context — the forces that placed Trump on his throne and have kept him suspended.

Wolff’s book is a collection of a hundred clamoring voices trying to make sure everyone realizes they get that Trump is an idiot. This leads to just endless brutal quotes and stories from nearly every figure in orbit of Trump, but Wolff’s delight in being handed these golden nuggets leads him to just build his narrative entirely from them. In fact, if there is one noteworthy contribution Wolff makes to the industry of commentary on Trump, it’s to push harder the notion that Trump has a guileless childlike side that is desperate for approval. “The president fundamentally wants to be liked,” Wolff quotes Katie Walsh. “He just fundamentally needs to be liked so badly that it’s always . . . everything is a struggle for him.”

This Trump is a figure desperately yearning for approval from figures he’s decided are powerful and then lashing out when the things he’s convinced himself will win them over inevitably don’t. Wolff’s picture is of a Trump administration not locked in a conservative media bubble, but in fact deeply attentive and hurt by the elite liberal press. Yearning for positive write-ups in the NYTimes or The Guardian.

This picture is, I think, from the vantage-point of early 2018, mostly correct. And it’s useful in deciphering the few surprises there were for many of us. Trump has certainly threatened media outlets and of course is suing to prevent the release of Fire and Fury, but he hasn’t directly had any major reporters or publishers arrested or raided (ignoring shit like J20). Not even after a whole year. This has honestly surprised the shit out of me.

Trump is an authoritarian creature with almost no sense of restraint or convention to his naked pursuit of power, but I underestimated just how much of a media creature he is. A normal politician might seek power according to the conventional rules of the political game, Trump seeks power according to his notion of the rules of the media game, specifically the rules he’s learned over decades of fighting to win the New York tabloids. The takeaway here is that he actually has some sense of propriety and self-constraint! Just as a normal politician will sometimes be willing to violate the rules of the media power game while sticking to the deeper rules of the political game, Trump does the inverse. It somehow, blessedly, never occurs to him to “just use the police” against Mika and Joe. He has an authoritarian’s hunger for simple brutal solutions and utter disregard for institutional conventions, but he doesn’t have the imagination to grasp the power he now wields, much less its function and how to maximize its impact.

It’s been obvious from the start that Trump was an idiot and that his authoritarianism would be — to some very uncertain degree — impeded by his incompetence. But what we’ve watched over the last year (“the best possible timeline: the maximally incompetent timeline!” as friends keep putting it) hasn’t just been incompetence, it’s actually shown that Trump is playing a game with boundaries. At least for the moment.

Anarchists like to pretend that we’re above the fray of presidential politics, pointing out that either party in office just means different sorts of downsides. Trump shattered this primarily because his disregard for conventions posed an unprecedented existential risk to us. Sure repression of radical movements would continue under any president, but when Trump was elected we suddenly faced the possibility of being wiped off the board in an instant.

The central dynamic of concern in the Trump administration has been basically that the cops will act autonomously when they feel they’ve been given license by the strongman president. J20 happens and they arrest hundreds for no reason and charge them all with felonies because Trump wants that protest shit dealt with. The Muslim ban happens and cops at airports laugh away lawyers with injunctions from judges. And so it could conceivably go until liberals realize too late just how paper thin and meaningless their system’s checks and balances are.

The apocalypse of the anarchist movement in the US would be a repeat of the Palmer Raids. Gin up a hysteria about the far left as terrorists, get the police to eat out of Trump’s hand directly and with the verve to bypass the liberal legal system you could shock and awe America. In the worst version, thousands of arrests, hundreds of homes raided. An entire movement instantaneously jailed or broken beyond capacity to repair in the face of continued repression going forward. Sure you’d get a thousand volunteer lawyers and ACLU full page ads, but you’d raise the conflict to a level that the radical left didn’t have the resources to scale to, bogging them down. The liberal masses would get relatively radicalized, but with our radical activist infrastructure and knowledge base crippled they’d be inefficient and make piles of mistakes. They’d become trapped in reactive mode and the right could steamroll over them, happily violating the law and liberal norms.

Almost everyone I know spent early 2017 white-knuckling at the threat of this catastrophe. “How do we preserve anarchism in the years to come?” became the immediate topic in a lot of hushed cafe meetings and forest strolls. With the secondary consideration always lurking, “Alright, what infrastructure should we be preparing if shit turns into an open civil conflict?” To be fair, most of us thought the more likely repression would be somewhere around the scale of the first Bush administration. But the outside possibility of total and sudden apocalypse was suddenly real like it’d never been before. And if you don’t prepare for disastrous escalations, if you don’t have responses in place, you make such an escalation more likely.

Get money, get underground networks and technical infrastructure set up, train the shit out of everyone, make endless fall back plans, fight for citizenship in other countries. This was basically 2017 for a lot of anarchist activists.

But after some initial horrors (that were largely in sequence with past atrocities like those of the Bush administration) Trump never really unleashed the cops. There were overtures and purges to shore up his power within the gun-carrying thug base of american political power, but nothing rapid or truly audacious.

Where was the “I’ll pay your legal bills” Trump from the campaign hungering for blood?

We know Trump’s a racist thug, sympathetic to neonazis, who sees the world as a zero sum brutal competition of dominance. And Wolff’s book even offers a passing bit about him trying to defend the KKK. But why has Trump not killed us all? Why are we *only* defending against absurd evils like the prosecution of J20 and NoDAPL protesters?

Wolff almost entirely disregards Trump’s authoritarianism and the hyper authoritarianism/nationalism of Trumpism, his indictment of the Trump administration is idiocy and cultural outsiderness. Wolff does shit like referring to Nigel Farage as merely “right-wing.” All the fascistic — sometimes literally card-carrying — figures like Gorka or Miller are rendered as merely conservatives. Spencer’s more prominent neonazi antics on the national stage get a few passing paragraphs (notably without any sort of detail on responses within the white house).

But the other interesting thing in all this is Bannon, the conscious nationalist/authoritarian with a plan. For all of his conscious promotion of unprecedented war on the institutions of liberal democracy, in Wolff’s account Bannon actually demonstrates a bit of timidity when it comes to violating the constitution itself. Despite brazenly pushing ahead on a number of fronts, he has limits — he notices parallels to Watergate and sees that as obviously reason for retreat. This is so utterly outside his usual modus operandi it warrants notice. In general Bannon is all about ‘get the lefties to riot so we can round them up’ but repeatedly he seems to instinctively draw a line between overturning political convention and overturning the constitution.

This is perhaps the most interesting part of Fire and Fury for me. Bannon is clearly pushing a narrative where he’s the cassandra who won Trump the election and then called out every mistake Trump ever made. In Wolff’s account, Bannon repeatedly and delightedly forecasted the doom brought by Ivanka and Kushner’s Russia dealings. Bannon is ecstatic to have never been in the room with any Russians and brags endlessly about his safety from the coming collapse. But it’s worth noting that, in one stark passage, Bannon even brags about how it would never occur to him to invite the Russians to hand over dirt in a Trump building. No, he’d use cheap motels on the edge of town and have dirty lawyers handle the handoff.

This is fascinating because it signals another constraint within the Trump administration. If Trump has an instinctive respect for the media, Bannon has an instinctive respect for the law. Of course he’d break it and fight it, but he wouldn’t flagrantly disregard it, he’d be attentive to The Game. Of course Trump would castigate the news media as “fake news” and fight with them bitterly, but he wouldn’t literally bust up CNN. There are sets of rules, systems, *games*, neither Trump nor Bannon have the imagination to think of entirely violating or discarding. The Trump Presidency is actually, contrary to initial appearances, actually on the rails.

These rails may well be leading us inexorably to a fucking nuclear holocaust in Korea, but there is at least some promise of predictability.

Most of Wolff’s account is just juicy confirmation of things anyone watching The Trump Show already knew. The triangulation between three power centers of Bannon, the republican establishment, and the rich centrist democrats from New York. While everyone squeals to make their involvement in the Trump catastrophe look better, Bannon clearly squeals the most. Fire and Fury is almost entirely a narrative of Bannon’s ups and downs. And despite Wolff wanting to talk shit on Bannon as declasse, full of himself, ugly and unfashionable, these are meaningless critiques which only allow Bannon’s self-narrative to dominate Fire and Fury.

What’s frustrating and horrifying is that while Bannon’s wild aspirations of becoming President himself are clearly unhinged, he’s demonstrably sharp and wins again and again over the course of 2017 against all the forces and odds aligned against him. If anything Fire and Fury becomes an underdog story about how Bannon got put in the doghouse and stripped of all power again and again only to repeatedly rise up from the ashes and beat down all his enemies. This is of course Bannon’s self-narrative and Wolff wants to poke fun at its pomposity by just letting him air it, but it’s enough of a compelling narrative to start to gel the book together.

Of course Fire and Fury’s text is an incomplete entry and you have to turn to the downloadable content available on its release to get the full story. As we all know by now — but spoilers if you haven’t been watching — Bannon’s cockiness in the book got him fired from Breitbart by the Mercers — the billionaire true-believers who’d ceaselessly invested in wingnut candidates and finally won big with Trump.

Bannon may have lost his alt-right attack dog because of his big mouth, but Fire and Fury detailed his ties to conservative media beyond Breittbart and Bannon’s not one to let himself be put to pasture. He’s now all in on the Russian investigation pulling most of the administration down. And Bannon’s evil hyper-nationalist politics remain strongly positioned in the white house. Wolff makes it clear that Stephen Miller has stepped into Bannon’s shoes as “the senior political strategist.” Miller is clearly less intelligent than Bannon, but he’s also clearly better at the raw shameless sucking up that Bannon could never do — so infamously preoccupied with sucking his own cock. And most concerning, Miller is even further down Nazi Lane than Bannon.

Wolff’s book is one more piece of evidence on the pile of proof that the president is too stupid to plan or strategize, he’s a man of pure immediacy, bounced between emotional reactions to whoever is talking in his ear at a given moment. If the rich centrist democrats all fall to the Russia investigation and the establishment republicans remain paralyzed, the only remaining power base in the white house will be the remnants of Bannon’s. One hopes the terrible military men trying to impose order can gatekeep Miller away, but Miller clearly knows that going on TV and embarrassing himself in prostrate defense of the president is the best way to retain control over the president.

It’s weird to think that a fascistic weasel like Bannon had his fear of the law check his authoritarian plans at least as much as Ivanka’s coalition, just as it’s weird to think that Bannon was the one pushing back against the standard Kissinger warmongering and Donald’s own “just nuke em” instincts. Reading Fire and Fury one is reminded of nothing so much as the classic Simpsons’ scene where Mr. Burns is revealed to have dozens of horrific maladies and illnesses at once, but that their competition against one another balances them out, making it impossible for any one terrible tendency to achieve victory. While many of us have been breathing a sigh of relief at surviving to the end of 2017, and Bannon’s exile and seeming impeding fall of Kushner and co from the Russia investigation may actually herald a new, worse era. I, for one, will continue to tune in to the most fantastical tv show of our era.

The prisoners are revolting again, folks. After the wave of strikes launched on the 45th anniversary of the Attica Prison riots and the August 19th strikes of this past year, inmates in Florida are planning another strike starting on January 15th, 2018 on Martin Luther King Day. On that day, in what has been dubbed Operation PUSH, inmates across Florida will refuse to do any work until their demands are met.

Their demands are threefold:

1. End prison slavery
2. End price gouging
3. Reinstate parole options

They demand the end to prison slavery in the form of unpaid labor and demand just compensation for all work they do. With prison slavery explicitly written into the very amendment we were always told ended slavery, it is high time we put an end to a practice that was never abolished but rather hidden away behind bars. They demand the end of the of price gouging practiced by prison canteens. In a country where it is known as a staple in poverty diets, there is absolutely no reason that a box of instant ramen should cost upwards of $17, but that’s the situation faced behind bars where everything is provided by monopolistic sources. Partner price gouging with slave labor and it becomes a huge task just to pay for one’s daily needs without outside help. Reinstating parole options for those serving life sentences and Buck Rogers dates, meaning that any hope of parole is unimaginably far off in the future, would go a long way towards both giving hope for freedom to those kidnapped by the police state and relieving some of the problems of mass incarceration and overcrowding.

In addition to these goals, Florida inmates have shown their support for a number of other issues and campaigns including the Say Yes to Second Chances campaign which seeks to restore voting rights to Florida felons. They have also expressed solidarity with movements to combat FDOC brutality which has lead to some of the highest death rates in prison history, to honor the moratorium on state executions, and to expose the environmental conditions faced by inmates including mold, extreme temperatures, and exposure to toxic sites. Currently many are fighting against a proposed phosphate mine which would surround the Reception and Medical Center prison in Lake Butler, Florida, thus subjecting the inmates to potential health risks.

This will not be the last strike nor will Operation PUSH go without challenge. We do not know if their demands will be met or what backlash they will face as a result of their strike but, we can be there now, and in the aftermath to write, share resources, host solidarity protests and actions, and provide whatever help we possibly can from the outside. There is a lot to be done but by working together with our comrades behind bars we can achieve more than we ever thought possible.

Contact the Incarcerated Workers Organizing Committee of the Industrial Workers of the World to see how you can get involved and help the cause.

Rothbard, Murray, ed. Left & Right: A Journal of Libertarian Thought. Auburn. Alabama Ludwig Von Mises Institute. 2007

The mid-sixties was a unique time in the history of the libertarian movement, as well as in the world at large. US involvement in Vietnam was escalating, the Cold War was at its height, and the civil rights movement had achieved its biggest legislative victory. Dialogue from the political right had become increasingly internationally interventionist, dominated by National Review style anti-communist paranoia. The American political establishment on both sides of the aisle was united in favor of corporatism at home and militarism abroad.

It was in this environment that the seminal libertarian author and activist Murray Rothbard (who almost certainly needs no introduction on this site), became disillusioned with the political right and openly sympathetic to the New Left. This evolution in sympathies is captured in Rothbard’s Left & Right: Journal of Libertarian Thought, which was released in a series of volumes from 1965 to 1968. The complete journal is conveniently available, free of charge, here. In these volumes, Rothbard and his associates embrace Students for a Democratic Society, the Black Power Movement, the American Indian Movement, and the Anti-War movement (emphasizing the opposition to the draft). The authors seek a synthesis of their own libertarianism with anti-establishment leftism.

This is the closest Rothbard comes to a left-libertarianism, making Left & Right a favorite among left-libertarians. It is also quite a refreshing read, especially in today’s political climate in which vast sections of the libertarian movement have been seduced by Trumpian nationalism, white identity politics, and reactionary dog-whistling. Rothbard embraces the ideals of the culturally progressive college students of his day, and this stands in refreshing contrast to both his later, more reactionary, works and the current libertarian mainstream. This not to say there is not a hidden and troubling underside of this work that foreshadows Rothbard’s future reactionary output. There is, in fact, an ugly side of this book which will be addressed in this review.  

At just under 700 pages, this book is something of a wild ride with subject matter scattered all over the place. While Rothbard is the biggest single contributor to this collection, his associates’ work makes up just as much if not more of the text. Readers who don’t enjoy a given essay need only wait until the next one to get something completely different.

Also of note is how surprisingly nonacademic this book is. Those looking for complex discussions on economic theory had best look elsewhere. However, readers looking for opinion pieces on everything from the draft to fishing rights are in luck. While many of the contributions are op-ed length, there are some lengthier pieces too. Some of Rothbard’s specifically go on longer than expected, but remain interesting throughout. For example, the Journal’s opener: Left and Right the Prospects for Liberty, provides a much more in-depth history of libertarian thought than would be expected from its opening paragraphs.

In this essay, Rothbard explains why traditional left-right thinking is no longer valid and builds an understanding of liberty which pulls from both ends of the spectrum. He argues that the traditional enemies of liberty have in fact been the conservatives who fought to preserve the monarchies, theocracies, and landed aristocracies of the past. He argues that the collapse of these old orders liberated people and improved living standards.

Thus, Rothbard contends, classical liberalism is the opposite of conservatism. Elsewhere, he specifically criticizes the conservatives of his era for their love of militarism, imperialism, and police brutality against black Americans. Among his more outstanding quotes is one that reads:

Conservatism is a dying remnant of the ancien régime of the preindustrial era, and, as such, it has no future. In its contemporary American form, the recent Conservative Revival embodied the death throes of an ineluctably moribund, Fundamentalist, rural, small-town, white Anglo-Saxon America.

He adds that state socialism (and by implication progressivism) are confused middle of the road philosophies that seek egalitarian and liberal ends while clinging to conservative, authoritarian means. These ideologies, therefore, suffer from a contradiction between means and goals. Unfortunately, his praise of the Industrial Revolution in this essay glosses over the state’s role in getting the rural population working in factories, but other essays in this collection cover the building of the industrial working class in greater detail.

In another of the lengthier pieces, Harry Elmer Barnes argues that Franklin Delano Roosevelt’s administration knew about the upcoming Pearl Harbor attacks well in advance and intentionally allowed them to happen. The administration, Barnes claims, needed a surprise attack from Japan to move public opinion away from isolationism and build support for US involvement in World War II.

Barnes points out that the US had decoded the Japanese transmission encryption system (referred to as “Purple” by US Intelligence) by early December of 1941, and multiple messages had been received indicating a surprise attack on Pearl Harbor on the 7th. He notes that any attempts to warn the commanding officers in Hawaii, General Walter E. Short and Admiral Husband E. Kimmel, were routinely blocked by officials close Roosevelt, especially General George C. Marshall (Roosevelt’s Chief of Staff of The Army) and General Carter W. Clarke. Marshall, Clarke, and Roosevelt are unequivocally the bad guys in Barnes’ narrative, while Short and Kimmel are the unfairly blamed fall-guys.

Barnes notes that, by the time of the Pearl Harbor attacks, Roosevelt had already committed to a US response to Japanese movements towards South East Asia with the Dutch and the British. He notes the administration increasingly escalated tensions with Japan, including rejecting all of Japan’s proposed peaceful settlements.

Barnes indicates that secret communications between Roosevelt and Churchill made it clear that Roosevelt wanted to enter the war in Europe and that a Japanese attack would have been a convenient back door to do so, as no attacks were coming from Germany or Italy. Barnes’ case makes for an interesting read, though most readers will likely lack the historical background needed to evaluate his claims without a great deal of further research.

This is unfortunate as Barnes’ claims often require some educated skepticism. Barnes’ isolationism has led to a vulgar willingness to under-emphasize, if not outright deny, the crimes of the regimes the United States was warring against. He says nothing of the brutal atrocities imperial Japan had committed on the Chinese mainland prior to the Pearl Harbor bombing. It gets much worse, as he was also an early promoter of Holocaust denial and all the antisemitism that comes with it. Furthermore, Barnes had been promoting these views up to the time of his contribution to this volume. Rothbard was almost certainly aware of this when he invited Barnes to contribute here, further staining his own legacy.

Unsurprisingly, much of this volume is focused on US involvement in Vietnam and the associated anti-war movement. Multiple essays focus on David Mitchell, a young anti-draft activist whose prison sentence was ultimately overturned. One of these essays includes early claims that the US and its agents had been torching Vietnamese villages, burning food supplies, and engaging in torture, or more broadly speaking committing crimes against humanity.

The criticisms brought forward in these volumes also extend to the growing military industrial complex, specifically targeting General Dynamics. The university system is also criticized for emphasizing career paths that funnel human resources to military-related industries. University of California President Clark Kerr is singled out in this regard. Then-Governor Ronald Reagan is in fact praised for firing Kerr, though it is somewhat acknowledged that Reagan did the right thing for the wrong reasons, namely because Kerr was perceived as weak in the face of left-wing radicalism on campus.

A great deal of distinction is made between the Old Left of the Democratic establishment and the anti-authoritarian New Left. Rothbard’s criticisms of the Old Left sound almost Chomskyan as he contends that the Old Left wanted to reduce the masses to passive observers. Rothbard praises the New Left because they were not satisfied to merely take control of existing state institutions, but rather wanted to create parallel alternatives. He also claims that their use of civil disobedience made the New Left a “movement of heroes.”

Likewise, the contemporary Right is viewed as deplorable sell-outs. He shows a strong dislike of William Buckley Jr. and his National Review staff for favoring intervention abroad and a strong police presence at home. He mocks National Review‘s desire to purge the conservative movement of embarrassing elements, such as the John Birch Society (disfavored by more mainstream conservatives due to their conspiratorial anti-communist paranoia). He argues that the “Birchers” were embarrassing only because they took the National Review’s rhetorical style to its ultimate conclusion.

No review of this work would be complete without commenting on Rothbard’s distinct writing style. While he clearly conveys passion for his subject matter, he often does so in a way that comes off as over the top, if not outright pretentious. Examples include his frequent and un-ironic use of terms like “glorious” to describe anything he favors. In another instance, the heartfelt mood of Rothbard’s glowing obituary to his mentor, Frank Chodorov, is disrupted when Rothbard compares the discontinuation of one of Chodorov’s publications to the death of a “dearly beloved” family member, with no hint of exaggeration.

Additionally, Rothbard opens the first volume by declaring “A new Journal of public opinion must justify existence; our justification is a deep commitment to the liberty of man.” While his commitment to liberty is laudable, one is left wondering why a journal must have such a justification and what happens if a new journal goes without one?

In addition to his flowery language Rothbard tends to write as if the audience is automatically inclined to agree with him. However, these tendencies are usually a source of amusement for the reader rather than an annoyance, as Rothbard’s work is often sandwiched between that of other writers. At times it even works to his advantage, especially when he is in attack mode. This is the case in his scathing review of National Review contributor Frank S. Meyer’s book on the “Moulding of Communists.“

Meyer is himself a former Communist Party member, but his insider report of the maliciousness of American communists focuses on the tendency of Communist Party members to befriend like-minded individuals, develop friendships with other Communist Party members, and develop a conformity of thought and dedication to the cause. Rothbard points out that these behaviors are not in any way unique to communists, but are associated with all forms of dedicated “organization men,” whether they be dedicated General Motors employees or, horror of horrors, National Review contributors. Rothbard’s condescending delivery of this point is genuinely hilarious.

Overall the book has an interesting take on the issue of international communism. While Rothbard and his associates view it as a wrong-headed ideology, they do not see it as a clear or present danger to freedom in the United States. They see using warfare and militarism to fight or contain communism internationally as itself a threat to freedom and security and the use of government to crack down on communist activism in the US a violation of personal freedom. Furthermore, they note that this anti-communist fervor has been used to justify a massive expansion of the state.

Leonard P. Liggio, another prolific contributor, argues that many of the 20th century’s communist movements formed in opposition to authoritarian forms of tribalism, feudalism, and slavery, much like classical liberal movements in previous centuries. Thus he sees them as having anti-colonial and anti-imperial aspects that are essentially positive.

There are unsurprisingly many parts of the book that have not aged well. The fact that a major contributor was also a Holocaust denier, is the most blatant. The fact that his contribution is preceded by a glowing introduction and eulogy from Rothbard (Barnes died shortly after writing his contribution to this journal), is even worse. Rothbard praises Barnes as “a teacher and a friend.” He elaborates by describing Barnes as “cheery, courteous, a witty and often ribald raconteur, a marvelous and lovable companion.” Rothbard does not directly mention Barnes’ Holocaust denial but praises his World War II revisionism in general and works of which Holocaust denial was a major part.

That Rothbard, who was himself Jewish, would so glowingly praise and provide an outlet for such a figure, reflects a long-term valuing of ideology over truth or decency that would continue to haunt his work in the decades to come. The fact that the Mises Institute has reprinted the piece on their own site without comment, reflects poorly on them as well.

Other instances of datedness abound in this book, such as the use of terms like “Negro” and “Japs.” While the former was, to an extent, the accepted term at the time, its inclusion does remind the reader how much has changed since. The latter always was and remains an insult. Even some of the essays with seemingly-progressive messages betray problematic tendencies in the authors’ thought.

The editorial “A Cry for Power Black, White, and Polish,” argues for a sort of black nationalism, where black majority areas secede from the US government and become autonomous units. The author affirms that forms of nationalism focused on freeing an oppressed people from the hands of their oppressors is a positive thing, and thus a black power movement that seeks to do this is a positive thing as well.

The author goes on to add, that “white power” could also be a positive thing for under-privileged parts of the white population. “Polish Power” is presumably favorable as well. The pieces here seem to show a preference for black separatism over integration into the larger “white” society, that seems to be built on some flawed, unstated assumptions that black Americans are in fact unwilling or unable to become part of the larger society. While there is a legitimate criticism to be made against the liberals of the day using the state to forcibly integrate populations, favoring the opposite extreme is also unreasonable.

Unsurprisingly many of the treatments on Communism seem to under-emphasize the horrors of communist regimes in a similar vein to Barnes’ silence on the horrific crimes of imperial Japan and his Holocaust denial.

In addition to the original material, there also reprints of classic libertarian pieces by figures such as Herbert Spencer (discussing the evils of imperialism) and Lysander Spooner (discussing his understanding of natural law). All of which feels relevant to the postwar political atmosphere of the time.

Due to the diverse range of subject matter and the amount of detail in these essays, there is far more here than can be discussed in a review of reasonable length. This book has something for every type of libertarian, as well something for every type of libertarian to find objectionable. This does not mention the things in it which everyone should find objectionable. Ultimately the collection reflects the thinking of its time, including some highly problematic assumptions, while giving a glimpse of how libertarian ideals and leftist ones can converge in the future.

The Last Jedi, Rian Johnson’s recent continuation of the Star Wars saga, has generated many new takes. Yet most focus on debates about aesthetics, storytelling, cinematography, fandom politics, and concerns with fantasy physics rather than the social and political commentary of the movie. Perhaps it’s because the main political messages of this installment were so heavy-handed and obvious. Not only do those evil arms dealers get rich while destroying the galaxy, they abuse children and horse-creatures to boot! (yawn)

Kylo Ren may be a little more conflicted and complicated than your average action-movie villain. But as the allegorical alt-right edgelord, his somewhat pathetic sad-boy histrionics struck me as similarly on-the-nose. Making the free-spirited hacker DJ come off like a selfish jerk felt like an unnecessary, but predictable, jab at the crypto-anarchist movement.

Hell, there’s a reason the most vapid, liberal anti-Trumpers lifted the name “the Resistance.” The new trilogy’s main plot has the kind of political points that appeal to people who think electing Democrats is going to save us from this hellscape.

There are, however, some truly interesting political dynamics at play in The Last Jedi. Beyond the battle between light and dark, the film explores the inner dynamics of resistance fights and the interaction of faith and politics in pretty exciting ways.   

What makes the rebels good?

As in the standalone Rogue One, the Resistance is portrayed a little differently than the Rebels in the original trilogy. Instead of a unified, unproblematic front, our heroes are a bit more human. While this film didn’t go quite as far into the complicated dynamics of insurrection — Rogue One’s exploration of the line between resistance and terrorism has a special place in my heart — it did problematize hierarchy, bravery, and strategy in new and interesting ways.

David Sims explores the new dynamic around bravery in an article in the Atlantic, explicating the ways in which the Resistance’s motivations are more complex — and relevant — than in earlier films. He states, “Johnson roots [Finn’s] rebellion in Finn’s trauma (he was brainwashed into service by Phasma and her cronies as a child), but also in the oppression Rose shows him on Canto Bight, which extends beyond the heartlessness of the First Order.”

We’re probably supposed to view Finn’s attempt to desert as shameful, but it’s pretty understandable and I was sympathetic to his choice. After all, I’ve made similar decisions in my own life recently — choosing, as Finn did — to reverse them once I deepened my understanding of mutual oppression and realized that saving myself wasn’t going to be worth it if I left my friends to the fight.

This urge to flee is a central theme in the movie, and is a major contrast with the earlier films which portrayed the heroes as larger than life, beyond self-preservation, and purpose-driven. Natalie Zutter sums up the eerie familiarity of watching Resistance fighters desert over on Tor.com:

[W]hen you’re an adult, who can see where the cogs have gotten stuck in the gears and the system is churning toward collapse, there is a shameful relief in how The Last Jedi highlights that tendency toward the denial, the selfish self-preservation. This is how a Star Wars movie speaks to its audience in 2017…. Finn doesn’t choose to rejoin the system; he is stunned and dragged back into the fight.

Again, Rogue One did this a bit better, highlighting how people born into a rebellion — and those unable to flee — don’t really get a choice in whether to fight or not. But presenting the people of the Resistance as scared, confused humans, rather than confident and stable superhumans gives the film room to explore some really important themes of which I want to turn to now: the inner workings of military resistance and the role of faith in rebellion against oppression.

Military resistance necessitates some ethical dilemmas

Some of these are obvious: Murdering people is generally ethically wrong, unless you have a damn good reason to do so. But what I want to look are the issues that remain once you decide fighting is absolutely necessary. Military institutions necessitate some amount of hierarchy and some amount of anti-individualism (in the form of devaluing self-preservation). They value “bravery” in a way that’s not always productive.

The Last Jedi takes an interesting look at all of these issues. Vice Admiral Holdo’s portrayal is particularly amazing on this front. Her refusal to explain the plan to Poe seems mean-spirited at first. If she’d just told him what she had cooking, his kooky sub-plot wouldn’t have been necessary. Poor Poe! But on a second pass, her actions make sense for a military commander. Why the hell should she answer to him? He’s proven to be reckless and hard to work with. She outranks him and is, presumably, busy as fuck getting everything ready. Plus, she’s a new leader who probably feels the need to assert a little dominance over a frightened and demoralized crew that doesn’t quite trust her yet.

I don’t want to over-analyze this dynamic, but it got me thinking about a few things. Military infrastructure is especially prone to this kind of miscommunication/power struggle/misalignment of incentives. When you rely on one leader and follow her without question — General Leia Organa in this case — her death or incapacitation creates a power vacuum. The hierarchy also focuses at least some of everyone’s energy on maintaining their own place in it, over actual success. Did Poe hatch the plan because he really though Holdo couldn’t hack it? Or did he just want to regain his former glory and prove that he really did know best?

This sub-plot also did some beautiful things with misogyny (this probably deserves it’s own essay). To my embarrassment, even I hated Holdo at first. I was sitting there in the movie theater thinking “fuck, I didn’t trust this woman either.”

We’re told she’s a galaxy-famous commander with more than a little experience under her belt. Leia — whose judgement everyone trusts unquestioningly — names her interim Resistance leader. But she’s a woman, with pink hair and all. Maybe I just need to unlearn some more misogyny than other Star Wars fans, but it feels like this was intentionally set up to make you root for roguish, manly starfighter Poe until you realize he’s actually being a bull-headed jerk.

Again, militant organization lends itself to misogyny. Bro-y posturing has destroyed a good many real-world movements. If we’re indeed heading in an insurrectionary direction, accounting for and combating misogyny in the ranks is an enormous challenge we have to be ready for.

The dynamic between Poe and Vice Admiral Holdo also played with bravery in very a welcome way. Again there’s a lesson about misogyny in Poe’s assertion that Holdo is a coward for considering using the transports. But bravery isn’t always strategic. In fact, as we learn through Poe’s repeated failures and close calls, it’s often downright stupid.

Which brings me to my favorite line in the movie:

“We won’t win by destroying the things we hate—only by saving the things that we love.”

Sometimes the best you can do is hide in a hole and pray for each other. Our female leads all embody this well. From Vice Admiral Holdo’s clear-minded thinking in the face of sure defeat, to Rose’s decision that having Finn around is more important than destroying some giant cannon, and even Rey’s insurance that there’s still something to love within Ben Solo’s conflicted heart — and the Jedi religion itself. It’s the women of the Resistance that hold onto those things worth saving and show us that the revolution isn’t about tearing anything down, but building each other up.

That outlook takes a certain kind of faith.  As does military resistance generally.  It’s often not rational to put your life on the line for the sake of some political or moral victory. That’s why we have to brainwash soldiers to get them to fight in imperial wars. To get in the fighting spirit, rational decision making has to be replaced with something else. For real-world militaries, faith in the nation is what we’re talking about here. This is why nationalism feels and looks so much like a religion — it is. That’s what’s strong enough to override someone’s will to live.

Fittingly, a lot of the movie’s message drove at a similar point. Whether you call it hope, or faith, or “the light,” it’s that tiny fragment of possibility that keeps our heroes going. And this time, it’s distinctly religious.

Any revolution needs religious faith

“The Force” has always been a religious beast, with different films treating it with various degrees of religiosity and seriousness. In the original films, it’s a lot like Buddhism. Loosely spiritual, a lot of meditation, and enlightenment has to do with recognizing oneness and balance.

In the prequels trilogy, we get a bit more about the Force. It’s simultaneously science-ified with the introduction of midichlorians and deepened as a religion with ritual Jedi burials, a formalized Jedi Order, and a virgin birth as well. But there’s something different about this leg of the saga. Whereas earlier films were about achieving enlightenment through mental and physical discipline, and then about following codes and hierarchies to continue a tradition on a well-worn path, The Force Awakens and The Last Jedi have put a special emphasis on faith itself.

Faith is hard to define. It’s sometimes approached as a feeling, sometimes as a type of non-intellectual knowledge, sometimes as an action or set of actions. Personally, I’m partial to Soren Kierkegaard’s formulation of faith which is about personal transcendance more than anything else. This looks something like mystery and an openness to possibility. And it looks a lot like Master Luke transcending himself as his Force battle with Kylo Ren ends and, having achieved his purpose, Luke becomes one with the Force.

Rather than having faith in something or someone — a legendary Jedi Knight or, the Jedi Order — this kind of faith is the inclination to continue towards the unknown, trusting in divinity to lead the way. Hope is a close approximation, but faith is a bit more complex. It’s not just believing that everything will turn out okay, it’s continuing towards the future even while accepting that everything might not be okay.

When we meet Luke Skywalker in The Last Jedi, he’s living in an absence of faith. He’s seen what his attempts to continue the tradition of the Jedi have wrought. This is central to his later revival. In order to access the powerful form of faith that allows him to save the Resistance and, in doing so, sacrifice his own life, he has to lose the intellectualized, formalized trappings of a traditional Jedi Master.

Luke’s reasons for wanting to end the Jedi tradition are good ones. He sees that his attempts to train Ben Solo/Kylo Ren were misguided and arrogant. He sees that these old texts and traditional ways aren’t particularly helpful in battling a darkness that persists. He sees that the battle between the light and dark sides isn’t a war that can be won, but an endless process of making and remaking. As Jedi power rises, so does Sith.

This nihilism is familiar to many of us attempting to wade through the cycles of political life. The Rebels may win, but the First Order will follow. Luke may become a master, but his students will surpass his power. We may move on through World War II and then the Cold War. But fascism will rear its head again. So what’s the goddamn point?

This threat of nihilism makes faith a necessary component of the kind of continuous war anarchists are called to.

Religious notions can be messy when combined with political movements. Combining these areas of life means the actions of some shithead burnt-out Jedi can hamstring your political movement. The choices of the Jedi Council and Master Qui Gon Jinn’s decision to train up Anakin contributed materially to the creation of the Empire (There’s a kind of arrogance that comes with thinking you’re anointed). There’s even a fan theory that Snoke’s First Order is indeed the “first order” of Jedi, that Snoke himself has been reborn many times and was originally the first Jedi knight. Religious power is a dangerous thing.

And yet, it’s also the only way forward. Tellingly, Luke’s stance on ending the old ways to make space for a new world mirrors Kylo Ren’s. In killing Snoke and burning the Jedi temple, Luke and Ren are acting in concert to deny the natural cycles of light and dark that have existed through all time.

I had one friend point out how much more mythological this particular Star Wars movie was. I’d agree. The Jedi religion here is not about self control or tradition built up over years. It’s opaque and mysterious and fraught with danger. You can’t access the light side of the force without engaging the dark as well.

Thankfully, Rey is undeterred.

Rather than fearing and shying away from her darkness and that in Kylo Ren, she embraces it, goes deeper, and finds the light that’s there as well. This is faith. “If you only believe in the sun when you can see it, you’re not going to make it through the night.”

This marriage of light and darkness is central to real-world faith as well. Insurrection takes us to dark places. Refusing to access that revolutionary spirit because its shadow scares us, does a disservice to our future. The light is there as well as the dark and to stop fighting in the face of moral complexity — in fear of our own dark potential — is the truest face of cowardice.

The Last Jedi brings this constellation of ideas — about bravery and cowardice, about moral ambiguity,  faith, insurrection, and crucially sacrifice — into brilliant interaction. The political and the spiritual are wrapped up tight, even more closely than in previous films. That gives the story a power and relevance that the strikes through the ham-fisted main plot.

Faith is risky, but it’s not flat boldness. Faith is ambiguous, but there’s still right and wrong. It’s the recognition that the way forward is not through smashing and bombing, but something much more tender and loving. Faith is about seeing past yourself and your desires and your thoughts and your being to the whole beautiful, mysterious, complicated tapestry of life.

Faith isn’t chosen and this is what separates it from ideas about hope and bravery that are self-directed. Faith is about following the light where it leads — or even being dragged along by it — because it’s right and you’re wrong, and your will alone doesn’t really matter.

Faith is what keeps us going, resistance fighter or no, and just as the world of the Last Jedi needs faith to see tomorrow, we do too.

Di Naomi Edhellos. Originale pubblicato il 7 novembre 2017 con il titolo On Antifa’s Critics. Traduzione di Enrico Sanna.

Tredicesimo saggio del November Mutual Exchange Symposium: Freedom of Speech and Political Violence.

Ho abbastanza anni da ricordare quando anche solo manifestare la propria opposizione al fascismo era considerato criticabile. Lasciamo perdere il fatto che il modo migliore per impedire che la feccia razzista si organizzi in piazza passa da una forte opposizione in piazza, e che se non si fa così si aiutano i fascisti a passare per un movimento popolare. Chi criticava credeva che la risposta migliore fosse una contromanifestazione a chilometri di distanza su cui attirare l’attenzione… oppure ignorare i cattivi e sperare che sloggiassero. Secondo questo pensiero, chiunque cerchi di mettere su una forte opposizione anche solo mostrando una sorta di resistenza ai suprematisti bianchi viene considerato un istigatore. Al netto della fuffa retorica, si diceva, la soluzione migliore era lasciare la piazza ai nazisti.

Il discorso è pian piano cambiato, tanto che è diventato accettabile manifestare pubblicamente contro i fascisti, purché tale manifestazione sia assolutamente nonviolenta. Con gli anni è diventata accettabile anche l’autodifesa… purché si intenda l’autodifesa di tutte le parti in causa, compreso chi contestava a migliaia di chilometri di distanza e non era affatto coinvolto ma aveva una forte opinione e si faceva sentire.

Così decide chi non partecipa all’azione. Persone che non hanno mai levato un dito per opporsi al fascismo non solo blaterano di etica, ma improvvisamente pretendono di insegnare cosa bisogna fare e cosa no. Poi ci sono organizzazioni antirazziste e antifasciste che infiltrano le chat dei nazionalisti bianchi e raccolgono testimonianze dall’interno. Ovviamente, questi dovrebbero sapere cosa è o non è praticamente efficace. Sono abbastanza svegli, a mio parere, da non pubblicizzare la cosa per questioni di sicurezza e pratiche. Chi sta fuori (e magari non fa nulla) pensa di avere soluzioni che altri non hanno, anche se non ha né nozioni né esperienza, ma solo banalità prese dai libri di storia e commenti rigurgitati sui video di YouTube.

Apparentemente, col tempo la finestra di Overton si è mossa. Oggi è socialmente ammesso che antifascisti e antirazzisti manifestino in pubblico contro i nazisti nel tentativo di difendere la propria comunità. Ma il discorso è solitamente molto confuso e spesso capita, anche in ambienti radicali, che qualcuno metta sullo stesso piano chi predica il genocidio e chi vi si oppone.

Non che questa ipersemplificazione non si manifesti anche in altri ambiti della società. Nel nostro reazionario sistema scolastico, quando un bullo molla un pugno e l’altro risponde a tono, entrambi vengono sospesi. Domanda: Chi dei due è il vero violento? Chi è che approfitta di quelli che gli sembrano più deboli? Oppure: Chi è che sta solo reagendo per non diventare una vittima? Va da sé che difendersi è diverso, è molto più giustificabile dell’aggressione. Già da questa banale analisi si capisce quanto sia ridicolo mettere le due cose sullo stesso piano. E però la propaganda della destra alternativa, che dipinge gli antifascisti come fascisti di un colore diverso, è così diffusa che in parte è arrivata anche a sinistra, dove solitamente prevale la ragione.

È incredibile l’arroganza di persone che, dopo una lezione di storia a scuola, pensano di essere gli unici in grado di risolvere i problemi cambiando tattiche, quando non riescono neanche a capire di cosa si parla. Che passino una decina d’anni a studiare i nazisti e poi ne riparleremo. Sul web si leggono commenti incredibili che sbraitano di antifascisti che odiano le persone sbagliate. Certo c’è sempre la possibilità di danni collaterali. Per questo chi difende la propria parte spesso è molto cauto. Che passino qualche anno a rovistare nella spazzatura, ad intercettare messaggi nelle fogne di internet, e allora potremmo discutere di obiettivi giusti o sbagliati. Qui ci sono nazisti che si fingono sostenitori di Trump nel tentativo riuscito di dipingere gli antifascisti come persone indiscriminatamente violente. Stranamente, non ci si preoccupa altrettanto per la miriade di finti account antifascisti sui social, o per i video taroccati di finte zuffe vecchie di anni attribuite agli antifascisti.

Altri, poi, sono fissati non col fatto che si prendano di mira le persone sbagliate, ma con la politica dei pugni. A giudicare dalle attuali critiche diffuse, pare che l’attimo che precede la rissa sia della massima importanza. Sarebbe una questione ottica e non un dilemma etico incentrato su chi esattamente ha colpito per primo. O forse è una sorta di analisi da tifoso in poltrona che si chiede se la violenza esercitata da certe persone è proporzionale. Certo sono discussioni importanti da tenere all’interno di gruppi che si preparano ad opporsi ai suprematisti bianchi. Persone sul posto che analizzano esattamente cosa è successo sulla base delle informazioni in loro possesso, chi è responsabile, cosa pensano: è tutto molto utile e va a loro vantaggio. Dopo aver visto cosa ha funzionato e cosa si può migliorare, possono lasciare che siano le informazioni e le autovalutazioni a guidare le loro decisioni. Questo è cinquantamila volte più utile di un’analisi maldestra fatta da persone che non conoscono i fatti. Come potrebbe essere altrimenti?

La gente vuole capire se pestare un nazista va bene. Magari per prevenzione. Magari quando non minaccia qualche praticante ebreo o musulmano, quando non aggredisce persone di colore o investe qualcuno con l’auto. Ma poi se si dà carta bianca ai nazisti la violenza cresce, e dunque predicare la resistenza passiva non è esattamente nonviolento. Ma anche ammettendo che le tattiche gandhiane siano in qualche modo più efficaci, la realtà è che c’è reazione quando si tenta anche UN solo atto di resistenza, o quando si cerca di frustrare le azioni dei fascisti. Questa pretesa all’interno del discorso antifascista mi incuriosisce. Ci sono persone che considerano inaccettabile ogni azione, per quanto innocua, rivolta a dare maggior potere alle comunità delle vittime e a proteggere i più deboli.

Questo non per dire che chi critica non è sinceramente preoccupato, o che le critiche non sono mosse da buone intenzioni. Il fatto è che mentre criticano le azioni di gruppi con cui loro non hanno alcun rapporto, sono i gruppi stessi ad avere un impatto positivo sulla comunità.

Quando un antifascista fornisce informazioni riguardo la natura politica di certi proprietari, i critici strillano al leso diritto di parola, anche se il locatario ha il diritto di rifiutarsi di fare affari con loro. Anche se l’inazione scatena la violenza dei fascisti che assaltano le persone di colore per strada. (Ancora una volta, è per questo che chi è in contatto con la realtà locale conosce le cose meglio dei tanti nessuno che dettano strategie su Twitter.com).

Quando un’organizzazione antifascista identifica dei fascisti e informa i loro datori di lavoro che questa gente predica il genocidio (altra tattica legale e nonviolenta), i critici sbraitano che si tratta di violazione della libertà di parola, come se sostenere la pulizia etnica fosse un’opinione politica qualunque, accettabile, che nessuno deve mettere in questione.

È quasi come se la critica, mettendo a tacere l’opposizione al fascismo, ne facilitasse la diffusione. Questo è ciò che accade quando persone che non conoscono la situazione pretendono di sapere cosa succede in ambiti che non gli appartengono, credono di saperne più di chi vive i problemi sulla propria pelle. Questo è ciò che accade quando persone che dicono di voler fare qualcosa di decisivo non fanno altro che attendere l’idea perfetta e intanto criticano chi vorrebbe agire. Il male non si ferma finché non viene fermato. Il minimo che possa fare una persona non coinvolta è levarsi dalle palle.

Chi aderisce ad un gruppo fascista lo fa per sentirsi forte e potente. Mostrare un forte dissenso può servire a fare a pezzi quell’illusione. L’efficacia è stata dimostrata più volte, ma a molti non interessa, sono più interessati a sapere se la Pelosi condanna l’antifascismo che a vedere cosa succede alle persone più suggestionabili. Quando i buffoni feticisti nazisti capiscono che c’è un prezzo da pagare (perdere amici, essere identificati, perdere il lavoro, prendere due calci ad una manifestazione), spesso si dissociano e scoraggiano l’ingresso di altri. È stata proprio la dolorosa consapevolezza del fatto che comparire in pubblico comporta delle conseguenze a spingere molti nell’oscurità. L’abbiamo visto negli anni ottanta, e poi negli anni novanta e agli inizi di questo secolo. E lo vediamo oggi.

C’è una ragione se i fascisti fanno del loro meglio per nascondersi dietro la maschera del patriottismo. La stessa che spingeva il KKK ad incappucciarsi. La gente è ignorante, non conosce la storia, e nonostante le buone intenzioni tende a credere ad una propaganda cripto-fascista ben confezionata. Tende a vedere aree grigie che in realtà non esistono. Pensa di esporre una critica mentre mette il piede nella trappola. Sono troppo tronfi per accorgersene.

Forse è ora che chi critica l’antifascismo metta da parte i megafoni e osservi gli effetti delle loro azioni o della loro inazione. Che ripetano stupidamente gli slogan fascisti o invochino una vera resistenza dietro il computer, forse non stanno semplicemente criticando l’antifascismo.