Good-bye Mr. Blowhard

It seems to me, based, for example, on the comments i’ve seen posted (why-oh-why do i read comments sections?) in response to critical activist bloggers (like this one) who have the courage and integrity to publicly condemn highly public personal attacks being made against other activists — that:

most “radical” (and especially “anarchist”) activist discourse has, by now, devolved into something with less sophistication than the recipe for microwave popcorn.

So, because the emergent “radical” gangland language scares the shit out of me — in some ways even more so than angry cops — i’m making a point of shifting this blog in a new direction.

A few words to mark the transition…

Because, in theory, i write this for my own amusement, and for communication with my friends and family (though it’s open to the wide world of the web, and you!) and because following, let alone participating in, the constant status competitions (and insults and pathetically juvenile territorial pissings) that dominate online activist “debates” does not in any way amuse me or constitute communication of any value or significance in my view, i’m filing for a divorce from “the” activist “community” (and from anyone who is comfortable with that dubious phrase).

I plan to continue my passionate, sinful common-law relationship with activism; but i am *so* done paying any attention whatsoever to the prattle of sectarian fanatics.

The one-dimensionality of contemporary activist culture(s) may someday be overturned by a new (and improved?) Herbert Marcuse — but in my case i intend to simply, albeit emphatically, shrug. The coin was flipped and in response to the spirit of Emma Goldman’s (apocryphal?) quip about dancing, it has been decided that no, there shall be no dancing among “revolutionaries.” This has not been recognized because the “official” reply is that of course there will be, there must be dancing, dancing galore!

But it is always the same dance, forever. The same song. It isn’t even music anymore.

So i give up.

Not on justice (of course); not on people (for heaven’s sake!); not on anarchism (by god!). But i’m quite ready to give up on the charade of anarchist identity, and the bitter contest for cool radical street cred that it has become. I never wanted the prize, i only ever wanted to call bullshit on the game and end it — to help restore what i imagine(d) were the golden days of good faith pluralistic movement and community-building in a spirit of joie-de-vivre. Now i’ll just call bullshit and and exit. Not with a smash, but a whimper (and a groan).

Justice — which i understand in anarchist terms — is always worth fighting for. The prestigious label of “anarchist-therefore-most-authentic-revolutionary” is not.

If angry people seduced by a romanticized, violent gang-like mentality are determined to harass, insult and intimidate anyone who publicly questions or deviates from their paradoxically orthodox understanding of “anarchism” (which, in particular, valorizes property destruction, aka “diverse” tactics), then fine: let them claim victory. The kinds of verbal (and actually physical) abuse that self-appointed “revolutionary” missionaries of social justice are willing to inflict on “traitors” has disgusted me right into a state of withdrawal.

However, i should mention one happy aspect of this disturbing and painfully alienating period has been a renewal of my experiential appreciation of the importance of feminism to my politics and ethics.

I’ve been reminded of how central feminism has always been to (the development of) my political awareness. The vitality of contemporary feminism, and its many critical, proto-anarchistic tendencies, is a huge source of inspiration and consolation in the face of an ascendant yet moribund macho (pseudo-)anarcho-hooliganism. In fact, the power and momentum of feminism can help sustain exiled anarchists, and keep us connected to our actualities. It can help us to live in the world, in as broad a sense as possible — rather than in a ghetto.

My hands will hammer out letters, my feet will gladly pound the ground in picket lines — and in civil disobedience, when appropriate; my ass will stiffly sit in meetings, and it will shake grotesquely during celebrations, and my mind will luxuriate in reading. And my heart, a little brokenly (or not broken but walking with a limp, a little droopingly) will indeed go on (props: Celine Dion). And i will conspicuously count and share my blessings: my family and friends.

Over time, i expect that, through my (and “our”, since i am not alone) efforts, some small amount of good will eventually and cumulatively come... and very little harm. Though this is perhaps recklessly optimistic.

I will always carry with me, as i have for many years, some sadness for anarchism — for its having been barbarously sawed off of the classical liberal tree from which it sprang. It has been turned into a club, and will no longer put forth new leaves (but will recruit new members, if they pass inspection). A new branch may grow in its place, or from another tree, or an entirely new, more beautiful tree may grow.

…And maybe someday giant cockroaches, perhaps with some residual human DNA, will frolic among rainbows in an era of perfect justice — or, at least, will struggle for justice in a context of hope and meaningful solidarity.

Maybe. But i won’t hold my breath.

Starting now, i’m going to put my productive blogging energies into a more balanced effort to honor the wide variety of sources of joy in my life:



I'm going to write about the beautiful people (Roy, Sara, and y'all-know-who-you-are), and the wonderful things — by which, in addition to objects of the natural world, as well as ideas, experiences, achievements (including political victories), and other intangibles, i absolutely do also, specifically, mean commodities: the many amazing products, by-products and cultural artifacts that emerge from (and sometimes despite) the existing, abominable industrial economic system — as well as the heavenly places (that’s you, Vancouver) that i love.

I may occasionally mention or describe especially timely or generally interesting aspects of my ongoing academic inquiries into anarchist political philosophy (i’ll still share my favorite quotes, etc.), but such things shall no longer be either the only or even the primary subject of this blog. There are far too many other interesting (whether frivolous or important) things to think about. I’ve been neglecting them.

We do not live for struggle, we struggle for life. And life should be joyful.

Therefore another name change is in order... This blog began personally, as “ryanarchy.” It went through an awkward stage as “Rye/Anarchy,” and then suddenly became these “Anarcho-Dad Rants” when Roy was born. The subtitle has grown up too, from an overly wordy effort to encapsulate broad, heterodoxical and heterogeneous interests, to an overly succinct distillation of essential elements.

The title(s) may change again soon, but to represent my humble aspiration (rather than my achievement) of greater happiness (for myself and all of humanity), i've settled on “Happy Dad Rants” for now.

I hereby declare this blog free from the tyrannically self-censorious, hyper-political meta-anarchistic narrowness of focus that once infected it. I’ll write again soon — and more frequently, i imagine, now that the curse has been lifted.

But until then... game on!

"This" is why i’m an anarchist.

Toronto police terrorized a young family (not unlike my own) in their reckless, irresponsible pursuit of an allegedly reckless, irresponsible “anarchist” protester.

John Booth was amazingly charitable in his assessment of the cops’ actions: “The problem with the whole thing was that it was a very poorly researched and very poorly executed plan… A little due diligence on their part could’ve avoided the whole situation.” Apparently, in addition to veterinary science, Mr. Booth is also an expert in the field of diplomatic understatements. Hey, that’s a valuable skill too.

The tale is laced with bitter irony for me: This is why i’m an anarchist.

I’d like to extend the sentiments of a protester quoted by Globe writer Lisan Jutras, with whom she was mass arrested and stuck on a bus for hours; Jutras tweeted:

“They don't even know what they're protesting,” said a cop.
“Yes I do,” said one.
“What?”
“This,” she said.

The best concise characterization of anarchism i’ve ever read may have been the slogan on a fantastic patch i saw for sale at the NYC Anarchist Bookfair in 2009; it said: “Anarchists have to be as patient as slugs.” In hindsight, i really wish i’d bought the patch (if you know who made it, please tell me!). But, of course, i had already spent all my money on books.

Patience, respect for others and profound concern for all consequences of one’s actions (taking care not to make decisions without consulting those who will be affected by them); these are among the virtues, values and commitments at the core of my understanding of anarchism. So, as an anarchist, i’ve been increasingly frustrated, for years, with certain interpretations or appropriations of anarchism — though my frustration has begun to bloom into real anger during some recent debates about "diversity of tactics."

Therefore i’m quite sympathetic to the very many people (other activists, bystanders, shopkeepers, reporters, academics, and others — maybe even some fellow anarchists?) who also feel frustrated; as Andrew Potter tweeted: “I can't figure out who I hate more in all this, the anarchists or the cops.”

I submit this as further evidence that we must, in struggle, vigilantly distinguish ourselves from those we oppose. It doesn’t matter whether there are agents provocateurs among those who are destroying property. What matters is that we can’t be sure. This situation should be easy to avoid.

But, in the words of one commenter on a post at wagnignonviolence.org (where i first learned of the Booths’ treatment by the police), “Violent anarchy is an amazingly myopic philosophy, since effective anarchy–if we truly want freedom–requires so much more self-discipline and critical thinking than anarchists of this ilk seem to give.”

It saddens me to see how many anarchists have completely rejected the “radical admissions” that George Woodcock urged us to make, in the final pages of (the 1986 revised edition of) his famous history of anarchism. The opportunity to update and re-articulate his admissions in my current academic writing (my thesis project) is cold comfort.

At a time of outrageous abuses of state power, an anarchist critique ought to be taken more seriously than ever. Instead, those who espouse anarchism today often successfully live up to the very worst stereotypes of destructive stupidity that enemies of anarchism have been promoting for almost two centuries.

Windows are smashed by marauding anarchists. Hundreds of people are herded into custody (and many are hurt) by marauding police. Giant fences are erected between the powerful and the public. Fear proliferates...

I think i might have nightmares tonight.

Describing the 4 a.m. police invasion of their home, Hanna Booth said: “…they’re in my room. I’m in my panties and a tank top, my kid’s screaming his head off, he’s so scared, the tension in the house — it was just the most horrible and absurd thing.”

Horrible and absurd. I imagine that about captures the experience of many Torontonians during this G20 summit.

Between idiotic smashing and burning (and media fixation on images of it) and even scarier “security” measures (and the inevitable, brutal fiascoes they lead to), what are reasonable people (let alone those who profess a radical commitment to liberty and justice) supposed to do?

I don’t know. But tonight i’m going to kiss Sara and Roy and try to keep these words, which i read for the first time yesterday, in my mind as i drift off to sleep.

“I don’t know if you’ve known anybody that far back; if you’ve loved anybody that long, first as an infant, then as a child, then as a man, you gain a strange perspective on time and human pain and effort.” — James Baldwin, The fire next time (p. 4).

Happy Canada Day,
r.a.m.

PS: i share the suspicions of many who have wondered how exactly it came to be that two squad cars just happened to be sitting in the street with no officers there to protect them… Seems like maybe a new twist on the familiar (anti-theft) tactic — in any case it gives new meaning to the phrase — “Bait Cars.”