Guest Editorial

RUTH KINNA

Uri Gordon's elegant and impassioned editorial in AS 14.2 is a hard act to

follow. In my mind it raised a number of issues about engagement, activism
and political circumstance. On reading his piece I thought momentarily of
William Morris, who, before the socialist revival in the early 1880s, hankered
for a life of revolutionary excitement, and regretted not having been born in a
time of dramatic upheaval when it had been possible to live for a cause ('to
have drawn the sword with Oliver [Cromwell]: that may well seem to us at
times amidst the tangles of to-day a happy fate: for a man to be able to say, I
have lived like a fool, but now I will cast all fooling away ... ). My settled
"

response was - sadly - more downbeat. Flipping through a book I've not yet
had time to read properly, I found this from Voltairine de Cleyre:

... I have lost the habit of thinking that I can acquire the power to know
what is the trouble. I tell you I feel spir itually, morally, and mentally bank­
rupt! When I think of anything as a subject to write upon I am immed iately
smitten with a recognition of my own incompetence. I am as satisfied as
ever that society is in bad shape, but I do not know how it should be reme­
died. The prolif ic con fidence of old years, has died; I am possessed by
barren doubts only ... It's not that I have the slightest idea that our oppo­
nents are r ight; their statements look just as foolish to me as they ever did;
but I have no surety of our oppos ition.2

Similar doubts creep in on meeting people who ask 'Are you involved in
activism?'. Or, worse, ' What kind of activism are you involved inTo Such
questions fill me with horror and make me want to defend and apologise for
my inactivity at one and the same time. (The pejorative ' You're a feminist,
aren't you' used to raise similarly conflicting emotions.) Of course there is a
lot to oppose. The government is responsible for a catalogue of stupid, short­
sighted and disastrous decisions. Everyone has a list of failures, omissions and
mistakes. Tony Benn's metamorphosis into Britain's favourite statesman seems
a fair indication of how bad politics under New Labour has become. Added to
that, I harbour a set of petty resentments about the behaviour and accounta­
bility of my local government, stemming from an action of which I was a part,
last year. Should I write to my MP, contact my councillor ... maybe my coun­
sellor?
In the midst of all this: three conversat ions. The first with a prospective
PhD student, who, it emerged, is convinced that academia is not only a form
of activism, but an important one. The idea is comforting, but not convincing

4
 GUEST ED ITORIAL

- not to me, at least. Naturally, I take seriously both the content and process of
what I do - teach - and I 'm aware of the central role that education has played
in anarchist theory and practice. But universities are not new schools, and the
kind of education that they offer hardly matches the integrated schemes
proposed by nineteenth and early twentieth-century thinkers. If I can make the
best of it and generate some enthusiasm for my fields of interest in the process,
that's great - but it doesn't really let me off the hook.
The second conversation was with an ex-student - now doing a PhD.
Recalling a class on the alter-globalistion movement in which we discussed
the justifiability of property-damage, he tells me: 'it was shocking: you don't
look like an anarchist'. How to respond? The sensible route would have been
to talk about stereotypes and the ridiculous attempts to define scientifically an
anarchist-type. Cesare Lombroso 's psychological researches threw up two
militant characters. The first had 'a very large forehead, a very bushy beard,
and very large and soft eyes'. This 'noble', 'true' revolutionary type was asso­
ciated with genius, saintliness and - notwithstanding the bushy beard -
self-sacrificing nihilists like Vera Zasulich and Sofia Petrovskaya. The second
was distinguished by 'facial asymmetry, enormous jaws, developed frontal
sinus', and protruding ears without lobes. Mil itants of this stripe 'possess the
degenerative characters common to criminals and to the insane'. The
Haymarket anarchists fell into this category.3 Mine was a less sensible path,
though on a par with Lombroso's. I imagine being taken before the television
fashion-police. 'What do you like least about your appearance?' they ask me.
' I don't look like an anarchist', I confess, weeping. I'm taken to a plastic
surgeon to have my forehead reduced, my jaw enlarged and my ears stuck out,
and then to a chi-chi boutique for an expensive make-over. After all the magic
a random selection of high street shoppers is asked to guess my politics from
my now repellent form: 7 5% say 'anarchist'. Of course, the student is right. I
don't have to go far to know the limits of my links with the counterculture (you
can almost see people at book fairs and other anarchist events play spot-the­
academic). And in any case, I know that the politics of my everyday life is
very, very conventional. Bourgeois, perhaps? George Melly once suggested
that no-one with a mortgage could call themselves an anarchist, and so
described himself as a sympathizer. But that test - right or wrong - seems to
be the least of it: many of my aspirations are conventional. Forget the
Marvellous, cherish the mundane.
The third conversation, which has been going on some time, had another
airing at a recent seminar. The long and short of my critic's position is that
most nineteenth-century thought is historically interesting but politically
dubious. It suggests a commitment to rigid social schemes (panopticism, more
or less), to vanguardism and class-based ideology. Indeed, defending the work
of the ' ideologues' on the proscribed list (which includes the big three,
Proudhon, Kropotkin and Bakunin, but not Stirner) seems to amount to

5
 ANARCHIST STUD IES

endorsing these commitments. What's the problem? This classification at least

allows me to feel better about my bourgeois tendencies: my experiments in life
might not be very adventurous - perhaps I mean they're private - but they're
as valid as any one else's and no-one can tell me how I should live. Moreover,
it suggests an engagement, a form of activism. Maybe I should take some
comfort from this, even if it's not a form of activism with which I identify. I
was introduced to anarchism as a graduate student (one course on socialist
thought - a critique of lacobinism - and another on the history of the Spanish
Civil War). One of the motivations for my post-graduate work was to chal­
lenge what I perceived to be the flawed and inaccurate accounts of anarchism
written in the main by Marxist historians. In London in the 1980s, when the
British Labour Party was busy doing battle with the Trotskyist Militant
tendency, and an aggressive, crude form of Marxism became vogue, this
concern was considered reactionary. Bizarrely, fellow-protesters at the demos
of the time even accused me of 'social fascism'. Now, equally bizarrely, I'm
pigeon-holed and dismissed as part of the old orthodoxy. And what I regard as
my meagre engagements in politics - through academia - are directive in a
way that I never imagined.
I am empowered!

NOTES

I. Morris in Nonnan Kelvin (ed), Collected Letters, Vol. II, Princeton University
Press: New Jersey, p. 1 57.
2. Letter to Saul Yanovsky, 1 9 1 1 , in Eugenia C. Delamotte, Gates of Freedom:
Voltairine de C/eyre and the Revolution of the Mind, University of Michigan Press:
Ann'Arbor, p. 1 8 1 .
3. Lombroso, The Monist, Vol. I , 1 890, 336-8.

6
Israeli anarchism
Statist dilemmas and the dynamics of joint struggle

URI GORDON
Arava Institute for Environmental Studies
Kibb utz Ketura, D.N. Hevel Eilot 88840
Israel
uri@riseup.net

ABSTRACT
This article examines anarchist activities and positions in the context of the
Israeli-Palestinian conflict, and addresses some under-theorised dilemmas that
they raise around joint struggle and active solidarity with national liberation
struggles. The first part of the article begins with a critique of the scant anar­
chist polemical writing on Palestine/Israel, which reveals a pervasive reliance
on 'old-school ' anarchist formulations and a lack of attention to actual strug­
gles on the ground. At the root of these diff iculties, I argue, lies the inadequacy
of traditional anarchist critiques of nationalism for addressing what seems to
be the overriding dilemma in the present context - the question of statehood
for a stateless people. As a response, I examine four reasons why anarchists
can, in fact, support the statist independence claims of Palestinians and, by
extension, of other peoples under occupation. The second part of the article
analyses three threads of intervention present in the activities of anarchists and
their allies in Israel/Palestine - linking issues, direct action and grassroots
peacemaking. The goal here is to examine how the global agendas of contem­
porary anarchist politics receive a unique local articulation within the context
of a joint struggle, and to expose the insights afforded by the experience of
Israeli anarchists to social struggles elsewhere.

Issue 1 3:2 of this journal featured Aaron Lakoff 's piece ' Israeli Anarchism -
Being Young, Queer, and Radical in the Promised Land', an interview
conducted in February 2005 with Yossi Bar-Tal of the Alternative Information
Centre, who is also active in various Israeli anti-authoritarian initiatives such
as Anarchists Against the Wall and Black Laundry (Lakoff 2005). While
informative in its portrayal of the activities and approaches taken by anarchists
in Israel/Palestine,. the interview's brevity and inevitably first-person, conver­
sational frame still leaves a good deal of room for a more analysis-driven
approach to anarchist activism in the region, and for engagement with some
theoretical issues that arise from the special situation that activists face in this
context.

7
 ANARCHIST STUDIES

The purpose of this article, then, is to examine anarchist responses to the

conflict in Palestine/Israel through two lines of inquiry: theoretical and empir­
ical. The first regards anarchist attitudes to national liberation and to solidarity
with the non-anarchist agendas of peoples struggling against occupation.
Here, the primary issue is the apparent contradiction created by the anarchist
commitment to support the ongoing struggles of oppressed constituencies on
the latter's own terms - which in the case of Palestinian liberation would
inevitably entail support for the creation of a Palestinian state. This would
seem to contradict both anarchism's anti-statist positions and its objections to
nationalism. In addressing these dilemmas, I begin with a critique of existing
anarchist literature on Israel/Palestine, and briefly review the anarchist critique
of nationalism and the traditional distinction between the 'nation' and the
' folk'. I go on to argue that there are at least four separate reasons why anar­
chists can in fact support the Palestinian struggle despite its statist
implications.
The second, empirical line of inquiry regards the ongoing anarchist activi­
ties in Palestine/Israel. Here, rather than engaging in a merely descriptive
exercise, an attempt is made to offer an analytical framework which situates
these activities within the context of three threads that characterise the
contemporary anarchist movement on a more global scale. These are (a) the
linking, in practice and theory, of different campaigning issues and axes of
social antagonism through an overarching agenda of struggle against domina­
tion and hierarchy; (b) the ethos of direct action and civil disobedience which
emphasises unmediated confrontation with social injustices and community
self-empowerment; and (c) the construction of alternative modes of social
organisation and interaction which have both practical value (in contributing
directly to the creation of a different society) and educational/propaganda
value (in displaying and exemplifying the validity and practicability of anar­
chist visions). In our case, this means the extension of the constructive logic
of direct action to efforts at grassroots peacemaking. The discussion, through
concrete examples, of each of these threads has two goals. First, to trace the
way in which the emergent global framework of contemporary anarchism is
reflected and receives unique articulation in the Israeli/Palestininan setting;
and second, to point to a number of anarchist issues and dilemmas - e.g. non­
paternalism, violence and burn-out - which activity in the region throws into
especially sharp relief, and whose discussion contributes to broader anarchist
debates.

UNEXPECTED COM PLICATIONS

With the conflict in Palestine/Israel so high on the public agenda, and with
significant domestic and international anarchist involvement in Palestine soli­
darity campaigns, it is surprising that the scant polemical anarchist

8
 ISRAELI ANARCHISM

contributions on the topic remain, at their best, irrelevant to the concrete expe­
riences and dilemmas of movements in the region, and, at their worst, depart
from anarchism all together. Thus the American Platformist Wayne Price
(2002) descends into very crude terms when proclaiming:

In the smoke and blood of Israel/Palestine these days, one point should be
clear, that Israel is the oppressor and the Palestinian Arabs are the
oppressed. Therefore anarchists, and all decent people, should be on the
side of the Palestinians. Criticisms oftheir leaderships or their methods of
f ighting are all secondary; so is recognition that the Israeli Jews are also
people and also have certain collective rights. The first step, always, is to
stand with the oppressed as they fight for their freedom.

Asking all decent people to see someone else's humanity and collective rights
as secondary to anything - whatever this is, this is not anarchism. Where does
Price's side-taking leave the distinction between the Israeli government and
Israeli citizens, or the expectation of solidarity with Israelis who struggle
against the occupation and social injustice? These Israelis are certainly not
taking action because they are 'siding with the Palestinians', but more likely
out of a sense of injustice, responsibility and solidarity. For the anarchists
among them, it is also clearly a struggle taken from the perspective of self­
liberation from a militaristic, racist, sexist and otherwise unequal society.
Price's complete indifference to those who consciously intervene against the
occupation and in multiple social contlicts within Israeli society rests on vast
generalisations about how 'blind nationalism leads each nation see itself and
the other as a bloc'. However, people who live inside a contlict can hardly be
expected to display such nai"ve attitudes - the author is only projecting his own,
outsider's, black-and-white vision onto the alleged mindsets of the subjects, and
the side tagged as black is subject to crass and dehumanising language (see also
Hobson, Price & Quest 200 I ). This has become a widespread phenomenon in
the discourse of the European and American Palestine-solidarity movement and
the broader Left, representing what anarchist critics have recently pointed to as
a typically Leftist form of Judeophobia or anti-Semitism (Austrian and
Goldman 2003, Michaels 2004, Shot by both sides 2005).
Meanwhile, Price is so confident about having insight into the just and
appropriate resolution that he permits himself to issue elaborate programs and
demands, down to the finer details: unilateral Israeli withdrawal to 1967 lines,
a Palestinian state and the right of return, ending up in 'some sort of 'secular­
democratic' or '''binational'' communal federation' with 'some sort of
self-managed non-capitalist economy'. Meanwhile 'we must support the
resistance of the Palestinian people. They have the right to self-determination,
that is, to choose their leaders, their programs, and their methods of struggle,
whatever we think'.

9
 ANARCHIST STUDIES

A blank cheque, then, to suicide bombings and any present or future

Palestinian elite. The statement's imperative tone also begs the question. To
whom, precisely, are Price's 'we' supposed to be issuing such elaborate
demands? To the Israeli state, backed perhaps by the potent threat of embassy
occupations and boycotts on academics, oranges and software? Or maybe to
the international community, or to the American state for that matter? In all
cases this would be a 'politics of demand' which extends undue recognition
and legitimation to state power through the act of demand itself - an approach
far removed from central anarchist strategies.
Myopia towards what is happening on the ground is also a problem for
Ryan Chiang McCarthy (2002). Though taking issue with Price's failure to
distinguish between peoples and their rulers, McCarthy's call for solidarity
with libertarian forces on the ground is unfortunately extended only to strug­
gles which fall within his prejudiced gaze: 'autonomous labour movements of
Palestinian and Israeli workers .,. A workers' movement that bypasses the
narrow lines of struggle . . . and fights for the unmediated demands of
workers'. Besides being entirely detached from reality - the prospects for
autonomous labour movements are as bleak in Israel/Palestine as they are in
the rest of the developed world - such a workerist fetish is also directly
harmful. It reproduces the invisibility of the many important struggles in
Palestine/Israel that do not revolve around work, and in which most anarchists
happen to be participating (see below). Meanwhile, stubborn class reduc­
tionism demarcates no less narrow lines of struggle than the ones which it
criticises, and does the protagonists violence by forcing their actions into arti­
ficial frameworks. Thus Palestinians and Israelis are first and foremost
'workers . . . manipulated by their rulers to massacre one another'; army
refusal is a 'sparkling [act] of class solidarity carried out across national lines'
(most refuseniks are middle-class, and self-declared Zionists to boot); while
'the nationalist poison . . . drives Palestinian proletarian youth to destroy them­
selves and I sraeli fellow workers in suicide bombings' . This may still be
anarchism, but it is of a fossilised variety that adheres to the antiquated
formulas of class struggle, with little or no attention to the actual articulation
of the struggle by those who are engaged in it.
The root of the problem displayed by these writings is that the Palestinian­
Israeli contlict introduces complexities that are not easily addressed from a
traditional anarchist standpoint. The tension between anarchists' anti-imperi­
alist commitments on the one hand, and their traditionally wholesale rebuttal
of the state and nationalism on the other, would seem to leave them at an
impasse regarding the national liberation struggles of occupied peoples. The
lack of fresh thinking on the issue creates a position from which, it would
seem, one can only fall back on the one-size-fits-all formulae of class struggle,
or otherwise disengage from the debate altogether. In order to understand why
this is so, let me now look at anarchist critiques of national ism.

10
 ISRAELI ANARCHISM

ANARCHISM AND NATIONALISM

Prevalent in anarchist literature is an epistemological distinction between the
artificial nationalism constructed by the state on the one hand, and, on the
other, the feeling of belonging to one's folk or people - a natural grouping
arising from shared ethnic, linguistic and/or cultural characteristics. Michael
Bakunin ( 187 1: 324) argued that the fatherland ('patria') represents a 'manner
of living and feeling' - that is, a local culture - which is 'always an incon­
testable result of a long historic development' . As such, the deep love of
fatherland among the 'common people ... is a natural, real love'. While
Bakunin (and many other anarchists) by no means rejected the feeling of
common belonging, most typically to a land, it was this feeling's corruption
under statist institutions that they rejected as nationalism - a primary loyalty
to one's nation-state. Such nationalism was and is seen as a reactionary ideo­
logical device intended to create a false unity of identity and interest between
antagonistic elements within a single society, pitting the oppressed working
classes of one country against those of another, and averting their attention
from the need for struggle against their oppressors along internationalist lines.
Thus for Bakunin 'political patriotism, or love of the State, is not the faithful
expression' of the common people's love for the fatherland, but rather an
expression 'distorted by means of false abstraction, always for the benefit of
an exploiting minority' (ibid.).
The most elaborate development of this theme was made by Gustav
Landauer, who saw in the folk an organic entity based on the uniquely shared
spirit (Geist) - feelings, ideals, values, language, and beliefs - that unifies
individuals into a community. For Landauer, the folk spirit is the basis for
community; it existed before the state and would return to prominence in a
free society. The presence of the state is what prevents this spirit from realising
itself as 'an equality of individuals - a feeling and reality - which is brought
about in free spirit to unity and union' (Landauer \907). Landauer also consid­
ered it possible to have several identities - he saw himself as a human being,
a Jew, a German and a southern German. Elsewhere ( 1973/19 10: 263) he
wrote,

I am happy about every imponderable and ineffable thing that brings about
exclusive bonds, unities, and also differentiations within humanity. If I
want to transform patriotism then I do not proceed in the slightest against
the fine fact of the nation ... but against the mixing up of the nation and
the state, against the confusion of differentiation and opposition.

Rudolf Rocker adopted Landauer's distinction in his Nationalism and Culture,

where a folk is defined as 'the natural result of social union, a mutual associa­
tion of men brought about by a certain similarity of external conditions of living,

II
 ANARCHIST STUDIES

a common language, and special characteristics due to climate and geographic

environment' (Rocker 1937: 200- 1). However, Rocker clarifies that it is only
possible to speak of the folk, as an entity, in terms that are location- and time­
specific. This is because, over time, 'cultural reconstructions and social
stimulation always occur when different peoples and races come into closer
union. Every new culture is begun by such a fusion of different folk elements
and takes its special shape from this' (346). What Rocker caIIs the 'nation', on
the other hand, is the essentialist idea of a unified community of interest, spirit
or race. This he sees as a creation of the state. Thus, like Landauer and Bakunin,
it was the primary loyalty to one's nation state that Rocker condemned as
'nationalism'. At the same time, the traditional anarchist position expected that,
unencumbered by the state, a space would be open for the self-determination
and mutuaIIy-fertilising development of local folk cultures.
These attitudes to nationalism, however, had as their primary reference
point the European nationalisms associated with existing states. The issue of
nationalism in the national liberation struggles of stateless peoples received
far less attention. Kropotkin, for example, saw national liberation movements
positively, arguing the removal of foreign domination was a precondition to
the workers' realising their social consciousness (Grauer 1994). However,
what may be a necessary condition is by no means a sufficient one, and it
could equaIIy be argued that national liberation efforts can only end up
creating new state-sponsored nationalisms.
This tension comes very strongly to the fore in the case of Israel/ Palestine.
The overwhelming majority of Palestinians want a state of their own alongside
Israel. But how can anarchists who support the Palestinian struggle reconcile
this with their anti-statist principles? How can they support the creation of yet
another state in the name of 'national liberation', which is the explicit or
implicit agenda of almost aII Palestinians? What is at work here is anarchists'
critique that in their national liberation efforts, Palestinians are bowing to the
idea that the state is a desirable institution, and lending themselves to nation­
alist illusions fostered by Palestinian elites, who wiII only become the source
of their future oppression. This is the logic animating McCarthy's stance, as
weII as that of the British syndicalists of the Solidarity Federation, who state
that 'we support the fight of the Palestinian people ... [and] stand with those
Israelis who protest against the racist government ... What we cannot do is
support the creation of yet another state in the name of 'national liberation'
(Solidarity Federation 2002).
But there are two problems with such an attitude. First, it invites the charge
of paternalism, whereby anarchists are pretending to be better than
Palestinians at discerning their 'real interests', while jettisoning the need for
solidarity to happen on the terms articulated by the oppressed. Second, and
more importantly, it leaves anarchists with nothing but empty declarations to
the effect that that 'we stand with and support aII those who are being

12
 ISRAELI ANARCHISM

oppressed by those who have the power to do so' (ibid.); or that 'it is not about
forcing the Israeli state to respect the rights of Palestinians, nor supporting the
formation of a new Palestinian state. Rather it is a question of starting to prac­
tice desertion, refusal, sabotage, attack, destruction against every constituted
authority, all power, every state' (Friends of AI-Halladj 2002). Again, while
such sentiments are certainly in tune with longer-term anarchist aspirations,
they also consign anarchists to a position of irrelevance in the present tense.
On the one hand, anarchists could certainly agree that the establishment of a
capitalist Palestinian state through negotiations among existing and would-be
governments would only mean the 'submission of the Intifada to a comprador
Palestinian leadership that will serve Israel', and that neoliberal globalisation,
and initiatives for regional trade cooperation such as the Mediterranean free
trade zone, are demarcating a capitalist trajectory for the region which will
only increase economic hardship and social gaps, giving no solution to the
refugee problem (Anarchist Communist Initiative 2005). On the other hand, by
disengaging from concrete Palestinian demands for a state, such anarchists are
left with nothing to propose except 'an entirely different way of life and
equality for all the inhabitants of the region ... a classless anarchist-commu­
nist society' (ibid.). This is all well and good, but what happens in the
meantime?

SUPPORTING S TATEHOOD?
While anarchists surely can do something more specific in solidarity with
Palestinians than just saying that 'we need a revolution', any such action
would appear hopelessly contaminated with a statist agenda. The fact that
anarchists nevertheless engage in on-the-ground actions of solidarity with
Palestinian communities and groups requires us to grip this particular bull by
its horns. Here, I believe there are at least four coherent ways in which anar­
chists can deal with the dilemma of support for a Palestinian state.
The first and most straightforward response is to acknowledge that there is
indeed a contradiction here, but to insist that in a liminal, imperfect situation,
solidarity is still worthwhile even if it comes at the price of inconsistency.
Endorsement of Palestinian statehood by anarchists can be seen as a pragmatic
position based on anti-imperialist commitments or even basic humanitarian
concern. It does nobody any good to effectively say to the Palestinians, 'sorry,
we'll let you remain non-citizens of a brutal occupation until after we're done
abolishing capitalism'. For this reason, one can see some kind of representa­
tive statehood for the Palestinians as the only short term solution, however
imperfect, to their current oppression. This is attached to a view in which soli­
darity is 'not about supporting those who share your precise politics. It's about
supporting those who struggle against injustice - even if their assumptions,
methods, politics, and goals differ from our own' (ISM Canada 2004). With

13
 ANARCHIST STUDIES

this type of response, anarchists recognise an unresolved tension in their poli­

tics, but they express a specific value judgement whereby one's
anti-imperialist or humanitarian commitments are seen to 'trump' an other­
wise fully uncompromising anti-statism.
A point to be emphasised here is that states are consistently hostile to state­
less peoples (and nomads). The Jews in pre-Second World War Europe and the
Palestinians are two among many examples of oppressed stateless peoples in
the modern era. Note that while many Jews were citizens (often second-class
citizens) of European countries at the beginning of the twentieth century, an
important precondition for the Holocaust was the deprivation of Jews' citizen­
ships, rendering them stateless.
A second and separate response is to say that there is actually no contra­
diction at all in anarchists' support for the establishment of a Palestinian state.
This is for the simple reason that Palestinians are already living under a state
-Israel- and that the formation of a new Palestinian state creates only a quan­
titative change, not a qualitative one. Anarchists object to the state as a general
scheme of social relations - not to this or the other state, but to the principle
behind them all. It is a misunderstanding to reduce this objection to quantita­
tive terms; the number of states in the world adds or subtracts nothing from
anarchists' assessment of how closely the world corresponds to their ideals.
Having one single world state, for example, would be as problematic for anar­
chists as the present situation (if not more so), although the process of creating
it would have abolished some 190 states. So from a purely anti-statist anarchist
perspective, for Palestinians to live under a Palestinian state rather than an
Israeli state would be, at worst, just as objectionable. In such a situation, the
pragmatic considerations mentioned in the first response above are no longer
viewed as a trade-off, but as an entirely positive development. If the choice is
between an Israeli or a Palestinian state controlling the West Bank and Gaza,
while the basic objectionable social relations remain static, then clearly the
latter option.is purely preferable. A future Palestinian state, despite main­
taining the basic scheme of statist and capitalist social relations, and no matter
how corrupt or pseudo-democratic, would in any event be less brutal than the
Israeli state currently is towards the Palestinian population. Control by a
civilian authority, though far worse than anarchy, is still far better than mili­
tary occupation with its relentless humiliation and control over every aspect of
Palestinians' everyday lives.
A third response, informed by Kropotkin's view mentioned above, is to say
that anarchists can support a Palestinian state as a strategic choice, a desirable
stage in a longer-term struggle. No-one can sincerely expect that the situation
in Israel/Palestine will move from the present one to anarchy in one abrupt
step. Hence, the establishment of a Palestinian state through a peace treaty
with the Israeli state, although far from a 'solution', may turn out to be a posi­
tive development on the way to more thoroughgoing social change. The

14
 ISRAELI ANARCHISM

reduction of everyday violence on both sides could do a great deal to open up

more political space for economic, feminist and environmental social strug­
gles, and would thus constitute a positive development from a strategic point
of view. In the region at present, all liberatory agendas are marginalised by the
ongoing conflict. While the fighting continues, it is very difficult to engage
with people on other social issues since the conflict silences them out. Thus,
the establishment of a Palestinian state would form a bridgehead towards the
flowering of other myriad social struggles, in Israel and in whatever enclave­
polity emerges under the Palestinian ruling elite. For anarchists, such a process
could be a significant step forward in a longer-term strategy for the destruc­
tion of the Israeli, Palestinian, and all other states along with capitalism,
patriarchy and so on.
A fourth response would be to alter the terms of discussion altogether, by
arguing that whether or not anarchists support a Palestinian state is a moot
point, and thus leads to a false debate. What exactly are anarchists supposed
to do with their 'support'? If the debate is to resolve itself in a meaningful
direction, then the ultimate question is whether anarchists can and should take
action in support of a Palestinian state. But what could such action possibly
be, short of declarations, petitions, demonstrations, and other elements of the
'politics of demand' that anarchists seek to transcend? One can hardly estab­
lish a state through anarchist direct action, and the politicians who actually get
to decide whether or not a Palestinian state is finally established are not
exactly asking anarchists their opinion. Seen in this light, debates about
whether anarchists should give their short-term 'support' to a Palestinian state
sound increasingly ridiculous, since the only merit of such discussion would
be to come up with a common platform.
From such a point of view, anarchists may take action in solidarity with
Palestinians (as well as Tibetans, West Papuans and Sahrawis for that matter)
without reference to the question of statehood. The everyday acts of resistance
that anarchists join and defend in Palestine and Israel are immediate steps to
help preserve people's livelihoods and dignity, which are in no way necessarily
connected to a statist project. It is doubtful whether the Palestinians whom
anarchists join in removing a roadblock, or in harvesting their olives while
threatened by settlers, are doing so while consciously seeing it as a step
towards statehood. The point is that, once viewed from a longer-term strategic
perspective, anarchists' actions have worthwhile implications whether or not
they are attached to a statist agenda of independence.
With this approach in mind, it would seem that the most fruitful avenue for
further inquiry would be to analyse what anarchists and their allies are already
doing on the ground. This leads us to the second part of the article. Now the
key question becomes: Which aspects of anarchist involvement in the strug­
gles in Palestine/Israel point most clearly towards relevant anarchist strategies
and approaches?

15
 ANARCHIST STUDIES

LINKIN G ISSUES

In looking at the landscape of struggle in PalestinelIsrael, one should be aware

that the anarchist presence on the ground is scarce and unevenly distributed.2
On a generous estimation, there are up to three hundred people in Israel who
are politically active and who would not mind calling themselves anarchists -
most of them Jewish women and men between the ages of 16-35. Among
Palestinians there are a few kindred souls and many allies, but no active anar­
chist movement. To this is added the presence of some anarchists in
international solidarity efforts on the ground, primarily though the Palestinian­
led International Solidarity Movement (ISM). Despite their small numbers,
however, anarchists and their immediate allies have had a significant impact.
In analysing the picture of anarchist activities in Israel/Palestine, three inter­
woven threads of intervention stand out, which point to broader features of
global anarchist politics while raising some issues that have received less
attention outside the region. The first of these is linking issues.
Perhaps the most obvious strength of contemporary anarchism is its multi­
issue platform, a conscious agenda of integrating diverse struggles. In
genealogical terms, this platform derives from the rootedness of the contem­
porary movement in the intersection of ecological, feminist, anti-war and
anti-neoliberal movements. In theoretical terms, this intersection is grounded
in anarchists' stress on domination and hierarchy as the basis of multiple injus­
tices. By creating networks that integrate the different movements and
constituencies in which they are active, anarchists can facilitate recognition
and mutual aid among struggles.
This strand is clearly present in the activities of anarchist and other radical
movements in Israel/Palestine, where it comes into unique local configura­
tions. As a result of their activity, more profound and aware connections are
being made between the occupation, the widening social gaps between rich
and poor, the exploitation of foreign and domestic workers, the status of
women, racism and ethnic discrimination, homophobia, pollution and
consumerism.
One example of linking the struggle against the occupation to a different
liberatory agenda is the activity of Kvisa Shchora ( Black Laundry) - a direct
action group of lesbians, gays, bisexuals, transgenders and others against the
occupation and for social justice. It was created for the Pride Day parade in
Tel-Aviv in 200 I, a few months after the second Intifada began. Jamming the
by-now depoliticised and commercialised celebration, about 250 radical
queers in black joined the march under the banner 'No Pride in the
Occupation'. Since then, the group has undertaken actions and outreach with
a strongly anti-authoritarian orientation, which stresses the connection
between different forms of oppression, which 'feeds on the same racism, the
same chauvinism, and the same militarism that uphold the oppression and

16
 ISRAELI ANARCHISM

occupation of the Palestinian people ... In a military society there is no place

for the different and weak; lesbians, Gay men, drag queens, transsexuals,
foreign workers, women, Mizrahi Israelis, Arabs, Palestinians, the poor, the
disabled and others' (Black Laundry 200 1). In recent years the radical queer
community in Israel has grown in numbers and has become more strongly
networked. Free public queer parties (the Queer'hana), often coinciding with
the 'official' Pride Day events, added to public visibility, and connections with
queer anarchists worldwide were strengthened through the organising drive
towards the ninth Queeruption - a free, Do-Jt-Yourself radical queer gathering
in summer 2006 (see www.queeruption.org/ q2006/).
The Israeli radical queer network's multi-issue politics places it in a dual
role: on the one hand promoting solidarity with Palestinians, as well as anti­
capitalism and antagonistic politics, in the mainstream LGBT community;
and on the other hand stressing queer liberation in the movement against the
occupation. According to one member, while many activists did not initially
understand the significance of queers demonstrating as queers against the
occupation, 'after many actions and discussions our visibility is now accepted
and welcome. This, I can't really say about our Palestinian partners, so in the
territories we usually go back to the closet' (Ayalon 2004). The latter reality
has also led the queer anarchists to make contacts and offer solidarity with
Palestinian LGBTs, who find even less acceptance in their society than Israeli
queers do.
Another interesting relationship to be examined in this context is that
between animal liberation groups and anarchist struggles. While cross-partic­
ipation in the two movements remains relatively small globally, the two
movements clearly have shared attributes (a confrontational stance, use of
direct action, extreme decentralisation, roots in the punk subculture). More
recently, animal liberation groups such as SHAC have begun to target the
corporate infrastructure of animal testing. While remaining a tactical choice,
this also implies a deeper analysis of the connection between animal exploita­
tion and other forms of domination - a direction explored in writing, with
increasing intensity, in recent years (Dominick 1995, Anonymous I 0 1999,
homefries 2004). Recent trends in state repression, including the narrowing of
demonstration rights and legislation against economic sabotage, are beginning
to generate meaningful solidarity and cooperation between the two move­
ments, and individual activists from the animal rights movement have recently
been making deliberate contacts with anarchists, a process which is beginning
to create interesting cross-fertilisations.
In Israel, the small size of the radical scene has created a different reality
whereby there is actually a very large overlap between the two movements. The
most outstanding example is Ma'avak Ehad (One Struggle), an affinity group
combining explicit anarchism and an animal liberation agenda, whose
members are also very active in anti-occupation struggles. Again this combi-

17
 ANARCHIST STUDIES

nation of agendas is there with the explicit goal of 'highlighting the connection
between all different forms of oppression, and hence also of the various strug­
gles against them' (One Struggle 2002). Ma'avak Ehad's explicit anti-capitalist
and ecological agenda also adds a rare radical critique of the relationship
between capitalism and the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. While the latter is well
researched on the economic level (see e.g. Nitzan and Bichler 2002), awareness
of these connections is far from widespread in public discourse, going only as
far as political rhetoric like 'money for social services, not for the settlements!'.
The group's emphasis on animal liberation again creates a critical bridge:
calling attention to animal rights within peace and social justice movements,
but also encouraging resistance to the occupation in the vegetarian and vegan
community. By operating Food Not Bombs stalls, the group creates meaningful
connections between poverty, militarism and animal exploitation, which are
highly poignant in an Israeli context. In addition, members of this group were
some of the founders of Anarchists Against the Wall.
A third example in this thread is New Profile, a feminist organization that
challenges Israel's militarised social order. Its activities fall into two cate­
gories. First, it does educational work around the connections between
militarism in Israeli society and patriarchy, inequalities and social violence,
and acts to 'disseminate and realize feminist-democratic principles iri Israeli
education by changing a system that promotes unquestioning obedience and
glorification of military service' (Aviram 2003). Activities in this area include
debates in schools that promote critical, non-hierarchical thinking, and work­
shops on consensus, conflict resolution and democratic process for groups. In
its second role, New Profile is the most radical among the four Israeli
refusenik groups, and the one through which anarchists refusing military
service predominantly organise. The group campaigns for the right to consci­
entious objection, and its website has full guides to refusal for both men and
women. It operates a network of support 'buddies' for refuseniks before,
during and after jail, arranges seminars for youth who are still dwelling on
whether or not to refuse or evade service, and campaigns to support and recog­
nise the struggle of women refuseniks. The group's radical
feminist/anti-militarist stance, besides being an important message to society,
also creates a meaningful bridge between feminists and the refusenik move­
ment, critical in challenging the core narratives to which most refuseniks -
predominantly mainstream left-Zionist males - continue to adhere.

DIRECT ACTION
A second thread of intervention in Palestine/Israel in which global trends are
refracted is civil disobedience and direct action, in particular within the
context of the anti-occupation struggles since the beginning of the second
Intifada. Such tactics are clearly central to the anarchist political repertoire,

18
 ISRAELI ANARCHISM

with their emphasis on unmediated action to change reality - be it to destroy

and prevent, or to create and enable - rather than appealing to an external
agent to wield power on one's behalf.
The most prominent site of anarchist involvement in civil disobedience
and direct action in Israel/Palestine is the everyday support for Palestinian
non-violent resistance. The development of this thread can be quite neatly
divided into two periods. The first was from summer 200 1 to spring 2003,
when the central organ for direct action solidarity activities was the
International Solidarity Movement, a Palestinian-led coordination through
which European and North-American activists, many of them anti-capitalists,
arrived in the occupied territories to accompany non-violent actions
(Sandercock et. al 2004). The ISM became active before the height of the
Israeli state's invasions and attacks on Palestinian population centres. Its
actions included forming human chains to block soldiers from interfering
while Palestinians tore down military roadblocks, held mass demonstrations,
or collectively broke curfews to go to school or harvest olives or play soccer.
Interestingly, organisers estimate that between a quarter and a third of ISM
volunteers have been Jewish. As the violence escalated, the ISM was driven
to focus more and more on accompaniment and human-shielding while at the
same time drawing world attention to the repression of Palestinians through
the 'live' presence of international witnesses. During the spring 2002 inva­
sions, at a time where more proactive involvement would inevitably be
suppressed with deadly force, ISM activists stayed in Palestinian homes
facing demolition, rode with ambulances, escorted municipal workers to fix
infrastructure, and delivered food and medicine to besieged communities. In
what was the most widely-broadcast drama of this phase, internationals were
holed-up for weeks in the besieged Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem with
residents, clergymen and armed militants. For a while, what internationals did
was dictated by when, where, and how the Israeli army would attack. As the
violence ebbed, however, the emphasis on defensive operations diminished
and the ISM turned proactive again, with demonstrations to break curfews
and an international day of action in summer 2002.
Now while the ISM and similar solidarity groups are not nominally anar­
chist, and include a large and divergent array of participants from a wide range
of backgrounds, two clear connections to anarchism can nevertheless be made.
First, in terms of the identity of participants, international solidarity activities
in Palestine have seen a major and sustained presence of anarchists, who had
earlier cut their teeth on anti-capitalist mobilisations and local grassroots
organising in North America and Europe. Thus, these networks constitute the
foremost vehicle for on-the-ground involvement of international anarchists in
Palestine. Second, and more substantially, it may be argued that the main
source of anarchist affinities with the ISM is that it prominently displays many
of the hallmarks of anarchist political culture: the lack of formal membership,

19
 ANARCHIST STUDIES

comprehensive 'policy' or official leadership groups; a decentralised organ­

ising model based on autonomous affinity groups, spokescouncils and
consensus decision-making; and a strategic focus on short-term campaigns
and creative tactics that stress direct action and grassroots empowerment.
These affinities are evinced by a statement from ISM Canada (ibid.) on the
need to move 'from an arrogant "saviour" model of activism, to a real "soli­
darity" model of activism', whose emphasis on direct action contains many
keywords of anarchist political language:

Solidarity means more than 'charity' work to ease our conscience. It must
also do more than simply witness or document atrocities - though these
tasks are also critical to our work. The ISM views solidarity as an impera­
tive to actively engage in resistance to the Occupation, to take sides, to put
our bodies on the line, and to use the relative privilege of our passports
and, in some cases, colour - first and foremost, in ways that Palestinians
actually request, but also in ways which help build trust and expand
networks of mutual aid.

It should be emphasised, however, that these anarchist affinities are not the result
of any direct influence on part of the Western anarchist movement. Rather, they
are a point of convergence between anarchism and the endemic Palestinian tradi­
tion of popular resistance. Palestinians have a long-standing orientation towards
civil disobedience and non-violent action, which has continued since the first
Intifada - an uprising organised through popular committees and largely in
detachment from the PLO leadership, and involving mass demonstrations,
general strikes, tax refusal, boycotts of Israeli products, political graffiti and the
establishment of underground schools and grassroots mutual aid projects.
Hence, the first point to be made about the particulars of anarchist
involvement in direct action in Palestine relates to its strong display of anti­
vanguardism. In all of these actions, anarchists and their allies have
deliberately participated as followers and supporters rather than as equals. The
ethos of the ISM and other solidarity groups stresses taking the lead from
Palestinian community members or representatives, based on the principle that
decision-making and control of actions should be in proportion to the degree
to which one is affected by the potential outcome. As a result, ISMers have
been careful to emphasise that 'internationals cannot behave as if they are
coming to teach Palestinians anything about "peace" or "non-violence" or
"morality" or "democracy", or anything else that many in the West typically
(and arrogantly and mistakenly) view as the exclusive realm of Western
activism and values' (ibid.). Similarly, Yossi Bar-Tal has argued that 'we're not
working in Palestine to educate ... We would never hand out leaflets in Arabic
explaining what anarchism is and why you should join us, because this is not
our way ... we're not there to educate, because while they're being occupied

20
 ISRAELI ANARCHISM

by our state we have no reason to come there and preach' (Lakoff 2005). The
same logic has been applied to the ideas of disobedience and direct action. In
such a setting, any attempt at a defining contribution in terms of direct action
- say, by way of implanting tactics garnered from Western models - would
strike anarchists as an arrogant intervention. So in this case the anarchist
connection happens more in terms of support for existing forms of popular
resistance towards which anarchists experience affinity, rather than in terms of
anarchists importing their own politics into a new arena.
The spring of 2003 marked a clear period of transition for direct action in
Israel/Palestine, with the centre of gravity for solidarity activities shifting from
the ISM to Israeli initiatives. The reason for this shift was a profound crisis in
the ISM, following a rapid succession of tragic events, which led to a lowering
of its profile and created a vacuum that was filled by Anarchists Against the
Wall, who began their organising in the same period.
Two factors contributed to the ebb of ISM activities. The first was the
killing of two of its volunteers in Gaza. On 16 March, Rachel Corrie was
crushed to death under an Israeli armoured bulldozer which she was trying to
obstruct during a house demolition in Rafah. On I I April another interna­
tional, Tom Hurndall, was shot in the head by an Israeli sniper in the same area
and went into coma, dying nine months later. While the killings raised inter­
national outcry, increased the ISM's profile and further highlighted the
brutality of the occupation, they also underlined the immense risk accompa­
nying solidarity activities and caused many activists to think twice about going
to Palestine. The second factor was a concerted Israeli campaign to associate
the ISM with terrorism, and subsequent clampdowns on the organisation. On
the night of 27 March, during a period of curfew and military arrests in Jenin,
a 23-year-old Palestinian named Shadi Sukiya arrived at the ISM office in
Jenin, soaking wet and shivering, and was given a change of clothes, a hot
drink and a blanket. Soon afterwards Israeli soldiers came in and arrested
Sukiya, who they accused of being a senior member of the Islamic Jihad. The
army also claimed that a pistol had been discovered in the office, but later
retracted the allegation. On 25 April, a public memorial service for Rachel
Corrie organised by the ISM was attended by two young British Muslims, Asif
Hanif and Omar Khan Sharif. Five days later, the two carried out a suicide
bombing at a restaurant in Tel-Aviv. Despite the fact that in both cases contact
had been minimal and ISM volunteers had no idea about the identity of their
guests, the Israeli government used these events as an excuse to publicly
accuse the organisation of harbouring terrorists and proceeded to repress the
organisation. On 9 May the army raided the ISM media office in Beit Sahour,
seizing computer equipment, video tapes, CDs and files. Though uncon­
firmed, it is thought that among the materials seized was a comprehensive list
of past and present ISM volunteers, including their addresses and passport
numbers. This enabled the Israeli security apparatus to expand its 'blacklist' of

21
 ANARCHIST STUDIES

unwelcome internationals, resulting in an increase of deportations and denials

of entry into Israel in subsequent months. Put together, these events placed the
ISM in crisis and seriously reduced the flow of internationals into Palestine­
although small numbers continue to arrive to this day.
Meanwhile, also in spring 2003, some Israelis who were cooperating on
direct action with ISM affinity groups and with other internationals increas­
ingly felt the need to give more visibility to their own resistance as Israelis, by
creating an autonomous group working together with Palestinians and inter­
nationals. This was the same period in which the construction of the
segregation barrier on the western part of the occupied West Bank began in
earnest (the barrier is a network of fences with vehicle-barrier trenches (95%)
and concrete walls (5%). For details see PENGON 2003, PLO-NAD 200 6).
After a few actions against the barrier in Israel and Palestine, a small group
started to come together and build a trusted reputation as Israeli direct-action
activists willing to struggle together with local Palestinians. In March 2003 the
village of Mas'ha invited the group to build a protest camp on village land that
was being confiscated for the Wall (96% of Mas'ha land was taken). The
protest camp became a centre of struggle and information against the planned
construction of the barrier in that area and in the whole West Bank. Over the
four months of the camp more than a thousand internationals and Israelis came
to learn about the situation and join the struggle. During the camp a direct­
action group calling itself Anarchists Against the Wall was created. After the
eviction of the Mas'ha camp in summer 2003 amid ninety arrests, the group
continued to participate in many joint actions across the occupied territories.
With about one hundred active participants overall, the group has been present
at demonstrations and actions on a weekly basis in villages such as Salem,
Anin, Biddu, Beit Awwa, Budrus, Dir Balut, Beit Surik and Beit Likia. In
some of these actions, the Palestinian villagers and anarchists managed to tear
down or cut through parts of the fence, or to break through gates along it.
Since 2005, the group has mainly been active in the village of Bil'in, which
has become a symbol of the joint struggle.
The appearance of Israelis taking direct action along with Palestinians has,
over time, destabilised the unquestioned legitimacy of the barrier and
impacted the public sensibilities in Israel to a degree which international
activists could never have managed. This is not so much due to the type of
actions - which are essentially the same - as to the identity of the participants.
Such actions taken by Israelis are far more transgressive and provocative in the
eyes of the Israeli public, which is not accustomed to seeing its own citizens
put their bodies on the line in support of Palestinian rights. Grassroots
Palestinian leaders are interested in furthering such cooperation in order to
influence public opinion in Israel, and more especially because the presence
of Israelis, they hope, will moderate the reactions of the soldiers. While the
majority of the public certainly views Israeli anarchists as misguided, nai've

22
 ISRAELI ANARCHISM

youth at best and as traitors at worst, it is impossible to deny that their direct
actions have had some impact on the discourse of wider Israeli society, espe­
cially around the barrier. Israeli-Palestinian cooperation in militant action is
inherently powerful because it enacts a dramatic, 90-degree flip of perspective :
the 'horizontal' imagery of conflict between Israelis and Palestinians is
displaced by the 'vertical' one of struggle between people and government.
There are two further points to be made regarding the direct-action activi­
ties in Palestine/Israel surveyed above. The first regards the special
intersection, in the current context, between direct action and questions of
political violence. While recognising the legitimacy of organized, armed insur­
rection (though not of targeting civilians), the ISM and the Anarchists Against
the Wall participate only in non-violent acts resistance by Palestinians. This
has the goal of giving visibility to the non-violent aspects of Palestinian
struggle , which in fact constitute the bulk of their activity against the occupa­
tion, and with which Western audiences can more easily identify. Now this
position provides an interesting counterpoint to the debates around violence in
European and North American anarchist circles. The endorsement of a 'diver­
sity of tactics' places anarchists in a more comfortable position than strictly
non-violent activists regarding the landscape of struggle in Palestine/Israel.
Here , the non-violent aspect of direct action plays an entirely different role ,
since it takes place against the backdrop of a highly violent conflict, in which
armed struggle is the norm rather than the exception. By engaging only in
non-violent forms of action while not denouncing armed resistance , the ISM
and the anarchists have , after their own fashion , also adopted a diversity of
tactics position. Where supporters of a more strict, ideological version of non­
violence (e.g. in the Gandhian tradition) might experience a deep conflict with
such a position, Western anarchists who have distanced themselves from strict
non-violence can more comfortably accept it - although in this case it is they
who take on the non-violent option. In Palestine, then, anarchists have found
themselves inhabiting the other side of the 'diversity of tactics' equation ,
counteracting the charge that this formula is merely a euphemism for violence
(Lakey 2002) by showing that they too are committed to engage in purely non­
violent actions under some conditions.
The second point to be made in this context regards the uncommon degree
of state violence faced by the Israeli anarchists, and the resultant pervasiveness
of post-traumatic stress and burn-out among their ranks. While obviously
amounting to very little compared to the lethal brutality directed towards the
Palestinian population, the frequency of Israeli anarchists' experiences of state
repression is certainly considerable in comparison to those of their European
and North American counterparts. Exposure to tear-gas and baton blows has
become a matter of weekly regularity, compounded by the use of sound
grenades , rubber-coated metal bullets and even live ammunition. In one case
an Israeli protester was shot in the thigh with a live bullet and almost died of

23
 ANA RCHIST STUDIE S

blood lo ss, while another was shot in the head by a rubber-coated metal bullet
and was also in critical condition. In addition, there have been uncounted
minor injuries su stained at the hands of soldier s and border police during anti­
wall demonstration s. The army has also been using demonstrations in the We st
Bank as an opportunity to test novel 'less lethal' weapons such as pepperballs
(a small tran sparent red plastic ball containing an extremely irritant powder)
and the Tze'aka (Hebrew for 'scream") - a minute-long blast of deafening
sound emanating from a vehicle-mounted device that causes nausea and
imbalance ( Rose 2006).
These experiences have led to wide spread post-traumatic stress ( PT S), a
phenomenon which is only now beginning to be acknowledged and dealt with
in anarchist circles internationally. In the wake of repression, numerous
activists have experienced emotional symptoms of P T S, including anxiety,
guilt, depression, irritability and feelings of alienation and isolation; cognitive
symptoms such as disturbing thoughts, flashback s and intrusive images,
nightmares, panic attack s and hyper-vigilance; and physical effects including
fatigue, elevated blood pre ssure, breathing and visual difficulties, menstrual
changes and muscular tension. Unfortunately, until very recently the anar­
chi sts did not give any significant attention to these problems and failed to
create a space for dealing with them. As a result of the accumulation of
untreated stress, the initiative has seen high degree s of bum-out and with­
drawal from activity, creating a lack of continuity in the group. Only a handful
of the founding participants remain active today, while new and younger
activists join in and soon experience the same difficulties.
The failure to address PT S and bum-out can be traced to the internal
dynamics of the group: a short-term focu s on organising the next demonstra­
tion, mirrored by a lack of more stragetical discussion about the group's
long-term goals and su stainability as a group; and (perhaps mo st disturbingly)
an uncritical reproduction, among at least some of the activists, of a cultural
ethos which emphasised personal sacrifice, resilience and toughness, creating
widespread reluctance to surface the psychological effects of regular exposure
to repression for fear of being considered 'weak'. The same short-termism has
also been re sponsible for the unchecked development of informal hierarchie s
in the group, due to differences in experience, personal time and energy, and
access to resources and networks. In the past months, however, some prom­
ising changes have been taking place. Two member s of the British activist
trauma group -a network of activists trained to treat post-traumatic stre ss who
are raising awareness to the issue within the movement - arrived in the country
with their I sraeli partners and proceeded to set up a local group with the same
goals (for details on the Briti sh group's work see www.activist-trauma.net/).
While initially intended as a support network for the upcoming Queeruption
events, the initiative was soon received with enthusiasm by a much broader
range of activists including participants in Anarchists Against the Wall, who

24
 ISRAELI ANARCHISM

could for the first time name what they had been going through and feel safe
to ask for support. Also recently, a discussion of the issues of leadership and
power in the group has been initiated in earnest, with increased awareness of
the need for re-distributing responsibilities, decentralising communication and
sharing resources and skills. These developments may mark a new phase in the
activities of the Israeli anarchists, creating a more sustainable movement and
a space for the elaboration of longer-term agendas.

ALT ERNATIVES AND GRASSROOTS P EAC EMAKING

This leads us to the third and possibly most important thread of intervention.
European and North American anarchists have long been aware of the need to
complement destructive/preventative direct action with constructive/enabling
forms of the same. However, the context in which the latter are discussed and
used has been predominantly social and economic, with examples ranging
from squats and social centres through urban food-gardening and self-help
groups and on to cooperatives and L ETS systems. The unique situation in
Israel/Palestine allows us to glimpse the further potentialities of this logic in a
setting of military conflict. Here, we can consider a third thread of anarchist
intervention, whereby direct action in its constructive mode is enacted through
projects of grassroots peacemaking.
Israeli citizens cannot legally enter the West Bank or Gaza. Citizens of the
West Bank and Gaza cannot legally enter Israel. The only Israelis that many
Palestinians get to see are the army. The only Palestinians that many Israelis get
to see are on TV. This reality obviously fosters mutual ignorance, fear and
hatred on both sides. Paradoxically, however, for most Jewish Israelis the notion
of peace is strongly associated with the notion of separation. Ehud Barak's
central slogan in his 1999 election campaign was 'physical separation from the
Palestinians - us here, them there'. Thus the refusal to reinforce separation
works against the grain of mainstream discourse. It should be appreciated that
the Israeli government's name for the barrier, the 'separation' fence or wall,
signifies something positive for many Israelis. Most of the Israeli 'peace camp'
has a problem with the wall, but would be satisfied if its route were to overlap
with the Green Line, say, as a border between two states. However, this idea too
needs to be challenged by anarchists and others who support a genuine peace
in the region. This is because conditions of physical separation cannot make for
the true reconciliation that is required by a more thoroughgoing notion of
peace. The latter would go beyond a 'permanent armistice' and signify the full
normalisation of relations between Palestinians and Israelis, where coexistence
is a relationship free of all fear, suspicion and distance.
Many grassroots peacemaking efforts are oriented in this direction. One
example is the organisation Ta'ayush (Arab-Jewish Partnership), created after
the beginning of the Second Intifada. That month saw one of the few cases

25
 ANARCHIST STUDIES

when Palestin ians who live in Israel actively resisted and raised their voices in
sol idar ity w ith those in the occupied terr itories. Ta'ayush has a large member­
ship of Jews and Palestinian Arabs of Israeli c itizenship, including many
students, and undertakes many actions in the territories - br inging food to the
towns and helping farmers to work their land. A more communal example is
Neve Shalom/ Wahat ai-Salaam, a cooperat ive v illage of Jew ish and Palestin ian
Israelis, situated equ idistant between Jerusalem and Tel Aviv-Jaffa. Founded in
1972, the v illage now houses about 50 families and operates Israel's f irst fully
bilingual regional school, with 290 Jew ish and Arab children. The residents
also have been organiz ing projects to help Palestinians in the West Bank w ith
distr ibution of food and medical attention. Overall, the network of organisa­
tions for Jew ish-Arab coex istence in Israel already lists over one hundred
groups, from lobbying and advocacy groups through educational and artistic
projects and on to local cit izens' fora in mixed cities and regions.
However, unlike Ta'ayush, many of these initiatives explicitly designate
themselves as 'a-political', sidestepping the obligation to confront social
inequalities in Palestine/Israel, and see themselves as 'civil society' initiatives
which supplement rather than challenge basic pol itical and social structures.
Thus a specif ic anarch ist contribution to th is thread of intervention is to infuse
it w ith a more clearly antagonistic d imension. What anarchists especially
contr ibute to grassroots peacemaking is to undertake projects within its fold,
on their own or in cooperation w ith others, wh ile maintaining a stance of
refusal towards state power. Thus community peacemaking, as a form of
politic ian-bypassing d irect action, at least has the potential for generating
further joint struggles and a deeper awareness of how collective oppression
and trauma are at work on both s ides.
In a h ighly-evocative article, Amer ican-Israel i anarchist Bill Templer
(2003) po ints to one version of what this could look l ike , using many
keywords that w ill be familiar by now :

Re inventing politics in Israel and Palestine means lay ing the groundwork
now for a kind of Jewish-Palestinian Zapatismo, a grassroots effort to
'reclaim the commons'. This would mean mov ing towards direct democ­
racy, a participatory economy and a genuine autonomy for the people ;
towards Martin Buber's vision of 'an organic commonwealth ... that is a
community of communities'. We might call it the 'no-state solution' .

Templer's optimism for such a project rests on the perception of a w idespread

crisis of fa ith in 'neol iberal govemmentality', making Israel/ Palestine 'a
microcosm of the pervasive vacuity of our received pol itical imaginar ies and
the rul ing elites that administer them ... [but which] offers a un ique m icro­
laboratory for exper iment ing w ith another k ind of polity'. While
acknowledg ing the inev itability of a two-state settlement in the short term, he

26
 ISRAELI ANARCHISM

traces elements which are already turning Palestine/Israel into 'an incubator
for creating "dual power" over the middle term, "hollowing out" capitalist
structures and top-down bureau cracies'.
Amid the daily horrors of death and humiliation, and set against the back­
drop of the defensive and bellicose attitudes of the Israeli public, Templer's
speculations may involve more than a bit of wishful thinking. But the relevant
point is that the activities of antagonistic groups and communities can
'contaminate' any future peace process with a more thoroughgoing agenda of
social transformation. What grounds such an agenda, from an anarchist
perspective, is the argument that the creation of genuine peace requires the
creation and fostering of political spaces which facilitate voluntary coopera­
tion and mutual aid between Israelis and Palestinians. Indeed, even if the
Israeli government turned around and accepted a route towards peace and
normalisation between the two peoples, su ch peace and normalisation would
still only exist to the extent that people practised them; they would not spring
.
into being by executive fiat.
The Mas 'ha camp has already registered a powerful example of the poten­
tials of such endeavours. The encounter between Israelis and Palestinians
engaged in a joint struggle against the construction of the segregation barrier in
the village became a protracted face-to-face encounter, where members of both
communities could work together on a daily basis, overcoming the invisible
walls of isolation and stereotypes created by the occupation. For both sides, the
camp was an intense experience of equality and togetherness, which by exten­
sion could create a model for future efforts - as these quotes from a Palestinian
and an Israeli participant demonstrate (Shalabi and Medicks 2003):

Nazeeh : We wanted to show that the Israeli people are not our enemies; to
provide an opportunity for Israelis to cooperate with us as good neighbors
and support our struggle... Our camp showed that peace will not be built
by walls and separation, but by cooperation and communication between
the two peoples living in this land. At Mas'ha Camp we lived together, ate
together, and talked together 24 hours a day for four months. Our fear was
never from each other, but only from the Israeli soldiers and settlers.
Oren : The young Israeli generation realizes that the world has changed.
They saw the Berlin wall come down. They know that security behind
walls is illusionary. Spending some time together in the camp, has proven
to us all that real security lies in the acceptance of one another as equals,
in respecting each other's right to live a full, free life ... [we struggle] to
topple walls and barriers between peoples and nations, creating a world
which speaks one language - the language of equal rights and freedom.

The imagery of resistance to fences, walls and borders already has a very
strong currency in anarchist and broader anti-capitalist circles. The fences

27
 ANARCHIST STUDIES

erected around summits, immigrant detention centres, affiuent suburbs and

prisons - all have been used as symbols for broader social processes such as
border regimes, the enclosure of commons, restrictions on freedom of move­
ment, the 'democratic deficit' in global institutions and the stifling of dissent
( Klein 2002). Meanwhile, a series of No Border protest-camps have been
taking place in Europe and the US-Mexico Border, under the slogan 'No
Human is Illegal' - expressing an explicit rejection not only of immigration
controls, but of all border regimes as such (and thus, by way of veiled impli­
cation, of the state). In such a discursive environment, the fence in
Palestine/Israel was just asking for it. The challenge, however, is to extend this
logic to the multiple fences - real and political - that segregate the Israeli and
Palestinian communities on the level of everyday life.

CONC LUSION
This article has attempted to make sense of anarchist positions and actions in the
context of Palestine/Israel. I have pointed to the obstacles that the traditional
anarchist position against nationalism creates for solidarity with occupied
peoples, arguing that support for national liberation in the form of a new state
does not in fact contradict central anarchist concerns. While this is an interesting
theoretical point, it turns out to be far less than cr itical in practical terms, since
the relevant actions that anarchists undertake on the ground are either indifferent
to the question of statehood (in the case of everyday practical solidarity and direct
action), or else attempt to transcend it (in the case of grassroots peacemaking that
seeks reconciliation and mutual aid alongside and as-against any statist resolu­
tion). In examining these concrete activities on the ground, I have pointed both to
local expressions of the action repertoires and perspectives of contemporary anar­
chism as a global movement, and to unique configurations and dilemmas that
accompany anti-authoritarian activism in this particular context.
I would have liked to end this article on an optimistic note, but as it goes to
print the situation in Israel/Palestine is worse than it has ever been. The Israeli
government continues to make life hell for the residents of Gaza and the West
Bank, and has adopted a policy of knee-jerk rejection towards any and every
initiative for renewed negotiations. Among the Israeli public, wide support for
the recent war in Lebanon and the lack of outcry at the ministerial appoint­
ment of Avigdor Lieberman - a barefaced racist advocating ethnic cleansing
and centralisation of power - represent a mood of dazed passivity, fed by
economic hardship and the constant revival of dark collective traumas. In such
an environment, the efforts of anarchists and the wider left easily seem like a
drop in the sea. Even when hundreds mobilise to protest the continued
pounding of Gaza or the accelerated building of the segregation barrier, their
voices largely fall on deaf ears as the seemingly-unstoppable engines of death
churn on. As the nightmare unfolds, all that anarchists and their allies can do

28
 ISRAELI ANARCHI SM

is hold on to their visions and continue the thankless work of building the
infrastructures of joint struggle, never losing their hope for a breakthrough
that will f inally bring some solace to this orphaned land.

NOT E S

I . Throughout this article, the terms ' Israel/Palestine' and ' Palestine/lsrael' are used
interchangeably to refer to the land west of the Jordan River.
2. The information presented in this part of the article is based on the author's
ongoing participant observation of anarchist activities, supplemented by examples
from relevant literature.

RE F ERENCE S
Anarchist Communist I nitiative, Israel (2004) 'Two States for Two Peoples - Two States
Too Many' (leaflet), in FdCA, We are all Anarchists against the Wall
Anonymous ( 1 999) Beasts of Burden: Capitalism. Animals. Communism (London:
Antagonism Press); http://www.geocities.com/CapitoIHill/Lobby/3909/beasts/
Austrian, Guy Izhak and Ella Goldman (2003) 'How to strengthen the Palestine
Solidarity Movement by making friends with Jews'; Clamor magazine
Communique #20; http://www.clamormagazine.org/communique/commu­
nique20.pdf
Ayalon, Uri (2004) 'Resisting the Apartheid Wall', in FdCA, We are all Anarchists
against the Wall
Bakunin, Mikhail ( 1 9531 1 8 7 1 ) 'A circular letter to my friends in Italy', in G. P.
Maximotf, ed., The Political Philosophy ofBakunin (London: Free Press)
Dominick, Brian ( 1 995) Animal Liberation and Social Revolution (pamphlet);
http://www.onestruggle.org/AlibSorev.htm
FdCA - Federazione dei Comunisti Anarchici (eds., 2004) We are all Anarchists against the
Wall (Fano: I Quaderni di Altemativa Libertaria); http://www.fdca.itlwall/media.htm
Friends of AI-Halladj (2002) Fawda; http://digilander.libero.it/guerrasociale.org/
fawda_ing.htm
Grauer, Mina ( 1 994) 'Anarcho-Nationalism: Anarchist attitudes towards Jewish nation­
alism and Zionism', Modern Judaism 14. 1
Hobson, Christopher Z., Wayne Price and Matthew Quest (200 1 ) 'New Intifada'
(debate) The Utopian 2
homefries (ed., 2004) A Liberation Reader: Writings and other media connecting
animal liberation and social justice; http://www.liberationreader.blogspot.com/
ISM - International Solidarity Movement - Canada (2004) ' History, Structure &
Philosophy'; http://www.ismcanada.org/enlhistory.shtml
Lakey, George (2002) ' Diversity of Tactics and Democracy', Clamor Magazine 1 3
(MarchiApril)
Lakotf, Aaron (2005) ' Israeli Anarchism: Being Young, Queer and Radical in the
Promised Land', Anarchist Studies 1 3.2; http://aaron.resist.ca/node/33
Landauer, Gustav ( 1 907) ' Yolk und Land: DreiBig sozialistische Thesen' , Die ZukunJt
(Jan. 12)
-. ( 1 973/ 1 9 1 0) 'Schwache Stattsmiinner, Schwacheres Yolk!', Der Sozialist (June 10).
Trans. in Eugene Lunn, Prophet of Community: the Romantic Socialism of Gustav
Landauer (Berkeley: University of California Press)

29
 ANARCHIST STUDIE S

McCarthy, Ryan Chiang (2002) 'Anarchists and Palestine: Class Struggle or Popular
Front?', NEFAC website; http://makhno.nefac.net/html/drupall?q=node/view/ l 58
M ichaels, Lucy (2004) ' Fear and Loathing', New Internationalist 372 (October);
http://www.jfjfp.org/BackgroundJ/michaels.htm
PENGON - Palestinian Environmental NGOs Network (2003) The Apartheid Wall
Campaign (website); http://www.pengon.org/wall/info.html
PLO-NAD - Palestine Liberation Organisation, Negotiations Affairs Department
(2006), Barrier to Peace: Assessment of Israel s Revised Wall Route;
http://www.nad-plo.org/news-updates/wall.pdf
Price, Wayne (2002) 'Anarchism and the Israeli-Palestinian War', Barricada 1 7
Rocker, Rudolf ( 1 937) Nationalism and Cultllre (New York: Covici, Friede)
Rose, Steven (2006), ' Israel's Other Weaponry', Palestine News (summer)
Sandercock, Josie et al. (eds., 2004) Peace Under Fire: Israel/Palestine and the
International Solidarity Movement (London: Verso)
Sha'alabi, Nazeeh and Oren Medicks (2003) 'The camp in the eyes ofa Palestinian activist'
and 'The camp in the eyes of an Israeli activist'; http://stopthewall.org.il/mashacamp/
Shot by both sides (2005) 'Anti semitism and the Left', Melbourne Indymedia;
http://www.melbourne.indymedia.org/news/2005/02/87951 .php
Solidarity Federation (2002) ' Human Rights: Yes - State of Palestine: No', Direct
Action 23; http://www.directa.force9.co.uklback issues/DA 23/regulars2.htm
Templer, Bill (2003) ' From Mutual Struggle to Mutual Aid: Moving beyond the statist
impasse in IsraeI/Palestine', Borderlands 2.3; http://www.borderlandsejournal.
adelaide.edu.aulvoI2n03_20031 templer_impasse.htm

30
No past, no respect, and no power
An anarchist evaluation of Native Americans as sports
nicknames, logos, and mascots

DANA M. WILLIAMS
Department of Sociology
University ofAkron
Akron, OH 44325- 1905
dana@riseup.net

A BSTRACT
Native American imagery is commonly used in American society, particularly
as sport team nicknames, logos, and mascots. An anarchist critique sheds light
on the multifaceted dimensions of oppression that this practice draws upon.
Racism and sexism, capitalism and violent state power not only constitute the
targets of many anarchisms; they are also the matrix propping up these Native
American sports nicknames. These various oppressions are explored in detail,
with an attempt to diagram the major dimensions in which these nicknames
are maintained by the dominant US culture. Understanding the ways in which
the practice draws power from various oppressive and hierarchical institutions
can be useful for overcoming not only Native American repression, but also
aiding anarchist struggles against American Empire.

Keywords: Native Americans, mascots, nicknames, culture

INTRODUCTION
The expropriation of Native American I culture by mainstream A merica is
pervasive (Green 1988; Merskin 2001; Miller 1999), as ' Warriors' and
'Indians' ranked in the top ten most prevalent college sports team names in
the mid-1990s (Nuessel 1994). Yet, only in recent years has this practice been
increasingly criticized. In 2005, the National Collegiate Athletic Association
(NCAA) decreed that the use of Native American nicknames, logos, and
mascots2 by eighteen US college sports teams was detrimental to learning
and promoted har mful stereotypes of Native people (NCAA 2005). W hile
this critique is an appropriate vantage point from which to construct an argu­
ment against this practice, an anarchist and anti-authoritarian perspective
could offer a deeper and more radical understanding. A closer examination of
the dense web of domination be hind using Native American imagery in
sports exposes the more general domination of Native peoples themselves.3

31
 ANARCHIST STUDIES

Many critiques have been offered regarding this uniquely American

practice. Pewewardy ( 1 99 1 ) argues that such imagery distorts society's
cultural perception of Native Americans, a distortion which has a detri­
mental impact upon N ative people themselves, particularly children.
M erskin (200 1 ) asserts that the usage of Native imagery in consumer
products creates a 'consumer blindspot', facilitating the avoidance of
important issues regarding Native Americans. Those who are protective of
racialized sport imagery feel attacked, according to Davis ( 1 993), due to
the challenge of the unique 'American masculinist identity' founded on
Western mythology.
M ore specifically, research has shown that conventional arguments -
which today revolve predominantly around 'tradition' of the team and
claimed 'honour' towards Native Americans - offered to justify the practice
of using Native Americans as mascots, logos, and the like, are themselves
flawed, both historically and statistically. Staurowsky ( 1 998) has worked to
uncover the neglected history of the Cleveland Indians baseball team (repre­
sented by a wide-grinning 'Chief Wahoo'), which was not named to honour
an early N ative team member as claimed, but rather because the athlete
represented a marketable commodity that would attract attention and novelty
to the Cleveland club. Whites are generally supportive of the Indians' 'Chief
Wahoo', while Native Americans are largely opposed to it, with African­
Americans falling somewhere between the opinions of the two (Fenelon
1 999). Whites, sports fans, and those with a lower level of education were
found to have greater hostility to a change of the Washington Redskins foot­
ball team name than African-Americans, non-sports fans, and the
higher-educated (Sigelman 1 998). At the University of North Dakota, where
there exists a sizable Native student population, N ative Americans were in
fact not appreciative of the 'honour' extended them by the overwhelmingly
White university, and a majority of surveyed Native students were in favour
of changing the ' Fighting Sioux' nickname (Williams 2006b).
Both local and national Native organizations have also condemned this
practice (AISTM 2006). Organizations representing a wide variety of
interests have publicly spoken out: the Native American Journalists
Association, the American Indian M ovement, National Congress of
American Indians, and the Association of American Indian Affairs. Many
tribes have also stated their opposition to their depiction by non-Native
sports teams, far more than those who have offered lukewarm approval at
the behest of teams.4 At UNO, a large array of 2 1 Native-related programs,
departments, and organizations publicly expressed opposition to the
school's nickname, while none supported it (BRIDG ES 2000).
M oreover, much of the mainstream discourse around this issue is theo­
retically and empirically unsound, according to King et al . (2002). These
scholars challenge the popular argument extended by a Sports Illustrated

32
 NO PAST, NO RES PECT, AND NO POWER

(Sf) magazine survey (Price 2002) that purpor ted to demonstrate that most
Native A mericans support their likenesses being used by spor ts tea ms.
First, King et a t. argue, the Sf poll is proble matic because it serves to
distract readers from the histor y a nd implications of nickna me a nd
mascots. Second, the survey featurt:s proble matic sampling and identifica­
tion issues that prod uce non-representative a nd non-ge neralizable findings
( for example, S nipp ( 1992) writes of the difficulty i nvolved in any quan­
titative research on Native A mericans i n national p olling). T hird Sf
decontextualizes nicknames and the controversy about the m. Fourth, the
article discussing the poll concludes that nicknames are unproble matic
merely because a majority of p olled Native people say they are, thus
discounting the validity ofa critical minority. Finally the consequences for
p ublic debate a nd social j ustice are ignored by the poll, which treats the
issue as critically as Sf treats spor ts injuries or debate over which teams
will make the playoffs.
All of this research signifies a gr owing body ofevidence de monstrating
that the practice of using Native A mericans as sports log os constitutes a
serious problem, not a 'PC' issue to be groaned over and dismissed. Yet,
research to date has neglected to c ompile the broad and varied arguments
relevant and link them together at once as representing and c onstituting
multiple oppressions. T here have bee n no atte mpts to s how that the
multiple aspects to this practice are n ot merely interlinked, but represent a
deeper, a nd hence not merely sy mbolic, oppression of Native A mericans.
T he easiest way to view a ny political philosophy is in ter ms of what it
opposes a nd what i t s uppor ts. Anarchism tends to oppose hierarc hy,
a uthority, ce ntralizati on, a nd instead s uppor ts decentralized, horizontal,
and c ooperative social relationships. T hus, if anarchist the ory ca n be said
to have one central and persistent utility, it is that of interrogating the
multi-layered syste ms, insti tutions, a nd practices of domination, power,
a nd a uthority in human societies. A s such, we would be well advised to
focus a n a narchist le ns upon the vari ous forms of d omination inherent to
the US p he nomenon of using Native A merican nickna mes, logos, and
mascots. T he shades and per mutations of these dominations are ma ny, a nd,
arg uably, the damage d one by s uch practices carries a heav y sy mbolic if
n ot actual price for the conscience of A merican society. The oppressions
of racism a nd sexism, capitalism a nd violent state p ower are all fre quent
targets of nearly all shades of anarchism - and each is foc used on here in
tum. T here fore the 'targets' of anarchist opposition are explored in this
article, ending with a brief exploration of what strategies anarchism could
a nd should supp ort. I n the process of studying this par ticular, single prac­
tice, the e ntire ( false) edifice upon which Native history, socio-economic
conditions, and colonized realities is c onstr ucted will hope fully bec ome
disr upted.

33
 ANARCHIST STUDIES

BACKGROUND ON NATI VE AMERICANS

Somewhe re between 40 a nd 100 millio n people are esti mated to have
occupied the Americas p rior to the landing of Christopher Columb us, a nd
appro xi mately 3.8 million in North A me rica.5 By 1800 (about th ree
centuries later) o nly o ne million lived i n North A me rica, which represents
a 74 percent decrease in pop ulation (Deneva n I 992a). A ttrition in the rest
of the A mericas was ro ughly 90 per cent within the f i rst ce ntury following
Columb us ; although Spanish barbarism s urely played a role in this geno­
cide, the more central factor was likely a variety of E uropean-introduced
disease epidemics (Lovell 1992).
For nearly the first h undred years after its founding, the US made
approximately three h undred and seve nty treaties with vario us Native tribes
p rior to 1871 (when the practice ceased), recognizing tribes as ' nations'
able to negotiate inte rnational treaties with the US government. Howeve r,
K vasnicka ( 1988) notes that the 'most i mportant p urpose of many of the
treaties came to be the extinguishment of I ndian title to land' (p. 1 95).
Political interpretations have created the c urrent view that a title to the land
is not the same as ownership or co ntrol, b ut merely a right to occupy, and
thus treaty 'rights' could easily be e xtinguished by gove rnme ntal decree
witho ut d ue process or compensation (Coulter a nd Tullberg 1984).
Legal tactics of land theft were o nly o ne method. Both declared a nd
undeclared wars were waged by the US military d uring the US's early
years. Some of the most brutal were those fought against the Seminoles of
Florida and the Cherokees of Georgia, the latter resulting in the infamo us
'Trail of Tears' forced relocation under o rde rs from US P resident Martin
Van Bure n, which resulted in tho usands o f deaths ( Ehle \ 988). The
Eastern US was also cleared of many tribes by A ndrew Jackson's Indian
Removal Act of 1830, which e mpowered Jackson to cond uct land­
exchanges to relocate Native pop ulations west of the Mississippi (Remini
2001). The last 'Indian War' was fought against the Lakota ns in the
Northern G reat Plains region i n 18 90. Today, the massacre at Wo unded
K nee of 153 Lakotan men, wome n, a nd children is remembered as the last
g reat wartime atrocity against Native peoples ( Brown 1972).
P resently, Native A mericans rep resent 2.4 million people a nd live o n
2.5 per cent o f the total U S landbase (Ce ns us Bureau 2005), although
Ch urchill (1995) estimates that Native peoples wo uld control approxi­
mately 35 per cent o f the land were legitimate treaties with i ndigenous
nations respected by the US governme nt. Reservation-based Native
A me ricans also reside on land that is i ncredibly reso urce-rich (ura nium,
coal, oil, etc), yet most ofte n lack the material resources or permission to
p rofi t from those reso urces.
Native people now consti tute the poorest racial g ro up in the US,

34
 NO PAST, NO R ES P ECT, AND NO POW ER

altho ug h rece ntly Native A mericans have achieved some eco no mic parity
w ith Afr ican A mer icans (Snipp 1992). T hey also have mortality rate s d ue
to acc ide nts, suicide, alcoholism, v iolence a nd d iabetes that are higher
than other A mer icans generally (Snipp 1997). Research ha s also continu­
o usly found that Native peo ple s have far worse health problems than
W hite s in the US, includ ing low b irth we ight, infant mor tal ity, obesity,
hepatitis A a nd B, tuberculosis a nd sexually tra nsmitted disea se s (Cheadle
et al. 1994, De nny et al. 2005, Grossman et al. 1994, Holman et al. 200 I ,
W ill et al. 1999). They e nd ure greater levels o f unemployme nt tha n a ny
other peoples. O nly 18 per cent of Native A mer icans aged 18 to 24 are
e nrolled in college, the lowest percentage of all racial gro ups, a nd only 13
per cent of all Native A mericans aged 25 and older have a college degree,
a lower perce ntage tha n a ny other ethnic group except H ispa nics (National
Center for Education Statistics 2005).
T he se are so me of the problems Native A mericans face today, at lea st
the ea sily mea surable proble ms. Not only do the se problems exist, b ut
Native A mericans also face issue s that are perhaps le ss immediately
threate ning, b ut no less cr uc ial - the proble ms of w hich spor t tea m appro­
pr iation of Native c ul ture is indicative. By interrogating the se issue s, all
o ther problems co me into shar per focus.

HOW DO NATI V E MAS COTS O P PR ESS?

Ann Hall calls sport 'a c ultural practice that susta ins str uctured relation­
ships of do minatio n a nd subord ination' ( 1985 : 109). A s such, sport offer s
a n ideal ve nue for study ing the web of str uctures that relate to Na tive
A mer icans in the US. A narchism itself ha s evolved to be ever co nscious of
a ' matr ix of domination', as co ined by the third-wave feminist Patr ic ia H ill
Collins (1991). A narchist scholars a nd activ ists ofte n focus o n how various
sy stems of domination interact to create the greater w hole. Capitalism is
intr icately threaded w ith the State, as well as patr iarchy (Komegger 2002)
a nd W hite supremacy ( Erv in 1993; Wong n.d.). War ( Goldma n 19 69),
imperialism a nd b urea ucracy are see n either a s side effects of the afore­
me ntioned or a s supporting institutio ns. T he conclusio n of most
co nte mporary a narchists is that the se sy ste ms are the products of each
o ther or at least inter-reliant (Class War Federation 1992; Ehrlich 1996;
Sha ntz 2003).
It can be argued that a narchism's ma in co ntr ibution to political theory
is its cr itiq ue of oppressive a nd abusive power sy ste ms, hierarchical rela­
tionships, a nd a uthor itaria n institutio ns. Mo st moder n a narch ist
collectives cla im a n ope n-ended o ppo sition to all sy ste ms of dominatio n,
including racism, sexism, capitalism a nd the state.6 A s an ideology, a nar­
chism has bee n utilized the world over as a moral a nd prag matic

35
 ANARCHIST STUDIES

phi lo sophy, and its insights have foc used o n problems i n all moder n soci­
eties, be they political, economic, cultural, or social. Th us, a s Chomsky
(2005) sugge sts, concerned people should be seeking o ut for ms o f domi­
nation and oppression, challe nging them, a nd hopefully replacing them
with better for ms of social organization. What follows is an attempt to
interrogate these hierarchical for ms of social organization, speci fica l ly i n
terms o f their support for Native A merican i magery in sports.

RACISM AND S EXISM

Modem a narchist s a nd activists since the movements of the 1960s and
1970s have acknowledged that capitalism doe s not operate in a vacuum
(Class War Federation 1992, Ervin 1993, San Filippo 2003). C ultural
i ssue s like race a nd gender interact with class to for m a nest of issue s that
are near ly impossible to untangle. A s such, it would be pre mature to o nly
consider the commodi fied a spects of Native logos, nickna me s a nd
mascots, witho ut acknowledging that this imagery depicts real people,
who have a di stinct race a nd ge nder. In the fol lowing disc ussion I wil l
address the se issues.
The use of Native imagery for sports teams exempli fies a raci st prac­
tice that se lectively targets only Native A mericans. Displaying decapitated
heads (e ssentia lly what Native ' logos' are) of previously disp laced, ab used,
conscripted, and e limi nated people s has c lear ideological a nd propagan­
di stic p urpose s. The symmetry with the genocida l practice o f
sca lp -h unting sho uld not be lost. A n a nalogous examp le might be a hypo­
thet ical German soccer team called the 'A uschwitz Jews' - so named to
'hono ur' their ( for mer) neighbours - by disp laying the heads o f Hasidic
Jews as if they were trophies every where. Or i magine if Mississippi State
U niversity changed its basketba l l team name to the 'Obedient Negroes'.7
There is, of cour se, an obvious racialized (and racist) connotation to the se
hypothetical teams. Yet, the muted reaction offered to the equally racial­
ized character of teams depicting Native culture reflects a unique a nd
se lective bias in A merican race relations regarding Native peoples. The
very fact that no other racial group in the US is used in this way sho uld
give o ne pause a nd sugge st that something is exceptional and not quite
right with the A merican view o f Native A mericans.
I n most case s, high-profile sports teams with Native imagery (not to
mention the majority of urban centre s in the US) lack a visible Native
pre sence. Few, if a ny, have Federally -de signated Native A merican reserva­
tions in their vicinity. Thus, unlike every other non-White ethnic mi nority
in the US - such as A frican-A mericans, A sian-Americans or Hispanic s -
Native peoples have no pop ular traction with other A mer icans. The ghet­
toe s, barrios a nd migrant worker camp s that geographically segregate poor

36
 NO PAST, NO RESPECT, AND NO POWER

non-Whites do not exist for Native Americans except in the form of reser­
vations, which are overwhelmingly on rural, marginal land far removcd
from urban centres and thc public spotl ight. Thus, Nativc pcoples havc
nearly no existence in the discourse of American race relations.
The source and time period that ushered in many Native sports names
is important to note. Most racial nicknames currently used came into exis­
tence during the first half of the twentieth century when the so-called
American frontier was being closed (Staurowsky 1 998; Landreth 200 I ).
Thus, with the real 'Indian wars' ending, Americans were beginning to
construct play ' Indian wars' with Native imagery in sports and pop
culture. The decisions to create these nicknames, logos and mascots were
made without considering or caring about the input of non-White persons.
The movements for Civil Rights and BlackiBrowniRedlYell ow Power were
almost non-existent at this time. The few social movement organizations
that did exist - such as the National Association for the Advancement of
Coloured People (NAACP) - focused heavily on overt political rights via
legal challenges (Ransby 2003), to the neglect of cultural artefacts such as
sports nicknames.
Those who made the decisions to create the nicknames and logos were
themselves White, and the names were ascribed during a heightened
period of White racism. The people (often wealthy men) who sit on the
Boards of Trustees at universities and local school boards, or who own
professional sports teams, are nearly all White. Even the individuals who
'represent' Native culture are sometimes White: at the University of
Illinois, half-time entertainment at sporting events is provided by a White
student dressed as 'Chief IIIini ' in full 'Indian' regalia. Whites continue to
control the destinies of team nicknames, and yet many continue to rein­
force racist assumptions of what is 'best' for tradition and to pretend that
the names are 'honourable' tributes. Still, as superficial as such justifica­
tions may be, it has only been in recent decades, when pressure has been
applied by the Red Power movement that began in the 1 97 0s, that expla­
nations involving words like 'honour' were even necessary to create (see
Banks 1 993, Means 1 995).
Often, the power of a people is best expressed in their ability to define
and name themselves (Coll ins 1 99 1 ). Native American tribes have consis­
tently demanded autonomy from the dominant White culture of the US
since the meeting of the two cultures. Even though some Native American
reservation schools use Native American imagery to represent their sports
teams, this practice is sensible, since they are in control of their own
culture and imagery (for a similar example, see hooks' ( 1 989) articulation
of African-American women ' coming to voice', and thus moving from
'silence to speech'). The rejection of Native American imagery for sports
teams is a qualified one, which suggests that Native people be given the

37
 ANARCHIST STUDIES

autonomy to decide for themselves how their likeness is represented and

used. As with many issues in a complex society, a 'one s hoe fits all' solu­
tion to naming is not a ppro priate, and mus t consider the will of Native
A mericans. T hus, Native A mericans want to control and choose their own
culture, a kin to how the lrish-American-founded college of Notre Dame
selected an Irish mascot for its sports tea ms.
Entwined with the racial dynamic of Native nicknames is a trend that
directly targets Native gender and sexuality. For example, the regular
usage of the word 'squaw' (in reference to 'Native women') as a name for
women's sports tea ms - in addition to being the name for countless
geographical places (Squaw Cap Mountain, S quaw Hill, S quaw Creek,
S quaw Peak, S quaw Valley) - re flects a studied ignorance of A merican
frontier reality. T he ter m is widely recognized as a lewd reference to
Native fe male genitalia ; W hite frontiersmen adopted it w hen they took
Native women for sexual pleasure, using the word to refer to all Native
women as loose and pro miscuous (Kelleher 2004, King 2003). Thus, akin
to the regular practice of nickname 'fe minization' by adding 'Lady' as a
prefix to tea m nicknames (Eitzen and Zinn 1993, Fuller and Manning
1987), 'Squaw' adds an additional layer of colonial-era patriarchy.
Native A mericans become the targets for sexual humiliation in spor ts
fan propaganda, which o ften pits o pposing tea m mascots against each
other. Since many tea m mascots are animals, some fans have created T­
shirts that portray Native peo ple (both women and men) in bestial sexual
acts with animals. Placing humans on the same 'playing field' as animals
caters to these competitive, artistic renderings by fans. T hus, Native peo ple
can be por trayed as fundamentally interacting with animals, or perhaps as
being on the same level as animals. Consequently, the practice degrades the
humanity of Native people to the level of animals, which furthers the colo­
nial mission of marginalizing Native Americans as humans w ho have
legiti mate rights and claims. Two explicit T-shir t examples are repor ted by
Hofmann (2005) depicting Native males engaged in both oral sex and
'doggy-style' sex with an opposing tea m's mascot: the Bison. Even w hen
animals are not employed in such pro paganda, Natives are routinely
portrayed as mere sex objects to be used by the dominant culture.
S pecific political environments may also e mbody a number of patriar­
chal dynamics that attempt to restrain name-change forces w hile fortifying
racial nickname support. Williams (2006a) notes the sexist character of the
'old boy's club' of the University of North Dakota, w hich uses a 'father
knows best' discourse to marginalize criticism of the school's ' Fighting
Sioux' nickname. Further, Native persons are objectified via a process that
s tereotypes, homogenizes and treats · Native culture and Native people
themselves as commodities -just as patriarchy objectifies wo men as mute,
s hallow, and sexual playthings. Finally, the voices of progressive and

38
 NO PAST, NO RESPECT, AND NO POWER

radica l women at UND are d iscred ited as be ing 'overly PC' (po litically
correct) and for not focusing on 'more important issues' instead.

CAPITA LISM
T he do minant economic system of our time is capitalism. A lthough 'pure'
capitalism is not fo und in any country - the state commonly meddles in
the 'free market' on behalf of private corporat ions - it is o ften c la imed as
the ideal system under which to conduct econo mic prod uct ion, exchange,
and cons umption. T hus, the ut ilization of Native c ulture within a capita list
economy for the purposes of profit requires deeper explorat ion.
Proudhon ( 1840) once fa mo us ly dec lared that proper ty was 'the ft' - an
idea easily adaptable to the appropriation of Native c ulture. In Proudhon's
ca lculation, the very nature of 'proper ty' insists that so me possess it and,
consequently, others cannot. T he 'acquis it ion' of proper ty at one point in
history re inforces the f ut ure ability to restr ict others' access to it. In the
case of Native mascots, the ab ility of Corporate A merica (or un iversit ies
and other schools) to possess these sy mbo ls and c ultura l markers - and to
legally trade mark the m - constitutes a theft from Nat ive A merica. In
stea ling them, the dominant c ulture robs Native people of the abi lity to use
their c ulture for the mselves, whether for se lf-deter mination, prof it, or
mere s ur v ival. Native people have had the whole of their heritage,
c usto ms, and imagery stolen, do minated, d igested and regurg itated back to
them by the dominant c ulture (Pewewardy 1991); and thus they have no
say in how their likeness, trad itions, or history is used. W hites continue to
'p lay Indian' without Native per mission (Green 1988). Nat ive c ulture is
interpreted se lective ly and deployed only for the pursuit of profit.
Rare ly are the many nations, tribes, and ethnic ities consulted abo ut the
use of their names, imagery, c ulture, trad itions, etc. Usua l ly any cons ider­
ation pa id to Native peop les is post hoc. T hey are merely taken,
reprocessed and exploited. W hen per mission is willingly granted, as with
the F lorida-based Se minole Tr ibe and its s upport of the F lor ida State
University 'Seminoles', many Semino les acquiesce s ince they rece ive
indirect benef its from FS U 'Semino le' pop ular ity, such as state f unding
for various tribal projects ( K ing 2000). This theft does a n umber of t hings
to Nat ive A mer icans. F irst, it robs the m of their ability to deter mine how
they, Native people, are portrayed to others in soc iety. As Z inn (1990,
\995) argues, history that flatters the cap ita lists, generals and polit ic ians
is neither 'object ive' nor accurate, and restrains se lf-determinat ion.
Second ly, the theft casts o ut stereotypes, misconceptions and histor ical
inaccuracies to the p ublic mind, which conse quently warps the treatment
of Nat ive A mer icans. T hird ly, it tarnis hes the se lf-image of many Nat ive
A mer ican youth, who grow into ad ulthood v ie wing their bodies, lives and

39
 ANARCHIST STUDIES

history through the fractured lens of Corporate America. Zinn suggests

that until an oppressed people's real history can be known and possessed
by them, they will always have a lesser view of themselves.
Placing the culture of those who have faced an incredible genocide in a
context of 'fun and games' (thus characterizing the victims of that genocide
'all in good humour') deflects the possibilities for an honest critique of
history. In essence, it completes the genocide. Placing Native people along­
side mythical creatures or historical relics such as Buccaneers, Cowboys,
4gers, Kings, Patriots, Pirates, 7 6ers, Vikings and Wizards suggests that
Native people are no longer alive to object to their portrayal. Their problems
and concerns can then be ignored. Other teams like the Cleveland Indians
sanitized their nickname's history, by turning their only Native player, Louis
Francis Sockalexis, into a commodity, once the team realized that the
Cleveland 'Naps' had become widely renowned for having a novelty player
and that his token presence had a marketable quality. Later, Cleveland
rewrote the history of its own identity in order to claim that the name was
meant as an honour to Sockalexis. What the team also fails to mention is that
Sockalexis was the object of ridicule by fans (including in Cleveland), and
developed alcoholism later in life from the stress, not to mention that the
naming was a shrewd public relations ploy (Staurowsky 1998).
The goal of capitalist ideology is to turn continuous profits for business
owners, which requires that everything must be commodified and priced;
or even, as the Situationists put it, to make society dominated by
commodities themselves (Debord 1983). Capitalists and corporatists seek
to romanticize the past, which helps to perpetuate the present-day symbols
of history. Thus, attempts to commodify Native culture represent an effort
to sell ' Indianness' in the marketplace (Whitt 1999). Today, it is valuable
to make the myths of ' Westward Expansion' economically profitable
(Truettner 199 1), partially through the illusion of 'honour' towards Native
Americans by way of mascots and symbols. Not only are Native people
de-historicized, but sports mascots and logos cause a present-day race to
be objectified (see Williams 2006a). Native Americans become inactive
agents in their own portrayal, forever summarized by one 'idealized' and
usually cartoonish depiction. For most Americans, the closest they will get
to knowing a Native person is through such stereotyped visuals (Trimble
\988). An actual existing Native population in North America is an ideo­
logical threat to continued access to the natural resources that reside on
land that is theoretically - and in legal fact - Native land (Churchill 1995).
To avoid this cognitive dissonance, many sports fans convince themselves
that they are somehow 'honouring' Natives by these practices, thus giving
credence to the contradiction that the commodity represents. Davis ( 1993)
concludes that the opposition to changing Native mascots stems from
support for a particular traditional American identity.

40
 NO PAST, NO RES P ECT, AND NO POW ER

The use o f Native nick names a nd symbols is e mbedded within a multi­

mi llion do llar industry orie nted comp lete ly toward profit. Professiona l a nd
collegiate sports benefit e nor mously fro m the appropriatio n o f Native
c ulture. From the jerseys athletes wear to the parapherna lia that fa ns b uy
i n tho usa nds o f stores throughout the co untry, Native imagery is a ubiqui­
to us part o f pro fessional spor ts in A merica. The Kansas City Chiefs,
Washington Redski ns, Atlanta Braves, C leve la nd I ndians, Chicago
B lackhawks and Go lden State Warriors have their tea m names a nd logos
splashed across a l l manner of c lo thing a nd media.8 To change the visual
prese ntations or na mes of these tea ms would require the modification,
replacement or destr uction o f litera l ly thousands o f b ui lding facades,
posters, advertising campaigns, sports stadiums a nd product lines. For the
accounta nts o f sports tea ms, this possibility represe nts an unacceptable
expe nditure i n pro fits a nd labo ur.
Profi t fro m Native American licensing rare ly goes into reb uilding
Native communities. Roya lties are almost never considered or paid. Those
with decision-making a uthority a nd control in private businesses that
benefit fro m Native i magery are unlikely to discontinue s uch use o n their
own 'ethica l' accord, a nd i nstead choose to fo llow the profit motive.
Finally, the very gar ments that disp lay Native A merican likenesses are
often produced under abusive sweatshop conditions around the world
(GAO 1 990, Department of Labor 1 996). Licensed c lothing is sold at
grossly inflated prices to individ ua ls who have often developed a fa lse
conscio usness about what is of fundamenta l value to their everyday exis­
te nce. Capita lism a lienates workers and consumers fro m the fr uits of their
own creativity, a nd sports fur ther this end. The mythology of Native c ulture
(as sold by a predominantly White-owned Corporate A merica) a l lows such
consumers the 'right' (after d uly purchasi ng these commodities) to e mbody
the 'warrior' spirit they lack in their own lustre less lives as cogs in capi­
talism's machine a nd the State's b ureaucracy. Sta urowsky (2000) o ffers a
modest listing o f over o ne h undred companies that are b usiness 'par tners'
with the C leve land I ndians, usually inc l uding the Chief Wahoo logo in their
own advertise ments. It is not surprising that sports fans, who are most often
bombarded with these images and are consumers of these products, are
strong advocates of racist nickna mes (Sige lman 1 998).

VIOL ENC E, WA R AND S TAT E POWER

The state is the ultimate organizationa l p urveyor o f viole nce and the
ce ntra l wager o f war. Thus, a discussion o f the state's centrality in the
rele ntless, ce nturies-long attack upon Native peop le is necessary. The
ironies a nd latent meanings behind the i magery used for sports tea ms
depicting Native A mericans are there fore many.

41
 ANARCHI ST STUDIE S

Sports, by their very nature, are competitive pasti mes tha t avoid a ny
a nd all prete nce of cooperation a mo ngst opposing sides. Thus, the i magery
o ffered by A merican sports tea ms is explicitly aggressive a nd competitive
(Messner 1990; Dworkin and Messner 1999). Fans vigilantly - a nd
violently, as see n whe n inebriated fans confront a nti-nickna me protesters
- defend Native A merican nickna mes, especially in the case of violent
spor ts like hockey and football.9 U ns urprisingly, a nalogies betwee n sports
a nd war are co mmonly made i n the media a nd by sports co mmentators. As
s uch, i t is predictable tha t Native A mericans will become the target of
' wars' (i.e. sports matches). News o utlets often coyly play with the 'wild
west' imagery Native people provide to generate headlines such as ' Braves
on Warpath Against Yankees', 'I ndia ns Scalp the Cubs', or 'Cowboys
Battle the Chiefs' . Since modern sports are prese nted as akin to warfare ,
why not make the experience more a uthe ntic by bringing in the aggressors
a nd victi ms of war as the linguistic imagery?
A n ironic a nd eerie connection between the victims of U S military
aggression and sports tea m namesakes is noteworthy. The US military has
named its military weaponry after the very Native A mericans that past
generations of war-makers have murdered, s uch as Tomahawk Cr uise
Missiles, and half a dozen helicopters, i ncluding the CH-2 1 Shawnee, OH-
58 Kiowa, OV- I Mohawk, UH-I Iro quois, H-34 Choctaw, AH-64 Apache.
I n this respect, s uch violent weapons of war are easily more shocking
namesakes tha n civilia n a utomobiles s uch as Winnebago campers,
Po ntiacs, or Jeep Cherokees. Someti mes the imagery of war is even more
e xplicit, a nd eve n more conte ntious. The U niversity of North Dakota
boasts on its website a photograph of approximately two-dozen all-white
North Dakota National Guardsmen posing with U S a nd ' Fighting Sioux'
flags (and one person wearing a ' Sioux' jersey), machine guns a t the ready.
These soldiers are using the imagery and mythology of a warlike Lakotan
nation - o ne of the last peoples to be nearly wiped o ut by U S military
aggression - as they occupy the land of Iraq, also a repeated target of U S
military aggression.
The case could easily be made tha t the U S military (and its soldiers) has
so willingly adopted Native i magery in order to hono ur their for merly
wor thy adversar ies, or perhaps to 'absorb' the strength a nd fighting-spirit
tha t nobly drove Native A mericans to defend their lands. B ut this e xplana­
tio n would be a selective o ne : no military wo uld tr uly e mbrace other
aspects often fo und in many Native c ultures: co mmunalism, egalitari­
a nism, rejectio n of proper ty rights a nd respect for the earth (see Graeber
2004 for a br ief a narchist exploration of some of these traits in i ndigenous
groups). Thus, the military e mphasizes characteristics tha t are perceived to
be represe ntative of Native A mericans as a whole - their f igh ti ng ability­
to the neglect of all others. How could a U S military unit, or a co mpetitive

42
 NO PAST, NO RESPECT, AND NO POWER

sports team for that matter, seriously project the notion of 'cooperation' in
its nick name? Or the sense of ' we are a l l e quals', whe n they wou ld surely
want to be victors over a nother party?
Some sports team advocates seem i ntent upon rubbing salt in the
wou nds of Native A mericans to the extreme of making ma licious justifi­
cations for using nicknames. Promi ne nt stakeholders of the F lorida State
University 'Se mi no les' lobbed mocking tributes at the Oklaho ma-based
Semino le tribe when it expressed concer ned with F SU's use of their
heritage. \ 0 A FSU trustee dismissed the legitimacy of the ' losers' by
remarking : 'They got run out of here, by who was it, A ndrew Jackson? T he
Trail of Tears ... [I could] care less what the Seminoles in Oklaho ma
think'. A F lorida state senator tried to sha me the m by saying : 'They're the
ones that gave up a nd we nt to the reservation'. T hen, as if to suggest that
'Se minole' critics should meet the same fate as the thousands who died
due to a forced re location campaign, FSU's president mused: 'Maybe the
Trai l of Tears should have gone farther' (Miami Herald 2005).
Native A mericans have bee n the repeated victims of US aggression,
yet, as Jawahar la l Ne hru, Winston Churchill a nd others have observed, the
victors decide how to depict the losers of mi litary contlict. T hus, the posi­
tion of disrespect that Native A mericans presently find themselves in via
nicknames and mascots derives from a series of transgressions that various
scho lars ide ntify as genocida l (De loria 19 69, Legters 1988, C hurchi ll
1995). T he US gover nme nt's history of aggression against Native
A merican tribes has bee n a long a nd b loody one. For decades, the US
govern me nt had a quasi-official po licy of e liminating Native peop le,
offering 'scalp bounties' in each of the original thirteen states for killing
Native peop le (Axte l l 198 I ). T he so-called I ndian Wars, which expanded
settleme nts further West and deeper into Native territory, could not have
bee n won without the committed ideo logica l support of the federal US
gove rnment. T he US gove rnme nt repeatedly broke treaties with nations,
seizing land that never belonged to it (Churchill 1995, Cozzens 200 1). It
was the federal gove rnment's Bureau of Indian Affairs that se nt Native
chi ldren to 'boarding schools' to destroy the co nnection to their culture
( Barker 1997, Churchill 2004); a nd it was the government that authorized
the invo luntary sterilization of thousands of Native wo me n by the I ndian
Health Services in the 19 60s and 1970s ( Lawrence 2000).
Anarchists have a lmost universa lly decried wars fought by states as
being imperialist endeavours ( Berk man 2003, Key 2003), I I and the fact
that the targets of 'Indian Wars' were withi n the borders of so-ca lled US
territory should not stop this critique being app lied in this case. T here are
many methods of waging war, inc luding the importance of propaganda,
and modern wars imp licit ly re quire pervasive propaganda, to win support
for the state's cause, a nd adequate co ntro l over any enemy's propaganda.

43
 ANARCHIST STUDIES

Even long after a war is over, victors like to avoid responsibility for their
atrocities. In the case of the Indian Wars, the US would like to rid itself of
the Native Americans themselves. Today it is much less possible for such
wars to be waged inside the US, and political elites understand this, and
thus wish to avoid the legacy of the past. Making Native peoples relics of
the past is thus essential , and logos and nicknames help to accomplish this.
The use of such imagery tries to make Native peoples themselves history
- not a still existing people - and to brush away the issue of where this land
came from and who lived on it; to absolve the American conscience and
government of its ultimate responsibility (Shanley 1997). All the efforts
described above by the US government constitute an attempt to erase
Native culture from the continent, if not Native Americans themselves.
Whether by passive or aggressive means, the government has worked to
achieve its objective of removing some of its most pesky critics, and most
problematic reminders of its colonialist past.
Some political pressure has been applied for the much-needed institu­
tional reparations for the descendents of African slaves (see Martin and
Yaquinto 2004, M ichelson 2002), but reparations for the original inhabi­
tants of the Western Hemisphere have yet to be seriously considered. I f
Native peoples are thought to be historical relics without any actual
communities in the US, what would be the point of even discussing such
reparations? The myth suggested by nicknames would render such debate
pointless, since there is no one to benefit from a hypothetical redress of
grievances. Thus, although some public bodies have responded favourably
and acted to protect the cultural rights of ethnic minorities in the past, this
usually does not extend to the culture of Native Americans. 12 In fact, most
governments - local and state - actively protect nicknames for North
A mericans. For example, politicians throughout North Dakota spoke up to
defend the will of the University of North Dakota against the voices of the
Native American critics and the NCAA. And, as noted above, Florida State
University received no lack of support from its political leadership when
under criticism.
Governments are huge boosters for local sports teams. City and state
governments give teams large tax breaks and even build large (and often
unnecessary) stadiums with public funds that further externalize costs for
private corporations (Zimmerman 1997). Stadium building creates huge
financial burdens that require cities to offset construction costs by reduc­
tions in spending on social programs, education usually being the most
prominent cut. Then, local governments promote teams as tourist attrac­
tions and help private businesses cater to attending middle- and upper-class
fans (working-class fans have difficulties affording expensive tickets to
games). The states of Florida and Ohio even advertise for private teams by
selling license plates that feature Native team nicknames and 10goS.13

44
 NO PAST, NO RESPECT, AND NO POWER

T he state also provides legal pro tection for the usurpation of Native
c ulture. In 1973, the US Patent and Trademark O ffice (USPTO) supplied
the Cleveland Indians (as a corporation) with a trade mark per mitting it to
be the sole registrar for the 'Indians' na me. Since that time, the Clevela nd
tea m has been issued a n additional 17 trademark protections - oste nsibly
to protect it from anti-nickna me critics who claim a the ft of Native ide n­
tity. In fact, the Cleveland baseball tea m was even registered with the
USPTO as a 'TRI BE' , although i t has no recognized Native A merican
membership to constitute a Native A merican tribe (Sta urowsky 2000).
Politicia ns and b ureaucrats alike wield government b urea ucracy as a
protective weapon against popular disse nt. T he state's many compone nts ­
the cour ts, legislatures, cabinets, regulatory agencies, executive depart­
ments, a nd the like - are sometimes able to avoid criticism a nd attac k
because they can shift respo nsibility from o ne organ to a nother. T he state
can thus tie-up a move ment in procedures and b ureaucratic details. Or it
can feign progressive activity, all the while not i ntending action of a ny
kind. In the case of Native A merican nickna mes, co untless letters to
elected o fficials have been mailed a nd legislators have been approached,
and req uests for inq uiry a nd investigation have bee n made to the US
Co mmission o n Civil Rig hts. T he result is always the same : the state and
its apparatuses continue to act in the interests of the elites that direct i t, a nd
thus contlict must be moderated via the long-halls of b ureaucracy. 14
Native A mericans co nstitute an incredibly s mall percentage of the
A merican population, and few politicians make great e fforts to reach their
constituency (before Election Day, let alo ne a fter). Even better-mobilized
non- W hite organizations (such as the NAACP) that have cried foul on
behalf of Native peoples are typically d warfed in comparison to the over­
whelming support given by sports fans nation- wide. I nterr upti ng the
f unctional role sports play in satisfying large numbers of A mericans is not
an attractive risk that many government officials wish to take, eve n if they
do s hare the multicul turalist attitudes of critics.
Oppone nts of the professio nal football tea m the 'Redskins', in the US
capital Washington DC , lack a ny substantial solidarity fro m politicians.
T he tea m name is widely viewed as one of the most o ffe nsive monikers in
A merican sports, often viewed as on a par with the racist slur against
African-A mericans ' nigger' . T he name refers not to perceived s kin colour,
b ut to the bloody-red pulp of a Native forehead collected as a scalp bo unty
(HaJjo 2001). Althoug h one local DC city council member proposed a
resolution opposing the 'Redskins' in 199 1 (Harjo 200 1 ), a nd o ne
Colorado Se nator - the only Native A merican i n Congress - tried to block
Congressional approval for a new Washington stadium in 1993 unless it
cha nged its name (Sa nchez 1993), few o ther politicians have bothered to
lament the US capitol city's moniker (and neither resolution succeeded,

45
 ANARCHIST STUDIES

either). The name is ironically descriptive, considering the bloody history

of conquests waged under the US flag.
Anarchist practice has always suggested direct action to achieve one's
individual or collective goals, not accepting the l imitations of representa­
tive 'action'. Relying on the government to enforce civil rights legislation
is thus putting trust in a shell game. Instead, teams should be targeted by
social movement campaigns, not by politicians. Local organizing that
pressures shareholders to change their practices and policies is what can
win, and has won, victories, while in the process winning greater spaces
of autonomy and infrastructure for waging future struggles. The battles
fought by the American Indian Movement in decades past led to an explo­
sion of organizations that facilitated countless similar struggles, regardless
of an official change in US federal policy.

W H Y SHOULD ANARC H I STS CARE?

The practice of using racialized imagery of Native American for sports
teams is representative of the nexus of oppressions arrayed against Native
peoples. In the nicknames, logos, mascots and other anachronistic
symbols we see the full breadth of authority, and dominating institutions
that seek to subjugate, control, commodify, marginalize and eliminate
Native people and their culture. Undemocratic institutions - whether
corporations or governments - do not process 'moral arguments' , they
only obey their financial 'bottom line' or promote their chances for
retaining political power after the upcoming election (or rebellion). The
centralist tendencies of these institutions thus at least tolerate if not foster
nicknames, mascots and logos that are disconnected from morality, and
instead have everything to do with making profit and continuing the
'bread and circuses'. The systems of capitalism, racism and sexism and
violent state power are not only enemies of Native Americans, but also key
targets of popular anarchist organizing. Thus, anarchists ought to take
notice and resist this practice for two reasons.
First, opposing the practice of racial nicknames is to be anti-racist and
anti-imperialist. By aiding Native Americans with this issue we help to
improve their abilities to seek self-determination and follow their own path
to liberation (Balagoon 200 I , Ervin 1993). Since the American anarchist
movement is heavily White (Williams 2005), it has a great responsibility to
remove the external systems and dynamics that oppress those with fewer
defences, and to allow them breathing room to navigate and struggle for
their freedoms and rights. Unlike nineteenth-century anarchists - such as
Bakunin (1970), who advocated a view of 'progress' that favoured broad
modernization, even of so-called 'primitive' cultures - contemporary anar­
chists assume one should act in solidarity with Native peoples in helping to

46
 NO PAST, NO RESPECT, AND NO POWER

preserve their culture. Anti-racism implies action, not mere passive

critique. Wong (n.d.) notes the criticisms occasionally directed at the anar­
chistic organization Anti-Racist Action for targeting obvious racists like the
Ku Klux Klan and neo-Nazis, in lieu of more subtle racists and racisms (for
example, the police, prisons judicial system). Extending this logic to the
day-to-day reality of impoverished N ative American peoples would also
require targeting the racism spun by corporate and collegiate sports teams.
Second, the state and capitalism rely upon the subjugation of Native
Americans to acquire and control land and resources necessary for the
project of state capitalism. As activist-scholar Ward Churchill ( 1 996)
states, the American Empire rests upon unhindered access to resources
within the domain of Native American reservations. Large reserves of
coal, oil and uranium reside under the theoretical control of Native tribes.
As a result, the US government continues to restrict the rights of Native
Americans, hoping to gain unrestricted access for itself and for major
corporations (see also Gedicks 200 1 ). In this sense, anarchists and Native
Americans share the same immediate enemies, particularly capitalism and
the state; the former enemy requires resources for production in order to
gain profit, the latter is charged with regulating Native people and facili­
tating corporate access to the resources on Native land. Therefore, to assist
Native Americans in any of their important struggles is to indirectly fight
the forces that repress Native Americans. Regaining culture property and
control could lead to social movement momentum for regaining actual
property and control for Native Americans generally. Supporting non­
reactionary nationalism, as envisioned by Ashanti Alston ( 1 999), is a fair
request for anarchists. Lorenzo Kom'boa Ervin argues that Native people
(like all oppressed ethnic minorities) must be central actors in struggles to
liberate themselves - and they already are. The anarchist movement should
consider joining them, in support of their varied struggles including that
against appropriation of Native culture by sports.
I suspect there is less anarchist participation in Native American strug­
gles today than in those affecting other ethnic minorities in the US, since
the anarchist movement is decidedly urban in nature, whereas large Native
ghettoes in cities are rare and most large populations are centred on rural
reservations. The one potential area of overlap is the interests of Native
Americans in preserving the Earth (and their land and resources), which
has led to occasional alignment with eco-anarchists, such as those with
anarchistic Earth First! collectives in the Pacific Northwest forests, and
the H ighway 55 occupation in Minneapolis. Other episodes of collabora­
tion or solidarity have occurred between Native American activists and
anarchists. In the 1 990s and today anarchist collectives have aided
Mohawk struggles. The Anarchist Black Cross has declared its support for
American Indian Movement political prisoner Leonard Peltier. Countless

47
 ANARCHIST STUDIES

anarchists have provided solidarity work for the indigenous Zapatistas of

Mexico. And a growing movement of Anarchist People of Colour (APOC)
contains N ative American representatives. Based on the above discussion,
it is conceivable that more overlap will occur in the future as anarchists
and N ative Americans see commonalities in their interests and struggles.
Although the struggle against racist Native mascots may seem l ike a
'minor' one compared to the direct fights against capitalism, patriarchy,
militarism et aI., it is still an important one. The practice constitutes a
cultural linkage between the genocidal basis of the political and territorial
US, and the present. To challenge US mythology is to force the public to
uncomfortably acknowledge the conditions of some of the most invisible
racial minorities in the hemisphere. I f properly linked, it is a struggle that
could bring an i mmediate challenge to the legitimacy of an oppressive
political climate.
Finally, activists should recognize that this is a struggle that can be won
in the foreseeable future. Native people have been waging battles for
centuries and this particular one for decades, most intensely in the l ast ten
years, with many individual and localized victories. Anarchist participa­
tion and critique of the matrix of domination propelling this issue should
join the clamour of voices to change these practices.

ACKNOW LE DGEMENTS
Many thanks to Building Roads Into Diverse Groups Empowering
Students (BRIDG ES) and Campus Community for H uman Rights
(CCH R) at the University of North Dakota who have helped to inform and
inspire. Additional assistance and critique from Suzanne Slusser, Tadzio
Mueller, and an anonymous reader.

NOTES

I . This essay uses the terms 'Native American' and 'Native peoples' to refer to
people who are descendents of the first inhabitants of the American continents.
Others, for equally legitimate, yet different reasons, regularly use ' Indigenous',
'First Nations', 'Amerindians', ' First Peoples', or 'American Indian' . Yet, these
terms lump all ethnic groups together, while there are numerous differences
amongst the cultures of their many nations. When speaking of a particular tribe,
nation, or reservation-based group of people, it is advisable to identify them
directly by the name that they use for themselves. See Yellow Bird ( 1 999) for a
discussion of Native self-naming.
2. Nicknames, logos, and mascots are all different symbolic representations used by
various sports teams. Nicknames are the most basic type, referring to the linguistic
moniker used to describe the team. A logo is a two-dimensional graphical repre­
sentation that is widely replicated and allows for quick visual recognition. A
mascot is a physical embodiment of the team's nickname, most commonly when

48
 NO PAST, NO RESPECT, AND NO POWER

someone dresses-up as whatever the team's name is. For this article, most practices
are referred to as the common-denominator of 'nicknames' or the more general
category of 'imagery'.
3. The practice of using Native culture is, in fact, wide spread throughout American
society, and is not limited to sports teams. Other examples can be found in every­
thing from automobiles to military weapons, from food products to alcohol (see
Merskin 200 1 for a study on some of these non-sport 'brands').
4. These tribes partially include: The United Indian Nations (Oklahoma), The Great
Lakes Inter-Tribal Council, Bad River Band of Superior Chippewa, Forest County
Potawatomi Tribe, Lac Courte Orielles Band of Lake Superior Chippewa, Lac Du
Flambeau Band of Lake Superior Chippewas, Menominee Tribe of Wisconsin
Chippewa, Oneida Tribe of Wisconsin, The Affiliated Tribes of Northwest Indians,
The United Tribes of Oklahoma on behalf of: Shawneee Tribe, Caddo Tribe,
Cheyenne Arapho Tribe, Choctaw Nation, Comanche Tribe, Delaware Eastern
Tribe, Iowa Tribe, Kaw Tribe, Muskogee Creek Nation, Otoe Missouri Tribe, Ponca
Tribe, Sac and Fox Tribes, Seminole Nation, Tonkawa Tribe, Western Delaware
Tribe, Wyandotte Tribe, Fort Sill Apache Tribe, Cherokee Nation of Oklahoma,
Standing Rock Sioux Tribe, Sisseton-Wahpeton Sioux Tribe, Ogallala Sioux Tribe
Executive Committee, Cheyenne River Sioux Tribe, and the Three Affiliated
Tribes.
5. Native residents were not, as long assumed, living primitively in a pristine wilder­
ness, but often in highly societies with advanced technologies, especially in
Meso-America (Denevan 1992b).
6. For example, various anarchist collectives in US cities where Native American
nicknames are employed reflect this general opposition to all forms of domination:
the Burning River Collective (Cleveland), Capital Terminus Collective (Atlanta),
and Anarchist Resistance (Washington, DC).
7. For other analogous examples, see Churchill ( 1 994), pp. 65-72.
8. Notable collegiate sports teams include the Florida State 'Seminoles', the
University of Illinois ' Fighting IIIini ' , and the University of North Dakota
' Fighting Sioux' .
9 . Athletes themselves have, a s during the Persian Gulf War in the early- 1 990s,
adorned themselves with American flags to proclaim their patriotism and alle­
giance to war-waging (Malec 1 993).
1 0. Most Seminoles now live in Oklahoma, not Florida, because Andrew Jackson
ordered their forced removal from that state in 1 830, as per the Indian Removal Act
(Missall and Missall 2004).
I I . Kropotkin is a rare and notable exception by his support ofthe Allies in World War
I (Avrich 1 967).
1 2. One exception may be Cleveland Public Libraries banning employees wearing
Wahoo imagery while on the job - incidentally, against the wishes of two progres­
sive organizations, the Service Employees International Union and the American
Civil Liberties Union (McCormick 1 999).
1 3. Although many states do this for other non-racial sports teams, the irony ofthis being
the only racial group 'honoured' in such a way should not be lost upon the reader.
14. This bureaucracy extends to the Bureau of Indian Affairs, the main governmental
organ for dealing with Native peoples. Until the mid-I 970s, non-democratic
extended to this organization, too, with Native Americans residing in the lowest

49
 ANARCHIST STUDIES

rungs ofthe BIA, even when considering education and experience (Sigelman and
Carter 1 976).

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54
Belief, anarchism and modernity

DANI E L COLSON
Translated by Sharif Gemie. edited by Ruth Kinna with assistance from
Paul Chambers and Patricia Clark

ABSTRACT
This essay was originally published in the French-language journal
Refractions 1 4 (Spring 2005 pp43-52), which was a special issue on reli­
gions, values and identities. It considers the contemporary responses of the
French left to the rise of I slam in the west, and notes the danger of
opposing I slam by re-activating a French-Republican patriotism. Colson
proposes a more subtle approach, arguing that anarchists should adopt a
'neo-monadism' .

For most of its brief existence and with one or two exceptions (notably
Tolstoy) anarchism has rejected all religions. This rejection has been
expressed in both theory and practice, and at times, for example in the
Spanish Civil War, with great violence. Today, the libertarian movement's
traditional anti-religious stance faces a new challenge. In Europe, where
anarchism was born and where it drew its (feeble) strengths, Christianity
is exhausted. Anarchists are challenged by the rise of Islam and, more
specifically, by the rise of a fundamentalist Islam. To our horror or stupe­
faction, this new religious movement appears to embrace elements of our
own past practice: violence, spontaneity and autonomous action; and it
garners the support of a mass, even working-class audience. While waiting
for a significant l ibertarian movement to develop in Muslim lands and
mil ieus, it is hard to see how the anarchists, who are largely European and
Christian in origin, can re-invigorate their anti-religious tradition against
Islam. There is a real danger that in joining the opposition to Islam anar­
chists will once more go along with ethnocentric and colonialist causes, as
happened in France during the Algerian war, and thus find themselves in
the company of Gollnisch, Regis Debray, Chevenement and other 'repub­
l icans· . 1 These activists, of both left and right, re-affirm the cultural
superiority of European civilization. More than a century of colonial rule
should provide sufficient evidence for l ibertarians to realize, perhaps
belatedly, the singularly repugnant nature of such values.
The problem for anarchists, when considering their anti-religious
struggle, is how to transcend the constraints of colonialism and imperi-
55
 ANARCHIST STUDIES

alism and avoid dubious alliances with what remains of the rump of aged
secularists and republicans. This is not simply a tactical problem, but an
issue that necessitates a re-consideration of the basis of anarchist thinking.
At its root, the problem arises from the context in which the l ibertarian
movement arose. In reality, like all movements, anarchism was born in a
particular moment: in Europe, in the middle of the nineteenth century.
There are two important consequences:

1 . In political and social terms, in addition to the other forces of

modernity - good, bad or indifferent - such as the bourgeoisie,
capitalism, political liberalism, belief in science and technology,
the anarchist movement was forced to confront the old, long hege­
monic domination of religious institutions.2

2. In intellectual terms, faced with the twists and turns of authority

and theology, and the bitterness of the confrontation with these forces,
anarchism never hesitated to use all the resources of modernity -
rationality, logic and philosophy - in wily and authoritarian ways. Yet
at the same time, education, work and the economy were being trans­
formed by the same methods and there was a real danger that
anarchism would become nothing more than an extremist, marginal­
ized variety of repUblican, liberal and democratic modernity.

POLITICAL AND SOCIAL ANTICLERICALI SM

There is little need to discuss the social and political issues much further.
The conjunction of forces was clearly a product of circumstances: the first
libertarian groups entered into a variety of anti-religious struggles against
oppressive powers in Europe throughout the nineteenth and twentieth
centuries. This was particularly true in the ' Latin' and Catholic countries,
where religious institutions exercised power independently and occupied a
privileged and dominating position. State, Church and capital - army, clergy
and the bosses - constituted three dimensions (the three parallel dimensions,
as Proudhon observed) of the same domination, which was clearly visible
and which carried obvious practical and intellectual consequences. It is
possible to argue that this clash reflected a set of particular circumstances,
unique to Catholic (and Orthodox?) states, where religion was served by
institutions that were powerful, large, and disciplined. In the same epoque,
things stood rather differently in Protestant countries. The links between reli­
gion and power, while just as oppressive in their way, were constituted
differently, perhaps giving rise to a libertarian movement that was generally
less violent, sometimes avowedly non-violent, less committed to anti-cleri­
calism and more interested in realising individual changes in lifestyle and

56
 BELIEF, ANARCHISM AND MODERNITY

moral outlook. It is an interesting question whether, having freed themselves

from the blinding and catastrophic illusions about the nature of colonial rule,
the anarchists could have developed their anti-religious arguments in other
contexts. Would they have responded to African animism, to the cIergyless
monotheism of Sunni Islam, the incredible complexity of H indu polytheism,
or the strange - to our eyes - mystical-religious realities of China and Asia,
in the same way as they did to Catholicism?
A century on, everything has changed. Despite the astonishing success
and destructive force of capitalism, these great non-European religions,
typically ignored by anarchism, remain. They are even within Europe,
thanks principally to Sunni Islam and a growing number of other cultural
and rel igious currents. As for the old enemy, the Catholic Church, it could
be said that it is no longer present, or at least that it is in such a ramshackle
condition that it is difficult to imagine its resurrection.

ANARC H ISM, MODERNITY, AND T H E TRAP OF RELIGIOUS

T HOUG H T
The intellectual consequences o f anarchism's historical particularity are
more problematic than the social and political context in which anarchists
first operated. Specifically, these circumstances structured anarchist
thinking, not just in the immediate period of the movement's rise or even
in the first seventy-five years of its development, but in a far more signif­
icant and far-reaching way. There are two points I wish to make in this
discussion and they are in tension with one another.

I . First and most importantly, anarchism was a late product of

European modernity, born at the moment when modernity was
deploying all its forces, for better or worse. In its social practice,
principally in the different l ibertarian workers' movements, and its
theorising, principally in the works of Proudhon and Bakunin, anar­
chism constituted a radical rupture with modernity.

2 . Second, anarchism often made use of the forms of representation

and structures of thought associated with those practices and ideas
that it tried so hard to destroy. There were many reasons for this,
which paradoxically can also be drawn from the radically innova­
tive character of anarchism, from its first experiments and
proclamations and from the bitterness of its fights, its debates, its
defeats and its justifications. Take, for example, the idea of reason.
This was too often reduced to narrow, textbook, utilitarian ration­
alism. Similarly, individualism was too often confused with its
modern competitive form, exemplified by triumphant capitalism.

57
 ANARCHIST STUDIES

Education and the diffusion of ideas were likewise wrongly

reduced to an instrumentalized idealism and propaganda. Above
all , and most pertinently to this discussion, consider the idea of
emancipation. This was too often understood by the anarchists
through the prism of a double mirage of reform and revolution
identified as progress, or of the still more obscure mysteries of the
Hegelian dialectic and historical materialism.

It is here that we return to the issue of religion and to the manner in which
modernity was considered to have transcended rel igious beliefs, while it in
fact only re-organized them in its own terms. Anarchism adopted many of
modernity's illusions. As both Bakunin and Nietzsche remarked, it is not
easy to clear one's mind of God and the very real domination that his
shadow imposes on our lives. Once evicted he returns by the back door,
and not just in the guise of an illegal, illiterate immigrant who clings on to
outmoded beliefs, but in modem garb, talking in terms that are central to
arrogant modernity. I ndeed, as Proudhon, Bakunin and Nietzsche all
perceptively noted, it is at the very moment that western societies believe
that they have definitively transcended the religious issue that they adopt
rel igion'S most despotic characteristics: a belief in human destiny, the
acceptance of divine providence and faith in the realisation of an earthly
paradise. Naturally, these beliefs are expressed in non-religious ways: in
the idea of historical determinism, the inevitable march of science, ration­
ality and the progressive evolution of civilization - each justifying the
global domination of order and western interests - and, finally, in the hope
of a bright future in which human society will be reconciled with itself in
the name of reason - dialectical or otherwise - by means of a new
despotism, organised by the State, political parties and the elite.

REPETITIONS
After more than a century of catastrophes, and in view of the way in which
western ideals have been reshaped to fit the destructive imperatives of an
economic system motivated only by the nihilistic drive to reproduce itself
on an ever-expanding scale, the l ibertarian movement has a real opportu­
nity. If it cannot offer an immediate and effective alternative to western
ideals, it can at least re-discover the power and originality of the move­
ment's initial inspiration and the significance of its past projects.
While anarchism was born at a precise time and place, it is not defined
by this historical context. On the contrary, it has always attempted to chal­
lenge the restrictive pretensions of hi story. In each of its struggles, large or
small , in each of the extremely diverse contexts in which anarchists have
mobilized, and for each of the collective identities or collective structures

58
 BELIEF, ANARCHISM AND MODERNITY

that have been articulated in particular times and places, the libertarian
movement has never justified thoughts or actions with reference to an
external dynamic of change. Anarchism has never claimed to be anything
other than the unique situation and circumstances have allowed. In fact, for
anarchism, there are only singular situations. And these are sufficient in
themselves. Each situation has its own raison d 'etre, a point repeated
ceaselessly in anarchist books and writings. As Bakunin tells us, following
what one might call an anarchist neo-monadology, each being, each situa­
tion, each event, each moment, carries in itself - in a sense - the totality
of that which is: the totality of good and bad possibilities, here and else­
where, the past, present and future (see Appendix). Libertarian thinking
thus allows an absolute freedom and absolute affirmation that at different
moments libertarian movements have succeeded in putting into practice ­
notably in Spain and the Ukraine. Every entity, every event equally carries
this potential within itself.
In contrast to the despotisms it challenges, anarchism does not consti­
tute a superior, eternal truth and has no claim to an absolute beginning or
end, whether constructed by Christ, the Qur 'an or Modernity. It does not
deify or generalize the forms or the moment of the movement's beginning,
nor does it transform them into calendars, transcendent events or models
closed to subsequent revision. Despotism, in the form of the State,
Science, Capital and Religion, generalizes the particular. Anarchism, on
the contrary, proposes what Deleuze calls the universalization of the
singular.3 The appearance of anarchist writings and the rise of anarchist
actions in mid-nineteenth century Europe are not so much models or
founding acts as they are rehearsals for all the books and rebellions that
are to come. As Deleuze puts the point:

the theatre of rehearsal is opposed to the theatre of representation . . . it is

not the festival of Federation [of 1 790] which commemorates or represents
the taking of the Bastille [of 1 789], [but] the taking of the Bastille which
celebrates and rehearses all future Federations.4

Following a similar l ine of reasoning, Leo Ferre suggests that he sings for
those who will be l iving in ten thousand years time: not because he
believes that today's audience are incapable of understanding him but
because his songs rehearse what will be re-said and re-made tomorrow and
ever-after, and because each statement, unique in itself, is and will be
today and tomorrow, at once the same and different.
Just as anarchism can conceptual ize a future that is already present, so
it can also view a past that will never end. This is the lesson of Proudhon's
neo-monadology. Opposing the despotic illusions and pretensions of
modernity, anarchism never creates a tabula rasa of the past. Like all other

59
 ANARCHIST STUDIES

entities, anarchism has a heritage, but its inheritance is not transmitted like
a title or property, a dogma or a state. Unlike the 'triumphal funeral
cortege' loaded with the booty tom from those who work the soil, of which
Benjamin speaks,5 anarchism is linked to the living. The argument here is
not merely that the qualities 'oppression' and 'emancipation', 'sadness'
and 'joy', 'sutTering' and 'happiness', 'submission' and 'revolt' had
meaning before the appearance of anarchism. Human beings were
involved in struggles long before anarchism emerged and these struggles
should be remembered and celebrated. What I am suggesting is that the
anarchist analysis with which I am concerned is drawn from the neo­
monadological argument that all past situations and experiences, whether
good or bad, happy or unhappy, finished or not, always present options.
Thus, while repeating them in tum, each person - according to their abil­
ities and particular views, whether emancipatory or oppressive - can
choose to re-atTirm them. In this manner we create those discontinuous
series that Landauer calls 'traditions' - where 'every glance into the past
or the present of human communities is also an act which draws towards
the future and which constructs that future.'6

ANARCHISM AND THE RELIGIOUS H ISTORY OF HUMANITY

Two points can be drawn from the arguments presented above.

I . Once we are liberated from the vulgar, theological model of

history that has been endlessly and scrupulously repeated by moder­
nity, we should no longer be surprised or horrified by the 'return' of
religion. Religion 'returns', but - like all other things - it returns in
an infinite, unpredictable series of events and situations that are
modified in turn by religious forms. Religion 'returns' at once the
same and yet ditTerent and surprising. Religion 'returns' with
archaic qualities, with misleading or threatening qualities in its
inventions and innovation. Religion 'returns' in secular and atheist
morality, even in the most anti-religious revolutionary thought, as
well, of course, as in the most apparently traditional forms that, even
given their familiar features, prepare us for unpredictable events.

2 . Once we are liberated from the exorbitant and dominating

pretensions of European, western modernity, we no longer have to
keep referring back to a tiny part of Europe, amputated from its
own past, to make sense of the challenges that currently face us.
Elisee Reclus made an astonishing attempt to describe civilization
in its 'infinite variety' and map its 'geographical individualities' in
order to create a genealogy of the thousand ways in which 'nature

60
 BELIEF, ANARCH ISM AND MODERNITY

becomes conscious of itself' and make clear 'the intimate link

which joins series of human deeds to the subterranean forces of the
earth ' . For Reclus, 'contemporary society contains within itself all
previous societies' .7 Following him, we can analyse, in tum, the
totality of those past and present human cultures that modernity
either considers abandoned or which it tries to abolish and force
into categories of equivalence, commodities and market practices.
To the countless experiences, situations and traditions that led to
the birth of anarchism in a specific time and place, we can add the
infinite resources of other cultures and traditions. We can decon­
struct the structures of domination in which they were caught; we
can select and associate, here and elsewhere, all the revolts, affir­
mations and spontaneous acts, all the modes of being that are
needed for an emancipatory transformation of that which is. We
can rehearse a movement that is inspired by anarchism, by its
multiplicities and its differences; by the capacity of beings to rely
on themselves, by the singularity of the relationship each has to the
world, because each of them, considered as unique and irreplace­
able, is the bearer of all of the others.

Here, we return to the religious question. We will not brook any compro­
mise. In fact, as soon as anarchism affirms its rejection of the modem
distinction between the present (modernity) and the past (all previous
periods), between here (the west) and elsewhere (the rest of the world),
then anarchism must explain how it can accept themes and influences from
that past, that elsewhere, how it can make them its own when they are so
clearly marked by the oppressive religious representations that anarchism
radically opposes. How can one accept that which one refuses? H ere, I
wish to show that anarchism has the means by which to confront such a
dilemma. In practice, no one can escape the inheritance of the past, even
those who claim to make a tabula rasa of history. Anarchist neo­
monadology shows that the past does not pass, and that elsewhere is also
here. Through a rehearsal in which every present situation, every present
being, is at once the same and different; through an unceasing process of
evaluation, selection, re-composition and re-arrangement of the present;
through philosophical and practical experimentation, one can construct an
emancipatory movement which is capable of defeating all forms of
oppression. How can this libertarian reconstruction of the past be effected?
If we wish to hang on to every emancipatory moment, even the smallest
and the most fleeting, how can this be done with those that exist within
oppressive structures or, more particularly, those marked by religious
themes in which godly symbols form precisely the most sophisticated
form of domination and dispossession of the self? Among the many ways

61
 ANARCHIST STUDIES

in which to reply to these questions, one can, by way of a provisional

conclusion, propose three approaches.

1 . The first is clearly the least subtle and the most debatable. One
could cite the old biblical image of separating the wheat from the
chaff. How can we separate the good wheat of past revolts and
struggles from the chaff of their religious symbolism? Among the
j umble of old beliefs and practices, how can we reveal and identify
those revolts and struggles that were inevitably without any public,
conscious expression, as anarchism did not yet exist?8 If we pull
these revolts to the surface, if we cut them from the ideological
veils which have covered them, if we identify these struggles
without names, without sounds, without projects and without any
terms to describe what they are to our eyes, we find that they were
covered in the fogs and l ies of a primitive conception of the world.
This first form of the exhumation of the past thus seems quite
similar to the modernist approach which was denounced in the
arguments above: it is a simple inventory of a twice-dead past: dead
because it is past, dead because it has been carefully separated from
its subjective expressions. However, you don't touch the past with
impunity. This first form of scholarly re-appropriation of the past,
considered as a simple prehistory, is certainly rudimentary and
simplistic. But it can contribute to a neo-monadologic approach.
Even the heart (or the soul?) of the most ossified scholar can be
moved by the echoes of historic revolts, struggles and sufferings:
those endured in the building of the Great Wall of China, by
Spartacus and the Roman slaves, the movements of Roman
plebeians, and so on. This feeling might take a vague, merely nega­
tive form in regret, loss or guilt. Yet by coming into contact with
these events we cannot help but be tempted, like Walter Benjamin's
angelus novus, to revive the dead - subjectively affirm the revolts
of the past and nourish our present forces of life and autonomy.9

2. There is a second method by which one can re-appropriate the

past. I t is similar to the first, in that it also aims to separate the wheat
of revolts from the chaff of illusions and the ideological and reli­
gious masks in which they were hidden. B ut this second approach
proposes a form of separation that is at once more subtle, more
wide-ranging and more sensitive to the autonomy and subjective
expression of each of these past events. Here, the proposal is not j ust
to distinguish between, on the one hand, clear examples of oppres­
sion and revolt and, on the other hand, an erroneous consciousness
of these situations which must be set aside in the name of moder-

62
 BELIEF, ANARCH ISM AND MODERNITY

nity. Instead, it is to consider whether there was a link between the

subversive and emancipatory dimension of the events and the expla­
nations that were provided : the discursive and imagi nary
constructions that structured their subjective autonomy. In this
approach, we would not be concerned to strip past struggles of all
that made them particular, in accordance with our reductive and
objectifying interpretations. On the contrary, we would consider the
particular justifications for these struggles, recognise their raison
d 'etre, affirm their subjective autonomy and acknowledge forms
that were more or less religious (and therefore strange to our eyes),
but that nonetheless carried in themselves original expressions and
statements of emancipation capable both of surprising us and
enriching our cultures of struggle and agitation. The third-century
Taoist yellow turbans, with their strange cults and banquets in which
men and women mixed as equals; the twelfth-century reformed
Ismaeliens of Alamut, with their fortresses and their peculiar inter­
pretation of Islam; the neo-Franciscans of thirteenth-century Italy;
the Czech H ussites of the fifteenth century; the Protestant
Camisards of the Cevennes; and the Hassidic Jewish movements of
eastern Europe - such movements constitute the most visible
moments of ancient, imperceptible class struggles. Deviant forms of
Taoism, I slam, Christianity and Judaism were produced by great
movements of revolt: they are not more or less deceptive coverings
which, in the absence of an explicitly revolutionary programme,
tricked the rebels they inspired and forced them to submit to an
ideological, rel igious order. On the contrary, in this second
approach, we wish to consider seriously how these rebels modified
the rel igious ideologies of their time, we want to think about what
we might learn from them.

3. The third and last approach of appropriating the various emanci­

patory traditions of the past can only be sketched. It develops the
second approach, but is quite distinct. It is not concerned with
making simple distinctions between emancipatory struggles and
the social, cultural or rel igious base from which they emerge, or
between the religious, oppressive cultures and the more or less
original, desperate initiatives of the rebels and deviants who, while
waiting for future revolutionary ideologies, seize these ideas and
tum them against the rulers. This third approach, closer to the orig­
inal inspiration of anarchism, is more concerned with widening our
evaluations and analyses of oppressive and emancipatory structures
to consider the totality of forces and relationships of past societies,
including its representations, perceptions and even those relation-

63
 ANARCHIST STUDIES

ships that can be tenned 'religious' but which today, as yesterday,

carry within themselves the totality of possibilities.

APPENDIX: ON MONADS
(by Patricia Clark)

Colson i s arguing that anarchism contains its own j ustification. Some

things are justified by appeal to external considerations; e.g. some reli­
gious believers are good for the sake of getting divine approval, and some
people wil l justify exercise for the sake of health. But other things are
intrinsically valuable and contain their own justification ; art for art's sake,
for example.
The Gennan philosopher, Gottfried Leibniz (I 646- 1 7 1 6) invented the
tenn 'monad' , which he derived from the Greek word for one or unit:
monos. M onads are basic individual entities which make up the universe.
For Leibniz, they are immaterial, yet somehow give rise to the phenomenal
world around us. Monads are individual, indivisible entities which are
absolutely independent of each other (or 'windowless', as Leibniz puts it).
However, Colson - and Bakunin - borrow the term because they wish
to highlight the properties which Leibniz attributed to monads, namely
that the condition of each monad, or individual, is a result of its previous
state. Thus, as Leibniz says, 'the present is big with the future and laden
with the past' [New Essays, Preface], so that if we could completely under­
stand a monad's present state then we could deduce its past and future
states. And, since the state of each monad reflects the state of all the others
(in a more or less obscure way), each reflects the state of the universe.
Again, this is in principle intelligible, were we to have intelligence suffi­
cient to deduce natural laws.
Putting this together, anarchism contains its own justification because
freedom is intrinsically valuable. We do not seek freedom for the sake of
anything else but for its own sake. Individual acts of liberation are like
monads in that each is completely independent, yet, if we fully understood the
circumstances, then we would comprehend the reasons behind the act and be
in a position to make some predictions about its outcome. Moreover, each
liberatory act tells us something about its context and the society in which it
occurs. Nonetheless, each act is independent and not to be analysed in tenns
of anything else (unlike Marxist theory, religion, or any other dogma).

NOTES

I . Translator's note: Colson is here referring to a recent revival of French 'repub­

lican' patriotism which has drawn some once-left-wing militants into centrist
positions. On this point, see my: 'An Extremism of the Center: Jean-Pierre

64
 BELIEF, ANARCHISM AND MODERNITY

Chevenement, French Presidential Candidate, 2002', French Polilics, Cullure

and Society 22: I (2004), pp 76-97
2. The anarchists' anti-religious violence cannot be understood without taking
into account the situation in Europe in the first half of the nineteenth century,
particularly in the 'Latin' countries in which the Catholic church imposed its
domination with ferocity. For better or worse, anarchism, as a political and
social movement, often found itself in practice alongside other republican and
bourgeois forces, fighting the power and the domination of the church. In
France, for example, where anarchism never failed to form the left of the left­
wing of the republican and socialist camp during the great political and social
clashes.
3. See Gilles Deleuze, Difference el repetilion (PUF, 1 968), p.8.
4. Deleuze, pp. 1 9 and 8.
5. Ecrils jran(:ais (Folio essais, 1 99 1 ), p.437.
6. G ustave Landauer, La Revolulion (Champ Libre, 1 974), p. l l .
7. CHomme el la Terre (Librarie Universelle), Vol I, pp. 1 and 2, Vol VI, p.504.
8. We leave to one side the Marxist response to such issues because, in general,
Marxism has adopted a religious, theological vision of the world which, while
clearly in competition with all the other theologies of the past that it claims to
eradicate, is also extremely similar to them.
9. Ecrils jran(:ais, pp.438 and 440.

65
The cultural practice of Argentinean anarchism

The Buenos Aires Biblioteca Archivo de Estudios

Libertarios ( 1 995-2005) and the CNT-FAI 's Instituto de
Documentaci6n Social ( 1 938)

PABLO M. P EREZ, JUAN MANUEL HEREDIA AND

HERNAN VILLASENIN
Translated by Richard Cieminson

All the authors are members of the Biblioteca-Archivo de Estudios

Libertarios (BAEL), Buenos Aires.

ABSTRACT
This paper establishes a link between the cultural practice of Spanish and
Argentinean anarchism during the Spanish Civil War, in particular around
the construction of libraries and archives in the past and in the present as
projects dedicated to the ongoing acculturation of members of anarchist
organizations. It presents a brief overview of the development of anar­
chism in Argentina, of the concerns which led a number of anarchists from
this country to go to Spain during the social revolution, and the efforts by
these mil itants and the CNT-FAI to construct a documented testimony to
the cultural, political, economic and social undertakings of anarchists
during the period 1 936-9. Finally, it traces the connections between the
efforts of Argentinean anarchists to record the cultural practices of the
Spanish anarchists and the establishment of a working anarchist archive in
Buenos Aires as another manifestation of the importance anarchism places
on the preservation of memory, documentation and living cultural prac­
tices. It is followed by a glossary of specialist terms at the end.

1 ARGENTINEAN ANARCHISM AND H ISTORIOGRAPHICA L

DISCOURSE: A H YPOTHESIS
The history of the anarchist movement in Argentina is rich in experiences
and historical lessons. During the first two decades of the twentieth
century it constituted a powerful movement with a huge following,
expressed not only in the large street demonstrations and numerical
strength of the FORA (Federaci6n Obrera Regional Argentina) - the
largest union organization in Argentina until 1 9 1 5 , of anarchist inspiration
- but also in a range of publications, such as the newspaper La Protesta

66
 THE CULTURAL PRACTICE OF ARGENTIN EAN ANARCHISM

(with two editions per day and a circulation close to commercial papers),
libertarian schools inspired by Francisco Ferrer, and an extensive network
of social centres (ateneos) and popular libraries.
H istorical study to date has restricted its enquiries to these first two
decades of the workers' movement in Argentina and considers that its
heyday peaked around 1 9 1 0, to be followed by a period of decline. The
causes of this decline are adduced to be manifold: changes in the elec­
toral laws in 1 9 1 6, allowing for universal suffrage; new negotiating
frameworks involving the state in labour disputes; changing social rela­
tions in accordance with on-going urbanization; the development of a
leisure industry, including football and the cinema, and increased state
repression unleashed in 1 9 1 0 under the Social Defence Law, which
entailed the closing down of newspapers, and increased incarceration of
militants and exile. 1
All these factors combined to undermine the impact and freedom of
movement of anarchism, which, in spite of these limitations, continued to
hold fast to its uncompromised approach. However, such a tactic meant
that anarchism steadily lost ground in comparison to other political and
union tendencies, which hurried to embrace the new labour arbitration
mechanisms and the electoral possibilities offered by the change of law.
However, despite the fact that anarchism disappears from studies of the
third decade of the twentieth century, the movement had not in reality
disappeared. It is true that the revolutionary union FORA2 in 1 930 found
itself clearly a minority force in comparison with the socialist trade
unionism of the CGT3 and the burgeoning communist unions. We cannot
talk of total disappearance, however, as the FORA was present in some
significant struggles in the 1 930s.
More relevant to the subject of this article, nevertheless, is the emer­
gence in 1 935 of the first 'specific' anarchist group in Argentina, the
Argentine Anarcho-Communist Federation (FACA). The creation of the
Federation, in a decade during which historians no longer pay much atten­
tion to the anarchist movement, demonstrates that considerable strength
was still rooted in the organized anarchist movement. The FACA included
a large number of groups across the whole country, even though its anar­
chism was of a different nature from that present in the FORA. The social
base of the movement had changed, or at least it was no longer rooted in
union struggles alone, an arena increasingly co-opted by the state.
A pivotal question for the anarchists was how to maintain their princi­
ples and at the same time be effective in an environment whose conditions
had undergone considerable transformation. Naturally, such a situation
engendered a certain degree of consternation, bearing in mind the enor­
mous influence that anarchists had had in the mass trade union movement,
a movement that had now largely turned its back on anarchism in favour

67
 ANARCH IST STUDIES

of apparently more effective i f less revolutionary options. Many anarchists

at the time, without rejecting the anarcho-syndicalist struggle, put their
efforts into another aspect of anarchist activity, which was perhaps more
suited to the period. In this context the FACA was born; it would later
become the Argentine Libertarian Federation (FLA) in 1 955.
Argentinean historiography has not paid much attention to this trans­
formation of organized anarchism into the FACA, perhaps because
anarchism was studied merely as a less important variable in the workers'
movement, partly because of a Marxist bias that prioritized class as an all
important category, and partly because of the concentration on political
movements which participated in electoral politics. Although it is true to
say that anarchism became hugely influential as a result of its trade union
organization, the FORA', its expression in the Argentinean context cannot
be reduced to this particular organization.
This compartmentalization of reality understands politics as connected
intrinsically in some way with matters of the state. The state then becomes
the source of all that is political and the expression of those movements
that engage with it, whether by means of negotiation or violent attempts to
take power. While history used to be understood as the result of the action
of 'great men', that is, of the elite, later cognizance had to be taken of the
workers' movement and revolutionary political parties. A transformation
of historiography took place in order to include the actions of broad
sectors of political life (voting practices) and economic questions (legal­
ization of the workers' movement, social provision and protection of
workers). But this transformation did not involve a new way of looking at
what was political in itself but a way of excluding those sectors or move­
ments that fought outside the parameters of the state or maintained their
autonomy from its structures. These movements are defined as non-polit­
ical and are relegated to the 'social' sphere.4
These thoughts provide the basis of a hypothesis to explain the lack of
research on the anarchist movement of the 1 930s in Argentina. Other
factors can be advanced too, but such a notion enables us in this article to
discuss the wider sphere of action of anarchism and understand its
survival, although not as a mass movement, several decades afterwards.

2 FROM T H E FACA TO THE C REATION OF THE A RG ENTINE

L I BERTARIAN FEDERATION (FLA), 1 955
Our brief account of the FACA must begin with its immediate most
significant predecessor: the anarchist Congress that took place in the
prison of Villa Devoto in September 1 93 1 ,5 in which hundreds of mili­
tants of different tendencies were imprisoned, in many cases as a first port
of call in their journey towards Ushuaia prison.6 This Congress took place

68
 THE CULTURAL PRACTICE OF ARGENTINEAN ANARCHISM

after the military coup d 'etat executed by General Uriburu in 1 930, and
it agreed to work towards the holding of a large meeting in September
1 93 2 in Rosario, which can be described as the Second Regional
Anarchist Congress, the first having taken place in Buenos Aires in
1 922.7 This 1 922 Congress had dissolved without establ ishing any viable
permanent organization.
This Second Congress created the Regional Committee for Anarchist
Relations (Comite Regional de Relaciones Anarquistas), which had the
task of revitalizing the anarchist movement across the national territory.
This it certainly managed to do, expanding the six existent local commit­
tees established in the 1 932 Rosario Congress (Rosario, Resistencia,
Bahia Blanca, Santa Fe, Tucuman and Buenos Aires) to 1 6 in September
1 933 and 30 at a later date. At the same time, the Congress established the
paper Accion Libertaria as its mouthpiece, a printed form that covered
forty years of history up to its dissolution in 1 97 1 . A further development
resulted in October 1 93 5 when the FACA itself was constituted.s
The FACA was, as we have said, the first specific anarchist organiza­
tion in Argentina; it established its offices in the federal capital, Buenos
Aires, and developed its sphere of action throughout the country,
following in the footsteps of its immediate parent, the CRRA. The FACA
from 1 935 up to its transformation into the FLA in 1 955 held six major
meetings: the N ational Plenum of Provincial Groups, December 1 936; the
First Ordinary Congress, February 1 938; the Second Ordinary Congress,
July 1 940; a National Plenum of Groups and Individuals in October 1 942;
the Third Ordinary Congress, December 1 95 1 ; and the Fourth Ordinary
Congress of February 1 955, during which the FLA was born.
The activities of the FACA were manifold, both in its earlier manifes­
tation and later as the FLA. We concentrate here on the activities of the
three delegates the FACA sent to Spain, from 1 937 to 1 939, during the
Spanish Civil War ( 1 936- 1 939). As we will see, cultural and organiza­
tional activities within a political framework were at the top of the list for
the FACA delegates.
The Spanish Revolution of 1 936 is undeniably at the centre stage of
anarchist history. The military uprising against the Second Republic in
which General Franco participated unleashed the Spanish Civil War but it
also permitted a wave of revolutionary activity protagonized by the anar­
chist movement and, in particular, by the CNT-FA I (Confederaci6n
Nacional del Trabajo-Federaci6n Anarquista Iberica, N ational
Confederation of Labour-Iberian Anarchist Federation).
In Argentina,9 the FACA undertook an important campaign on behalf of
the Spanish revolutionaries. It took part in the creation of numerous
popular committees to aid Spain. It created, in agreement with the CNT
and the FAI, the Propaganda Service for Spain (Servicio de Propaganda de

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 ANARCH IST STUDIES

Espana), published the review Documentos Historicos de Espana, and

aided in the creation of the SIA (International Antifascist Solidarity). The
three delegates designated for Spain were: Jacobo Prince, Jacobo Maguid
and Jose Grunfeld. They made important contributions to the CNT's paper
Solidaridad Obrera, in the FA I 's Tierra y Libertad, and in the Peninsular
Secretariat of the FAI , respectively. The activity of one of these delegates
in particular, Jocobo Maguid, fell into the category of the recovery of
historical memory of the Spanish anarchist movement and its action
during the Spanish Revolution. We can trace a line from this cultural
undertaking to the construction of the Library and Archive for Libertarian
Studies (Biblioteca Archivo de Estudios Libertarios), several decades later.

3 TIES WITH T H E SPANI S H ANARC H I ST M OV E M ENT AND T H E

RECOVERY O F H I STORICAL M EMORY
When the Spanish Civil War and Revolution began, the FACA elected
three delegates to be sent to Spain to aid the Spanish movement. 1 0 The first
of them to arrive was Jacobo Maguid in November 1 936, via Marseilles.
He i mmediately took on the important role of participating in the organ­
izing committee of the International Anarchist Congress and in December
of that year began work in the regional secretariat of the FAI , with the
paper Tierra y Libertad and for the review Tiempos Nuevos. In December
1 938 he resigned his post as Editor of Tierra y Libertad, worked for the
anarchist review Timon and, under the auspices of the Peninsular
Committee of the FAI , began to formulate the idea of gathering important
materials relevant to the anarchist movement to preserve its varied docu­
mentation. An archive called ' M emorias' was set up in order to collect
these details, and materials included copies of reports emitted by various
secretariats and individual anarchists. I I The work began in Barcelona and
continued in Marseilles, where part of the CNT-FAI archive had been
transferred, and the latter served as a source for the copying of materials.
This task was undertaken in the eye of the storm, not as something sepa­
rate from the political struggle but as something integral to it.
The documents placed in the ' Memorias' collection, however, were
only one part of a broader endeavour. In addition to these papers, militants
sent a huge volume of newspapers, reviews, pamphlets and other docu­
mentation of perhaps greater value, such as the letters of the three
delegates over the three years they were in Spain. All this material would
later end up in the archive of the BAEL-FLA.
This task of creating an archive of materials principally by Jacobo
Maguid was predated by another move to create a home for anarchist
materials, some of which again found its way into the BAEL archive. We
refer to the creation of the Institute for Social Documentation (Instituto de

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 THE CULTURAL PRACTICE OF ARGENTINEAN ANARCH ISM

Documentaci6n Social), established by the CNT-FA I . In 1 938, in the latter

days of the war and revolution, when questions of survival and victory
were most pressing, the CNT and the FAI still continued to bel ieve that
victory was dependent on culture, knowledge and self-emancipation.
The CNT's Building, Wood and Decoration Union, in whose bulletin
we can read the desperate stories of anarchist mil itants dying on the battle­
field, and requests for food and provisions to be sent to the front, dedicated
a significant amount of time and effort to the creation of an archive, the
Instituto de Documentaci6n Social CNT-FAI, which would contain 'books,
pamphlets, bulletins, reviews, newspapers, documents, photographs,
memoirs, etc.' 12
As the war wore on, as hierarchies developed as a result of the 'milita­
rization' of the militias and the republican army, and as information
became a tool wielded by the high command under Soviet guise, the CNT
and the FAI argued for the creation of an archive ' whose mission would be
to make available to whoever needed documentation and information in
order to assist them in their task, in their struggle, in favour of greater
social and economic justice' . 13 Free access to information in the form of
an archive such as this constitutes a progressive political tool in the
struggle against the establishment of the hierarchies that were fast being
consol idated in the republican ranks. As such, the Institute was conceived
as a project with extremely broad parameters. It was divided into different
sections by country and each section was further broken down into
thematic elements, which included internal and foreign politics, culture,
health, law, economics, finance, national defence and social matters
(social policies, workers' movements, social struggles, labour legislation,
women and feminism, etc). The Institute archive also contained a section
dedicated to the Spanish Civil War, which in tum was divided into sections
on international politics, culture and health, the world economy, the arms
race, war and international social movements (including documents on
communism, socialism, Nazism, fascism, corporativism). The last section
would be dedicated to the anarchist movement in Spain and the world, and
was again divided into a number of sections: theory, history, bibliography,
organization, activity, achievements, propaganda, repression, internal
problems and relations with other tendencies.
The note that announced this project was presented as a Circular, which
encouraged CNT militants and sympathizers to contribute to the construc­
tion of such an archive through donations of material. The collection and
classification of any materials would be a collective enterprise and would
be open for consultation by all. The announcement of this project appeared
in the Construction Workers' Union bulletin on 1 5 August 1 938 in
Barcelona. As we are aware, the region fell into Nationalist hands shortly
afterwards but we know that the project did manage to begin its task as

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 ANARCH IST STUDIES

many of its papers are now found in the Civil War archive in Salamanca,
Spain, with the stamp of the Instituto de Documentaci6n Social CNT-FA I .
It is likely that the short length o f time that the archive had t o establish
itself, together with the rigours of the war, effectively curtailed the proj ect,
but the archive stands as yet another legacy of the creative dimension of
Spanish anarchism. If we have argued that the idea of an archive to be
created by the CNT, the work of Jacobo Maguid and the contributions of
nameless militants can all be linked to the BAEL, it is not because we
imagine that there were no discontinuities or breaks between the different
projects. The BAEL archive holds important materials from the time of the
Spanish conflict, but Spain is one of forty-four countries documented in
the Buenos Aires anarchist l ibrary. Such a wealth of materials confirms
once more the importance granted to culture and knowledge as part of an
emancipatory project within the international anarchist movement.

4 CULTURAL P RACTICE AS AN I NTEGRAL PART OF SELF­

EMANCIPATION
The anarchist movement, in its various forms and to a varying degree, has
always considered human emancipation to consist of two main premises.
Firstly, anarchism believed that the struggle against those elements that
oppress and exploit and restrict the development of the maximum poten­
tial of human beings can only be carried out against those very institutions
that create such oppression, that is, the army, the police, the bosses and the
state. But a war against capitalist i nstitutions also implies fighting against
capitalism's internalized structures: authoritarianism, fear and competi­
tion.
If many anarchist writings praise the proletarian world, this is not
simply an idealization of work but of work that is creative and useful in
contrast to the superficiality and insensitivity of the bourgeoisie when
faced with the suffering of the working class. As such, it is not a simplistic
take on 'class'. It would be a mistake to understand anarchist discussions
of class as an essentialist understanding of this social category, either as a
historical subject for emancipation or as a vanguard which carries forth
universal values. There is, however, a sustained effort by anarchists in
order that workers value their labour and attempt to emancipate them­
selves. But, above all, there is recognition of human beings as a social
product with two facets - as a receiver and as a maker of social conditions,
so to speak - and as people who carry what is worst about the present and
what is best about a possible future.
The struggle for freedom is not j ust against tyranny that is 'external ' but
that which is 'internal ', requiring self-emancipation. For obvious reasons,
the notion of 'voluntary servitude' 14 impressed anarchist thinkers as do

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 THE CULTURAL PRACTICE OF ARGENTINEAN ANARCH ISM

Foucault's ideas on 'discipline' . 1 5 Freedom is therefore intimately

connected to self-emancipation from prejudices, ignorance and the repres­
sion of one's potential expressed in daily circumstances. For anarchists,
anarchy is not the place to be arrived at by humanity by means of logical
deduction or scientific formulae, 16 but a daily search both for what is
external, and for what is on hand, as part of a daily process of construction
in order to dissolve the distance between means and ends. The construc­
tion of anarchy is inscribed on the bodies of all men and women who fight
for its realization, but it can only be sketched by each and every one of
them.17 It is for this reason that anarchism has always granted science,
knowledge and reading a special place, as tools to question the disci­
plining of our bodies in order to free up imaginary potential.
It is frequently claimed that when two anarchists come together a paper
or review is born. This is not just an act of propaganda but an exercise in
experience, education and liberation. The very nature of the publication
requires thought as regards the subject matter, the type of social relations
established around it, and the debate on ideas. This is also why it is often
claimed that where there is an anarchist group a library is born, as
witnessed by the creation of libraries in the ateneos and anarchist-inspired
unions. The destruction of inequalities, oppression and hierarchies is an
act that also dissolves the supposed division between manual and intellec­
tual labour. I S

5 BAEL AS THE EXPERIENCE AND PRACTICE OF A LIV ING

ANARCH i sT A RCH IVE
The BAEL was created at the beginning of the 1 990s in Buenos Aires
when a small group of anarchists decided to organize the vast deposit of
anarchist papers, reviews, pamphlets and documents which ranged over
one hundred years of history. The desire to share knowledge has taken on
a material form: the collection, by means of donations of documentation
relevant to the movement over a number of years. This spirit continues to
inform BAEL and this is what makes it special. Even though activists
would donate their materials over the years, it took some time for a group
to come together to order the papers systematically. The collection of
documents covers forty-four countries from 1 890 to the present day and is
valuable not only for its breadth and contents but also because of the route
that each piece of paper had to travel before being lodged in the archive.
Much of the material now in the BAEL was kept clandestinely, often at
great risk to the holder.
Over a period of several years advice from specialist archivists was
sought in order to classify the material and to train those who would care
for the materials. The varied group of volunteers who looked after the

73
 ANARCHIST STUDIES

materials grew slowly but maintained a core of values and practices in

permanent dynamic dialogue. Such a structure promoted self management
of the project, characterized by four principal elements: horizontaiity,
economic autonomy, what we might calI transversal heterogeneity and
fraternity. These four elements are inter-connected, are not easily separated
and are constantly reinforced by daily practice rather than a priori under­
standings.

Horizontality as a way of organizing is always understood as a basic

objective and as a creative practice of any group of this nature. As an
objective, it underlines the need for direct democracy and social emanci­
pation. In this sense, it is an organizational principle that could be adopted
more generalIy for decision-making processes. But horizontality is not just
a word, it does not emerge from nothing; it has to be built, infused with a
dynamic and given political consistency. One way of achieving this is to
rotate responsibilities. Another is through a permanent discussion of the
means and the ends of the collective. It is also important, however, to
understand that horizontality does not stand alone from economic
autonomy, transversal heterogeneity and fraternity. There is no one single
infalI ible recipe to guarantee democratic and self-managed horizontality;
it is a constant political and social construction put in place by the collec­
tive.
This desire to implement horizontal structures and ways of working
poses certain inevitable questions when we come to consider our task in
hand, that is, the archive. If the construction of alternative ways of doing
things is an important element of our work, no less is the desire to make
horizontal, democratic and open access to the documentation of the BAEL
a fundamental objective. There may well be an apparent contradiction
between the two forms of horizontality presented here. Our very system of
taking collective decisions, rotation of activities, in accordance with the
enthusiasm of those involved (together with the current lack of resources
in genera\), constitutes a way of working that distances itself from the
usual emphasis on productivity. In turn, this may well limit the horizontal,
democratic access to the materials kept in the archive. Such a dilemma has
been extensively discussed in the collective and is the subject of an on­
going debate with other archives. 19
We believe that it is possible to find a balance between these two
expressions of horizontality. Placing the emphasis exclusively on the
democratic access to the material could create a work dynamic that contra­
dicts the very nature of the material by allowing for all kinds of subsidies,
company involvement, alliances with alI kinds of institutions, as welI as
the hierarchical organization of the work itself. Such steps, clearly, would
not dovetail with the kind of ideas we wish to make available for consul-

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 THE CULTURAL PRACTICE OF ARGENTINEAN ANARCH ISM

tation. They would transform the material into a mere 'cultural product',
an archaeological find fit to be converted only into academic papers and
conferences. Anarchism does not subscribe to a mechanical notion of
history that j ustifies the suspension of its ethical-political principles as a
'tactic' on the route to socialism. Anarchism attempts to create the prac­
tices and conditions here and now in order to imagine a future society.
Placing the emphasis solely on the horizontal aspect of our daily tasks in
the archive, however, would conflict with the idea of the material as a
'practical ' way of intervening in political struggle.
The balance that we propose is an attempt to spread our way of working
to other spheres with which we come in contact. Such a position is trans­
lated into an active strategy of exchange with other archives. the
participation of archive activities with other political struggles and the
dissemination of the archive's materials by various means, such as the
publication of catalogues, bulletins, digitalization and publishing. Our
stance towards those who come to consult the archive tries to get over this
idea - we are not the providers of esoteric knowledge nor are we service
providers of information for the academic community. We hope that we
are facilitating knowledge, which is assimilated and transformed by as
large a number of people possible.

Economic autonomy The decision taken to refuse finance coming from

companies or state institutions does not correspond to a dogmatic attitude
but is as a result of a debate in a constant process of revision. The ethical­
political principles that guide us are not adopted on the basis of
conventional notions of efficiency and productivity but rather on the desire
to create horizontal practices and the discovery of our potential. In sum,
our practice constitutes an attempt at horizontal organization and se\f­
managed productivity in the cultural sphere. This resulted in a dynamic
whereby the group expands and contracts elastically, with members at one
moment on the periphery and the next at the centre, as potentialities are
rotated in accordance with the commitment of each individual . Economic
autonomy allowed us to draw up projects in accordance with our own
means, our own practices and our own ethical-political values.
Of course, the financial question is still present and we lack the most
modern resources. H owever, this allowed us to develop contacts with other
l ibertarian archives in Argentina and in other parts of the world and
allowed for the exchange of projects that were fruitful for all concerned.

Transversal Heterogeneity The principle of horizontality supposes

another way of looking at other people in terms of their status of equal ity,
rights, recognition of their ways of doing things and their life background,
as well as their potential development as human beings. Such an approach

75
 ANARCHIST STUDIES

produced a group in BAEL that crosses generations, age groups and

origin, creating a set of strengths based on heterogeneity. In this way, our
desire for horizontality is reinforced by a positive attitude towards cultural
pluralism with a fraternal acceptance of what is considered 'different' .
What are the elements that define this transversal heterogeneity? There are
forty-year-old militants and young people of seventeen, differences in
class and social background, different ideological tendencies and different
cultural and professional backgrounds. The transversal cultural nature of
the group is not problematic or destructive; it is a potentiality that allows
for a multiplicity of possible practical combinations. Further, it is a lively
antidote to sectarianism and entrenched positions. In BAEL this diversity
is notable, from militants of various backgrounds, to biologists, manual
workers, doctors, actors, lawyers, punks, artists, musicians, vegetarians,
intellectuals and students from various disciplines such as sociology,
education, history, philosophy and the arts. This heterogeneous mix, as
well as being richly productive, guards against sectarianism and ingenuous
or monolithic thought. Transversal heterogeneity is not a point taken from
any rule book but rather a consequence of our way of working and as such
something worth fighting for.

Fraternity Although the BAEL group came together with a specific set of
tasks in mind (i.e. classifying, ordering and cataloguing material in the
possession of the Argentinean FLA), what best describes it are its method­
ology and the relations established between its individual members. The
creation of projects, the free collaboration of everyone in all tasks, the
predominance of willingness over sacrifice as a means to getting things
done, reflection and the questioning of accepted ways of doing things,
openness to doubting supposed truths and the valuing of friendship, place
the BAEL group within the anarchist category of the affinity group.
Not only has anarchism provided ethical values, it has also developed
practical ways of organizing. The affinity group makes plain the existence
and viability of the values of horizontality and fraternity. In this sense, the
value of friendship, as a way of escaping relationships based on personal
interest and power in the capitalist world and as a way of developing values
that are not measured in quantifiable and productive terms, is fundamental
to this mode of organization. 20 The idea of friendship as an integral part of
a political project is what prevents the delegation of power, and it becomes
a means of guaranteeing that s/he that represents the group on a temporal
basis does not speak on their own behalf, but for a kaleidoscope of indi­
viduals, who need to be heard.
I n addition, the concept of fraternalism is connected to that of collec­
tive happiness. If indignation, suffering and anger are produced in the face
of injustice they can also be a motivation for action; our practices do not

76
 THE CULTURAL PRACTICE OF ARGENTINEAN ANARCHISM

respond to any kind of self imposition, asceticism or transcendental

nostalgia as a form of militancy. Against resentment and feeling that we
are to blame we affirm transformative action and the tribulations of collec­
tive endeavour. In this way, we take on board Foucault's words when he
writes: ' Do not think that one has to be sad in order to be militant, even
though the thing one is fighting is abominable. It is the connection of
desire to reality (and not its retreat into the forms of representation) that
possesses revolutionary force' .21

Finally, we would say that our account here of BAEL does not aim to
present its way of working as a hegemonic model of organization.
Although we value its methodology and we subscribe to the model
presented, we also recognize the shortcomings and possible contradictions
inherent in this kind of work. These are different from those experienced
by those who are working in trade union questions or in neighbourhoods
with whom we are in contact in order to exchange experiences. The hetero­
geneity of the group has allowed us to energize various other projects
outside of the ambit of the archive such as theatre plays, conferences, a
self-managed construction workers' group, philosophy seminars, a
recording studio and links with neighbourhood and squatters' groups.
The Library and Archive for Libertarian Studies (BAEL) managed in
these ten years to organize the classification of a vast range of material
from forty-four countries dating from 1 890, archive training, the digitali­
zation of a part of the documentation, the publishing of two catalogues of
our holdings and has been able to welcome a large number of researchers
and activists.
Above all , however, we have managed to create a group that is seeking
a route towards self management and horizontal ity, which has made
contact with other groups that operate with these same principles and
which has recovered and reflected upon anarchist practice over the last one
hundred years in order to bring those values and practices to front stage in
the present day.

In order to consult the archive or to contact us, mail archivobael@yahoo.com.ar

G LOSSARY OF TERMS
BAEL (Biblioteca Archivo de Estudios Libertarios): Library and Archive for
Libertarian Studies
CGT (Confederacion General del Trabajo): General Confederation of Labour
CNT-FAI (Confederacion Nacional del Trabajo-Federacion Anarquista Iberica):
National Confederation of Labour-Iberian Anarchist Federation
COA (Confederacion Obrera Argentina): Argentine Labour Confederation
CUC (Comite de la Union Clasista): Class Union Committee

77
 ANARCH IST STUDIES

CRRA (Comite Regional de Relaciones Anarquistas): Regional Committee for

Anarchist Relations
FACA (Federacion Anarco Comunista Argentina): Argentine Anarcho-Communist
Federation
FLA (Federacion Libertaria Argentina): Argentine Libertarian Federation
FORA (Federacion Obrera de la Region Argentina): Argentine Regional Workers'
Federation
IDS (Instituto de Documentacion Social CNT-FAI): CNT-FAI Institute for Social
Documentation
USA (Union Sindical Argentina): Argentine Syndical Union

NOTES

I . Over the first decades of the twentieth century anarchism in Argentina was
violently repressed. In 1 902 a Residency Law was proclaimed, which allowed
for the expulsion of 'undesirable' foreigners. In 1 9 1 0 the government organ­
ized large celebrations for the centenary of the independence of Argentina to
which dignitaries were invited from around the world. The campaign of oppo­
sition launched by the anarchists, together with the wave of strikes unleashed a
few years previously, cast a shadow over the festivities. It is in this context that
the Social Defence Law of 28 J une 1 9 \ 0 was approved. On the history of anar­
chism, see Diego Abad de Santillan, EI movimiento anarquista en la argentina.
Desde sus comienzos hasta eI ano 1910, Buenos Aires, Editorial Argonauta,
1 930, and, Dora Barrancos, Anarquismo, Educacion y Costumbres en la
Argentina de principios de siglo, Buenos Aires, Editorial Contrapunto, 1 990.
2. On the FORA in English, see P. Yerrill & L. Rosser, Revolutionary unionism in
Latin America: The FORA in Argentina, London/Doncaster, ASP, 1 987.
3. The General Confederation of Labour (Confederacion General del Trabajo)
was created in 1 930 by the fusion of the Argentine Labour Confederation
(Confederaci6n Obrera Argentina, mainly socialist) and the Argentine Syndical
Union (Union Sindical Argentina, of non-alligned syndicalists). In 1 929 the
communists formed the Class Union Committee (Comite de la Union
Clasista), but this was disolved in 1 935 as a result of the popular front tactics
set out by the Com intern, and the CUC joined the CGT.
4. Some authors have used the concept of 'sociability' to understand the social
dimension of political movements. See, for example, with respect to the
Valencian anarchist movement, Francisco Javier Navarro Navarro, A teneos y
Grupos Acratas. Vida y Actividad Cultural de las Asociaciones Anarquistas
Valencianas durante la Segunda Republica y la Guerra Civil, Valencia,
Biblioteca Valenciana, 2002.
5. Jose Grunfeld in Memorias de un anarquista (Buenos Aires, Editorial N uevo
Hacer, 2000, p. 1 2 1 ) and Jacobo Maguid in Recuerdo de un Libertario (Buenos
Aires, Editorial Reconstruir, 1 995, p. 26) discuss these details as participants.
6. Ushuaia prison is situated about 3,000 kilometres to the south of Buenos Aires,
and was considered at the time to be the Argentine Siberia.
7. Maguid, op. cit., p. 29
8. A more detailed survey of the creration of the FACA and the different anarchist
currents present can be found in Pablo M . Perez, HEI movimiento anarquista y
los origenes de la Federacion Libertaria Argentina", in Catalogo de publica-

78
 THE CULTURAL PRACTICE OF ARGENTINEAN ANARCHISM

ciones politicas, sociales y culturales anarquistas (/890- 1945), Buenos Aires,

Editorial Reconstruir, 2002, pp. 1 3-32.
9. It should be recalled that the aid provided by the Argentinean movement for
Spain can be understood to be the largest in the world, if one considers the
extent of that aid in relation to the number of inhabitants (Argentina occupies
second place in terms of the quantity of financial aid collected for the
Republic, alter France and the United Status, but would be in first place if the
population of 1 2 million were considered). Cf. Silvina Montenegro, La guerra
civil espanola y la politica argentina, doctoral thesis, Complutense University
of Madrid, 2002.
1 0. For more details of the FACA delegates and other Argentinean anarchists that
went to Spain, see Astrid Wessels, "Militantes anarquistas del Rio de la Plata
en el Movimiento Libertario Espanol", in Catalogo de Pubticaciones. /olletos
y documelllos anarquistas espmioles (/890- 1 939), Buenos Aires, Editorial
Reconstruir, 2005, pp. 20-26.
I I . The files making up the "Memorias" collection account for 1 20 documents,
some of which extend to more than 50 pages, in which are reproduced reports
on the various secretariats of the movement and from the front. This material
is now to be found in the BAEL archive.
1 2. Boletin del Sindicato de las Indusfrias de edificacion, madera y decoraciol/
CNT, 2( 1 9), 1 5 de agosto de 1 938, Barcelona, p. 3.
13. Boletin del Sindicato de las Industrias de edificaciol/, op. cit.
14. Etienne de La Boetie, El discurso de la servidumbre volul/taria, 0 Contra el
UI/O, Barcelona, Tusquets Editores, 1 980.
1 5. Here we mention Michael Foucault's 1 976 conference given in Brazil, where
he analyses the development of the technique of government and "discipline",
which attempts to control all life, including that of "social atoms", i.e. individ­
uals. Foucault argues, from this perspective, that power cannot be considered
to be repressive alone but that it is productive and can even produce pleasure.
See M ichel Foucault, "Las redes del poder", in Christian Ferrer (ed.), El
lenguaje tibertario. Antologia del pensamiento anarquista contemporaneo,
Buenos Aires, Editorial Altamira, 1 999, pp?
1 6. The ideas of Kropotkin, who tried to find a "scientific" element in the anar­
chist thought on human nature, are just one part of anarchist thought. Anarchist
thought is not organized as any kind of "system" but as a mosaic of thinkers
who hold basic concepts in tension with other interpretations. Such a state of
affairs may explain how anarchism shows up in new subjects and movements
such as punk, ecological or indigenist movements. Noam Chomsky on this
point states that the adjective "anarchism" can be applied to many different
expressions of thought and movements. Any attempt to enclose them within
one definition would be counterproductive. See Noam Chomsky, "Apuntes
sobre anarquismo", in Christian Ferrer (ed.), El lenguaje libertario. Antologia
del pensamiento anarquista cOl/temporaneo. Buenos Aires, Editorial Altamira,
1 999, p. 22. For the original English, see Noam Chomsky, "Notes on
Anarchism", in Barry Pateman (ed.), Chomsky 01/ Anarchism, Edinburgh/San
Francisco, AK Press, 2005.
1 7. On this point the ideas of Lucas Rubinich are interesting. Rubinich argues that
the life of every militant is part of the construction of the greater idea of anar­
chism. See Lucas Rubinich, "La vida como "obra": tres notas sobre la estetica

79
 ANARCH IST STUDIES

libertaria a traves del amilisis de las memorias de Laureano Riera", in Apuntes

de lnvestigacion del Centro de Estudios en Cultura y Politica, 8(9), March
2004, Buenos Aires, p. 25. Christian Ferrer in the same vein writes: "For them
[the militants], freedom was a lived experience, the result of the necessary
coherence between means and end, and not an effect of declamation, a promise
for a moment 'after the state' . In this way, in practical terms, anarchism was
not a way of thinking about a society of domination, but a way of living against
domination. In the idea of freedom as espoused by anarchism, there was not
merely an ideal but the articulation of different ethical practices, that is, a line
of transmission between a person's present and the realization of a future to be
created", in Christian Ferrer, "Atom os sueltos, vidas refractarias", in Cabezas
de Tormenta, Buenos Aires, Ed. Anarres, Coleccion Utopia Libertaria, 2004, p.
1 9.
1 8. Lily Litvak, Musa Libertaria. Arte. literatura y vida cultural del anarquismo
espanol (/880-1913), Madrid, Fundacion de Estudios Libertarios Anselmo
Lorenzo, 200 I , p. 292, discusses some aspects of the debate on the role of
intellectuals in the anarchist movement.
1 9. There is an on-going controversy with the Marxist-inspired archive Cedinci
(Centro de Documentacion e Investigaci6n de la Cultura de Izquierdas en
Argentina), also based in Buenos Aires, on the nature of the differences
between a libertarian-inspired archive and the cultural practice of Marxism.
20. Christian Ferrer analyzes this aspect of anarchism as follows: "What charac­
terized the anarchist affinity group was not just the reciprocal horizontality and
the common ideological belonging of its participants, but the mutual trust that
cemented the contact between its members, and its empathetic plasticity. It
operated as a counter-weight and alternative to the bourgeois family and to the
labour market and it was also a space for imbibing knowledge and skills", in
Christian Ferrer, "Atomos sueltos, vidas refractarias", in Cabezas de Tormenta,
op. cit., p. 26. Also: "Affinity is the backbone of anarchism, but a broader
perspective embraces the anthropological space favouarble to anarchism,
which can always be called friendship", in Christian Ferrer, "Misterio y jerar­
quia. Sobre 10 inasimilable del anarquismo", in Cabezas de tormenta, op. cit.,
p. 77.
2 1 . Michel Foucault, "Preface", in Gilles Deleuze & Felix G uattari, Anti-Oedipus.
Capitalism and Schizophrenia (trans. Robert Hurley, Mark Seem & Helen R.
Lane), London, Continuum, 2004 [ 1 972], xv. Foucault calls Deleuze and
Guattari's text a kind of "Introduction to the Non-Fascist Life". On this subject,
see the introduction to Foucault's work by Fernando Alvarez Uria & Julia
Varela, "Introduccion a un modo de vida no fascista", in Julia Varela &
Fernando Alvarez Uria (eds.), Michel Foucault: Estrategias de fJoder, Obras
Esenciales, Vol. I I , Barcelona, Paidos, 1 999, pp. 9-25.

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WE H AV E H EARD T H E C H I M ES AT M I DNIG HT: WHAT HAVE I

DONE?

Noam Chomsky Failed States: The Abuse of Power and the Assault on
Democracy
Hamish Hamilton, London 2006
ISBN: 024 1 1 43233 320 pages, hardback, £ 1 6.99

In a series of essays written after the Second World War called the
' Responsibilities of Peoples', Dwight Macdonald, then editor of the Partisan
Review, quoted an interview with an official from a Nazi death camp:

Q. Did you personally help to kill people?

A. Absolutely not. I was only paymaster in the camp.
Q. What did you think of what was going on?
A. It was bad at first, but we got used to it.
Q. Do you know the Russians will hang you?
A. (bursting into tears) Why should they? What have I done?

What have r done indeed - Macdonald argued that the man had 'simply
obeyed orders and kept his mouth shut . . . [i]t is what he had not done that
shocks our moral sensibilities' (Dwight MacDonald, 'The Responsibility of
Peoples', Memoirs of a Revolutionist, p60). In exploring the issue of war
guilt, Macdonald discussed the extent of the responsibility of the Gennan
and Japanese people for atrocities committed by their governments by
asking how far the British and American peoples were responsible for their
governments' terror bombing of civilians (culminating in the horrors of
H iroshima and Nagasaki). For Macdonald, the question was all the starker
for Britons and Americans because, unlike people living under totalitarian
governments, they had enjoyed a relative freedom to speak out against and
resist the more extreme actions of their governments. Doesn't such access
to fonnal democracy mean that American and British people bear all the
more responsibil ity for what their governments did, insofar as they could
have affected their government's actions? But, you wil l protest, what can I
do to stop what my government is doing in my name? Macdonald teases
this problem out to conclude that: ' [o]nly those who are willing to resist
authority themselves when it conflicts too intolerably with their personal

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moral code, only they have the right to condemn the death-camp
paymaster' (MacDonald, p6 1 ) .
Noam Chomsky evoked this moral i n his first public oration in 1 966,
later published in the New York Review of Books as 'The Responsibility of
Intellectuals'. Chomsky charged that intellectuals were in a position to
'expose the l ies of governments, to analyze actions according to their
causes and motives and often hidden intentions'. Intellectuals in the West
enjoyed 'the power that comes from political liberty', access to informa­
tion, freedom of expression, leisure, and facilities and training to seek the
truth veiled in distortion, ideology, and class interest (Noam Chomsky,
'The Responsibility of Intellectuals', Chomsky Reader p60). Chomsky had
chosen to jeopardize his own academic career as a linguist at M IT (where
he was already revolutionizing the study of language) to become a highly
vocal critic and activist against the American invasion of South Vietnam.
For forty years Noam Chomsky has been analyzing and criticizing
American foreign policy, as well as private economic exploitation in
America and the rest of the world. With literally hundreds of publications,
many of them collections of interviews, a remarkable personal epistolary
regime (he purportedly spends some 20 hours a week on correspondence),
and an enormous public speaking schedule that covers the globe, Chomsky
deserves his reputation as one of the most important, active and widely read
dissident political commentators in the world. While maintaining a wide
variety of interests, from intellectual history, democratic theory, domestic
and international affairs, philosophy of mind, and of course linguistics, he
has remained a remarkably consistent critic of power, specifically of the use
of military and economic force as a means of subjecting people to the
dictates and wills of others.
Unlike his work in the philosophy of mind and language, which
Chomsky has continued to expand and change, Chomsky is not at all an
original political thinker. Philosophically, Chomsky constantly evokes and
demonstrates principles and concepts indebted to eighteenth century
Enlightenment thinkers, including Descartes, Rousseau, Smith, Kant,
H umboldt, and to a subsequent l ibertarian-socialism and anarchism -
Bakunin, Rocker and Luxemburg, amongst others. His 1 9 7 1 debate on
Dutch television with Michel Foucault helped articulate not only
Chomsky'S distance from the world of post-modern post-structuralism, but
also the principles that animate his critique. Chomsky argued that, while we
are a long way from determining what it might be, there is a human nature,
one that has an instinct to freedom and creativity. This was quite the oppo­
site to Foucault's insistence that power proved a more salient and helpful
concept to understand human affairs rather than human nature - a concept
that Foucault insisted was simply a discourse that emerged from a histori­
cally specific society, culture, and time, and was not some transcendent and

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universal concept. What followed from Chomsky's conception and model

of human nature was the notion that the best society was, by logical exten­
sion, one that would maximize freedom and our instinct to creativity and
cooperation. Without a model of the human, it became clear that Foucault's
methods were better for taking things apart than positing possibilities for
the future.
Though his vision of human nature certainly animates his political
critique, Chomsky doesn't try and posit the arrival of this utopia immedi­
ately. He seeks, rather - borrowing a term from Brazilian peasant
movements - to make the floor of the cage bigger before trying to drop the
bars. Moreover, his work is not aimed at speaking 'truth to power', but
rather speaking to as many people as possible to help them to see through
the lies for themselves, organize and come up with their own strategies for
bringing about change.
Edward Said wrote once in sheer amazement at Chomsky's refusal to
develop any kind of theory in regards to his work on International
Relations. Chomsky prefers analysis, and this analysis is bolstered by what
Said described as his encyclopaedic knowledge of world affairs. Chomsky
merits this amazement once again with his new book, Failed States, which
looks at US foreign policy and shows its contradictions and hypocrisies.

ROGU E STATES
Chomsky discusses the work of US historian John Lewis Gaddis, who
wrote the first book that historicized the Bush administration's 'pre­
emptive war' doctrine (Surprise. Security. and the A merican Experience
(2004» . His argument was that the concept of pre-emptive action as a
means of defending US security from the threat of 'failed states' had an
important precedent in John Quincy Adams, who as Secretary of State
under Monroe had recognized that expansion was going to be the path to
security. This was what provided the j ustification for America's conquest of
Spanish-held Florida by General Andrew Jackson in the First Seminole War
in 1 8 1 8. Chomsky argues, however, that, though he draws attention to the
tradition that Bush participates in, Gaddis doesn't draw from his analysis
the necessary conclusions - for example he doesn't discuss how Jackson's
invasion continued the project of clearing the land of native Americans.
Thus, though there is a discussion of the threat to American security from
failed states, the way that American security threatens others is not
discussed.
Chomsky illustrates that America has had a long tradition of making
itself exceptional to international rules - and a tradition of intellectuals
such as Gaddis, who formulate the legal and historical contortions that
justify such exceptionality. Take the topic that seems to be at the top of our

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current international agenda, terrorism. Kofi Annan defined terrorism as

any action that is 'intended to cause death or serious bodily harm to civil­
ians or non-combatants with the purpose of intimidating a population or
compel ling a government or an international organization to do or abstain
from doing any act' (Michael Lind, Financial Times, 2 May 2005, quoted
in Failed States, p36). As a kind of thought experiment, we might want to
ask, by international standards could there ever be such a thing as US or
UK terrorism? Or is such a term, by definition, doctrinally impossible? If
it were possible, what kinds of things would constitute such actions, and
what should our reactions to them be?
In 1 986, the World Court found the US guilty of 'unlawful use of force'
in waging their proxy war against Nicaragua. Having overthrown the US­
sponsored Somoza dictatorship, Nicaragua had become an object of US
aggression, and thus Nicaragua had attempted to use international legal
means to bring the US into check. The UN Security Council affirmed the
court's judgement, but the US exercised their veto over any kind of action
in the face of demands to cease hostilities and pay reparations. We are told
that such actions make sense, and are justified by dictates that fal l outside
the scope of International Law. With his attention to such important cases
as this 1 986 World Court judgement, Chomsky situates American foreign
policy in a continuum of refusing to adhere to even the most basic standards
of law, standards to which they proclaim fidelity in their rhetoric. The most
recent US-UK invasion of Iraq is not unique in its lack of respect for
I nternational Law, Chomsky argues. It is typical of a state terrorism that is
called something more sophisticated by Anglo-American lawyers, politi­
cians, academics and mandarins - who, in their homage to Orwell, call war
peace and peace war.
A country charged with international terrorism (lay for ' unlawful use of
force') by the World Court should be understood and treated as a rogue
nation. But US exceptionalism from international law, combined with its
frantic behaviour, makes it truly unique among super powers. Take its
stance against Cuba. Chomsky quotes from a 2004 report to Congress from
the Treasury Department's Office of Foreign Assets Control (OFAC), where
they claimed that, of their 1 20 employees, four were tracking the finances
of Osama bin Laden and Saddam H ussein, while almost two dozen were
enforcing the (illegal) embargo against Cuba. But such imbalance is typical
of the US obsession with Cuba. After America's 1 899 invasion of Cuba
(premised on liberating them from colonial rule from Spain), Cuba quickly
came under the control of US business interests and remained a virtual
colony til l their revolution in 1 959. Since then, Cuba has been the target of
economic strangulation, military bombardment and assassination attempts.
In an ode to irony, American media pundits bemoan Castro's treatment of
dissidents, while the US stil l occupies a base held over from their colonial

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control of the island, in which they have managed to create a magical sanc­
tuary from International Law, where detainees can be held without charges
or legal council - as well , of course, as being subject to torture. In a time
after Nuremberg, in a time after 'Never again', we can only marvel at our
collective silence at the crimes of Guantanamo Bay. We can only imagine
with what admiration Stalin and H itler would hold the culture of doctrinal
control in Britain and America, where, free to dissent, the intellectual
community piously ignores what is openly going on beneath their noses.
There are people who, seemingly out of genuine concern for human
rights abuses in such places as Cuba, believe that US motives for interven­
tion are benevolent. These people, who imagine that there is a substantive
difference between Democrats and Republicans, often point to the legacy
of two figures, Woodrow Wilson and Bill Clinton. A good way to scrutinize
this viewpoint is to examine these leaders' attitude towards Haiti. While
remaining aloof from the Great War, Wilson's government invaded Haiti in
1 9 1 5 (later, at the end of the war, it proclaimed the need for a League of
Nations and the rights of small nations to self-determination). Chomsky
points out that thousands of Haitians were killed resisting Wilson's
invaders, and that the invasion virtually re-instituted slavery, in the shape of
forced labour. After nineteen years of occupation the US left the country in
the hands of a vicious National Guard (FS, p 1 53; for more on the American
invasion of Haiti see Hans Schmidt, The United States Occupation ofHaiti,
1 91 5-34; Emily Greene Balch, Occupied Haiti; Frederick S. Calhoun, Uses
of Force and Wilsonian Foreign Policy). Clinton, for his part, ordered mili­
tary intervention in Haiti in 1 994, 'to restore democracy' after the populist
Jean-Bertand Aristide, and not the US-approved former World Bank candi­
date Marc Bazin, won the Haitian election. (Clinton would go on to flout
international law during his tenure, most blatantly in his unilateral invasion
of Kosovo in 1 999 under the auspices of NATO, which is a kind of private
military gang that frequently acts without the international consensus of the
UN - an organization the US undermines diplomatically through circum­
vention and economically by not paying its membership dues.)

T H E UNITED STATES AS A SUPERPOWER

For Chomsky, history is ever-present and never-ending. The actions of the
past, such as Britain's imperial project, cannot be cordoned off; they
inform the present state of things. Chomsky also shows how America
interfered in the post-WWII reconstruction of Europe, when Britain
handed the baton over to America as the world's premier global economic
and military super-power. Chomsky writes of how, in the first National
Security Council memorandum of 1 947 (and its reiteration in NSC 54 1 1 /2
in 1 954), the US sought to subvert Italian democracy, going so far as plan-

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ning military intervention if Communists gained power. A similar position

was evoked in Greece, in what came to be known as the Truman Doctrine,
to quell the 'communists' from overthrowing their King. The US would go
on to help back the fascist Junta to power in Greece in 1 967, continuing its
support till the regime's 1 974 overthrow. The Truman Doctrine effectively
expanded the M onroe Doctrine's declaration of Latin America as a US
sphere of influence, to the world stage: wherever 'communist' forces were
seen at work, the US would soon follow.
Far from intellectuals taking up their responsibility to repeat basic truths
and expose the true intentions behind governmental policy, their more
conventional tasks, according to Chomsky, are those of ' doctrinal
managers' , protecting power and those that wield it from scrutiny, while
also deflecting analysis away from governments' pursuit of the real inter­
ests they serve. Thus, discussion of the US-UK invasion of Iraq focuses on
the noble intentions of the liberation, and the self-defence of the US and
UK, instead of the economic importance of controlling oil in the Middle
East. Such arguments ask us to trumpet our concern for human rights and
democracy, acting as if, had the world's energy resources been located
somewhere else, say in Central Africa, we would still have invaded Iraq.
The reality is that, in pursuit of the control of energy, the US has destabi­
l ized the region, increased the threat of terrorism in both the US and the
UK, and left thousands of innocent people dead; and further, it has left
those who lie in their wake with palpable and understandable reasons to
become radicalized.
In this book Chomsky takes seriously discussions on military instability
and the fear of mutually assured destruction. In historically situating this
issue, however, he finds that it is the US that has done more than any other
country to make the world a more dangerous place. Take the historical
contextualization of two countries currently in the spotlight, Iraq and Iran.
These two countries came into existence after the Allied Powers carved up
the former Ottoman Empire after the First World War. In Iran in 1 953 there
was a joint US and UK coup that overthrew M ohammad Mossadegh, who
was seeking to nationalize the British-owned Anglo-Iranian Oil company.
What followed was a 25 year long US-backed dictatorship under the Shah.
This ended with the overthrow of the Shah in 1 979. Iran is now worrisome
to the west because seeking access to nuclear energy seems suspicious in a
country that is oil rich - as Henry Kissinger has argued, amongst others.
What Chomsky carefully points out is that, when Iran was a client-state it
was Kissinger who held that the ' introduction of nuclear power will both
provide for the growing needs of Iran's economy and free remaining oil
reserves for export or conversion to petrochemicals' (Australian, 1 May
2005, Dow Jones Newswires, 9 March 2005, quoted in FS, p73). America
assisted in these efforts, with Cheney, Wol fowitz and Rumsfeld playing

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significant roles. Asked about this reversal, Kissinger frankly responded

that before 1 979 the Iranians 'were an allied country' and thus they had a
genuine need for nuclear energy. This duplicity is all the more remarkable,
because, as Chomsky argues, it is quite possible that Iran could be making
nuclear weapons with fissionable materials provided by the US, as a means
to respond to current US aggression and intimidation.
It is not surprising that I ran seeks nuclear technology. US aggression
world-wide and within the region is encouraging nuclear proliferation.
Even India's determination to develop nuclear weapons became hardened
by US incursions into Iraq in 1 99 1 and Kosovo in 1 999. As political scien­
tist John Mearsheimer observed about India's impression of the invasions,
' [h]ad either foe possessed nuclear weapons, the United States might not
have gone to war' (John Mearsheimer, New York Times, 24 March 2000,
quoted in FS, p75). This lesson does not get lost on countries seeking to
protect themselves from the world's policeman.
In regards to Iraq, Chomsky argues that it is misleading to compare the
current invasion with what happened in Vietnam. In South Asia, America
was happy to destroy the virus of national independence and leave. Iraq on
the other hand is too valuable; they cannot leave the country without being
sure that a proper client regime wil l remain in place. Saddam Hussein ably
fitted his role as a US client until his invasion of Kuwait in 1 990 (though
after his fall from favour Hussein did manage to gain a little room back
with his sponsors in March 1 99 1 , when Bush I authorized him to crush a
Shiite rebellion, leaving a few thousand more dead under his belt). Though
it is a commonly held assumption that no W M D were found in Iraq (the
publ icly purported reason for invading, we all remember), that isn 't entirely
accurate: there were WM D found that were produced in the 1 980s, with US
and U K aid. This aid, of course, continued throughout H ussein's war with
Iran, and continued while he committed his worst atrocities - the same ones
he was put on trial for. US and UK aid, in violation of international treaties,
was used in developing missiles and nuclear technology, as well as anthrax
and other biotoxins. Chomsky argues that it is typical of American rhetoric
that it boasts about curbing terror while actually increasing the volatil ity of
the region and the probability of terrorism. This attitude is exemplified by
the fact that after these sites were discovered they were left unguarded. As
a result the UN has found that 1 09 sites were looted, with 85 per cent of the
equipment removed. With a free and honest media, US and UK military
aggression and rejection of International Law, as well as their support for
violent and repressive regimes, and now their stimulus to increased terror
and instability, would be more plainly discussed - not only because we all
share responsibility for crimes done in our names, but because our lives are
in greater danger because of them.
In the trilogy of books Chomsky wrote with Ed H erman, The Political

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Economy of Human Rights (2 volumes) and Manufacturing Consent

(Political Economy of Mass Media), they demonstrated a correlation
between US aid and human rights - an inverse relationship: the countries
that received the greatest amount of US aid were also the greatest human
rights violators. This observation can be born out by looking at principle
recipients of aid, Columbia, Egypt, Turkey, and Israel - four of the world's
top violators of human rights. Chomsky and H erman are careful not to
suggest that the US invests directly in terror; it is simply that 'terror' falls
into three categories: beneficial, harmful and neutral. Neutral atrocities
are those that don't matter to US foreign policy, such as those that take
place in Africa; beneficial atrocities are those that take place under their
client regimes; and harmful atrocities are those committed by official
enemies. Harmful atrocities to worthy victims are constantly evoked as a
means to justify invasion, because they are seen as different in kind and
intensity from those committed by the US and its client regimes. If atroc­
ities were really as big a concern for our governments as the rhetoric
would have us believe, Chomsky points out, there are other means of
responding. Chomsky is at pains to bring back the ethics of Hippocrates'
old maxim, 'do no harm'. Before the need for military intervention, there
is a simpler way of reducing violence: stop giving money to those regimes
that commit the most violence. We share in the responsibility of the
violence committed by countries that receive our aid, and if that repulses
us, then we should act in raising our voice in protest against those crimes
and seek that they stop immediately. We should not look to other people's
crimes, but our own. The privilege and freedom that we enjoy is unique,
and proportionately the responsibility we share in allowing these crimes to
go unchecked is also heavy.
An interesting case is that of Israel, where the U S has blocked the inter­
national consensus for a resolution to the conflict for thirty years. In 1 976,
for example, Chomsky points out that the US vetoed a Syrian-initiated
resolution calling for a two-state settlement on the i nternational borders
backed by major Arab states and Arafat's PLO, as well as incorporating UN
Security Council Resolution 242 (which called for withdrawal of Israel i
forces from lands occupied in the Six Days War). The US has been virtu­
ally alone in blocking international consensus opinion, while
simultaneously offering military aid as well as supporting I srael 's expan­
sion into the occupied territories. While Western media seems to be hooked
on the Hamas government's refusal to recognize I srael and repudiate
violence, little attention is given to the Israeli government's own refusal
either to recognize a Palestinian state (not simply a set of Swiss-cheese
Bantustans) or repudiate violence. Chomsky says that we can see the reality
of the situation more clearly when we flip the terms in this way: what if it
were the Palestinians that were pushing the Israelis into isolated patches of

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land, separated from one another, with limited access to water, transporta­
tion and work, refusing them the right to return home, isolating them by a
illegal large walled barrier and meeting their stones with US-made
missiles? Might this help us to be better able to see how unjust the situation
is, based on the haunting echo of the history of European subjugation that
the Jews went under for hundreds of years?
In 2005, when the US wanted Israel to stop selling advanced military
technology to China and Israel tried to evade the restrictions, the US
imposed sanctions against I srael . The sales of weaponry were crucial to the
Israelis' military high-tech export economy, but they were very quickly
dropped to comply with US demands, because the US is their diplomatic,
military, and economic keeper. Those analysts that argue that US support
for Israel has more to do with something known as the 'Jewish lobby' than
with pragmatic political, military and economic issues are dangerously
deluding themselves. They are distorting the plain facts of why the US has
a real investment in a strong Israel - albeit an Israel that does what it is told
to do. If we could find a way to achieve an honest discussion of these
issues, at least in theory, we should be able to put enough pressure on our
governments to say that Rogue Nations that promote terror, have unde­
clared nuclear weapons, repress and torture people under occupation, and
flout international law, should not be politically and economically
supported by us. In this way, change can occur without relying on military
intervention.

HOPE
While things may seem grim, with Chomsky there is always the possibility
of hope, of making things better, as well as the recognition that people are
remarkable in their tenacity to live under adverse conditions and refuse to
give up. In the Afterword to the book, he takes strength from the growing
democratic regionalism in Latin America, led by Hugo Chavez in
Venezuela - where governments are beginning to use their natural
resources for their citizens rather than private profit.
For Chomsky (as for his late friend Edward Said), there are no magic
solutions when it comes to International Relations. Always preferring
analysis to giving answers, Chomsky notes that the work for all of us will
require 'day-by-day' engagement to create 'the basis for a functioning
democratic culture in which the public plays some role in determining poli­
cies, not only in the political arena, from which it is largely excluded, but
also in the crucial economic arena, from which it is excluded in principle'.
But, in a rare moment, Chomsky offers a more macroscopic set of seven
suggestions for the US to follow: ( 1 ) accept the jurisdiction of the
International Criminal Court; (2) sign and carry forward the Kyoto proto-

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cols; (3) let the UN take the lead in international crises; (4) rely on diplo­
matic and economic measures rather than military ones in confronting
terror; (5) keep to the traditional interpretation of the UN charter; (6) give
up the Security Council veto; and (7) cut back sharply on military spending
and sharply increase social spending. While it will take real work, we don't
have to accept these ideas as dreams. These are seven simple things that we
could print in bullet points on the cover of tabloids tomorrow so that
everyone could see some pragmatic means to save the US from being a
failed state. These are but a few of the simple goals that can animate our
own needs for peace in a world that is increasingly inching towards self­
destruction. They are but some of the simple ways that America could cease
being an aggressive outlaw and fall into a real world order.
Many years ago I saw Noam Chomsky speak in Toronto. During the
question period someone asked Noam, as they always do, for something
like that list above, but something more directed, something that all of us in
the crowd could go out and do that would make the world better, tomorrow.
Chomsky paused for a moment, and then said ' Yes, alright, yes there is
something you could all do'. You could feel the room sit forward: ' You are
looking for one thing? Ok, here is one thing you can do - don't believe a
word I said this evening.' Laughter echoed nervously through Massey Hall.
He went on, 'No I am serious. Don't believe a word I have said, don't take
my word for it. Disagree. Go and find out these answers for yourself. Check
on my sources.' He went on to explain the importance of finding inde­
pendent sources of information, meeting with people, talking and getting
together so that you can make up your own mind of what you think and how
you want to behave. The realities of military and economic aggression
today aren't a matter of belief - of following a leader or a prophet - nor are
they complicated. To think about them we just need honesty, reason, and an
employment of the freedoms that you and I share in droves.
If we are to discover the means of condemning the Nazi camp
paymaster, we owe it to ourselves, to those that suffer as a result of our
government's actions, to the memory of those who suffered under the
brutality of slavery, or died as a result of industrialized killing in gas cham­
bers, in the shadow of nuclear clouds or beneath showers of napalm, to take
the responsibility to figure out what is going on for ourselves and decide
how we shall lift our voices in song against the terrorism and inhumanity
of Blair, Bush and Co. The words of the paymaster should address us with
a haunting ring, like a bell knelling in the distance: What have I done?

Anurag Jain
Queen Mary. University of London

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Living in Utopia: New Zealand's Intentional Communities

Lucy Sargisson and Lyman Tower Sargent
Ashgate: Aldershot, 2004
I SBN 0 7546 4224 0, ppxv, 2 1 1

This book is framed by a desire to take utopia out of the literary sphere and
into the real world, by providing an exploration of intentional communities in
New Zealand. Its central aim is to challenge Rosabeth Moss Kanter's argu­
ment that longevity is the most important criterion in assessing the success of
community. In contrast to this position, the authors suggest that utopian
experiments should be considered on their own terms: for however long they
last, intentional communities are important because of the efforts individuals
make to find alternative ways of living. In other words, the search for the
ideal outweighs the importance of its achievement and/or protection.
The best part of the book is given over to an account of the communi­
ties currently in existence in New Zealand. These are considered in a
number of categories: religiously based communities, co-operatives and
environmental-communities. Together, they embrace a wide range of alter­
native visions: from Buddhist to feminist to pacifist and explicitly
anarchist ideals. The fieldwork supporting this account captures very well
the variations between the groups, the differences in organisation and the
experiences of community life. And it is sandwiched between an intro­
ductory section, which examines theoretical approaches to community and
the history of community in New Zealand in the nineteenth and twentieth
centuries, and a closing section which develops themes about utopianism,
longevity and the lessons of community for utopian theorising.
What's really heartening about this book is the sense it gives of the health
of community experiments. One might be forgiven for thinking that the
majority of New Zealanders had at one time or another in their lives been
involved in some kind of alternative movement. Indeed, this impression is
heightened by the discussion ofthe early colonisation ofNew Zealand and its
more recent marketing as a utopia of self-discovery and adventure. Even
victims of media manipulation might be said to be looking for an exit from
the mainstream, and therefore a utopia. And it is further reinforced by the
tendency of the authors to use 'community' as a synonym for utopia. In the
introductory section ' intentional community' is defined as 'a group of five or
more adults and their children . . . who come from more than one nuclear
family and who have chosen to live together to enhance their shared values
or for some other mutually agreed upon purpose' (5). By the end of chapter
2 they argue that New Zealand is a 'small remote country in which people
have been devising utopias for centuries. Sometimes these stem from a desire
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for a better way of life. Sometimes they are attempts to respond creatively to
real world events' ( 1 8). Admittedly, the historical survey suggests that some
early settlers did think explicitly in terms of utopia (even if they adopted an
impoverished view of utopia as the replication of England). But do members
of intentional communities typically think in these terms? The implication is
that they do and that community equals utopia. Yet this did not seem to be a
question asked of the individuals involved in the communities studied and,
intuitively, it seems too loose.
The difficulty of understanding the relationship between utopia and
community re-emerges at the end of the book. Here, the authors try to draw
lessons for the conceptualisation of utopianism from the fieldwork. But while
they stress their desire to opt 'for an approach that was based on the commu­
nities' understandings of their own aims' ( 1 6 1 ), they also analyse the
operation of those communities with reference to other abstract ideas.
Looking at the issue of conflict, this dual approach produces contradictory
results. The experience of community suggests conflict is problematic, some­
times deeply traumatic and usually disintegrative; the theory suggests that it
attests to the health, open-endedness and well-being of community. Equally
puzzling is the discussion of the classification of communities. The authors
suggest that any scheme of classification is necessarily flawed and that none
can 'fully represent reality' ( 1 6 1 ). Why then adopt a system of classification
that distinguishes between communities on the basis of their motivation?
There seems to be a tension between the desire to classify utopias and the
equally strong desire to understand the peculiar dynamics of community.
There is no question that the authors openly confront these tensions and
make no attempt to gloss over them. And if they don't resolve them, the rela­
tionship they posit between utopia and community is both stimulating and
provocative. Their overall conclusion is that community represents a 'never
ending search for utopia' ( 1 83). I wasn't convinced that this aptly captured the
experiences of the various communities they studied. Nevertheless, the
account this book gives of intentional community certainly concentrates the
mind on what one might be prepared to call 'a good life'.
Ruth Kinna
Loughborough University

Changing Anarchism: Anarchist theory and practice in a global age

Edited by Jonathan Purkis and James Bowen
Manchester University Press
ISBN 07 1 9066948, hardback £50.00

There have been some fine academic collections of anarchist papers in the
last two decades: Dimitrios I . Roussopoulos's The Anarchist Papers (Black

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Rose, 1 986); David Goodway's For Anarchism (Routledge, 1 989); Howard J.

Ehrilch's Reinventing Anarchy. Again (AK Press; 1 996); and Jonathan Purkis
and James Bowen's earlier edited volume of essays, Twenty-First Century
Anarchism (Cassell, 1 997). Now, added to this list, is this beautifully
designed volume by Purkis and Bowen (2004). Like many of their predeces­
sors, the editors are seeking to update and renew the anarchist tradition,
highlighting what has changed in anarchist thought, and how it has impacted
upon wider political movements and social practices. This raises the question
of why anarchism requires constant updating. Responses vary in sophistica­
tion and verisimilitude. For some of the contributors, such as Colin Craig,
Joanne Gore and David Gribble, the answer is that anarchist analysis requires
application to the contemporary forms of discipline and resistance. For
others, such as David Morland, John Moore and Jonathan Purkis, it is that
anarchist critiques require updating through synthesis with contemporary
theoretical developments, derived principally from poststructuralism.
There are eleven papers in this volume, split into three categories. The
first, 'Thinking', deals predominantly with theoretical developments within
anarchism, in particular the challenges which poststructuralisms have made
to the ways in anarchists have viewed 'power' and, thus, formulated resistance
to hierarchy. This section features theoretically rich contributions from
Morland, Purkis, Moore and Steve Millett. The latter seven papers are divided
into two less distinct sections: 'Doing' and 'Becoming', which concentrate on
describing and analysing social practices and political action. These papers
investigate and evaluate a range of social phenomena, some overtly political,
others largely therapeutic. So we have a critical review of the Lesbian, Gay,
Bisexual and Transsexual movements based on sexual identities (Jamie
Heckert), an examination of the camivalesque features of the anti-capitalist
movement (Karen Goaman), and a celebration of the unconventional spiritual
identities within environmental direct action (Bronislaw Szerszynski and
Emma Tomalin), alongside accounts of the micro- and macro-politics of
social policy and practice. These include passionate descriptions of free and
de-schooling pedagogic initiatives (David Gribble), drugs policy (Colin
Craig) and art therapy (Joanne Gore). In addition there is a critical overview
of general anarchist strategies (James Bowen).
The majority of the papers, as the editors acknowledge, are primarily
sociological in form and content, but there is stil l plenty to interest those
from outside that discipline. For these papers highlight some of the
tensions between anarchist perspectives. In particular, those who prioritise
the importance of poststructuralism to contemporary anarchist research
(for instance Purkis, Moore and Heckert), with its concomitant rejection
of essentialism, as against those that still subscribe to a liberal, essentialist
notion of the ' self' (for instance Gore, 1 56; Goaman, 1 65). Whilst it i s
refreshing that across the collection there is a n attempt to steer away from

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any totalising discourse - and here Marxism, in its traditional Leninist

form, is singled out by Millett and Purkis for a particular pummelling - it
is nonetheless marked that even in discussions of anti-capitalism a recog­
nition of class conflict is absent. Rejecting class conflict as the sole
determinant of social action should not mean ignoring it altogether.
There is a great deal of value in these essays, which demonstrate the
vitality and mnge of anarchist concerns and introduce some innovative
perspectives. The collection combines essays from more established figures,
such as the sophisticated and controversial paper by the late John Moore, with
new voices such as those of Cmig, Gore and Heckert, which are informed by
contempomry activist participation. Such a mnge of contributions supports
the editors' contention that anarchism has gained increased interest within
and beyond academe. If this is so, it is hoped that the success of the book wiIl
aIlow Manchester University Press to bring out a cheaper, and thus more
accessible, paperback version for this wider audience.

Benjamin Franks
Crichton Campus ofthe University of Glasgow

Anarchy, Geography, Modernity: The radical social thought of Elisee

Reclus
John P. Clark & Camille Martin (eds.)
Lanham/Oxford: Lexington Books, 2004
ISBN 0-739 1 -0805-0. pp. xii + 27 1 , £56

This inspiring analysis and anthology of a selection of texts by the French

anarchist geogmpher Elisee Reclus ( 1 830- 1 905) encouraged me to seek out
two of the author's natumlist texts on the history of the river (Histoire d 'un
ruisseau, 1 869) and the history of the mountain (Histoire d 'une montagne,
1 880). In several senses, these two works encapsulate Reclus' approach and
ideology: fascination and respect for nature and an explicit understanding
that human existence is not only dependent on the world around us but that
humans are part of nature. Reclus' work also accepts the notion that human
culture and indeed politics exist in an intricate relationship with nature and
that non-authoritarian pmctice has its roots in the natum1 world. This essen­
tially modem understanding of humanity and culture was integml to
anarchist thought in the nineteenth and much of the twentieth century and
still lingers in many contempomry expressions of anarchism.
John Clark and Camille Martin in their presentation of Reclus' thought
acknowledge the daunting project of precisely what to select in the vast
work of their author. M uch of his work, including the monumental six-

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volume L'Homme et fa Terre ( 1 905-8), is unknown to an English-speaking

audience. Reclus, probably better known to this audience through Marie
Fleming's The Anarchist Way to Socialism ( 1 979), led an eventful life,
being deported to New Caledonia after the Commune, having met
Bakunin in Switzerland. He practised vegetarianism, advocated nudism
and constituted in many ways a precursor of today's ecological thought.
The editors perform an excellent job of placing Reclus in his anarchist
and social context of late nineteenth-century thought, defining Reclus's
ideas as a combination of a liberatory but conventional framework - liber­
atory in the sense that Reclus sought to emancipate all of humanity as a
revolutionary subject from its oppressions, but conventional in that his
thought can still be understood as speaking from a position of classic anar­
chism whereby ' Humanity is nature becoming self-conscious' (p. 3). The
editors acknowledge that Reclus' thought may appear to engage in an
unfashionable 'grand narrative' but they take his narrative as different
precisely because it is elaborated from an anarchist perspective, which
does not universalize a western subject, thus allowing them to assert that
Reclus' thought constitutes an early exposition of globalization (p. 4).
Further, Reclus' ideas are not a simple form of holism but instead
respond to a dialectical approach

in which every phenomenon, including the phenomenon of humanity, is

inseparable from other phenomena [ . . . ] to which it is related. An under­
standing of the world thus requires a simultaneous understanding of all the
interconnected and interpenetrating factors' (p. 5).

Nature and culture in all their diversity form a dialectical interaction

with humanity throughout history, in which change is the driving force.
Such a perspective could afford a narrative that is critical towards notions
of progress, cultural specificity and, indeed, 'nature' itself, and Reclus
goes some way in articulating such a critique. I ndeed, if every phenom­
enon incorporates within itself the history of that phenomenon we can
develop a critical consciousness of past domination in order to eliminate
domination (pp. 2 1 -22). I nherent, immutable characteristics of people and
cultures do not therefore necessarily exist; nature shapes humanity that in
turn shapes the natural world (pp. 26-27).
This kind of perspective in the thought of Elisee Reclus may invite us
to move away from essentialist notions of culture, nature and humanity.
However, as is the case for many modern thinkers, these concepts remain
ambivalent in Reclus, though productively so. For example, Reclus is crit­
ical of modernity but maintains a progressivist strand of thought (p. 43)
even though 'progress' is itself questioned (p. 223). H e opposes imperi­
alism but is ambiguous on European colonization (pp. 45, 92 & 229).

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 ANARCHIST STUDIES

Reclus allows for peasants to keep small parcels of land but favours
communes and opposition to technological domination (pp. 1 30- 1 33).
If, as the editors argue, Reclus was an early exponent of the benefits of a
certain type of globalization, he was also a theoretician of the power of the
state. Reclus wrote in his The Modern State ( 1 905) that the state would grad­
ually lose its ability to instil fear in the population as its power became
'banal '; its popularity would decline, it would lose its capacity to 'inspire
mysterious and sacred fear' and would eventually provoke laughter and
contempt (p. 94). His Hegelian notion that the 'organism' of the state would
eventually destroy itself when reaching its limit of self-development allows
for a counter-force, of resistance, to surge forward triumphant. As the unlim­
ited expansion of power of the state proceeds, this 'minute allocation of
positions, honors, and meagre rewards' has two consequences, with opposing
implications (p. 2 1 3). On the one hand, the ambition to govern becomes
widespread, 'so that the natural tendency of the ordinary citizen is to partici­
pate in the management of public affairs' (p. 2 1 3). At the same time, this
state, 'divided into innumerable fragments, showering privileges on one or
another individual [ . . . ] this banal government, being all too well understood,
no longer dominates the multitudes through the impression of terrifying
majesty that once belonged to masters who were all but invisible, and who
only appeared before the public surrounded by judges, attendants, and execu­
tioners' (pp. 2 1 3-2 1 4). Resistance reasserts itself, direct action is employed as
a tool for emancipation, leaders are no longer trusted and subjects become
partners in independence, succeeding in liberating themselves.
Such an understanding of the progress of state power from being held by
figures of majesty such as the monarch and the executioner to being dissem­
inated throughout the whole of society, but against which resistance is
always present everywhere, can only remind us of Foucault's analytics of
power and the state. Further, Reclus' account of The History ofCities ( 1 905)
connects with the work of Murray Bookchin and Lewis Mumford. His advo­
cacy of vegetarianism (On Vegetarianism, 1 90 1 ) and a new type of family
( The Extended Family, 1 896) attest to the sensibility and complexity of anar­
chist thought and its impact on later movements. In this sense, Reclus, a
profound modernist, like many modem thinkers, contains the seeds of a
non-essentialist, even 'post-modem' sensibility more attuned to the times we
are living. The anthology edited by Clark and Martin allows us to look back
at Reclus' thought, placing it in its time and reminding us of the foundations
of much radical thought in our own present.

Richard Cleminson
University of Leeds

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